Then these two good women--sisters, nay dearer to each other than sisters--knelt down, with arms clasped about each others waists and prayed to the All-Merciful to bring their good husband home in safety from the battle.
One day, two days passed. It was the morning of the 12th day of September, 1846. William was bidding farewell to his wives and his children; when Emeline sobbed anew:
"Oh, my beloved! Let not Augustus go to the battle today. He is but a child: think, William! he is only fourteen. Each day he has followed you, taking his gun on his shoulder to fight the wicked enemy and to brave a dreadful death. Let him stay with me!"
Even as she spoke, the thunder of the cannonade shook the city; and William sprang away to hasten to his post, while Augustus gave a ringing cry and fled from the house.
The two women and the little girls were left alone--Emeline and her younger sister wife, the loving Drusilla, and Caroline and Martha--white and trembling.
Hours elapsed, during which these good women were praying as they toiled.
The sounds of the battle waging around the city neither distracted them from devotion nor domestic duty.
Gradually there came a lull; and a momentary hope sprang up in their hearts. But even while the precious thought was taking form, a rattle of musketry shook the window panes; and a moment later the deep boom of a siege gun--shaking the houses from chimney to cellar--told that the struggle was renewed in all its fierceness.
When this grim messenger dispelled their hope with his harsh voice, Emeline pressed her hands to her bosom and sank upon the floor. As she dropped she cried:
"Drusilla, my friend, this instant has widowed us and has taken from this house its only son. I feel the dread fact her in my heart!"
The younger wife and the two little girls hastened to the side of Emeline, and there they knelt, weeping and moaning. The premonition seemed too real to be disputed.
While the women and children were rocking back and forth in their agony of apprehension, a hurried knock was heard at the door; and, without waiting for a response, a brother soldier of William stalked into the room. He saw the piteous sight; and all his gallant hardihood gave way. Mingling his heavy tears with the rain from gentler eyes, he sobbed: