Mrs. Sophy Kanady was born in Fort Gibson, Indian Territory, in 1826. She was the daughter of Aaron and Rebecca Barling, who came to Fort Smith when this post was established by Col. Long in 1817, but who removed to Fort Gibson when that post was established by the government several years afterward. When she was two years old her parents returned to Arkansas, and her father purchased a farm about eight miles east of Fort Smith. This farm is still in possession of the Barling family. Not far from the home and upon the road leading to Little Rock was, and is yet, a spring of strong sulphur water. The Barling home was a favorite stopping place for travelers in the ante-bellum days and in summer time it was often a resort of people who wished to spend a few weeks in the invigorating air of the country. Young beaux and their sweethearts would often ride from the town to Barling's Spring on Sunday afternoons or at such times as might suit their convenience and pleasure. The doors of the old fashioned country home were always open, and visitors were always sure of a hearty welcome from its inmates.

It may not be uninteresting to note an incident that occurred in the early life of Miss Barling, while she was acquiring an education. There were no public schools in Arkansas in those days. The private schools were few and far between, and in them were taught only the elementary branches of instruction. Miss Barling's parents were determined on giving her more of an education that the limited facilities of the country afforded, and after she had acquired about all there was to be obtained in Fort Smith, determined upon sending her to a school taught by Professor Maro for young ladies, in St. Louis. On her trip to what is now the great metropolis of the Southwest, but which was then comparatively small town, she rode from Fort Smith to Neosho, Mo., on horseback. From there she rode the remainder of the way in a buggy, and upon arriving in St. Louis entered the school and remained there 18 months. This was in 1839.

Returning home after the finishing touches had been placed upon her scholastic life, she remained under the parental roof until 1847 when she was married to Jerre R. Kannady, the marriage ceremony being conducted by Rev. C.C. Townsend, the first clergyman of the Episcopal church that ever officiated in Fort Smith. Mr. Kannady was a native of Pennsylvania and came to this country in 1835.

From the date of their marriage until the blighting hand of Northern aggression fell upon the Southern states, Mr. and Mrs. Kanady lived a life of contentment and happiness. Mr. Kannady opened a blacksmith and wagon shop, to which was afterwards added a grist mill and a sawmill. Business prospered and money came rapidly, but it never remained long in the hands of this worthy and lovable couple-it went really faster than it came for their doors were ever open and their table ever free to all who called. They kept "Open house" to all from the time they moved into their one-story long house with its big chimney at one end and its wide hallway from front to rear until after the close of the war. They had no children of their own, but they cared for the children of others, for relatives less fortunate than themselves in the accumulation of this world's goods, and for others who were not relatives hundreds of whom were the recipients of their benevolence and charity. Mr. Kannady passed away April 25, 1882, mourned by everybody who knew him, and since that time his widow has lived a quiet life, surrounded by relatives and friends, her declining years sweetened by the kind attentions of those who knew her in the olden times--the times upon which her tenderest memories dwell.

The most strenuous (to us a popular nowaday's phrase) period of Mrs. Kannady's life was doubtless embraced in the four years of the war for Southern independence. She was busy every moment of that time, discharging not only the duties of her home life but working night and day for the comfort of the Confederate soldier. Perhaps a few of the most stirring scenes through which she passed can best be given in her own words, as related to the writer.

"The war was a trying time for all, women as well as men. Of course while the men had hardships and dangers of the battlefield and camp-life to confront, the women had no less laborious and trying tasks to perform. They had to care for the sick and aged, the destitute women and children whose husbands and fathers were in the field, and had to do much in taking care of the sick and wounded soldiers, and O, how much suffering they witnessed.

