Cpt William Randall. Birmingham. 29 Nov 1917

RANDALL, ROBERTSON, MORSE, CREAMER, MILLER, PARKER

Posted By: Fred Rucker (email)
Date: 5/10/2006 at 08:10:23

An Reminiscent Letter From Mrs. W.R. Parker.

The following is a reminiscent letter from Mrs. Mame. Parker of Fruitvale, Cal., she being the daughter of Capt. Randall, who was killed during the Civil War, and is buried in the Methodist cemetery of this place, whose grave we decorate each year.

I remember when my father drilled his company by the Presbyterian Church on the common, and when my mother and sister Lillie, (the baby) went to Keokuk, Iowa where they remained until they left for the front. I remember the loneliness of the days after he went away and when his letters came how people came in for miles to our home, and Dr. Norris, that great man, would read aloud my father's letters, people were so interested in them. Then when the Gate City and Hawk-Eye came the readings again was begun. I ran home always at recess to see what the news was.

My father came on furlough once when the College was being built, and they put a temporary floor in to give a welcome to "our boys" at home.

I remember the tables loaded with all the good things, and Old Glory and Lincoln's picture, the speech-making, and how proud I was to sit and be near my father.

A big picnic was given in Randall's grove, now the Camp Meeting ground. People came from every place, such crowds they seemed to me. My father was very sick that day, and in the afternoon a committee came in to insist that he would go for a little while. He co'd not sit with us, so they insisted that my mother and the children go. I refused to go and stayed at home. I can see yet the glint of sunshine that came in through the western window, and I climbed on a chair to reach the shade and shut out the light. As I put the cool cloths on his aching brow, he said, "it is worth being sick to have a good little nurse like you."

That one afternoon stands out on memory's tablet as the one memory of a father's love and tenderness. My mother returned soon, and that one evening is the only memory I have of an unbroken family circle.

When the boys on furlough returned they were given so much attention. When the news of victory came Birmingham illuminated always. We got scraps of tin at the tinsmiths, bent them into shape and put candles in them and put one in every window pane along the line of march. The march always ended at the College.

At my Grandfather Randall's home gallons of blackberry cordial was made and peach brandy to send to our boys south. I sat on a little chair and scraped lint out of old table linen. Those lint balls were used for dressing rolled bandages. When picking over berries Grandma wo'd often say, "remember, Dearie, the berries you don't eat will make a spoonful of cordial for some sick soldier." I remember it was there I learned self denial.

When word came that my cousin William Robertson had been wounded at Vicksberg, my aunt Elizabeth Morse went to him and took a quantity things south with her. I well remember when word came that she had got through the lines all right. She brought that brave lad of 16 home, who had gone with my father, and in all the years that I put flowers on his grave I remember him as my bright, boyish cousin, who would go to war. He was shot to pieces at Vicksburg.

My father and Col. Torrence were both killed at the same time at Tuscombia, Alabama. The bodies ere started north together, but at St. Louis my father's body was sent in the wrong direction and there was three weeks of weary waiting. The funeral was held at the old U.P church, with military honors, and to this day brings back that scene vividly to me. Old Glory, which he loved so well, was his winding sheet. Mr. Harrison Oglibee told me when my father fell that the color-bearer spread the flag over him.

I have always been glad that Grandfather Randall, who was in the War of 1812, and my father sleep side by side. I am glad that my nephew, Roy Creamer, who enlisted and is now in France, was born in dear old Birmingham. Birmingham may well feel proud of the noble boys who have gone to war from there at the present time.

On Memorial Day as I scatter flowers on the grave of that old vet-Will Cass Miller, who lies here in G.A.R. plat in God's acre in Oakland, memory flies back to old Birmingham and I think it fitting that one who knew Will Miller when he went forth from Birmingham, just as our young men are doing now, should have a flower from one who knew and loved him in Civil War times. When Doc Newman visited us a few years ago he talked so much about Civil war days, of Dr. Samuel Norris and many others.

We may wander far, in many places, but one place we turn to often in thought, and that is dear old Birmingham. From her population has sent more young men to the front than the other cities, and are loyal young men. I have a good war map on which we will trace our American boys over every line of march. We hope that the dove of peace will soon bring us news that war is ended.

Newspaper clipping. Dated 29 Nov 1917. Handwritten note: Birmingham.