Greenfield Republican, Greenfield, Hancock County, 30 May 1895 — Page 7

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'THE PATRIOTS' GP.AVE&.

BY NEIL MACDONALD.

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E STREW fresh flowers upon your graves. Whore mourners yet their ngils keep, Though o'er the mounds the star lias waves

For which you fought who lowly sleep.

When still the arms that you entwined, And thosd bereaved have joined your throng Yet a nation's heart enshrined

Your deeds shall garnish tale and song.

Green still your graves as years march on. The patriot's lame knows not decline. On heads that fell at Marathon

The amaranthine wreaths still twine.

Sleep, while our country's grateful tears Bedew your quiet place of rest. Henceforth through all the coming yeax*a

To freedom and to country blest.

Dead now the rancor once so rife, And south to north is as a brother, And gallant deeds that marJft'd the strife

They prize in common with each other.

Those who for freedom and the flag Laid down their lives without repining, lSnshrmed with those who did not lag

When star of southland was declining.

Who would not dare to share your fate— The soldier's death, the patriot's grave—

worthy of a freeman's hate And only lit to be a slave.

COLONEL AND MAJOR.

{Copyright,

1895, by American Press Association.

Tbo colonel and the major sat on the botel piazza playing cribbage. --"'The soft, balmy spring breeze now and then bore to their hearing the blatant fanfare of trumpets or the roll of drums. Everywhere their eyes were saluted by the fluttering folds of the stars and stripes. Occasionally they stopped in their game to look at pretty little girls

Walking by, dressed in white, their tiny arms filled with wreaths and bouquets, or at the wagons rolling in from the country laden with men and women, hastening to attend the services which were to be held in the quiet village graveyard on the hill yonder, where many dead heroes slept. P'V.T It was an ideal Memorial day. The •if- sky was clear as crystal and blue as £{•. sapphires. Hero and there it was lovingly kissed by soft, fleecy clouds. Birds W were pouring forth showers of melody from the trees, gay in their young spring livery

Tbo little town at the foot of the mountains, lying purple in the soft, 'V-' swimming sunlight, had taken on an air of almost joyous festivity. The cheerful voices, the flowers, the white dresses, •V the flags and bunting conspired to render the scene one more like a fete than a *. remembrance. Only the solemn roll of the drums at a distance reminded the two old warriors looking on at the pageant what the day meant.

The colonel rose and walked to the '*•& end of tho piazza and leaning against one Ji of the pillars stood thero in thoughtful 'ly. silence. The colonel limped a little .,#• when he walked. He had carried a bullet in his thigh since Gettysburg.

The major, turning in his chair, regarded his friend. The light, striking his fine old face, showed the ragged scar of a saber cpt he got at Fredericksburg. Tho two maimed old fellows had not known each other long. Both bad drifted to this little mountain resort to drink the waters, famous for their medicinal properties. They had met in the hotel, struck up a friendship, walked, talked and played cribbage together. Though both had fought in the civil war, they tacitly tabooed the subject, for the colonel bad fought like a devil on the northern side, and the major had fought like a tiger on tho side of the lost causa

But now the chords of memory were

strangely stirred. Up through the dark fir trees guarding the cemetery there

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"I AM NOT A BEDEL, SIB1"

•nddenly rolled the strain of an old army song, stirring in its measure, pa* thetio in its melody: "Oh. wrap the flag around me, boys

To die were far more sweet, With freedom's banner o'er me, boys, To be my winding sheet." £«the colonel gently beat time on the* (failing With his long, lean hand. Bis qyes grew retrospectiva "How it all oetneti back I" he murmured half aloud, can see the watchflres, the long

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stjuadrens wheeling down the hill, the artillery massing in the valley, the signal rockets piercing the sky. I can hear tbe bugle"—

Ho broke off suddenly. The major had risen and was facing him, his dark eyes blazing, his faco white and drawn. "Don't bring it up, colonel," ho said hoarsely. "I can't tell you how it makes me feel. Do you suppose that I, too, do not go bank to those days, to all I suffered then ajid sinco? I have repressed mv emotions for years. But the volcano is here, touching his breast. '"I do not wish it to break forth." "It's a great idea," replied tho colonel testily, "if I cannot speak of a night scene in tbe late war without your

fetch

ing me up so roundly. I did not dream you

bad a temper, sir.