"The first sign we had of real war" says Mrs. Kannady, was when the State troops came up from Little Rock to capture Fort Smith, then under command of Capt. Sturgis. They came on boats. At Van Buren they divided, some of them proceeding upon the boats and the others marching into town over the road leading from Van Buren to Fort Smith. The regular troops were in the garrison. Capt. Sturgis was notified by the telegraph operator at Van Buren of the approach of the State forces, and caused the "long roll" to be sounded. That was the first time I had ever heard it. We had working for us a couple of men who had formerly been in the regular army, and they became very much excited. One of them rushed out of the house and looked up and down Garrison Avenue to see what was coming. "Ah, Mrs. Kannady," said he, "that means danger." But these men were not the only people in the town who were excited. We were all excited, for we did not know but that a battle would take place right at our own doors. But no danger resulted from the approach of the State troops, for Sturgis left the town that nght, going out the Texas road and on to Fort Washita.

"Another time we had a bad scare, or a stampede, as we called it, was one night when a number of "Pin" or Federal Indians crossed the river. We were greatly alarmed, for there were but few Confederate troops here at the time. Officers gallopped about the streets shouting that the "Pins" were ravaging the country around the town and calling upon the men to arm themselves and turn out. The women and children were frantically urged to go into the garrison. All the buildings in the garrison were at that time filled with sick and wounded soldiers, which added to the distress and confusion as we did not know but what they would all be murdered. The "Pins" however, did no further harm than to burn George Minmire's house about three miles north of town.

"As soon as the war began the ladies of the town organized sewing societies to make clothing for the soldiers. We met at first in the Methodist Church. We would work all day long, making coats, jackets, pants, tents, wagon sheets, haversacks and such things, and at night we would knit socks. I was a cutter and cut hundreds and hundreds of suits for soldiers and officers. We would also scrape lint and make bandages for the wounded. Later on we had to give up the church for use as a hospital, and then we met in different houses, or did the sewing in our own homes. Many of the women worked in their homes at making cartridges. Later in the war the work became more trying and the scenes were awful. Sick men from the surrounding armies and wounded men from the battlefields were brought in. The old red mill near the head of Garrison Avenue, later torn down, was used as a hospital, so was Bright's store, Sutton's store on the corner of Garrison Avenue and Second Street, the Methodist and Presbyterian Churches, and in fact all the vacant houses in the town were used to shelter the sick and wounded. All the quarters in the garrison also contained sick and wounded soldiers. Besides this, many families in town took sick and wounded men into their homes and cared for them until they either got well or died. The Episcopal and Catholic Churches were not used as hospitals. Much of our time then was taken up in preparing food for the hospitals and in taking care of the sick and wounded. We would go to the hospitals and sometimes wash and dress the patients and care for their wounds. This was awful work, and sometimes it would keep us in the hospital all day. Every empty house in the town was filled with the wounded after the battle of Oak Hill. Jerre and I kept open house all this time, treating officers, privates and refugees all alike. One day shortly after the battle of Oak Hill we fed forty people. I remember that four Texas soldiers came one day and told me they wanted something to eat. Dinner was over and I told them I did not believe I had anything for them, but I got them up a dinner and they ate heartily. When they got ready to leave they laid five dollars in gold upon the table. I refused to take it. They insisted, and told me that had they known I would take no pay for the meal they would not have come. I did not take it, however, and told them that I never charged anybody for a meal.

Those were awful times too, after the battle of Elk Horn and Prairie Grove. Generals McCulloch and McIntosh were killed at Elk Horn, and General Steen was killed at Prairie Grove. General McCulloch's body was brought to Fort Smith and then sent to Texas. Generals McIntosh and Steen were buried here in what is now the National Cemetary.

