Soldiers' record, 1869-07-03

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I>evotc<l to l l ie Iiitoi'eHtis of the Soltlici's nu.<i ^ailofH of t l io lute Wtiv.
VOL. I. HARTFORD, CONN., SATURDAY, .HJLY 1800.
§ m s a t I j o i i i c .
For tlic SoUlici'i' K<',coi'(l,
SHALL WE J
Rccommcniled to the consiileraiion of ('hief Jiistict
('base.
IJV .1. T. FOKUKST. .
Bend o'er the f^nivcs of Southern <lea(l;
Strew flowers' wliere Sontliorn soldiers lio,
S'.and silent with uncovered head.
And for their virtues breathe a sij^h ?
Flinj^ to tlie air tiie stripes and sturs,
Shell-torn from many a gallant tight;
Entwine it with the stars and bars,
And on tlie two gaze with delight ?
Forget the woe they wrouglit for years,
Their blows against tlic nation •s life;
Forget^tlie bitter, scalding tears.
Tliat fell from many a Nortiiern wife ?
The woe unspoken, yet more dread,
'rhat paled the cheek of Northern maid,
The inotiier's prayer above her dead,
The father's hopes in asiies laid ?
Forgot tlie gloomy prison pen,
Our soldiers ylarnnff day by day ;
VVliere brutes witiiin the forms of men,
With liearts of hell, hold demon sway ?
Forget the martyred Lincoln, slain
When war was o'er, by villian hand ;
Blot out all traces that remain
Of Rebel sin throughout the land ?
Sliame on the thought! each Union heart
Must turn as colil as lead, ere we
Consent to act so base a part,
O'er traitor'u graves to bend the knee ! ^
No. While beneath the Southern sod
One Union .soldier's grave remain
Unnoted, save by eye of God,
We'll not conscnt to such a stain.
We hate not tiiose who woie tho gray ;
Wo know them brave in days gone by.
The tears of friends we would not stay
Above the graves where heroes lie ;
But nei:ei' shall that flag, our pride.
Baptized in blood, float over those,
Who, with tho last breath ere they died.
Proclaimed themselves its bitter foes !
(io, renegade then, if thon wilt.
Strew flowers o'er every rebel's tomb ;
Forget tho blood thei" treason spilt,
And try to banish Southern gloom ;
But stand not by a Union grave.
The corpse within his shroud would move,
To feel the footprint of a slave
Ho base, tho iuillowed sod above !
A HOT DAY IN TUB KANIvS.
BY J. FRANKLIN PITTS.
L have been iniicli nearer tlie equator
than the location ot any parallel of lati-tude
that runs across the map of Mary-land
; I have experienced the discomforts
of heat in the rifle pits at Port Hudson,
and elsewhere in Louisiana, in br.eath-iess,
sweltering- midsummer days ; and 1
have known days at sea, too, when the
great quiet surface of the water seemed
iilmost to blister with the fiery rays of
the sun of those hot, low latitudes, aiul
the becalmed voyages, "cribbed, cabined
and coniined" within their narrow limits,
gasped and grew faint with the oi)press
ion of the heated atnu)sphere ; but with
all this I nr>ver knew, I never fancied a
tinui of such extreme suffering, such in-tense
discomfort from the sun's heat, as
that which visited our column on the
march from Harper's Ferry to Frederi(,'lc,
in the summer of 1<S(U,
No need, however, that 1 should write
.so indeiinitely of an episode like this ; it
was a very diennae, a red-lette.r day ot
that kind which is not to be forgotten,
and which imprints its slightest details
on our memories, never to be obliterated.
And so I remember, without an effort,
that this nmrch, with its attendant hor-rors,
occurred on the last day ofJul.y,
and that it was ui)on the Sal)bath. Ot-ten
and again through its slow length,
ening- hours did my fancy turn from the
scenes of woful distress around me, and
from the pain with which I dragged my
road-beaten, blistered feet along, to the.
heart-drawn i)icture of a country church
at home, away up in a Northern State,
gathering- its worshippers from the four
• luarters of the neighborhood for the
humble devotions of the day. More viv-idly,
perhaps, the same picture had been
suggested to me a year before by the
blazing of sheets t)f Hame and the incess-ant
rattle of rille shot s from the Confeder-ate
works, the wild noises of battle ; the
yells, the curses and the groans amid
whicli i went forwaid, onti of ten thou-sand,
on a memorable, bloody >5unda\, to
try to plant the flag- on the citadel of Port
Hudson. In this world of sharp con-trasts
I have experienced none so strange
as these.
On Sunday, thon, July thirty-tirst, of
that year of Anun-ican triumph, and hu-miliation,
and blood-shed, and noble en-deavor,
eighteen hundred aiul sixty-four,
the column of General Davi(l Hunter,
numbering- somewhere between twenty-live
and thirty thousand, was on the
road from Harper's Ferry towards Fred-erick.
