She had a fine contralto voice and led the church
choir. Doctor Palmer, of New Orleans, was on a certain Sunday well into the
long prayer of the Presbyterian service. Bragg's army was still in middle
Tennessee. There was no thought of an attack. Bang! Bang! Then the bursting
of a shell too close for comfort. Bang! Bang! Then the rattle of shell
fragments on the roof. On the other side of the river the Yankees were upon
us.
The man of God gave no sign that anything unusual was happening. He did not
hurry. He did not vary the tones of his voice. He kept on praying. Nor was
there panic in the congregation, which did not budge.
That was the longest long prayer I ever heard. When it was finally ended,
and still without changing a note the preacher delivered the benediction,
the crowded church in the most orderly manner moved to the several
doorways.
I was quick to go for my girl. By the time we reached the street the firing
had become general. We had to traverse quite half a mile of it before
attaining a place of safety. Two weeks later we were separated for nearly
two years, when, the war over, we found ourselves at home again.
In the meantime her father had fallen in the fight, and in the far South
I had buried him. He was one of the most eminent and distinguished and
altogether the best beloved of the Tennesseeans of his day, Andrew Ewing,
who, though a Democrat, had in high party times represented the Whig
Nashville district in Congress and in the face of assured election declined
the Democratic nomination for governor of the state.
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