The last days of the Civil War between the North and the South found our regiment with the Army of General Sherman at Goldsboro, North Carolina. General Lee surrendered his army to General Grant in Virginia; but General Sherman expected he would have to give the Rebel General Johnston another sound thrashing before he would give up.

There were some rebel prisoners to be taken to Newbern, and along with others, I was detailed to convey them under guard to that city. We arrived there late in the day and after delivering the prisoners to the provost marshal, we stacked arms and wandered about the town to see the sights.

As evening came on we heard music and dancing in one of the houses and, as soldiers usually consider themselves privileged characters, we walked in. The dancers and musicians were negroes who had been slaves, but had been set free by the Emancipation Proclamation. Some of the young men were in uniform of Union soldiers, having been recruited from the freed slaves.

When we entered, the music and dancing ceased and one of the black women came toward us. I will attempt to describe her, but fully realize that I cannot do her justice. She was nearly six feet in height, well proportioned with square shoulders and not an ounce of superfluous flesh. Her skin was as black as coal. The dress she wore was yellow, and a bright red bandana handkerchief was neatly folded about her head. We learned later that this woman had been stolen from Africa, brought in a slave ship to Virginia, and there sold into slavery.

She addressed us pleasantly, asking what she could do for us. We informed her that we had just wandered in to look on and kill time until the train left for Goldsboro. Then she gave us chairs and brought each of us a large piece of pie, and we settled down to enjoy the dance.

Scarcely had we finished eating the pie when we heard loud talking and swearing among the dancers. One of the young soldiers had started an argument with another negro and the two began to strike each other. This soon led to a rough and tumble fight. Our black woman had gone into the kitchen where she was preparing supper, but upon hearing the unusual noise she came bounding into the room and grabbed the young soldier with her right hand and the other negro with her left. She separated them and held the two out at arms length, shouting "You black trash, you all can’t fight in my house. I’s a chicken out of de ole blue hen. I wasn’t born in de mash to be fooled by trash. I’s a chicken out of de ole blue hen, I is!" And with that she gave each of them a shove, landing them in opposite corners of the room.

My attention was drawn to the young soldier. As he picked himself up, his eyes seemed glued on the powerful negress. Then she began to advance toward her slowly, with arms extended, calling "Mammy! Mammy! You’re my mammy!"

"See yeah, yo black trash, what for yo call me yo mammy!" retorted the negress.

"Because my mammy was de chicken out of de ole blue hen, and you look like my mammy" cried the soldier.

The big woman rushed forward and grasped the young man in her powerful arms, exclaiming, "Why bless my soul, ef dis yeah boy isn’t mah little Samuel dat was sold away from me up in Virginia befo de wah." She hugged the soldier to her breast and the big tears rolled down the faces of mother and son.

The scene was pathetic. We all crowded around the mother and her long lost boy. "And how did you come to recognize her as your mother?" I inquired.

"I never heard any woman call herself a ‘chicken from de ole blue hen’ except my ole mammy" he answered, "and when I heard her say that it made me take notice."

Well, from that time on, good feeling prevailed. The musicians started a lively tune and the dancing went on. This was the day on which the news of the assassination of President Lincoln reached the army of General Sherman. The mother wore a black badge of mourning on her breast nearly as large as a dinner plate. I asked he why she wore it. "Why bless your heart" she exclaimed, "didn’t you know that Uncle Sam was dead? They done gone and shot him. I’s ashamed of you, a soldier and didn’t know that the Rebs had just gone an killed Uncle Sam."

But our train was now due and we had to bid the merry dancers good night and the happy mother sent us on our way rejoicing with a good lunch in our haversacks. It was nearly midnight when we reached camp, and although taps had sounded long before, no one had obeyed the summons to turn in. The men were gathered about blazing campfires discussing the murder of our beloved president and speculating on what they would do when back home once more. For now the long four year war was over and our trade of man-killing was ended. We were facing the problem of seeking new, and we hoped more congenial employment.

I remember as we approached the fire that one of the boys was singing in a rich, mellow voice, these verses:

"Coming home, coming home, don’t you hear the drum?
Yes the boys are coming home, Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
The cruel war is over and the bloody work is done;
The boys are marching home.............."

Yes, we were going home, but not with full numbers. Many of the old regiment were sleeping their last sleep in shallow graves along the Mississippi or Red rivers, or in the Shenandoah Valley. And while on our return our friends may welcome us with joy and gladness, the mothers, wives and sweethearts of the missing will search the depleted ranks of the old battalion in vain for the faces of their loved ones who have laid down their young lives in defense of the flag. These are the thoughts we are thinking as we gather at midnight around the campfires.

It is nearly three years since the old regiment, a thousand strong, marched gaily down the streets of the City of Hudson, with colors waving, the crowds cheering and the band playing "The Girl I Left Behind Me". Now we are going home with little more than four hundred - not boys now, but men and veterans of many battles - and although we mourn for our brave comrades who have fallen, our hearts are filled with joy and we thank God that we are soon to see our bright northern homes again. We have the satisfaction of knowing that the object for which we have struggled so long has been accomplished and that treason is vanquished, slavery forever abolished, the Union preserved and the old flag which we have followed so long and so far, waves peacefully over all.