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At two in the morning we were again on the march. We passed Sussex Court House and a place called Corman's Well. In the evening we reached the North Cross House, on the Halifax road, thirty miles from Petersburg. Here we struck the Welden Railroad, and the work of destruction began. It was an exciting scene as the work progressed.
The journey bade fair to be a happy one; and no individual in the party, I think, had even the vaguest presentiment of the horrors we were soon to undergo. "At 11 P.M. it began to snow hard. Shortly after leaving the small village of Welden, we entered upon that tremendous prairie solitude that stretches its leagues on leagues of houseless dreariness far away toward the Jubilee Settlements.
Welden and old Doby revelled in thrilling, almost Biblical, versions of current anecdotes, when Betty paid her visits to them. "It's like the Scripture, wot he done for that young man as the last breath had gone out of him, an' him lyin' stiffening fast. 'Young man, arise, he says. 'The Lord Almighty calls. You've got a young wife an' three children to take care of.
A terrible calamity had befallen them at the time the Welden Railroad was taken from the enemy, August 18th and 19th. The brigade was sent forward to skirmish. They advanced and drove every thing before them till they struck the main force of the enemy. Here they fortified and held their ground without support until the afternoon of the 19th, when they were compelled to surrender.
The men's faces were heavily moved, most of the women wiped their eyes at intervals, and the children looked awed. There was a suggestion of hurried movement in the step of each as if no time must be lost as if they must begin their appeal at once. Betty saw old Doby tottering along stiffly, with his granddaughter and Mrs. Welden on either side of him.
When she knocked at the door an old woman opened it. She was a well-preserved and markedly respectable old person, in a decent print frock and a cap. At the sight of her visitor she beamed and made a suggestion of curtsey. "How do you do, Mrs. Welden?" said Betty. "I am Lady Anstruthers' sister, Miss Vanderpoel. I thought I would like to come and see you."
The very manner in which the other group of girls were advancing made strong appeal to her. They were more the type she had known at Welden. Marjorie felt an imperative tug at her arm. "Who are those girls? They came from that private car. They are so much like my dear pals at Welden." Elizabeth Walbert's babyish features were alive with animation. "They are juniors. I have met a few of them.
The two were at the window staring spellbound, as she swept back to the carriage between the sweet-williams and Canterbury bells bordering the narrow garden path. "Do you know I really went in to let them see my dress," she said, when she rejoined Lady Anstruthers. "Old Doby's granddaughter told me that he and Mrs. Welden have little quarrels about the colours I wear.
Among those present was a young lady from a neighboring city, who attracted much attention both from her manners and person. She fixed the eyes of Mr. Florence soon after he entered the room, and, half unconsciously to himself, his observation was frequently directed towards her. "Who is that lady?" he asked of a friend, an hour after his arrival. "Her name is Miss Welden. She is from Albany."
Welden and old Doby threaten to develop into quite necessary factors in the scheme of happiness. What Betty has felt is even more comprehensible than it seemed at first."
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