Democratic Sentinel, Volume 22, Number 20, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 May 1898 — MEMORIAL DAY AT THE CORNERS. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

MEMORIAL DAY AT THE CORNERS.

THREE men were sitting one April morning on the wooden bench outside the small building which served the little settlement of Westham Corners as postofflee, store and general lounging place and which was also, in the upper story,, the home of the storekeeper, Israel Bacon, and his wife Hannah. They glanced now and then at the school house across the way and the graveyard beyond it. “Wal!” said the oldest of them, a man with white hair and a white beard under his chin, “I don’t see why we can’t hev some sort o’ celebration on Decoration Day ’s well ’s other towns. To be sure, Jim Piper’s the only soldier we sent to the war, but I reck’u that ain’t no reason why he shouldn’t hev his dues. I hold we ought to hev some sort of a time this year.” “I think so, too,” said Jed Barker. “I sh’d think it would be a sight o’ comfort to ol’ Mis’ Piper. I sh’d think she’d feel kind o’ hurt we ain’t never took no notice of her son—not even to put a flag on his grave.” “I sh’d think she’d ’a’ done it herself if she’d wanted it,” said the youngest man of the three. “She does put lilacs on the grave every year-—but anyone ken hev them, if they ain’t died for their country. I sh’d want a flag on my grave—l know that.”

“Le’s see,” said Barker, “ol’ Jim died ’bout two years after his son, didn’t he?” “They was the most broke up couple I ever see,” observed the old man, “when the news come about Jim’s death down South; an’ the ol’ man started right off for the body.” “An’ they spent,” said the young man, “nigh onto all the money they had laid by, gettin’ of it home, didn’t they?” “Yes,” said the other, “an’ we never heard much about it neither. Ye see, Jim’s regiment wa’n’t near none of the other boys that went from these parts, an’ they didn’t know nothin’ ’bout it, nor jest when he was killed. It al’ays seemed queer we didn’t hear more partic’lars. But ye see them Pipers was al’ays a terrible quiet set. The coffin wa’n’t never opened, an’ there wa’n’t no funeral to speak of—ol’ Parson Bolles come from Ridgeway an’ jest made prayer. I think ’twas sort of onchristian like.” The three men got up and went into the small store. They had a long talk with Israel Bacon and his wife. During the week they called on the rest of the people at the Corners. It was decided to have a celebration as they proposed. But it was not to be till the afternoon of Memorial Day, for all wanted to go to Westham in the morning to hear the speeches and have lunch—then come back to the Corners towards evening and decorate the one grave. Memorial Day dawned fair and warm. The. trees and the grass seemed greener than the day before; the birds sang blithier; spring was everywhere. The lilac bushes waved their greenish purple plumes, and here and there in a sheltered nook the splendid purple sprays were in full blossom. Mrs. Piper did not go to bed the night before. She sat by the window till every

house in the village was dark. Then she got up and lighted her lamp. She took it in her trembling hand and went slowly up the stairs to the small room in the east gable—the room that had been Jim’s. Here she set the lamp upon the bureau—the room had not been changed for many years—and, taking a key from her pocket, opened the top drawer. In it was a faded blue uniform, some worn shoes, a belt, a cap—all that had been brought home on the body of her son. She lifted them carefully from the drawer and placed them one by one upon the narrow bed, forming something like the effigy of a human figure. She sat on the chair by the head of the bed, her head bowed in her hands, her elbows resting on the pillow by the side of the faded cap. One hour she sat there, two hours—three hours; her head fell forward on the pillow, and she slept. When she awoke she sat for a moment and looked upon the bed; the clothes were hideous in their shabbiness. She rose, put them back in the drawer, locked it, and put the key in her pocket. She sighed as she left the room. Her year was over—another year had begun. For this was Mrs. Piper’s New Year’s Day—by this day she had counted her time for twenty years. She went downstairs, opened the door and went out. She went to her white lilac bush and gathered an armful of the blossoms. The wet spray fell soft and refreshing on her withered cheeks. She took one spray from the purple bush, and then went down the path, across the road, up to the graveyard, and straight to a lot in which there were two graves. The day proved a hot one. About 6 o’clock Mrs. Bacon called on Mrs. Piper. The two women sat talking for some time by the window and looking out towards the graveyard. The white lilacs had withered and turned down during the day. Mrs. Bacon, at the faint sound of a drum, the signal agreed upon, asked Mrs. Piper to go with her over to Jim’s grave. Mrs. Piper got dp with a weary sigh, and put on her black bonnet. The two women Mastered across the road and 09 late the

