THE JAYHAWKERS

On New Year's Day, 1862, one of the coldest days ever known in Louisiana, we were all seated around a bright wood fire talking as usual of the war, and of our absent boys. All were gone to the front-not a man was left, except my father, an aged clergyman. As we talked, we were startled by the furious barking of dogs, the tramp of horses, and a loud "Hello" at the front gate.

When the door was opened we saw about twenty or twenty-five men muffled up to their eyes, muffled quite beyond recognition.[54] The men were riding miserable ponies, and they looked dreadful in their disguise, and seemed numb with cold.

Father answered the call, and asked what was wanted. The man in front replied that they were "Government officials"; that they had come to search the house, as they had heard it contained contraband articles and smuggled goods. We knew that there was not a shadow of truth in the statement, so my father asked to see the Government order. "You need not trouble about that, we have it all right!" replied the leader. Then they pushed their way into the hall, the parlor, the bedrooms, and all over the house, opening trunks, bureau drawers, desks, and closets. They took every yard of cloth they could find and everything[55] that looked new or valuable, piling them on the front piazza. Toilet articles, ladies' underwear, everything!

My brother was a physician, at that time a surgeon in a Louisiana regiment, and we had quite a collection of jars and bottles of medicine that had been left over, among them a bottle of quinine valued at one hundred dollars, and prized above gold or silver. This medicine they found, and, sneering and jeering, placed it with other things. When they had gone through every room, they went to the old-fashioned smoke-house in the yard, where the home-cured meat, the corn meal and other such things were kept, broke open the door and entered.

Hidden away there was a small demijohn of whiskey, kept for medicinal purposes, and a box of sugar, kept also for the sick and suffering.[56] When they found that, the men went wild with glee, and they ran, shouting, to the kitchen for cups and were soon drinking the fiery liquid. We stood looking on in agony,-the old father, the physician's wife, two young girls, and several small children,-all helpless, at the mercy of a band of drunken outlaws, two miles from any help!

After they had swallowed every drop, and felt warmed and cheered by the whiskey, they came out and began to talk about the sad duty of obeying "Government orders." We then told them that the report they had heard was false; that all the things they had collected on the piazza were in the house when the war broke out, and that we could prove it by the Home Guards, who would probably be along soon from their[57] camp near by. Of course, this was a ruse resorted to in our desperation, but it had a magical effect. The men ran to their horses, mounted in haste, and dashed off through the woods in a wild gallop. Oh! what a relief, and how thankful we were! The goods were left on the piazza floor, quinine, clothing and all. They never came again, but the fear of their return never left us by night or day, until the war was over.