Democratic Sentinel, Volume 12, Number 42, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 November 1888 — RED, WHITE, AND RED. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

RED, WHITE, AND RED.

BY ILKA.

MONG the various localities affected by the strife between the “North and the South. | perhaps none was more | fertile in romantic in- ’ cident than were the i western counties of Missouri. The dissensions which had given rise to bitter animosities between “bleeding Kansas," as it was derisively called on the

one hand, and the “border ruffians." as was the obnoxious epithet bestowed upon the other, had at the outbreak of the war reaehed sueh a degree that little security was felt on either side of the rushing river. On the Missouri shore •every Northern man was looked upon with suspicion, as was, in fact, every nonslaveholder, whether of Northern or of Southern origin. There was an outside appearance of civility and neighborliness, but it was the civility with which the lamb regards the fox. not knowing how soon open warfare may be declared. Nestled in among the bluffs was a little hamlet composed of settlers mainly from the older Southern States. Every shade of opinion was to be found among them; as a matter of course the pro-slavery sentiment predominated. It was expected at no distant day to see a large and thriving city occupying this bend of the river. My father, who w’as the leading physician in the hamlot, was among the first settlers. Born in ■Virginia, he had no anti-slavery prejudices; yet he felt the system to be detrimental to the white race. Before coming West he had emancipated himself by disposing of his negroes, reserving only a couple of house servants. Even this shade of disapproval in the then state of public feeling was construed into a hostile sentiment. On a certain spring morning this remote spot was astir with the reverberation of the guns of Fort Moultrie. Now there could no longer be any doubt where my father stood. He declared unconditionally for the Union. ■Our house had—what many of the ruder structures had not—a commodious cellar, and here at night knots of Union men held their secret meetings. When at last Governor Jackson disclosed his true attitude, and called upon the State militia to repel the invasion of Federal troops, the pent-up feeling found expression in wild speeches from the inconsiderate of l oth parties. Lyon was preparing to move against Jefferson City, and recruiting officers were busy mustering troops for both sides of the conflict. Lawlessness was already rampant, born of the free frontier spirit which is always ready for reckless, daring adventure. Our household consisted, besides the servants. ot only my father and inyselt. Among the suitors for my hand was Raymond Kenneth, a young, bold, daring Carolinian. In

physique, ho was the perfection of manly vigor, handsome and courteous in bearing, and a warm partisan in favor of secession. My father had deprecated the growing attachment, and I gave heed to his cooler judgment against Raymond’s hot-headed rashness and violent temper. When he besought me to put my faith in him into practice, by consenting to be his wife, my lather's warning withheld the wished-for answer. Our homes were adjoining. In the garden fence was a little wicket, through which we had always exchanged neighborly courtesies of the most friendly sort. since it was known that my father looked with disfavor upon an alliance, the feeling between the two families had become somewhat constrained; still we went in and out of the little wicket as before. One night as I was sitting alone, my father gone to visit a patient, old Maria, a house servant of the Kenneths’, came hurriedly in ■with her baby in her arms. “Mis’ Jessie, ;j is please write a letter for me, honey,” she said, “quick as you kin. I can't stav a minute. Jis write to my chillun back in ole Virginny. Mebbo I nebber git anodder chance. “You must ask your mistress to write.” I ■was fearful that my assistance, should it be .granted, might be misconstrued. "O, laws! Miss Jessie, ole missus can’t write more’n I kin. Please hurry and do this. Miss Jessie. I’ll pray for ye. honey, ”deed I will.” “What is the trouble, Maria? I must know more about it.” "Well, ye see, old Massa John done brung a man around to dinner dis mornin’, and I knows he’s a trader. I done ben sold befo’, O, Miss Jessie. I can’t go ’thout tellin’ the chillhn good-by.” “Nonsense, Maria; Mr. Kenneth would never sell you and the baby.” “O. you don’t Mjss Jessie. Dis yere nign axed ma was I fifty year old. and I said more'at hat; and Massa John stepped •up an’ said I was a lyin’, I wasn’t more’n

