He wrote in full faith of a short separation, saying that all would be well, that he would surely return, imploring me not to listen to or credit any rumors to the contrary, and urging me in an added line to be brave and of good cheer--to keep up a "skookum tum-tum." (Chinook for "brave heart," always his last words to me in parting). This letter was brought to me by Jaccheri, a daring, fearless Italian in my Soldier's employ as headquarters postmaster. He was sagacious and loyal, perfectly devoted to the General and his cause, and was trusted with letters of the strictest confidence and greatest importance all through the war.
As I said before, our people were on the verge of starvation. For weeks before we left camp the army had been living on rations of corn and beans, with "seasonings" of meat. The game had been trapped and killed throughout the whole country, and my breakfast that morning had consisted of a few beans cooked in water, no salt, for salt had long been a luxury in the Confederacy. All the old smokehouses had been moved, that the earth might be dug up and pulled down to recover the salt which in the many years it had absorbed.
John Theophelas, my dear little brother, nine years old, was a great comfort to me in these days of trial. He had just brought my beans and was lovingly coaxing me to eat them when Jaccheri came, and a plate was filled for him. After Jaccheri had finished his meager breakfast, seasoned with his adventures on the road, swimming the river at one place carrying his clothes in a bundle on his head, he said he must go. I added a few lines to my diary, which I always kept for my Soldier, and gave it to our faithful letter-carrier to take back to him.
"Ina da days to come," said Jaccheri in his soft Italian voice "ina all lands, no matter, mucha people, mucha gloly, nadie money, no matter, you find Jaccheri here--and here--" first putting his hand over his heart and then drawing from his boot and gracefully brandishing a shining blade. "Gooda-bye."
At the door he turned back, untied his cravat, and wiggled out five pieces of money, three gold dollars and two ninepences. He walked over on tiptoe to where the baby was sleeping, crossed himself and, kneeling by the cradle, slipped into baby's little closed hand two of the gold dollars and around his neck a much worn and soiled scapula.