r him bordered on reverence, and
this was true not alone of his father's slaves, but of all those who
knew him. This telegram was from Boss, and announced that he would be
home the next day with the remains. Mrs. Farrington at once wrote to old
Master Jack and to Dr. Dandridge, telling them of Mack's death and to
come at once. After I mailed those letters nothing unusual happened
during the afternoon, and the house was wrapped in silence and gloom. On
the following morning I went for the mail as usual, but there was
nothing new. At noon, the remains of the much loved young man arrived at
our station, accompanied by Boss and Dr. Henry Dandridge, brother of the
father of the deceased, who was a surgeon in the rebel army. I went to
the station with another servant, to assist in bringing the body to the
house. We carried it into the back parlor, and, after all had been made
ready, we proceeded to wash and dress it. He had lain on the battlefield
two days before he was found, and his face was black as a piece of coal;
but Dr. Henry Dandridge, with his ready tact, suggested the idea of
painting it. I was there to assist in whatever way they needed me. After
the body was all dressed, and the face painted, cheeks tinted with a
rosy hue, to appear as he always did in life, the look was natural and
handsome. We were all the afternoon employed in this sad work, and it
was not until late in the evening that his father and mother came down
to view the body for the first time. I remember, as they came down the
broad stairs together, the sorrow-stricken yet calm look of those two
people. Mrs. Dandridge was very calm--her grief was too great for her to
scream as the others did when they went in. She stood and looked at her
Mack; then turning to Boss, she said: "Cousin Eddie, how brave he was!
He died for his country." Poor, sorrowing, misguided woman! It was not
for his country he died, but for the perpetuation of the cruel, the
infamous system of human slavery. All the servants were allowed to come
in and view the body. Many sad tears were shed by them. Some of the
older slaves clasped their hands, as if in mute prayer, and exclaimed,
as they passed by the coffin: "He was a lovin boy." It seems that all
his company but five or six were killed. At an early hour next morning
the funeral party started for the home in Panola, where the body of the
lamented young man, sacrificed to an unholy cause, was buried, at the
close of the same day.