"My temper is as even as yours, sir," retorted the major, "but can't you see it is bard enough for me to witness these scenes today without having the whole ghastly panorama acjain unfolded butore me by your thoughtlessness, sir'r"

Tbe colonel loss Jus head. "Damme," he cried, "you rebels never lilco to hear anything for your good!" "I bag your pardon, sir," said the major with ominous calmness, "did yuu apply that term to me?" "I did." "I am'not a' rebel, sir," choked the major. "I fought for a hopeless—a sublime—cause. But now I support the same flag you fought under. Remember that! After this, of course, we will not have the honor of each other's acquaintance," and with a haughty bow .the major walked into tbe botel.

The colonel thumped his cane on the floor of the piazza. His face flushed. "Devilish hot headed southerner, ho said, "and yet a charming fellow. What a companion he has been to me! What a game of cribbage he played! And now to go and spoil everything. Dear, dear it's too bad. How I shall miss him!"

As tbe colonel ruefully contemplated tho future a boy approached him with his mail. Eagerly seizing his letters he sat down to read them and to forget the unpleasant episode as quickly as possible.

Ono of his letters was from an old army friend, a man with whom ho had kept up an acquaintance born in firo and smoke. A sentence in the letter ran as follows: "Curious thing you should be in Iiazlo Wells on Memorial day. That was Dennison's wife's home, and I am sure he is buried in the cemetery there. You must throw a flower on his grave for me."

The colonel dropped tbe letter in amazement. Dennison! Out of the past there rose a beautiful figure, with fearless eyes, resolute lips, soft, fair hair, gay, good humored, smiling face and reckless, audacious air. What a rare fellow he was I Dennison, who feared nei-

Pit

THE COLONEL SOBBED ALOUD.

ther man nor devil, who led wherever hope was most forlorn, who was always where She fight was hottest, who fell at last, a jest on his lips, struck to the heart by a southern bullet. A southerner, top, by birth and education, but who broko away from tradition and environment and drew his sword in defense of his country's flag. "1 remember, l^ow, his wife was a northern girl. Dennison used to talk of his home up in the Alleghanies. And it was here? And his grave is over there?" Tbe colonel strained his eyes toward the graveyard. "Just as soon as the crowd gets away I will go over and find it and put a few flowers on it. Brave boy, brave fellow. I am so glad Tom wrote me."

Meantime tbe major had passed through a whirlwind of passion and sorrow alone in his room. What right had this insolent, triumphant northerner to stir him so? Why disturb those depths in his bruised, aching old heart? Over and over the southerner lived the past, with its dreams of glory, its futile struggles, its cruel disappointments. Again he saw the idol of his boyish dreams, as, vanquished, beaten, but still heroic, he handed his conquered sword to the victor. Again he saw his home destroyed, himself poor, forced to accept a menial position, drifting about, a battered old wreck on the sea of life, until he had fallen in with this man, whom he had honestly liked and who bad need* lessly hnrt him and opened the old wounds afresh.

A knock at the door, and the major's mail was banded him. As he looked it over he saw a letter, directed in the well known writing of his lawyer in Atlanta. He broke it open and read it hurriedly. Then he sank back in his chair, and from his closed eyes large tears slowly dropped down over bis scarred faca

The sentence which had so profoundly moved him was this: "She has left her fortnne to yon, as her husband, yonr brother, loved you so. His grave is in the cemetery of the very town where yon are now stopping."

