The war arrived at the plantation in 1864, when them damn yankees came down the long oak-lined drive. A field hand named Amos Moses took them up to the porch, told them riches were inside. His master sold off his wife and child ten years before and now he wanted to dance in the ashes of the big house after he split up his family.
The blue uniforms tore the house apart in the search for treasures. They took the big bags of cornmeal, the wagon and all the horses. They even took the dog.
“Dog is a fine meat, and this one is especially plump,” the soldier said. He laughed as he led it away with a rope tied around its neck. The little one cried and tried to grab his four legged friend, but his mother held him back. The rest of the family cursed the dirty man and all the yankees as the they left. The last few men in the company tossed torches on the wood shingled roof; the house burned bright into the night as the mother and her cubs wailed in anger.
The only thing they saved was the family bible.
