Soldiers' record, 1869-11-06

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ONE FLAG, ONE LAND, ONE HEART, ONE HAND, ONE NATION, EVERMORE!
VOL. I I. HAKTEORB, OON^^., SATURDAY, J^^OVEMBER 6 1869. N O . 18v
i o i i v s at i o m c.
THE IRISH BOY IN BLUE.
BY C. C. JIRAOK.
'TWHS ill tlio spring of sixty-one, I Ictt old Irolaiid's
ShOHi,
And my kind old motlicr wecpin;,' tit our hiuiilde ciit)-
iii door,
I crossed iho broiul Atlantic, with my heart all iVoc
ti'om pain.
To fight tor rij;lit and liberty on Virginia's bloody
plain.
1 arrived in riiiladeiphia, to the Marshal's olliue
went;
There enlisted in the army, for I'd tin; last l>ri;ih(;
shilling? spent.
They promoted me to Corporal, for ihcy learned thai
I was true ;
And no kiuj;' was halt as happy as your Irisii hoy in
blue
'Mid the diiafcniny,'roar of buttle, we were lij-htinj;
hand to hand,
'Neath the !,n-i)en flay; and the stars and stripes ofCor-ciiorau's
eommand.
And when our lla-^ was sliot away, with yells wc rent
the air,
And down to victory or death, the Irish boys did
bear.
I grasped tho flaj;—'twas spotted thick with crimson
clots of gore.
And bloody hand-murks on the staff, that our color-bearer
i)ore.
Says I, for veageancc and the right, and liberty so
true,
I'll bear tlie colors through tliu strife, hke an Irish
boy in blue.
My comrades, falling tliick and fast, lay dead on eve-ry
hand,
But not a murmur from tiio lips of our gallant little
band.
We forced the lines, we drove them back to their earth-works
all dismayed.
And with shouts of triumph, n.adly rushed brave
Corclioran's brigade.
With guns and knapsacks thrown asiile, we nnidly
fought our Avay,
Till 'ueath our feet in pools of blood, scores of brave
soldiers lay,
Again our flag in shreds was torn, their aim was dead-ly
true ;
For 'iieatli its folds there wounded lay, an Irish' buy
in blue.
They bore hiui gently from the lield, they nursed with
every care,
But the strong arm fearless in the light, no more the
Hag could bear.
Go tell my mother that her boy from earth and friends
must part;
Tlic little treasure that she gave I've placed it near
my heart.
Tell her 1 fought for home and right, and the love of
my Oollien,
And fell when victory was coirplete, 'neath Ireland's
ilag of green;
Go tell the ijoys in Ireland if they love their country
true.
To stand or fall by the stars and stripes, liko the
»Irish hov in lilue.
"WOUNDED."
Down to the banks of the Tiiuiuos slopes
the la>vn at Woodlands, the residence of
Mrs. Chiistophcr Lane, widow ; and be-neath
the shady limes, on what is termed
"croquet grounds," far enough away from
the geranium and verbena bods to do no
mischief to them, stand a party of four,
mallet in hand, on a certain Heptember
evening, not very long ago.
"Well," said Carrie Lane, "we liad
better make haste and choose sides, or we
shall not have time for another game be-fore
we are benighted. Remember the
evenings are shorter than they were a
month ago."
With a clever stroke of her mallet, Car-rie
sent her croquet ball bounding up to
the spot whore Mr. Halo, the curate,
stood talking with Major Warder of "the
Blues," and Miss Holroyd, who like him-self,
were guests at Woodlands for the
evening. He gave a brisk jump as the
ball came with full force against his an-cle,
looking hastily round at the pretty
culprit, who laughed quietly beneath the
shade of her dainty little hat and plume
her bright, young face radiant with hap-piness
and bloom.
"You are a hard enemy, Miss Carry,"
he said, coming toward her j "so if wo are
to choose sides,! shall have you on mine."
"Very well," said Carry, no way dis
pleased, "Let us begin at once. Gome
Clare, and Maj. Warder."
In So tho battle began in real earnest,—
Clare Holroyd and tho major on one side,
Garry Lano and the curate on the otiier.
lleport said this young curate, of Thames-town,
was courting pretty Carry Lano.
Perhaps he was ; at all events, Carry knew
best, and no one had any right to sot re-ports
going until the fact was confirmed.
