Uncle Abe - must have been about 54 years old when I first recall him. That would make me about 6 years old, as I was born in 1894.
Uncle Abe, as I remember, put me on "Old Top" a very nice and gentle farm horse and let me ride her down to the "fore bay" for water. This was in the late afternoon about feeding time. I can still remember the feel of the reins and how small I felt in the big saddle. I was "bare footed", and when I "dismounted" (lifted off) near the barn gate, I can still feel the "feel" of the sand near the gate as it squeezed up between my toes - nice, dry, white sand. Then Uncle Abe and I would lead "Old Top" into the barn and I would watch while he chopped up the hay in the chopper and then sprinkled some "Daisy Middlens" over the hay and -put all this in the feed box :for "Old Top" to eat - along with 3 ears of hard corn.
Uncle Abe kept "Old Top" for years largely because all of us learned to ride on her - John, Seymour, Charlie and I. But "Old Top" met an untimely end - another horse kicked her to death in the barn.
Uncle Abe was awfully upset about this and when I next saw him, he said-."Johnnie, I came mighty near killing that other horse but I -Just couldn't afford to.” I think he beat him with everything he could lay his hands on.
Uncle Abe and I used to walk over the “place” a lot and I used to go thru the house - up in the attic and down in the cellar where Aunt Fannie kept the cream in earthen crocks. In the front hall was a hat rack that stood near the grandfather's clock. When the "boys", John and Pete - and Abe, came home from the war, they hung their caps on this hat rack and when I grew older, I can remember the Confederate caps still hanging there. And, in the attic were their rifles, cartridge boxes and canteens. In those quiet peaceful days of the early 20th Century, things changed very little. You could go back to Ottobine year after year - and there it was - a sort of refuge.
Uncle Abe never talked very much. Like most old veterans who had really had it, he didn't have much to say. And like most Pauls, he said very little. But I was one member of the family that tried to draw him out and once in awhile he would say something that was really worth recording. I only regret that I didn't talk to him much more.
Uncle Abe and I were sitting on the front porch at Ottobine one evening about sun down. (This must have been shortly after World War I.) I has sitting on the top step leaning against a column and he was sitting on the top step leaning against a column on the farm side of the steps. "Uncle Abe", I said, "How did you go about joining the Army when the Civil War came along? There wasn't any draft. How did you get in - and how old were you?"
He said, “Well, Johnnie, it was like this. I was 17 years old on May 17, 1863, and this was along about the last of June. I was sitting right where I am now and my father was sitting right there where you are. (He paused a while to reflect.) And I said to my father - "Pa, I guess it's about time I joined the Army."' And I said, "What did your father say?" And the thought went through my mind - there was his father sitting there thinking that he already had given two sons to the Army - John and Pete - and here was his next boy - seventeen - saying that it was about time he "joined the army". And I think what our grandfather, Peter Paul, said is worth every Paul to remember for all time to come. "Well", Uncle Abe said, "He didn't say anything for a few minutes and then he said, "Well, Abe when do you plan on leaving?" and Uncle Abe said, "About sun up."
"Well Abe", his father said, "Take that bay horse in the barn don't take the white one - the Yankees can see that one too easy - and take the back road to Winchester - don't go along the Valley Pike, there may be some stray Yankees over there. I understand the Army is somewhere up near Pennsylvania."
No argument - no backing and filling - no trying to get out of something - just take the bay horse - don't take the white one.
Uncle Abe and I sat there a little while and I didn't say anything. Finally, I said, "Well, Uncle Abe, how did you find your way to the Army, and isn't it a fact that they were up near Gettysburg?
Uncle Abe said, "Yes, Johnnie, they were at Gettysburg - all I did was
to keep on riding - up through Winchester - Martinsburg -
and crossed the Potomac near Williamsport. I just kept asking
people along the way and finally got there.”
"Uncle Abe", I said, "You get where?" "Why, Johnnie, I joined the Army - I just kept asking until I found Company I (Eye) of the First Virginia Calvary - that's what. John and Pete were in and that's what I was looking for.
"Uncle Abe", I said, "What day was that?"
"Why Johnnie, that was the 2nd day's fight at Gettysburg, I believe it was July 2nd.”
Uncle Abe, so the story goes, found John and Pete during the second day's fight at Gettysburg. They were fighting dismounted so he just slid in between them. And Pete said, "What the hell are you doing here"? And Uncle Abe said, "Nothing - I just joined the Army." And there he stayed in Company I for the rest of the War.
Uncle Abe and I were talking some time later and I asked him "When you joined the Army, didn't Pete say to you, 'Why Abe, you don't know anything about soldiering. You are liable to get shot in the back.' Uncle Abe said, "Yes, he did say that." And I added, "Because of what Pete said, didn't you turn in your saddle and ride backward during the retreat from Gettysburg?" Uncle Abe said, "No! Johnnie, No! I didn't ride backwards - I just turned ground a little like this," he said. And then Uncle Abe gave a demonstration by turning about half way around in his chair to show how he turned in his saddle. At any rate, I believe Pete's remark made an impression on Uncle Abe - and he seventeen!
"Uncle Abe", I said, on another occasion, "What was the closest shave you had during the War?" "Why, Johnnie, I guess it was the time I was on picket duty over here near Dayton. A Yankee sentry shot my horse out from under me - and he was a mighty fine little sorrel, mighty fine."