"I believe the greatest danger I was in during the war, was when Mr. Kannady and I were captured by Captain Hart and his gang of Federal bushwhackers as we were returning from Texas. This was in January, 1863. We had gone to Texas earlier in the year, and on our way home we were captured near Big Creek, about twenty miles from Fort Smith. On the day before, Hart and his gang killed Col. DeRosey Carrol and Mr. Sam Richardson. It was raining very hard at the time and was very cold. Hart lifted me off of my horse. He was a fine looking man, and while he robbed us of our team, provisions and everything else we had, he did not cause me to be searched, nor did he take my horse. There was a house near the place where we were captured, and as it was raining hard I wanted to go to it. Hart told me I might go, but when I requested that Jerre might go with me, he said no. After that I would not leave Jerre's side, for from the way they acted and from what they said I was satisfied they intended to kill him. Some of Hart's men said they were going to hang Jerre, and I am certain they would have done so, had it not been for a negro who interceded for his life. I believe he would have hung both of us but for this negro. This negro, by the way, had been at the battle of Oak Hill, where he was wounded. I had in my pocket a revolver in which there were two loads, and I intended, if Jerre had been hung, to kill Hart and then kill myself. Jerre recognised several of the men in Hart's gang. They lived in the Vache Gras country, and before he left for Texas Jerry had supplied their families with meal and bacon to keep them from starving while their husbands were bushwhacking. The man who boasted to the negro that "Jerre Kannady would never see Fort Smith again" was a man to whom Mr. Kannady had some time before, issued provisions. This shows what kind of people they were.

"After Hart had decided not to hang my husband he placed us in a house belonging to a man named Coffey, who lived about five miles from Big Creek, where we were kept from Tuesday until the following Friday. Several Confederate soldiers whom Hart had captured were there at the same time. Hart did not harm these men, but when he went away put them upon parole. Some time during the last night we stayed at Coffey's somebody came to the house and told Jerre that he had better get away from there as soon as he could, and the next morning we left. Jerre hired two ponies, and these, with my horse and the horse of the faithful negro, got us back to Fort Smith. There were ten inches of snow on the ground when we started. A few days after this, Hart was captured at Smedley's mill and brought to Fort Smith, where he was tried, convicted and hanged.

"Jerre was very busy with his mills and blacksmith shop for a long time after the war began. Among the things he made were one thousand knives for Standwatie's Cherokee Brigade. These knives were made of large files and had wooden handles. I have one of them now. He also made about two thousand powder horns, and I don't know how many drinking cups. The cups were made of horns sawed into proper size, with wooden bottoms. He also made a great many pipes, and there is no telling what he did make. There was a good supply of iron in the shop and the mills were stocked with looms, spinning wheels, and other articles which had been made there, when the Federals came in, all of which the Federals seized.

"When the Federals came, September 1, 1963, we went to Texas, leaving the night before Cloud's regiment arrived. We bought a home in Bonham. I went nearly all over Texas while we lived there. Mr. Kannady was appointed by the government to establish mills and blacksmith shops for the Confederate government, and whenever he went off on one of his trips I went with him. We came back to Fort Smith in 1865."

Southern women have cared little for public honors nor have they courted masculine titles. But a recent number of the Richomnd Times-Dispatch recalls the pleasant bit of history that in the case of Miss Sallie Tompkins a remarkable honor was deservedly conferred upon a worthy Virginia girl by the Confederate authorities.

While yet a very young woman Miss Tompkins used her ample means to establish in Richmond a private hospital for Confederate soldiers. She not only provided for its support at her own expense, but devoted her time to the work of nursing the patients.

The wounded were brought into the city by the hundreds and there was hardly a private house without its quota of sick and wounded. Quite a number of private hospitals were established but, unlike Miss Tompkins' splendid institution, charges were made by some of them for services rendered. In course of time abuses grew with the system, and General Lee ordered that they all be closed--all except the hospital of Miss Tompkins. This was recognized as too helpful to the Confederate cause to be abolished.

In order to preserve it, it had to be brought under government control, and to do this General Lee ordered a commission as captain in the Confederate army to be issued to Miss Sallie Tompkins. Though a government hospital from that time on, Captain Tompkins conducted it as before, paying its expenses out of her private purse.

The veterans are proud of her record, and a movement is now on foot among them to place Captain Tompkins in a position of independence as long as she lives.