Biit if it was true, then we can only say
the curate Avas a man of good taste, and
he might have gone very far before he
would have found a prettier wife, or a
wanner heart than this little Carry
Lane's.
The other girl formed quite a contrast
to her ; Carry was all brilliance and col-or,
with richly-tinted cheeks, sparkling,
roguish eyes, and jet-black locks j but
Glare Holroyd was pale,wonderfully pale,
and fair ; it was only now and then that a
faint, soft tinge of color would come in-to
hor cheeks and lighted u > her deep
gray eyes. Her luiir was vei-y l)eauriful ;
it formed q-iitea glory round the pale
face,—such I'C d, bright, waving, gold-col-ored
hair. A little, rare smile would
sometimes part the delicately curved lips
and linger there awhile, and then it was
that you could call Clare Holroyd very
lovely. She was tall and slender, and on
this September evening her dress was all
white. Carry Lane had placed a bit of
bright scarlet geranium in the golden hair,
which formed a litting contrast.
Carry had been telling the curate all
about Miss Uolroyd, for tnat young lady
had only lately arrived on u visit to some
friends at Thamestown, and was not
mown in the neighborhood. She had
just passed through a "season" in London,
where Carry said she WMS "raved about."
People called her a Hirt, but v'arry
couldn't see it. unless thiit careless, half-absent
way in which she allowed the as-siduous
major to arrange her croquet ball,
watching him with a look of calm indiffer-ence
in her beautiful eyes, and sometimes
that rare, sweet smile on her lips, might
be called flirting. The major was a sin-cere
admirer of Miss Holroyd's ; but Car-ry
denied "there being anything in it."
The game proceeded very slowly, ow-ing
to the repeated "bad strokes" of the
major, and a slight absence ot mind on
the -part of the curate. Presently there
came out through one of the library win-dort's
which opened on the lawn, a tall,
handsome old lady, to look at the players.
"I have just left my invalid to himself
for a little, poor fellow ; 1 wish he was
able to be out here," she said, ensconcing
herself in a garden-chair under the lime
trees.
"Invalid—aw !" said tlie mnjor, ar-ranging
his tawny moustache, and gazing
Klce()ily at the speaker. "VHio is he—
aw—Mrs. Lane. Didn't know you liad
any one staying here."
"He has been with us a week now,"
replied Mrs. Lane "He is a sort of a
connection of mine, Capt. Challoner, of
the—th, just home from Lidiu, where
he was wounded in the arm during the
mutiny, lie is recovering that, however,
though the arm is still in a sling ; but he
is suffering from frightful depression and
weakness, after an attack of brain fever.
I got him here as soon as 1 could, for
change of air. His is rather a romantic
story."
"Like to hear it—uw," murmured the
major, indefatigably smoothing his mous-tache.
"Before he went out to India," said
Mrs. Lane, "IUB mother told me he met,
at a friend's house in London, a young
lady,—she did not mention the name,—
to whom he became attached, and, in
courseof time engaged. The wedding-day
was fixed, and everything arranged, when
suddenly, to the surprise of all, the en-gagement
was broken oft'. The young
lady went to Brighton, and Charlie Chal-loner
to Lidia. No one knew exactly how
it was, but Mrs. Challoner thinks it was
because the girl llirted with other admir-ers,
and Captain Challoner grew jealous;
so they quarreled, and however the girl
may have felt after it, I know he has nev-er
got over it, and it is just that which is
keeping him weak and depressed, and 1
the stillness around.
\
much fear he will never be finy better.
He has only been away from Kngland a "Her song ! Her song !" he murmured;
year, and here he is a perfect wreck. It ' I hoped 1 was forgetting her !"
is miserable to see a fine, handsome young | The poor wounded hand struggled hard
fellow like that, as weak as an infant, to cover his face, but only the right arm
hardly able to move from the sofa, and so was able to do its work, and the man who
listless and indifferent," sighed tho kind- had once been so strong and brave groan-hearted
Mrs. Lane. ^ od in anguish, perhaps for his helpless
•'He is such a downright good follow, j state, but me-thinks it was more at tho
I doirt know how any girl could have | memories which that old song recalled,
quarrelled with him," exclaimed Carry, j "1 could have borne it all, had she not
enthusiastically. ; married him—that fellow—that fool!" he
The curate looked round somewh at I groaned,
quickly. Was he growing suspicious ? | Ah, there was a wound in Charles Chal-
Carry pretended not to see the look he j loner's heart far deeper than that in his
bent upon her ; but she did see it, and arm—a wound which time did not heal,
felt rather pleased than otherwise. The opening of (he door caused him to
"The girl must have been a heartless look around ; then, trembling, staggering
coquette, for 1 do nor. believe he would j and ghastly, he rose to his feet. Was it
have given up on any slight provocation," , the ghost of his former love that came to
continued Mrs. Lane. "Yet 1 think she him there in that moonlight silence, robed
could not but reproiich herself for her con- in white, with her pale, beautiful face riva-duct
if she saw him now."