forty;* and the poor creature once more besought me: “Please, honey, write jes a word.” ••You must promise to show the letter to your master. You know, Maria, this might make great trouble for us.” “Sartin, honey. He may jes’ read every word.” The letter was written according to old Maria's dictation, to “the chillun back in o!c Virginny." and given to Maria to hand her master for the post. It was my last glimpse of Maria. The next morning the neighborhood was in a blaze of excitement. Andy, the Kenneths' eoachman. and old Maria had decamped. How or when they had escaped none knew. A currant bush that stood by the wicket between our house and theirs was found to have something white fluttering among the leaves. It was the letter which I had written, and which old Maria in her haste hail dropped before she reached her master's house. Then the full storm of wrath was turned upon us. Entering my father’s office, Raymond Kenneth denounced our whole family for conspiring to assist runaway negroes. Enraged at my refusal of his hand, and feeling that it was through my father's influence, he was eager to provoke a quarrel. Drawing his bowie-knife—-a weapon with which all Missourians wore then armed—a fearful tragedy would have been enacted but for the interference of the bystanders. Thwarted in this, he muttered vengeance. The following day ho was enrolled upon the list that sent so many martyrs to the lost cause. A company ot men were drilling in a lot on the outskirts of the town, without, as yet, anv regularly appointed officers. When it was known that Raymond Kenneth had enlisted, a shout went up: “Our Captain! bur Captain!" He was received with demonstrations of joy, and when he counseled an immediate departure to join the forces of Price, they gave the wildest cheers. It was decided that upon the arrival of the next boat this newly organized company would embark with Raymond Kenneth as first officer. He knew the indignation with which this move would be regarded by every Union man, and he gloried in it; but had he known with what a throe of anguish this news was received by me his impetuous nature would have forgiven all the past, and ho again would have been the suppliant lover. I went about the house with eyes strained toward the hills for the first white wreath of smoke which should herald the approach of the evening steamer. Finally, upon the clear noon-day air the shrill whistle sounded. The little hamlet was alive in an instant. The levee was crowded with men. women and children, while the negroes stole surreptitious glances around the corners of fences and corn-cribs. The boat rounded to the shore as the company went marching down the single street with its red and white silken banner, the work of fair secession hands, floating in the sunshine. Men of pronounced Union sentiments were conspicuous by their absence, and a strange quiet was over all. I stood upon a bluff which commanded a view of the whole scene, knowing that my figure would be thrown in silhouette against the dear sky, as a background. My pride came to my aid and I made no moan. I thought that Raymond would relent at the last and send me some token of reconciliation, but he did not. In anticipation of this. I had formed a rosette of red and white ribbons, which, with long, floating streamers. I had fastened to the top of my parasol. I held it closely to my side, watching the boys as they stepped on board, some laughing and jesting, others furtively brushing away the tears, and all leaning over the guards to repeat some last message. Raymond Kenneth stood in the bow of the boat, distinct as tlie smoke-stack itself, with his arms folded, taking no part in the general leave-taking. I iclt that his eye was upon mo. but there was no sign to reveal what emotion was passing within. The band struck up a gay march, the gang-plank was withdrawn, and tan I oat swung out to resume her way down the river, and still he stood there motionless.

Almost as he was being carried out of sight. I brought my parasol in view, and waved the Confederate colors aloft. I saw him brace himself mor" erect, then a wave of his hand with the military salute. By this time the boat was fairly turning round, and he was lost to view. Not till then did my courage give way. I sank down among the reeds in the broad sunshine and covered my face with both hands. The townspeople wended their way back to their accustomed business or pleasure, while the heavy throbs of the steamer, as she plowed through the waters, seemed like the bursting of some agonized heart. I sat there through the long summer afternoon, watching the shadows growing longer and deeper, and at last the full glow of the setting sun lay all about me. turning the waters to molten gold, and where they lay in shadow, all was dark and gray. “I sec my life in this picture. There is the gold of my vanished youth; there, below, is the darkness of despair, and my heart’s love has gone down in its track.” I watched the golden glory fade away and the gray shadows that came creeping on, and soon'the slender curve of the new moon stood over the darkened waters. The dampness of early night was all about me, and Ray, our old houseservant. came searching for me. Her first words were: “Miss Jessie. I have ben a huntin’for ye all ober de place. Yere's a letter Massa Raymond done sent by little Jake, but I 'clar to goodness I couldn’t find ye nowhar.” I grasped the paper. In the twilight I read these words: Igoto my deaf’, Jesaie, for you. Had you said one word my resolve had been shaxen. God knows you are more to me than fame or life itself. What is life to me without you? There is not even the soldier’s hope of tlory. One name to add to the list of dead, or missing, that is all. For the sake of the old days, Jessie, send me some token as a charm in the hour of danger. It is all I shall ever ask at your hands. Raymond.