"Uncle Abe", I said, "Tell me what was the hottest spot you were ever in during the way?" Uncle Abe thought awhile, then he said, "Well, I guess it was down in the White Oak Swamp, below Richmond. "The First Virginia Calvary was under Fitz Lee and Ole Fitz sent us into this swamp - dismounted - to dislodge some colored troops holed up in a fort they had built - well back in the swamp. We went in and they cut loose on us. I was standing behind a small white oak tree - about 10 inches thick and I'll bet that white oak got hit by a dozen minny balls. I began to think it was the smallest tree in the world.”
Jim Simmons was standing near me behind another tree about ten feet away. And Jim calls to me - "Abe, don't you think we ought to get out of here", and I said to Jim - "Jim, I just been awaiten for you to say that - let's get out of here.” And Jim and Abe got out of the swamp and let the darkies keep the fort. Uncle Abe once said, “If you are going to get killed in a way, you should get killed in the first battle - then you don't have to put up with all the unpleasantness of way.” Maybe he had something there - but he came thru.
"Uncle Abe”, I said one day - "Tell me about the surrender where were you then'?"
"Uncle Abe said, "I wasn't at the surrender was on my way home on a ‘horse detail' - I had a broken down horse and I was bringing him home to get a fresh one. But before I got home, I learned about the surrender."
"Then, what did you do?", I said - "After you learned about the surrender?" "Well", said Uncle Abe, "I just kept on toward Ottobine and I got there about 2:00 o'clock in the morning.”
"What did the family say when you woke them up and told them about the surrender?", I said.
"Uncle Abe said - "I didn't wake them up - I just unsaddled my horse and bedded myself down in the fence corner over there (it was right there in the low meadow near the mill) and slept until morning. Then in the morning, I led my horse on up to the house and around to the back door. Sister Fanny was in the kitchen beginning to get breakfast. I walked in and I remember what she said - 'well Abe, what you doing here', and I said, 'Fanny, the war's over.' And that's about all there was to it."
But Uncle Abe didn't wake everybody up when he came home - he just took it easy and when he broke the news to Aunt Fanny and the rest of the family, they took it in their stride, and life at Ottobine moved on about as usual - about the same as John, Seymour and Charlie and I found it about 1900. The Confederate caps were still hanging on the hat racks in the hall and the rifles and canteens in the attic.
"Uncle Abe”, I said, "After you came back from the surrender what
did you do then?" ?'Oh, Johnny", he said, "I sat around for about a week
- and went down to the mill - and talked to some of the
boys who were coming back and then I started plowing in the upper field
- and I've been here ever since.
I think that was the perfect answer to the problem of reconstruction - if it could have only been carried out everywhere else. Just "start plowing in the upper field".
Uncle Abe’s mother, Maria Whitmer Paul, was once asked which of all of her children she liked the most (which, of course, is not a very nice question) but our grandmothers seemed to have the answer. She said, "I love all of my children - but I just don't believe I could get along without Abe."
Uncle Abe and I went to Harrisonburg one court day. Uncle Abe had some business to transact with the bank. Uncle Abe was constantly endorsing someone's note so he was frequently called to the bank. While he was in the bank, I started a conversation with an "old vet" who was standing on the corner, and he, by the way, was named Simmons, but not the same Simmons of the White Oak Swamp action.
This Simmons said, "So Abe’s your uncle". I said, "Yes - where did you know him? “Know him!”, said Vet Simmons. “We were in Co. I together - and let me tell you something about Abe. Abe was what we called an "all day fighter". “What's that", I said, "An all day fighter", said Simmons "is a soldier that gets on the firing line at breakfast time and at sundown he's still there. That's an all day fighter and that's what Abe was.
I felt a little bit proud after talking to Buck Private Simmons of Co. I lst Va. Calvary. And when Uncle Abe came out of the bank, after renewing his note, and we walked back to our buggy, I felt even a little bit more proud, just to be with him, an all day fighter.
Uncle Abe was seventy-five when he said to me one day, "Johnny, I may have my faults. I drink a little but I don't gamble and I don't run around with women". I never cracked a smile.
Uncle Abe and I and several others went over to Charlottesville to the unveiling of the statute of General Lee on the 60th anniversary of the War - 1925. I was driving a blue Chandler car with the top down. This, of course, was the Roaring Twenties. When we got to Charlottesville, the parade had already started but Jack Gibb was with us, so he stood up and yelled - "Make way for an old Vet!" And we went tearing down the side of the parade and right up to the head of the column and all set for the unveiling.
Aunt Fanny told Uncle Abe just before he left, "Now Abe, when you get over to that reunion, don't you drink anything and don't you swear.” And Uncle Abe said, “Why Fanny, what do you think we go to a reunion for?"
On the way over to Charlottesville, Uncle Abe said,, "Now Johnny, take it slow - drive slowly." On the way back, Uncle Abe said - "All right, Johnny, hit a good clip!" Nobody felt any pain.
Uncle Abe, I believe was rather proud that all of his nephews took part in World War 1. John, and Charlie and Seymour, and I all went to the officers training camp and all gained commissions partially because we had all been to V.M.I. But the one who got special attention was John. John had been in training at Fort Sill and he wired Uncle Abe that his troop train would be passing thru Staunton on such and such a date on its way to the port of embarkation, So Uncle Abe made his way to Staunton and met the train and located John. They talked awhile about this and that, and then Uncle Abe slipped John a small package.
John said, What's this, Uncle Abe".?
Uncle Abe said, "Just a little bottle of whiskey, John."
John said,, "Why Uncle Abe, what made you think I could use this?"
Uncle Abe said, "John! All the Pauls have been drinking men!" And
the train began to pull away, and John was on his way to France and Uncle
Abe was on his way back to Ottobine.