It was a time when Washington,
and ihiltimore, and even Philadelphia
had but just been relieved from the
threatening- terror of Jubal Early's army
of invasion ; when that doughty Cofifed-erate
held the lower Shenandoah down
to Winchester, and even Martinsburg-,
still looking' Pennsylvaniaward, and
Avhen our own ever-marched andl)adg-er-ed
army was hurried witli the vacillation
of a pendulum, now here, now there,
whenever it seemed likely that the foe
would strike. We had begun the weary
campaig-n by following- the retiring host
of Early from the front of Wasliing-ton
up to White's Ford, across the Potomac,
over the Blue Eidge, just into the Vallev;
thence, with hardly a blow delivered, we
were withdrawal again to Washington ;
and not two wMiole days more had passed
when we were hurried, with all the speed
and suffering of a forced march, north-
Avard, over the hard, dusty road, to Fred-erick—
marching- early and late, Avith lit-tle
rest and scant food—for the news
went that the Eebels were ag-ain pouring-over
the border, and that there must be
another Antietam—perhaps another Get-tysburg.
From Frederick v^'e were ([uick
ly transported by rail to Harper's Ferry,
and thrown out open Bolivar Heights in
its rear. In the two or three hours' rest
here afforded us we sat at ease upon the
grass, looking- out over the map of the
West Virginia as it lay at our feet,
drawn by the hand of Nature, and specu-lating,
soldier-like, as to which of the
broad ftelds before us, then smiling- in the
harvest, w^as to become the field of our
lirst shock of arms with the Confederates
in Virginia. Unknown to us, that spot
than lay within the scope of our visi(jn :
Winchester Avas but twenty miles to the
southeast, and tho day was fast liastening
to us that should close these two armies
in the death-grip!
But not yet. It was Saturday, July
thirteenth, that we sat tliere upon tlie
thither side of Bolivar Heights, looking
ami guessing ; a week was to {)ass before
Phil. Sheridan should gather up these
scattered threads of strategy, and these
disjointed corps; the whole month of August
was to pass by in miuching and counter-marching
from Harper's Ferry to Cedar
Creek, beibre the nation could know
Sheridan as a great general and the ar-my
of the Shenandoah as a living, invin-cible
host. VVe had not reached nil this
yet; we had hardly reached tho promise
of i t ; for, wliile we were still sitting
the;-e, inactive,' on the grass of Bolivar
Heights, tho Rebel raiders were trooping
over the upper fords of the Potomac, and
the flames of Chambersburg reddened
the skies, in warning, for miles around.
The report of the crossing of a large body
of cavalry was brougiit to us as swiftly as
swift horses could carry it. It was sug-gested
that this was but the vanguard of
the whole (,'oni"ederate army, and it was
at once determined to move us back to
Frederick, whence we could reach the
Pennsylvania border, if required, by a
rapid march. So tho o'-der was given us
to take the route-step liack to Frederick.
.March—mareU—MAUOIL I Never, even
to tho ear of tho eternal traveller, Sala-thiel,
of the Jewish legend, did those re-iterated
monosyllables convey more of
toil and discomfort than to che soldiers of
our war. I make no distinction iiO'>v ;
whether they marched in blue or butter-nut,
they did it bravely and faithfully, in
mud and dust, in rain and sliiiie, in heat
and cold ; but though they marched never
so well to-day, their work must recom-mence
to-moi-row ; find with whatever sky
above, and with whatever road under loot.
they must trudge and tramp for twelve or
fifteen hours with sncli weariness of body
and limb as comes at last to a species of
slow torment-happy, indeed, if their
open air couch on the hillside is not made
comfortless by the rain or storms of the
night. I say it with humility, but still
with trutli, no young man in America has
a right to be certahi that he possesses the
viutues of patience and endurance with-out
tho experience of at least one cam-paige
in active military operation for his
credentials.
Our column wound its way down the
Heights through the shelfUike streets of
Harper's Ferry, now forever memo.able
in the annals of the war, across the
bridge, and so along southward, under
the tremendous projecting l.)astions of
Maryland Heights, until we liad passed
through the chain of the Blue Ridge, and
made, pei'haps, six miles of the highway
towards Frederick. Tlie weather was
hot upon Uiis day, as it had been for a
month, and its general effect was exhaust-ing
and debilitating, as usual; but a gen-tle
breeze enlivened us somewhat just at
night, and we turned into our bivouac
without experiencing any unusual sense
of misery above what soldiers are accus-tomed
to philosophize and laugh away.
I di-ank my coliee and ate my hard bread
with the others, and then wrapped myself
in my poncko and lay down in a conveni-ent
furrow, witii my boots skilfully doub-led
together and disposed beneath my
head for a pillow. 1 noticed that the
stars were as bright above us as though
our father, Mars, hud paradod them all to
do us honor, and then I lost myself iy a
soldier's deep, dreamless sleep ; and wlien
the startling crash, and rattle, and scream
of the reveille came before (.laylight, I
really thought I had not slept ten minutes.
Our breakfast was a slight affair, and
needed little time, either for its prepara-tion
or its consumption, and tlie sun was
yet half an hour from his rising when tluj
bugle rang out "Forward !" loud and clear.
