tree,
Yet we twined them a wreath of the laurel,
As Sherman marched down to the sea!
Then sang we a song, etc.

V

Oh, proud was our army that morning,
That stood where the pine darkly towers,
When Sherman said, "Boys, you are weary,
But to-day fair Savannah is ours!"
Then sang we the song of our chieftain,
That echoed over river and lea,
And the stars in our banner shone brighter
When Sherman camped down by the sea!

Toward evening of February 17th, the mayor, Dr. Goodwin, came to my
quarters at Duncan's house, and remarked that there was a lady in
Columbia who professed to be a special friend of mine. On his
giving her name, I could not recall it, but inquired as to her
maiden or family name. He answered Poyas. It so happened that,
when I was a lieutenant at Fort Moultrie, in 1842-'46, I used very
often to visit a family of that name on the east branch of Cooper
River, about forty miles from Fort Moultrie, and to hunt with the
son, Mr. James Poyas, an elegant young fellow and a fine sportsman.
His father, mother, and several sisters, composed the family, and
were extremely hospitable. One of the ladies was very fond of
painting in water-colors, which was one of my weaknesses, and on
one occasion I had presented her with a volume treating of
water-colors. Of course, I was glad to renew the acquaintance, and
proposed to Dr. Goodwin that we should walk to her house and visit
this lady, which we did. The house stood beyond the Charlotte
depot, in a large lot, was of frame, with a high porch, which was
reached by a set of steps outside. Entering this yard, I noticed
ducks and chickens, and a general air of peace and comfort that was
really pleasant to behold at that time of universal desolation; the
lady in question met us at the head of the steps and invited us
into a parlor which was perfectly neat and well furnished. After
inquiring about her father, mother, sisters, and especially her
brother James, my special friend, I could not help saying that I
was pleased to notice that our men had not handled her house and
premises as roughly as was their wont. "I owe it to you, general,"
she answered. "Not at all. I did not know you were here till a
few minutes ago." She reiterated that she was indebted to me for
the perfect safety of her house and property, and added, "You
remember, when you were at our house on Cooper River in 1845, you
gave me a book;" and she handed me the book in question, on