Cherished Treasures from My Childhood: Laura Talbot Galt

(Preface: Only a day or two following the ushering in of the current year, I received a welcome phone call from our eldest son, who informed me right away that a main purpose behind his call was to run a new idea of his by me. As it happened, before he had finished with his “sales pitch,” I was already one-hundred percent onboard with the idea, and agreed to “give it a go.” His proposition was simply this: that I write a series of short children’s stories dedicated to imparting knowledge of their ancestors to his children and their cousins (my grandchildren) in particular, but which stories, we both agreed, might also serve the educational needs of Southern children and their families more generally over time.

A few days afterward, I began work on the project, quickly turning out a tentative list of twenty-five (25) stories to write about, and of completing three (3) of the stories on the list. Below the fold is one of those three, written in the style of first-hand stream of consciousness. With the gracious cooperation of our editor, I will be sharing more of these stories at this site in the weeks and months to come, God also willing and all that. And my hope is that y’all will respond in one of two ways or both: (1) that you will offer honest and thoughtful feedback, positive or negative; and/or that (2) you will offer ideas for stories you might like to see added to the list. Which suggestions I hereby promise to take into serious consideration, should or when they come. -TM)

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My name is Laura Talbot Galt. I was born September 16, 1888, in Louisville, Kentucky. My mother named me after my grandmother, Mrs. Laura Talbot Ross. My middle name is my grandmother Ross’ maiden name. My grandfather Ross died eleven years before I was born. He was a doctor who treated sick and wounded soldiers in Confederate hospitals during the War Between the States (WBTS).

I grew up on the old family homestead near Louisville that has been in the Ross family since the 1780s. My father died when I was only five years-old, so my memory of father is very limited. His name was John Galt. He was a doctor like both of my grandfathers.

My only playmates when I was a girl were the animals on our farm. My pony, Sadie, was the best playmate I had as a girl; she let me saddle her and ride her anytime I wanted with no trouble at all. I was allowed to read any books in my grandmother’s library I wanted to. I read them all except the medical books that belonged to grandfather.

Among the most prized of all my worldly possessions are the many letters and lots of awards I received from ex-Confederates from almost every state in 1902, when I was only 13 years-old. I shall cherish them as my peculiar treasures always! You might like to know how these treasures came to me. I will tell you the story.

When I was only ten years-old, I began to beg my mother and grandmother to enroll me in the common school in Louisville. I wanted to go to normal school like all of the other children my age. They said no at first, but about the time I turned twelve they changed their minds and enrolled me in the school. My teacher was Miss Allen. She was a plain looking young Boston woman with a strong Yankee accent who was not yet married. She graduated from teacher college in the year 1899.

I was enrolled in school in 1901. Miss Allen gave a history lesson that fall about a subject I had already learned much about from my studies at home. This was the now famous story of when Admiral Semmes did not surrender his sword in defeat to Captain Winslow and escaped capture on the Deer Hound. We were told by Miss Allen that this was a breach of honor on the part of Admiral Semmes, but I denied it because I knew the facts of the case that Miss Allen did not tell in her lesson.

Strange to say, but the story told in our history book did not tell about Captain Winslow firing broadside after broadside into the Kearsarge after the white flag of surrender had been raised by Admiral Semmes. This meant that the breach of honor really belonged to Captain Winslow, and that Admiral Semmes was both justified and right in keeping his sword and escaping capture. These are the reasons I gave to Miss Allen for refusing to say that Admiral Semmes was guilty of a breach of honor in that battle.

When that happened I began to see why mother and grandmother did not want me to go to normal school at first. They were wiser about such things than I was. I was so young and naive that I would never have thought this possible, but they knew that the people who write textbooks and train teachers for normal schools sometimes tell stories that are only partly true, and they leave out facts they don’t want pupils to know about.

In my second year at school, Miss Allen made us memorize the words to Marching Through Georgia, a song that glorifies the cowardly acts of General Sherman and his army in making war on helpless women and children. Reading the words of that song made my blood boil then, and I think that is the reason I had no trouble memorizing it. But when Miss Allen later made us sing the song as a class, I told her I would not do it. She said I had to, or I would be punished. I told her I would rather be punished with a whipping than to sing that awful song. Nor could I stand to listen as my classmates sang it, so I stopped my ears with my fingers and hummed a different song while they sang. I thought it was my duty to disobey my teacher in that case, and to take my punishment instead. I did not get a whipping, but a reprimand instead, which was a serious thing in those days.

To this day I don’t know how, but some newspaper man from Georgia found out about the trouble my little act of duty got me into at school, and before I knew what was happening newspaper readers in every state and territory were learning the facts of the case. A short time later, my name and my little act of duty in school became the gossip of many and “household words” wherever there were newspapers and printing presses to be found ‘from Dan to Beersheba.’

Then letters from old Confederates and Confederate organizations suddenly started coming to me, post stamped from almost every state and territory. I even got a letter postmarked Cornish, Pickens County, I.T. One letter that caused me to shout for joy when I read the return address, came from the John Pelham Camp of the UCV (United Confederate Veterans) in Texas. I even read that one to Sadie because so many times she and I had dashed around the farm, pretending we were in Pelham’s artillery fighting back Yankee invaders of our country.

Besides personal letters, I also got official ones on pretty letterhead telling me I was elected “honorary member for life” by more than a few chapters of United Daughters of the Confederacy. I still have the letters from each chapter that brought me that exciting news that I keep together all in one box. One Georgia chapter of The Daughters even had two special brass medals struck in my honor. They sent two delegates to the 1903 State Reunion in Louisville, who gave me those medals as an honored guest at that reunion.

That is my story of how I came to be so richly rewarded with the best treasures a Southern girl proud of her heritage could ever ask for. Even so many years later, I can hardly find words to express how extremely honored I feel when I look at my letters for the thousandth time. And I think of what those dear old Confederates suffered for the cause they loved so dearly, and yet they praised me so highly for such a little act of duty. They did not know how much pleasure they gave me, for I have always thought of their letters as my most cherished worldly possessions and treasures.

-Laura Talbot Galt