The day l)ore its own omens of what it
had ill store foriisjthe eastern heavens
glowed, almost burned, with such a fiery,
brazen liue as I have rarely known to pre-lude
the sun's rising ; the atmosphere was
close ar.d sultry, and sluggish mists and
vapors hung upon the earth, melting slow-ly
away even after the rays of the sun had
pierced them. Higher wont the sun ; hot-ter
grew the tlay ; tramp, tramp, tramp
moved our cohunn over that awful lifteen
miles to Frederick. There was n(» light
liiiigh, no careless jest now ; silence held
that toiling host almost like a spell ; and
if yon couM have looked beneath the
dust tlia t seitlod thickly oi; their care-worn
faces, you would have seen that
muscular contraction of the lips over the
teeth, which, in Americans, always means
delenniiKitioii. On went tho cohunn at the
irregular route-siep, the liles lilling the
whole road from side to side, and keeping
up a tremendous gait. There were no
complaints ; Imt from my own tracks I
could have nniched, as I walked, a good
half dozen men who should .have been at
that moment in the hospital.
'^Is n't this a pretty lively step. Cap.?"
a heroic little lellovv asked; an^l so lame
was he from the marching of a month that
ho could with dilliculty drag his feetalong-
"It's fast, to be sure, George ; but we
maat go faster than the Rebels, or they'll
have halt [Pennsylvania in ashes."
''Crack it along, thon !" The dear boy
laughed and whistled; and, upon my soul,
1 believe he could have ;',iied tears of pain
far easier.
Wo rested for half an hour about noon
ni a shady nook, and when we again took
tho road, emerging from the pleasant
shelter of the wood, the sun poured down
upon us, and upon the parched earth a-round
ns, with an eU'eot that wiis terrible
to witness. The IIUM dro[)ped under that
terrilic flood of luiiit and light as I have
seen })lants wil!, down v»hen exposed to a
like influence What they felt, 1, ot
XO. 52.
course, felt with them ; and to me it al-most,
seemed that the heat had tran!<(ixed
me, had smitten me as with sharp arrows,
and drained me of my strength. Hotter
and hotter glared the sun ; slower ;ind still
more slowly the column reeled along the
road;and often, as its sufteriugs grew
more exquisite, a sob, a sigh, a groan, or
an ejaculation wis forced from between
clenched teeth, and still we laliored on.
(.'oiKdudcd iH'xf, wci'k.
XI^: W S P A I' K R P A I R O N A G E.
Tho following article contains numy
good points, which the public will do well
to consider, still we do not claim that they
are applicable to this locality :
Many long >ind weary years' experience
in the publishihg business, has forced the
conviction upon us that newspaper pat-ronage
is a word of many delinitions, and
that a great majority of mankind are ei-ther
ignorant of the correct delinition or
are dishonest in a strictly biblical sense of
the word. Newspaper patronage is com-of
as many colors as tlie rainbow.
and as changeable as the chameleon.
One man comes in and subscribes for
the paper and pays for it in advance, and
goes home and reads it \vith the proud
satisfaction that it is his. He liands in
his advertisement, asks the price, pays
for it, aiid goes to his place of liusiness
and reaps the iidvantages thereof. This
is newspaper patronage.
Another man says, "You may put my
name on your books," and off, without
saying anything about tho pay. Time
passes on and you want money and ask
him to pay you what is honestly due you.
He flies into a passion, perhaps pays, per-haps
not, and orders his paper stopped.
This is calleM newspaper patronage.
Another man has been a subscriber lor
a long time, but has never paid a cent,
and at last becomes tired of you and wants
a change. He thinks he wants a city pa-per.
He tells the postmaster he don't
want it, and you get a paper marked "re-fused."
But does he call and pay 'i Oh,
no ! He wants the money to pay for the
city paper. He will pay you after a while,
he says. But he never does unless you
sue him. And this too is cr/Z/er/ newspa-per
patronage.
Another man likes tlie paper, he Lukes
a copy for him>>'elf and family, and i»;iys
foi- it ami does all he can to get new sub-scribei's—
he never grumbles, but always
has a cheerful Avord for the editor. This
is newspaper patronage.
Another man has a patent and wants
you to give him a two dollar notice every
week, "it will be of interest to your read-ers,"
lie says, but although he knows it
will benefit him most of all, does not oiler
to pay for it. This is culled newspa[.>er
patronage.
Another man who has taken the (taper
for several years but has never paid for it,
comes in with a four or five dollar adver-tisement
and asks you to insert it for
nothing, because he is an old patron of
yours. This is tv/(f/c'(/ newspaper patron-age
Another man—"a young man aijouu
town," no use of his taking a pajjer, he
knows all that is going on. I>y and by lie
gets married and hands in a notiee witli
"just hand me a dozen coines," He gets
them and when you mention pay, he looks
surprised "you surely don't charge for
sue I things." And this is ndled news-pai)
er patronage.
"Another man" (bless yon it does mc
od to see such men) comes in and says;
'he year to wdiich J paid is al>out to ex-pire.
I want to pay for another. Ho
does so and retires. This is newspaper
}jatronage.
It is not polite to use ptnniwus or liigh-counding
words in conversation. Tho
more simple words the botter, in Avhich
you can convoy your meaning and bo un-derstood.