August 12th, 1861.—It is late at night but I cannot sleep so will write up the events of the day. The Howell Guards left on the mid-day train. A crowd had gathered around the depot to see them off. Mothers, wives, sisters, sweethearts and friends—all were there. Standing on the platform and looking around I marveled at what I saw. Women with bright, smiling faces, looking tenderly on the soldiers, who were ready to depart. Saying fond, loving words of advice and of hope: pressing the beloved gray-clad figure in a parting embrace kissing the dear lips, maybe for the last time, and yet those brave women smiled. As soon as the train pulled out and the soldier boys could not see, the scene changed. Sobs and tears, wild outbursts of grief on every side, and yet, this had been suppressed lest it grieve those brave hearts, who were going forth to battle for home and country.
On the way home Eddie seemed to try to see how entertaining he could be, he took my handkerchief and wiped his mother’s eyes, he kissed her over and over, then he put on somebody’s big glove and gravely offered her his hand, saying, “Tell de popes howty.” That brought a smile; Niobe herself could not have resisted the bright little baby face and the piping little voice.
Many a prayer goes up tonight from anxious hearts. May God bless our dear soldiers and may God bless the South.