graveyard. Presently the drum was heard again, this time accompanied by the whistle of a fife. The woman in black trembled and clutched her friend’s arm. “What is it, Hannah?” she exclaimed. “I hear a drum and fife. What is it?” Mrs. Bacon seized her friend’s arm and whispered: “It’s the folks a-comin’ to decorate Jim’s grave. They are goin’ to honor him like the rest of the soldiers.” Mrs. Piper gave one gasp for breath and stood as white and still as a stone. Twen-

ty carriages, or so, of all sorts and kinds, drove up in front of the school house; the people dismounted and formed the procession. First came Jed Barker, carrying a big flag; then came two old men, one with a drum, one with a fife; and behind them four other men, one carrying the flag for the grave, and one the “piece” from the city. They had all seen service in the war. Behind them came old Deacon Brown, and beside him the new minister from Weetham, a young man with a fresh, bright face. Then came the people, men, women and children. The drum and fife played •‘‘Marching Through Georgia” as they came up the path. As they entered the graveyard the music ceased. The people formed a ring about the grave and the two women standing by it. The deacon made a prayer. The drum and fife wailed the dead march; the flag was placed at the head of the grave; the column, with its surmounting eagle, at the foot. The music ceased. The minister stepped forward into the ring by the grave and spoke. He spoke of the honor of war, of the splendor of victory, of the nobleness of giving one’s life for one’s country, of the saddened homes, of the joy of the mother iri surrendering her son to her country, and closed by repeating the lines: “How sleep the dead who sink to rest, By all their country’s wishes blest, When spring ” “Don’t, don’t, I can’t bear it!” These words interrupted the minister’s low tones, and all eyes were turned from him to Mrs. Piper, who stood, now alone, by the grave, her worn face grastly white in the fading yellow sunlight “Don’t go on—l can’t bear it no more. Oh, Lord! how can I! My son Jim—my only son—he —he —I’ve been livtn’ a lie these twenty years—an’ makin’ him out what he.wa’n’t; he —he wa’n’t killed in battle—how can I ? —how can I ? —he —he— he was shot for desertin’.” The thin black figure fell upon its knees by the grave, the head bent forward over the little fluttering flag. The last rays of the setting sun came in under the trees upon the hushed group. In those moments they realized it all —the grief, the pride, the shame, the bitter secret of their neighbor’s life; and the hearts of the people felt for her. A squirrel ran across the

neighboring wall, a woodpecker tapped on a tree; the tiny flag spread itself in the breeze and flapped against the black bonnet bent over it. The first human sound was the low voice of the minister repeating half unconsciously, “I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord.” There was a stir among the people; slowly,~with hushed breath, they filed out. Someone hit qgainst the drum, the harsh npisp making them all start. The sun

sank below the horizon, and left three figures standing by the deserted grave—the black figure bowed over the flag, the tall figure of the young minister, and the stooping, sympathetic woman friend. The friend whispered to the kneeling woman. She looked up, bent forward and pulled the flag down from the grave, and, clasping it in her hand, was led slowly out of the yard. The three entered the darkening kitchen. The minister said what few words he could, and went away. Mrs. Bacon made some tea and persuaded her friend to taste it. Then she, too, went away, for Mrs. Piper begged to be left alone. That night there was again a pilgrimage to the little upper room. And thereafter a little silk flag lay tenderly over the faded uniform, in the locked bureau drawer. — New England Magazine.

ARRANGING THE CELEBRATION.

MRS. PIPER’S MIDNIGHT VIGIL.

“DON’T, DON’T, I CAN’T BEAK IT!”