The homestead nestles close to the foot of the South Mountain, near
Middleton Gap, some miles north of the point where I had crossed that
day. We talked, of course, about the battles (they were within sound,
though not sight, of Antietam). I found that a field-hospital had been
established in the field immediately adjoining the orchard, and that
some of the wounded, chiefly Confederates, who could not be moved, had
lain there for many days. I asked the good wife how she felt while the
Southern army was marching past her doors, "Well," she said, "I wasn't
greatly skeared, only I thought I'd pull down the new parlor-curtains;
but they behaved right well, and didn't meddle with nothin' to signify;
not like them Yankees, who are always pickin' and stealin'. But I'd like
to get right out of this country, anyhow; we'll never do no good here
while the war lasts."
I wonder how many voices, if they dared speak out, would join in the
dreary "_refrain_ of those last few words?"
No note-worthy incident marked my journey back to Baltimore. I remained
there till the following Tuesday, and, in that interval, received a note
from Shipley, which both puzzled and disquieted me; it was purposely
vague and obscure; but, as far as I could make out, the writer thought
it would be better at once to make for some point northwest of
Cumberland--to retrace, in fact, the route that he had himself recently
traversed; I rather inferred that he meant to move in that direction
without waiting for me, leaving me to make my way to a rendezvous which
he would appoint by letter.
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