Democratic Sentinel, Volume 10, Number 32, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 September 1886 — THE THREE LOVERS. [ARTICLE]

THE THREE LOVERS.

We had camped for the night by a clear stream. Our “flies” were stretched and we hurried to the water to bathe our tired limbs and swollen feet. Now we lounged around the camp-fire, wondering how long it would be before we could refresh and fortify our empty stomachs and appease the hunger that had deadened our strength and killed the enthusiasm of past days. We had done battle at Gettysburg, every man had been a hero. We had whipped Lee, and knew he was badly crippled and without abundant ammunition. We had among ourselves argued and wondered why Meade did not follow up the advantage he had gained. We longed, prayed, hoped in vain for Hancock, Sickles, or Doubleday, or cool yet impetuous Stannard, to lead us on and then and there crush out the fearful strife; but it was not to be; the timid Meade, ever cautious, was doubly so now. He knew Lee was all “broke up,” his ammunition gone, his army huddled together, demoralized in that little horseshoe bend of the Potomac; the swollen nver on one side, hills on the other, he would have been easy game to bag; all Along the roadside of his retreat we had found it strewn with sick and wounded, dead horses, and abundant arms. Their flight was rapid, but fatally interrupted. As Byington said: “Lee had exhausted nearly all his ammunition in three days’ battle and could not replenish,” Scores of his regiments had not a dozen rounds, and could get no more. Nearly all his artillery was without ammunition. These facts were known to Meade and his men, and were discussed by the soldiers every day that Lee lay cooped up at Meade’s Jnercy, his retreat cut off by the Potomac, which was running banks Yuli at the time, and pontoons swept away. The timid Meade refused to attack Lee; •staid right there four days. Then his boys stole a lumber yard, made rafts and floated over the river at their leisure. Good Uncle Abe said “Meade reminded him of an old woman trying to shoo her geese across the creelc” As soon as Lee was across, then camirthe hot pursuit by Meade. We had had several engagements, and now, after a fierce battle and a forced march to this place, we bivouacked weary and hungry, awaiting “salt horse and hard tack, ” and the repetition of tramping and foolish, vain sacrifice of life. “Well, boys,” said Sergeant Dick, “if we can’t eat, let us feed the ear with stories. I’ll tell one. After I, you ’uns.” Many laughable stories followed. We filled our pipes and lounged around the bivouac fire, enjoying ourselves. “Come, Charley, spin us a yarn,” said Robinson to our sergeant. “Yes, let us have one,” chorused the pipe-filled mouths“I know of none,” said the sober Charley, in his low tone. “Give us something ex tempore,” said Dick. “I suppose all are alike; nothing good; all fade; glory and fame are like dews; the rich oppress the poor, and—and, well, only conquest of lovely woman and stolen love is sweet, and glorious, and lasting, worthy the candle, all else, faugh!” “Except conquest and virtue of one’s self,” said the clear, low voice of Sergeant Charley. “Ha!” cried several pipe-filled mouths. “Two opinions.”

“Or one’s principles,” said Charley. “By Mars!” exclaimed Dick, “that was nobly said, and I believe it, but give us a story, Charley, me bye.” As Charley told it, I tell it to you. Today I retain the impression made, and will till I cease to be. “Well, boys, lam not much of a story teller. lam not one of the windy, talking kind. You know I won my ‘diamond and chevrons’ by acts, not words. To-night I am filled with an evil presentiment”—and he cast his eyes heavenward. We did the same, and noticed that it was black as erebus; low mutterings of thunder, borne on a light breeze, came to our ears. “The influence,” he continued, “is strong, and I will speak about myself. I feel that there are but a few rounds of breath in my cartridgebox of life. Why I have been so distant, reserved, and reticent toward you all, is not from pride or thought that I was ‘too good for earth;’ the cause and wherefore you will know when I have finished my story. Back in Vermont among the mountains green, near the town of Montpelier, 1 often visited a friend of my father’s. He had two sons about my age. I think they were the best and truest hearts I ever met; I loved them both. I was the son of a hardy, honest lumberman in Maine. They were of a wealthy aristocratic family, and they were imbued with the same views and ‘principles or opinions’ as their parents. They loved me because I was a model type of health, and versed in the arts of fishing, hunting and woodcraft. We spent our time away from home, seeking new fields and streams. What glorious times. What happy days among the mountains, on the lakes, in that gem State of Vermont. After all, boys, happy times and days bring clouds of trouble and sor-

