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Glasgow, Ellen Anderson Gholson, 1873-1945

"The Battle Ground"

There was scant food on the table, and as his gaze
went back to it, it seemed to him that, for the first time, he grasped the
full meaning of a war for the people of the soil. This was the real
thing--not the waving banners, not the bayonets, not the fighting in the
ranks.
His eyes were on the woman, and she smiled as all women did upon whom he
looked in kindness.
"My dear madam, you have mistaken our purpose--we are not as hungry as we
look," he said, bowing in his ragged jacket. "We were sent merely to ask
you if you were in need of a guard for your smokehouse. My Colonel hopes
that you have not suffered at our hands."
"There is nothing left," replied the woman mystified, yet relieved. "There
is nothing to guard except the children and myself, and we are safe, I
think. Your Colonel is very kind--I thank him;" and as they went out she
lighted them with her lamp from the front steps.
An hour later they returned to camp with aching limbs and empty hands.
"There's nothing above ground," they reported, flinging themselves beside
the fire, though the night was warm. "We've scoured the whole country and
the Federals have licked it as clean as a plate before us. Bless my soul!
what's that I smell? Is this heaven, boys?"
"Licked it clean, have they?" jeered the mess. "Well, they left a sheep
anyhow loose somewhere. Beau's darky hadn't gone a hundred yards before he
found one."
"Big Abel? You don't say so?" whistled Dan, in astonishment, regarding the
mutton suspended on ramrods above the coals.


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