The afternoon snn poured a flood of dazzling light across the marble headstones, whose solemn rigidity was softened by garlands of flowers. The crowd had gone. Here and there a stray, visitor yet wandered, reading the names cut on the white stones. The solemn* pur* |rte mountains tfare rose flushed by the

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',. -•v7 --.^Y^ "GREENFIELD REPUBLICAN. IHUKSDAY MAY 30' 189.1.

aolebodied men to enlist. Early in the third be bad himself marched away as their captain, with the young men from his own congregation who had offered themselves to their country. If the boy was doubtful about his father's safety beforo tbe daacon spolre, he was not afterward. It. seemed to his young mind as if tho deacon has said between his audible words: "Tho elder is killed, boy! Do you hoar? Killed!"

John linrried into tho bonso with his pnii of cherries, kissed his mother and started on a run for the postoffice. It was a hot day, but ho did not mind the heat. It is doubtful if he knew it was hot. Ho thought only of the bare possibility that he might get a letter addressed to his mother or himself in liia father's dear handwriting, and lie ran till nature was exhausted and bo had to stop and rest under the shadow of a big buttoidvill trea by tho side of the road. When ho had regained bis breath, he started on again, but this timo at a more moderato pace, and as he approached tho little general store where the postofjice was kept his footsteps lagged. He was afraid be would receive the same answer that he had for days. "Nothing today, sonny. Tell your mother tho papers missed this week. No, there is no letter. I swan, I wish there was."

That was just the answer the boy did receive when at last he crept into the store between rows of two tined hayforks and wooden hand rakes, but there was this addition by the kindly old postmaster to the dreaded words that told the story of no mail: "Tell your mother that we may get another mail today, and if we do we'll send anything that comes for you right up.''

Theye was no regular service to the little postofHce, for no railroad ran through the uarrow.valley, but the mail was brought from the

county

"NO, TJIEEE IS NO LETTEIi."

preacher. Aa the boy entered the yard one of tho men hastily stuck a newspaper, from which ho bad been reading to tho others, into his pocket.

In the little parlor of the white house there were several women younger than Deacon Nelson's wife. Their husbands Were soldiers, too, and at the front with tho preacher. The boy's mother was sitting in tho center of a circle of kneeling women, her eyes set and tearless, but there was a sound of subdued sobbing from soma of the others. The deacon was just beginning a prayer. "Dear Lord, our heavenly Father," quavered the deacon in tender and reverent tones. Then he stopped. What was that?

The boy's «ar was not the only one that caught tho sound of fife and drum, the fife playing merrily, "Rally Round the Flag, Boys, Rally Once Again"— you know how it sounds, reader—while the drumsticks were beating out the time in lively measure.

A moment more, and the rattle of a wagon coming down a stony slope in the road was heard. Then there was a cheer, and the fife and drum changed to "Yankee Doodle." Presently the wagon, in which sat the postmaster himself, the blacksmith, the cooper and the boys who were playing the fife and drum drove noisily np. The old postmaster almost fell out of the wagon and stumbled np the path to tbe door. He was quite breathless, but he held aloft in his hand fftrig yellow envelope. "It's from the elder, brethren! It's from tbe elder!" he gasped. "I know his handwriting, and the postmark is since the battla Open it, ma'am*" he said to tbe boy's mother, "and read it out"

Everybody gathered around her'as she took tho missive, but it wasn't opened just yet, for she fainted before she could cut the envelopa It was not long. It said: "DEAR WIFE AND SON JOHN—I have been hurt a little and lay on the field all night, but it is not serious, and I shall not even have to go to the hospital. So do not be worried. We have won a great victory, and our God will keep me safely to the end and bring us all together again." "Let us sing the Doxology, 'Praise God, from whom all blessings flow,' said Deacon Nelson, while his eyes streamed. Then they all sang with the spirit and the understanding also. When the .singing was over, the newspaper that had been bidden from tbe boy was brought out It told of the battle of Gettysburg, and the name of the elder was in the list of the missing.