row. Man’s life is like the glow of sunset, clouds all seem serene and beautifpl, yet back down below the horizon, there waiting, are dark clouds, with wild winds ready to hurl themselves into the sunset gloaming and destroy all its beauty and serenity. So our fondest hopes, the proudest, brightest, dearest wishes are crushed beneath the cruel iron heel of fate, and wrong may reign triumphant, and innocence stagger blinded and bruised through a wilderness of despair. Through the tangled labyrinth, bristling with sharp thorns of poverty, of kindness, and full of agony, the world goes on just the same, and we live to fight and suffer to-morrow. Yes, there is a woman in the story, boys, and such a woman.” He paused a moment in deen thought, then shook himself together and continued: “I cannot describe her to you. I can only say Mary of Scots always came to my thoughts as I gazed into her beautiful eyes and face; her features were finely cut, her eye roguishly, laughingly beautiful. Her hair of a golden brown, worn long, tied with blue ribbon, her form fully developed, willowy, and graceful, Edith Warren was as beautiful as woman could be. She was, I believed, frank, truthful, and unaffected. You know, boys, when love first sets in we see as through a glass, darkly. The tide is strong, it is a passion that rules supreme, and demands sacrifices complete, and they are given. Tom and Frank and I loved her. We became jealous, cold toward each other. Frank, poor boy, fell first and fled homeward. Tom and 1 talked the matter over together, confessed our love for Edith, shook hands, swearing friendship, and to use all honorable means and endeavors to win her. As Edith’s father lyas a lumberman, like my own, I thought iny chances were better, as I was her equal in all except education. Tom bad the advantage of me in that; he could recite Moore, Burns, and Meredith; besides he had wealth. Edith’s time did not hang heavy for lack of sweethearts. We filled her pink ears full of sweet words. She grew rosy, and her eyes danced like the stars; she was full of life and fun, surely tantalizing with her bewitching laugh and ambiguous replies and saucy looks from her sparkling eyes. I can see her plainly now just as she stood at the little ashwood gate. With sad, mournful look and voice she bade me good-night and good-by. Well, boys, Tom, poor Tom; be staked all on his good looks and money; on a word; he never told me anything, but I guessed it by his looks and silence. His eyes, great heaven! What a despairing look 1 beheld in them! as for me, well, as she bade me good-by at the gate she said she would write me, and I might guess her meaning. As the stage started I cast one backward look. My heart seemed to die within me. A groan came to my ear. I looked around and saw Tom’s white face and glaring eyes; he saw and heard wbat I did—a loud call of ‘Edith, darling!’ Over the low, ‘smallwood’ hedge sprang a tall form, clothed in blue and brass. With one glad, happy cry of ‘Robert!’ Edith flew to him, was clasped in his arms, her golden head pillowed upon his breast.

“Arriving at Montpelier, we found a furor of excitement. War, war was heard on every hand. We found the old laughing Frank with soldiers’ clothes on, and sergeant’s chevrons upon his arms. He was pale and haughty, not like the dear, oldtime Frank. “Well, boys, Tom and I received a letter the same day. Both were from Edith. The next day Tom enlisted. I started for home. Boys, you know the rest. For two years we have stood elbow to elbow. Tom, he is just across the road there, in that Vermont regiment. His Captain—Robert, Edith’s soldier-brother—is buried at bloody Antietam’s field. Frank, poor, misguided boy, sleeps at Maryland Heights. “Ah! here comes the ‘salt horse’—last night’s supper, to-day’s breakfast, dinner, and supper; four in one, at the same price as one. Charge, boys, charge!” “Hold on, Charley,” exclaimed Dick, hurt at this extraordinarily abrupt levity breaking in on a story which had, for some cause, thrown a spell on us; “finish your story. You said we should know all. Edith ” “Fall in! fall in, boys! Lively, now! Trouble on the left!” came the stern command from our Captain. We grabbed handfuls of “hard tack,” and fell into line, and in five minutes were rapidly on the march. All night we tramped, tramped through mud and rain, hungry and silent. At daybreak we formed ourselves in line of battle, facing a desperate foe. I glanced at Sergeant Charley. His face was set and determined. I wondered how the story was to end; but stories and hunger were forgotten in the terribX* struggle that followed; for four long hours we battled against odds; the cannonading was fierce and awful. Hand-to-hand encounters were desperate, cannoneers were clubbed and bayoneted at their guns, which they obstinately defended, and would rather die than surrender. We longed for reenforcpments, which came at last. Death indeed was triumphant and reaped a rich harvest. A few of the many stood there to answer “Here!”

We stood among the dismounted guns where dead men were four and five deep. Tears cam’e to our eyes as we looked upon the awful scene. A groan came from a heap of men at the left. We hastened to give aid to the sufferer. We came to the broken cannons; we started back with a cry of horror, for on top of the heap of dead by the gun lay Charley’s friend Tom; his blouse showed many bayonet thrusts, one completely through his neck. He had partly drawn from his bosom a fine white handkerchief bloody and full of holes; in the comer worked in silk was a letter “E.” Fallen upon the trunnions of the cannon as if in the act of embracing its still warm body lay Charley dead, a crooked saber bayonet stuck into his body just above the belt; an ugly wound on the side of his head from which the blood still trickled and mingled with the golden hair of a ringlet pressed to his lips. The golden curl was tied with a blue ribbon; the long end had rested upon his breast, but now was driven into his heart by the leaden messenger of death. The short end fluttered in the light breeze. Upon it in neat, round letters was written “Edith.” Esthetic Young Lady— Can you conceive of anything more somberly and poetically solemn than the denouement of “Romeo and Juliet?” Could ; the poet have made their fate more weirdly tragic? Cynical Bachelor—Oh, yes; he might have married them. The Russian Empire contains 884 penitentiary establishments.