on, and that Lincoln had called for troops, our men
were threshing. There was only one threshing-
machine in the region at that time, and it went
from place to place, the farmers doing their thresh-
ing
whenever they could get the machine. I re-
member
seeing a man ride up on
horseback, shout-
ing out Lincoln's demand for troops and explaining
that a
regiment was being formed at Big Rapids.
Before he had finished
speaking the men on the ma-
chine had leaped to the ground and rushed off to
enlist, my brother Jack, who had recently joined us,
among them. In ten minutes not one man was left
in the field. A few months later my brother Tom
enlisted as a bugler--he was a mere boy at the time--
and not long after that my father followed the example
of his sons and served until the war was ended. He
had entered on the twenty-ninth of August, 1862, as
an army
steward; he came back to us with the rank
of
lieutenant and
assistantsurgeon of field and staff.
Between those years I was the
principal support
of our family, and life became a
strenuous and tragic
affair. For months at a time we had no news from
the front. The work in our
community, if it was
done at all, was done by
despairing women whose
hearts were with their men. When care had become
our
constant guest, Death entered our home as well.
My sister Eleanor had married, and died in childbirth,
leaving her baby to me; and the blackest hours of
those black years were the hours that saw her pass-
ing. I can see her still, lying in a stupor from which
she roused herself at intervals to ask about her child.
She insisted that our brother Tom should name the
baby, but Tom was fighting for his country, unless
he had already preceded Eleanor through the wide
portal that was
opening before her. I could only
tell her that I had written to him; but before the
assurance was an hour old she would climb up from
the gulf of unconsciousness with
infinite effort to
ask if we had received his reply. At last, to calm
her, I told her it had come, and that Tom had chosen
for her little son the name of Arthur. She smiled
at this and drew a deep
breath; then, still smiling,
she passed away. Her baby slipped into her vacant
place and almost filled our heavy hearts, but only
for a short time; for within a few months after his
mother's death his father married again and took
him from me, and it seemed that with his going
we had lost all that made life worth while.
The problem of living grew harder with every-
day. We eked out our little
income in every way
we could,
taking as boarders the workers in the log-
ging-camps, making quilts, which we sold, and losing
no chance to earn a penny in any
legitimate manner.
Again my mother did such outside
sewing as she
could secure, yet with every month of our effort
the gulf between our
income and our expenses grew
wider, and the price of the bare necessities of exis-
ence{sic} climbed up and up. The largest
amount I
could earn at teaching was six dollars a week, and
our school year included only two terms of thir-
teen weeks each. It was an
incessant struggle to
keep our land, to pay our taxes, and to live. Cal-
ico was selling at fifty cents a yard. Coffee was
one dollar a pound. There were no men left to
grind our corn, to get in our crops, or to care for
our live stock; and all around us we saw our
struggle reflected in the lives of our neighbors.
At long intervals word came to us of battles in
which my father's
regiment--the Tenth Michigan
Cavalry Volunteers--or those of my brothers were
engaged, and then longer intervals followed in which
we heard no news. After Eleanor's death my
brother Tom was wounded, and for months we lived
in
terror of worse
tidings, but he finally recovered.
I was walking seven and eight miles a day, and doing