The elder did live to come home again, and on every Decoration day since the establishment of that beautiful holiday he has made a talk over tbe soldiers' graves in the little cemetery back of, the jhurch in tbe valley, of which he ii itill

seat,

miles distant, at intervals by any one wlio went that way. During tho boy's weary homeward tramp through the dust and under tho burning rays of tho sun he thought only of how he should tell his mother there was still no mail.

When he reached homo, ho found a half dozen white haired farmers, all clad in Sunday black, standing about the yard under the shade of the trees. There were no young or middle aged men there, for all such in that neighborhood had gone to the war with their beloved

FROM THE FRONT.

[Copyright, 1895, by American Press Association.!

It was a two story frame house, painted white and with green blinds, and it stood a little way back from tho road that wound through a narrow valley between low hills of second growth timber. In front of tho house was a big, heavily fruited cherry tree. A boy was perched upon a ladder among the branches, filling a tin pail with the ruby fruit, his fingers flying as if he were competing with the birds, who seemed to think they had a mortgage on all tho cherries in the neighborhood. But his haste had another cause. His mother had but a moment before told him that when he had filled the pail three times he might go to the postoffice, a mile farther down the valley, and inquire for tho mail.

The boy knew his mother to be quite as anxious as he that the trip should be made to the postoffice. For more than a week his daily Visit after the mail had been fruitless, and ho was certain she was worrying, in spite of her usual air of cheerfulness, for tho head of the littlo family was at the front, wearing a blue uniform, and vague rumors were afloat of a bloody battle in Pennsylvania.

Singularly enough, the mail had lately failed to bring newspapers, as well as letters, and it had not beon possible to borrow from the neighbors as usual. The boy and his mother had not talked much on the matter but, whatever his mother thought, he suspected bad news in the papers—news that would explain why there were no letters. Ho was impatient to go to the postoffice, but ho dreaded the visit, too, and this made him climb down tho ladder slowly when at last the pail was filled for tho third time.

As his feet touched tho earth he heard the rattlo of wheels, and looking around ho saw Deacon Nelson's big bay horse and decent black democrat wagon, driven by the deacon himself, draw near. The deacon's countenance, which was generally smiling and jolly, was very solemn now, and the face of tho deacon's wife, who sat on the back seat under a

DRIVEN BV THE DEACON HIMSELF.

gingham parasol, was tear stained. As the deacon slowly got out of the wagon and tethered the horse he asked, with a fine show of cheerfulness: "Has your mother heard from the elder in a day or two, John? No? Well, Marthy and me was just driving by, and we thought we'd make a little visit, you see, just to ask how your corn crop was getting on, you know." Then, to his wife in an undertone, he said: "Now, bo careful, Marthy. It's all right it's all right It must be all right, I tell you."

The deacon was one of the chief pillars in the church of which tho boy's father, before going to the front, had been pastor, and,' like all iq that neighborhood and similar neighborhoods, the deacon always s&pke of his minister as "the elder." Tftis minister had been outspoken in his patriotism during the first rear of the ,wtt^During the second he boA iminofldrrinnv nftho nc

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tervals the muffled sound of tbe martial music, now rising and swelling, now softly dying away.

Tho colonel slowly and laboriously picked his way among the graves, stopping now and then to read a name or date. At last he came to a well kept inclosure, and parting the climbing rose vines passed in. Yes, here was what he sought. A smooth white slab told the world that "Here lies Captain Charles Dennison, 49th Regiment, Pennsylvania Volunteers," with the added verse:

On fame's eternal camping ground Their silent tents are spread, And glory guards with ceaseless round

The bivouac of the dead.t

The poor old colonel was so overcome at beholding, after so many years, the tomb of his favorite officer that, showering the grave with the costliest flowers he had been able to procure, he bent his head upon his hands and sobbed aloud.

A sound near him made him raise his head. On tho other side of tbo grave stood the major.

