But as he reached what had been the corner of another street and turned to the right, his serviceable hand was raised and his knees trembled as he looked in vain for the dwelling he had left when last he bade his little family good-by and hastened away to help build the breastworks in front of Petersburg. The dwellings that had stood in that neighborhood were now a mass of blackened ruins. The poor fellow sank down in the street and a colored man hastened to his assistance. “I declar, it's Massa John,” exclaimed the negro as he raised the head of the soldier. “Doan' you know me, Massa?” [Illustration: 8221] “Is it Pomp?” “Deed an' 'tis Pomp, Massa.” “Where is your mistress and the children?” “Dey's ober on the odder side de bridge, Massa; how glad dey'll be to see you. We all 'spected de Yankees dun kill you, shuah nuff.” Just then a woman came hurriedly from around the corner and stopped for a moment as she surveyed the scene before her. “Who is it, Pomp?” she eagerly inquired, as she advanced toward the party in the street. “Bress de Lawd, it's Massa John.” In another moment husband and wife were in each other's arms, their tears flowing freely. “And the children, Mary?” “Safe and well, praise God.” “Amen. Praise God you are all alive.” “But you are wounded?” “Yes, dear; I'll be unable to use my right arm for a few months; but when it gets well we will rebuild the home which the Yankees have destroyed for us.” “But, my dear, our home was not destroyed by the Yankees. The city was fired by our own men as they left us. The fire was raging terribly when the Yankees came in and did all they could to prevent the spread of the flames.” “Is that so? Then I have fought for years, lost the use of my right arm and returned to find my home destroyed by order of one of our own generals. Surely, wife, the hand of God has been against the Confederacy. We were taught to believe that we were fighting for liberty, but we were mistaken. I love the stars and bars. I have fought and bled for our flag, yet I begin to feel that secession was not right. Our leaders were wrong, and it follows that we must suffer for it.” “What shall we do, John?” “Do? Well, the outlook is not bright, I'll admit. But we'll not get discouraged. I have a brother in Boston who has money, you know, and I believe he'll help us out. He told me not to go into the Confederate army. He said we would get whipped, but I didn't believe it then. Brother was right, and I'll send him a letter next mail.” Then the wounded Confederate and his better half started off to meet their children at the house of a friend. I gave him the contents of my haversack and several other troopers who were with me also gave our late foe what they had with them. “Thank you, boys; I'm glad it's over,” he said, as he handed the provisions to Pomp, who “toted” it to their friend's residence over the bridge.