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[605] Sherman's burners was sent up to the roof. He was seen applying the torch to the cupola. The church was burned to the ground, and the grave of my loved one desecrated. The story circulated, that the citizens had set their own city on fire, is utterly untrue, and only reflects dishonor on those who vilely perpetrated it. General Sherman had his army under control. The burning was by his orders, and ceased when he gave the command.

I was now doomed to experience in person the effects of avarice and barbarous cruelty. The robbers had been informed in the neighborhood that the family which I was protecting had buried one hundred thousand dollars in gold and silver. They first demanded my watch, which I had effectually secured from their grasp. They then asked me where the money had been hid. I told them I knew nothing about it, and did not believe there was a thousand dollars worth in all, and what there was had been carried off by the owner, Colonel Cash. All this was literally true. They then concluded to try an experiment on me which had proved so successful in hundreds of other instances. Coolly and deliberately they prepared to inflict torture on a defenseless, gray-headed old man. They carried me behind a stable, and once again demanded where the money was buried, or ‘I should be sent to hell in five minutes.’ They cocked their pistols and held them to my head. I told them to fire away. One of them, a square-built, broad-faced, large-mouthed, clumsy lieutenant, who had the face of a demon, and who did not utter five words without an awful blasphemy, now kicked me in the stomach until I fell breathless and prostrate. As soon as I was able, I rose again. He once more asked me where the silver was. I answered as before, ‘I do not know.’ With his heavy, elephant foot he now kicked me on my back until I fell again. Once more I arose, and he put the same question to me. I was nearly breathless, but answered as before. Thus was I either kicked or knocked down seven or eight times. I then told him it was perfectly useless for him to continue his threats or his blows. He might shoot me if he chose. I was ready and would not budge an inch, but requested him not to bruse and batter an unarmed, defenseless old man. ‘Now,’ said he, ‘I'll try a new plan. How would you like to have both your arms cut off,’ He did not wait for an answer, but with his heavy sheathed sword, struck me on my left arm, near the shoulder. I heard it crack; it hung powerless by my side, and I supposed it was broken. He then repeated the blow on the other arm. The pain was most excruciating, and it was several days before I could carve my food or take my arm out of a sling, and it was black and blue for weeks. (I refer to Dr. Kollock of Cheraw.) At that moment the ladies, headed by my daughter, who had only then been made aware of the brutality practiced upon me, rushed from the house, and came flying to my rescue. ‘You dare not murder my father,’ said my child; ‘he has been a minister in the same church for fifty years, and God has always protected, and will protect him.’ ‘Do you believe in a God, miss?’ said one of the brutal wretches; ‘I don't believe in a God, a heaven, nor a hell.’ ‘Carry me,’ said I, ‘to your General.’ I did not intend to go to General Sherman, who was at Cheraw, from whom, I was informed, no redress could be obtained, but to a general in the neighborhood, said to be a religious man. Our horses and carriages had all been taken away, and I was too much bruised to be able to walk. The other young officers came crowding around me very officiously, telling me that they would represent the case to the General,

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