Here was his oid impetuous self again, still ignoring all rebuffs and Hinging his unavailing love at my feet. Ah! if he could have seen me at that moment, haveseen the passionate kisses which I bestowed upon this inanimate piece of paper, ho would have foresworn all hope of glory, indeed. Not a word of this did I dure breathe to my father. As I»was seated on the veranda, before retiring for the night, he referred to the departure, saying every secessionist should do likewise. If they were not satisfied with the best government on earth let them try to overthrow it. They would soon find an end to their boasting. He little knew, at that moment, that in my hand lay the little red and white rosette which I had detatched from my parasol, seeking the first opportunity to send it to my hot-head-ed lover as the “charm in the liour of danger.” In a few days came the news of the opening conflict on Missouri soil, in the battle of Boonville. My lather was triumphant. Lyon had routed the State forces. Only those who experienced the dread suspense which those battles entailed cun know the agony which 1 endured during the succeeding days until a message came by the hand of “little Jake.” It was this: “Your token lies over my heart. We lost Camp Jackson, but we whipped the Home Guards at Warsaw. Now we have arms and horses. Forward to glory! Your true knight will yet win hts bride. Raymond.” In the enlistment of Southern troops in Missouri there was little of the pageantry of war to captivate the senses. There was nothing to distinguish the officer from his subordinates Aave a bit of red flannel or a piece of cotton cloth fastened to his shbtdddr. v, . The sultry days of July were full of foreboding to the Union men. The disaster at Bull Run had given outspoken bravado to

the secessionists, knowing that the greater part of the force under opposed to the State forces, was composed of three months' men. whose term of service would soon expire. My father was no half-way Union man. He announced his intention of going with a squad of Union men to offer their lives, if need be. to save Missouri. It was no time for tears. We must prepare what was necessary for his departure that very day. Again the shrill whistle of the steamboat smote our expectant ears, and my father came in to say farewell. "I am going with you. father." “You. child? What can you do? It's no place for women." “But I am going, father. Where there is fighting there must be nurses. lam going." The morning which opened upon the bloody battle of Wilson's Creek found me in charge of a department of hospital supplies, while my father was commissioned as Surgeon. Only the Gotf of battles might fore-

tell upon that fateful Friday what should be the outcome. The desperation of despair: nerved the intrepid Lyon after Sigel's defeat. knowing as he did the unequal force at, his command. My father, seeing the need of men, seized the musket of a fallen sol- 1 diet and entered the ranks, but. alas! only to be carried hither and thither as the two' armies swayed from point to point, until the, order came at last from the Federal side to retreat. The dead and wounded lay where the 1 battle had raged the fiercest. My father i had not been seen since morning. I begged l to be allowed to go within the enemy's lines, ; under a flag of truce, to discover him. if possible. It was a strange sight at that stage of the war to see a woman going over the terrible i ground, but I quailed not. My resolve was taken. If my father was no more, I would offer myself to the Confederacy to care for their suffering and wounded men. If Raymond Kenneth was living, I would place! myself under his protection. I scanned the faces as they lay festering under the August sun, but none were familiar. I was about to turn back, sick and 1 disheartened, when a group of men passed me with a rudely constructed litter. A 1 handkerchief was thrown over the face of! its occupant to screen it from the sun. but the bit of red cloth upon the shoulder be- ' traved ins rank as a Missouri rebel officer.: while from his breast floated a red and i white ribbon. With one cry I fell upon thej ground. A dozen arms were ready to as- ■ sist me, but I could only point to the group 1 , that bore their fallen comrade. Diviningi my wish, they followed on to the! nearest tree, where they halted, and: their burden was laid down. The handkerchief was withdrawn, and revealed, as I had guessed, the face of Raymond Kenneth. The pallor of death was on his features, but his eyes opened slowly and he gazed around. Kneeling beside him, I chafed his pallid hands and called his name in tones of endearment. He seemed to know I was near him, and feebly breathed my name. Then raising himself as by a last effort, his eyes fell upon the ribbons floating upon his breast. Gathering them in his cold fingers, he drew forth the rosette from its hiding place. Pressing it to his lips, he said: “Boys, its all over with me. Take cure of her who will wear this, for my sake,” and he laid the gay colors on my shoulder and raised my hand to his lips. “Hold on, Captain; here comes the doctor.”. The group separated to make way for the doctor. It was my father. “Oh. Raymond, my boy!" he exclaimed, "this is dreadful, dreadful!” All animosities and prejudices were forgotten and forgiven in that one sentence, Raymond seemed to realize his surroundings. Looking long and steadfastly at me, he said: “You will wear the gray for my sake, Jessie.” And his voice was lost forever. Few were the preparations for the homeward journey. “The lights of sunset and of sunrise, mixed in that brief summer night that paused among her stars,” to guide the dolorous voyage. Upon the bluff which overlooks the turbid Missouri a white slab marks the restingplace of a Confederate officer, while the lingering rays of the setting sun on calm June evenings throws in full relief against the sky the gray. Quaker-looking ga: b of a gray-haired woman, who still strews the red and white roses on the lonely grave, as she has done for more than twenty years.