People's Pilot, Volume 3, Number 49, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 May 1894 — OUR FIRST DECORATION DAY. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

OUR FIRST DECORATION DAY.

, QIS rainy night and talking of wjS Decor ation day reminds me of an in<\v ~' cident of our £ ' first celebration in the 1 i 111 e town

where I lived in the southern part of Illinois. It was in the ’6o’s and for some years the towns around us had been keeping what you now call Memorial day, and some one suggested that we, too, raise a small flag and scatter flowers on the graves of our soldier boys once a year, so that we would show to all that our boys in blue and our boys in gray were not forgotten, and the 80th of May was set apart for that work of love. It was the night before the 30th that I saw her walking along through the rain, seemingly utterly regardless of the storm which swept around her. She had neither umbrella nor cloak to protect her slim form from the watery elements. She wore a thin calico dress and a well-worn shawl; her head was covered by an untrimmed straw hat. She was neat and clean. I knew somewhat of her circumstances and so wondered at her being away from home at dusk.

A number of years before she and John, her husband, good, honest John Small, had begun their wedded life in a little, vine-covered cottage just on the outskirts of our town. John worked in the town—a splendid mechanic they said he was—a manlylooking fellow, tall, broad-shouldered, with wavy hair and dark-brown eyes. He made a comfortable living and they were very happj. When the oldest child was six and the youngest a baby in arms that great “call to arms” for a nation’s safety came, and John—what could John do but respond? A company was organized in our little town and John enlisted. One day, with banners flying, and the beat of drum and noise of fife resounding through the streets as if it were a gala day instead of a day of gloom and fear, they marched away. 1 remember it plainly, as if it were but yesterday, seeing John stoop over the baby in her arms, as if loath to leave them, kiss the tiny face and hands over and over again. He fought and fell, a captain among our boys,’ and when well enough they sent him home, only for the loved ones there to see how intensely he suffered. The journey was too much for him. Unconscious when he arrived, he remained so until he lifted up his eyes in that land where battle strife and beat of martial drum are never known and soldiers’ graves are never dug. We buried him—l say we because our whole town honored our fallen captain, and universal was the sorrow expressed for his wife and babies. There was a little money left, and Mary kept her place and raised garden stuff to selL As yean rolled by that

was not enough to give her even a scant supply, and she moved into town and took in sewing. Time had healed the sorrow in the heart*, of the town folk as it had covered the grave with green. As I watched her I thought of her sorrow and great needs, and wondered how we could ao soon forget her. I saw her enter a shop and come out directly with a disappointed look, tucking something under her arm. In my own arms 1 carried a box of cut flowers which I had purchased to place on the grave of an only son whom I had laid to rest just after that dreadful battle of Bull Run. Although it was raining very hard at this time, wondering still more at her mysterious way, I followed. The last place which she had entered was a music store and I racked my brain to find a reason for her doing so. She hurried along and presently she seemed to come to the desired place, cautiously looked around her and then eptered. When I came abreast of the place I saw that it was a loan-shop. Could it have come to this? Was she so reduced in circumstances that she found it nec-

essary to pawn articles to exist? I waited patiently until she appeared, the “something” under her shawl was gone and she started to retrace her steps homeward. I did not follow farther, but resolved that 1 would not sleep that night until I knew just how John’s wife was situated. After changing my wet garments for dry apparel and having a cup of tea, I started for her home. When I reached the door of her apartment at the end of a long, dimlylighted hall, I heard her running the machine and singing as she worked. I was surprised at this, for with poverty I had always coupled discontent. She answered my knock by opening the door and saying how surprised she was to see me standing there. We talked of many interesting subjects, she telling me of the children and her work and of her many, many struggles with poverty and doctors and drug bills. Naturally our conversation turned to the subject of Decoration day as the morrow had been christened, and smiling such a sweet, calm smile, she arose and going to the sink at the other end of the room brought from it a box filled with flowers, which she had bought to place on John’s grave. She told me then, with her eyes filled with tears, she knew her John was a noble soldier and he so dearly loved flowers she could not think of his grave with but a flag to mark it and so she had managed to buy some for it The children would go with her early on the morrow and they would spend an hour or two with him.

“She had managed to buy some.” Yes, there was the secret of her walk in the storm and her mysterious disappearance into the place of the “three balls.” I said nothing to her of what I intended, but silently admired such deep devotion. I saw his grave next day literally covered with the fragrant blossoms. That evening a friend called at the place of “three balls” and upon inquiry found that it was John’s old, loved flute that she had not pawned, as she was ignorant of the practice, but had sold. He purchased the same at my request and we sent it, together with a purse well filled with money collected by the army boys, to John’s wife, making it indeed a day of decoration to those lonely hearts.—Chicago News.

PARTING WITH JOHN S FLUTE.