Tho two men looked steadfastly at each other for a moment. "Colonel," tho major was first to speak, "what was Captain Charles Dennison to you?" "A beloved officer, sir," said the colonel, struggling to choke back his emotions. "I loved him like a son, sir. I only learned this morning that he was buried here"— Ho broko off, unable further to proceed. "And are these your flowers?" asked the major.

The colonel only bowed his head. "I thank you, sir," said tho major in his most stately and winning manner, "for this kindly tribute to one of my family"— "Your family?" gasped the colonel. "Yes, Captain Charles Dennison was my youngest brother, sir."

Tho colonel recoiled as'if he had been struck. But in an instant, recovering himself, he courteously doffed his hat, and extending his long hand over the grave said simply, "Will you forgive me, major?"

And as tho sun dipped down behind the mountains it sent its last rays across two battered, maimed old heroes going away arm in arm from the grave of Captain Charles Dennison.

And the north and the south once more were reunited. EDITH SESSIONS TUPPER.

The Duty of the Living.

Our duty would be very incompletely done if we contented ourselves by merely chanting hosannahs to those who in the past have given their lives to aid in achieving these grand reshlts unless we can catch some inspiration to further duty from the contemplation of their sublime self sacrifice. It becomes us, the living, to address ourselves with renewed energy and enlarged faithfulness to the preservation and perpetuation of these grand results.—Clinton Lloyd.

Remembrances of Rosea.

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When slowly falls the curtain of the night And none is here except the silent dead When pales the western sky in dying light

And ashen grayness comes in crimson's stead. Then will we know each buried hero tranquilly reposes Midst memories of music and remembrances

—E. M. Taber.

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A Sentiment by Garfield.

If silence be ever golden, it must be here beside the graves of these 13,000 soldiers, whose lives were more significant than speech and whose death was a poem the music of which was never sung.—Speech at Arlington.

The Nation Mourns Its Patriots.

When a king is dethroned, the people rejoice, but vihen a patriot dies a nation mourns.—G. W. Atkinson.

ReatOn.

Best on, embalmed frad sainted dead. Dear was the blood you gave, imptouft ftptstop" horo nhal) trend

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OUR SOLDIEri

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DEAD.

Beautiful Tributes acd (iroat Thoughts by Poet and .sag®. Sloop, comrades, sleep and rest, .*•: On this field ot the grounded arms,

Whore foes no mom i,.'il.st Nor sentry's shot alarms.

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Your silent touts of green Wu u»'cfc with fragrant flowers. I: Your-, lus tl,'- -^uiferiiig been

The memory sha.ll be ours, wwiii —H. W. Longfellow.

How bright are the honors which await those« who, witli sacred lortitudo and patrioti^patience, have endured .-ill things that they might« save tlieir native land from divi.-noii and from the power of corruption! Tho honored deadt They that died for a goyj cause are redeemed from death. Their naiifjs are gathered and garnered. Their memory is precious. Each place grows proud lor them who were born there. There is to bo ere long in every village and every neighborhood a glowing pride in its martyred heroes. Tablets shall preserves their names. Piou.-s love shall renew their inscriptions as tinio and the unfeeling elements decay them. And tlve national festivals shall give multitudes of precious names to tlio orator's lips. Children shall grow up under more sacred inspirations whoso elder brothers, dying nobly for their country, left a name that honored and inspired all who bore it. Orphan children shall find thousands of lathers and mothers to love and help those whom dyingf heroes lelt as a legacy to tho gratitude of the public.

Oh, tell mo not that they are dead, that generous host, that airy army of invisible heroesl They hover as a cloud of witnesses above this nation. Aro they dead that yet speak louder that we can speak, and a moro universal language? Arc they dead that yet act? Are they dead that yet move upon society and inspire the people^ with nobler motives and more heroic patriotism?

Ye that mourn, let gladness mingle with your tears. He was your son, but now he is the nation's. He made your households bright. Now his example inspires a thousand households. Dear to his brothers and sisters, he is now brother to every generous youth in the land. Before he was narrowed, appropriated, shut up to you. Now ho is augmented, set free and given to all. He has died from the family that lie might live to the nation. Not one name shall be forgotten or neglected, and it shall by and by be confessed, as of an an-

Tliey sleep so calm and stately. Each in his graveyard bed,

They marched and never halted. They scaled the parapet. Tho triple linos assaulted

And paid without regret The final debt.

The debt of slow accruing A guilty nation made Tho debt of evil doing,

Of justice long delayed— 'Twas this they paid. —Theodore P. Cook.

Oh, brothers, the days grow longer, and tho nights like a glory shine, And tho love of our souls is stronger than tho heat and tho fire of wine. We were foes when the gnns were frowning from tho walls that were grim and steep. Now the grass and the blossoms are crowning tho graves where our liorocs sleep," And tho years with purpose are pregnant, though our swords aro red with rust, And right in the world is regnant, and wrong lies prone in the dust. —Thomas S. Collier.

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Soldiers, who freely for our country's glory Uphold our Hag on southern hill and plain,' Long may your deeds be told in grateful story.

Ye have not lived in vain.

Heroes, who toiled through all the dusty marches And life surrendered on those shot plowed fields, To ye who fled where the blue sky o'erarches

Tribute a nation yields. —William H. Randall. WI

This day is sacred to our heroes dead. Upon their tomb3 w« havo lovingly laid tho wealth of spring. This is a day for #iemory and teara. A mighty nation bends above its honored graves and pays noble dust the tribute of its love. Gratitude is the fairest flower that sheds its perfume in the heart. Today we tell the history of our country's life, recount tho lofty deeds of vanished years, the toil and suffering, the defeats and victories of heroic men, of men who made our nation great and free. Today we remember tho defeats, the victories, the disasters, the w^ary marches, the poverty, the hunger, the sufferings, the agonies and above all the glories of revolution. We remember all —from Lexington to Valley Forge and from that midnight despair to Yorktown's cloudless day. —Robert G. IngersolL

Tield not to grief the tribute of a tear. But 'neath the forefront of a spacious sky Bmile all exultant, as they smiled at fear

Who dared to do where doing meant to die. Bo best may comrades prove remembrance dear.

So best be hallowed earth where soldiers 11* —Francis Howard Williams.

Bring flowers to strew again With fragrant purple rain Of lilacs and of roses white and red The dwellings of our dea4, our glorious dead. Let the bells ring a solemn funeral chime And wild war music bring anew the time When they who sleep beneath Were full of vigorous breath And in their lusty manhood sallied forth, Holding in strong right hand The fortunes of the land. The pride and power and safety of the north* —Henry Peterson.

Btrew the fair garlands where slumber the dead. Ring out the strains like the swell of thessa* Heartfelt the tribute we lay on each bed.

Sound o'or the brave the refrain of the frs*. Sound the refrain of the loyal tgd free, Visit e$ch sleeper andJurilovteaoh bed* Wave the starred banner fromjNfkcoiurt to sear

Grateful the Uving *nd honotad the dsad.

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cient hero, that ho did more for his country by his death than by his whole life. —Henry Ward Beecher.

scarcely seems that lately They trod the fields blood red With fearless tread.

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O my country, my country 1 Heart of my heart and life of my lite! O ye dead who died in our defense, whose eagle eye grew dim in the smoke of battle, and whoso bravo hearts stopped beating at the cannon's mouth! The sons and daughters of America will not forget thoel You, my comrades, have two immortalities. One you will take with you beyond tho stars. The other will live forever in tho deeds you have done, in the glorious Hag and government you have done so much to honor and preserve! —Rev. H. Stone Richardson.

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Srothers, who fought for more than empty honor ...„ That all our land united might be

free,

May shine forevermore upon our banner Each star for liberty. gj

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