",f\w,'' said the Major, "quite romantic
Shall we—uw—see this, hero this "
ling her dress ? A moment she paused,
then, with outstretched hand, (Jlare Hol-royd
came toward him.
"Captain Challoner," she said, "I heard
you were here, they told me—you were
i ill. 1 am come to see you -to say I
Again the curate looked uncomfortable, ; wronged you once, in my cruel foolishness;
t Carry relieved him somewhat when but Task you to foru;ive."
Broken.
"Don't laugh at him. Major Warder,"
cried Carry ; "you would give your eyes
to be half so handsome."
but
she added, "1 have :ui idea that he is still
devoted tp this girl, whoever she may be.
1 have watched him gazing out of the win-dow
with sucli a far-away look in his
eyes, as if he were thinking of her and
other days."
"Aw—shall wo—aw—see him to
night ?" asked the Major, again.
"Perhaps we may induce him to come
into the drawing-room after tea," said
Carry.
'".Don't you feel interested—aw—and
curious, Miss Uoloryd ?" asked the major
going up to where she stood.
She was pale at all times, but at that
moment Clare Holroyd's face was ghastly.
"My dear, you are cold," said Mrs.
Lane. "Garry, you must leave the game
and come into the dining room ; there is
a small lire there, and we will have wome
tea. Come, dare, 1 cannot let you catch
cold on my lawn, or you will not be al-lowed
to come here again."
!Mrs. Lane rose, took the young girl's
arm, and led her to the house, the others
following slowly.
An hour afterward, when the twilight! had Hirte 1 with Sir Phillip Fairfax, in-luinglcd
with moonlight and cast shadows stead of beiii"' contented with his honest
upon the stone balcony outside the library IQVO.
window, Gapt. Ghalloner rose up from ^ ^^Oh, Charlie, forgive me 1" she cried
t!ie sofa, where he had been lying all the , in a low, sweet, plaintive voice, forgetting
afternoon, and with a weak, wavering step, all else but the memory of that old, true'
he strove to pace the room. He was i love. "Charlie, you should not have
growing weary of that tedious confinement,! go„o away without a word that time. 1
day after day, and he struggled hard a- know I deserved it, bnt I was true to you,
gainst the weakness that overcame him. indeed 1 was. 1 never cared for—"
disjointed, and almost incom-prehensible
as was her speech, he under-
I stood it.
It was no ghost, then, it vvas really
i</lare Holroyd—his first, his only love,
i And the face he had wearied and pined
I to see was there now, at his side, the
I moonlight playing upon it, and upon tho
I soft, golden hair—Clare ILdroyd, more .
I beautiful than ever, because of the pride,
i the hauteur that was gone, the gentle,
tender humility which had come. Cap-tain
Challoner saw the danger, and re-membered
she was another man's wife.
He took the outstretched hand, felt the
slender fingers clasp his own, then care-lessly,
ho let it go. And Clare stood
there looking up at him with a yearning,
sorrowful pity in her face; she could seo
how ill he liad been, how weak he was,
and when her eyes .ell on the poor, help-less,
wounded arm, great tears swelled
into them. How different to the Charlie
Challoner of old ! Bright, brave, true-hearted,
noble Charlie C.halloner, who.
had gone away and loft her l)ecause she
His left arm was bound up in a sling ;
with the .right he steadied himself in his
walk, holding on by the bookcase, tho ta-ble
and chairs.
Mrs. Lane had called Charles Challoner
handsome ; but, strictly speaking, he was
not so—never had been. It was a fine, a
noble face,—one you could trust in, one
"Hush," Haid he.
Cold, stern and proud, the soldier
threw her hand from his arm. It was tho
first word he iiad spoken, and there was
no sound of love or forgiveness in the
tone ; it nearly Oroke ' ('hire Holroyd's
heart.
. , ... , . . "Hush!" he repeated. "He is your
you mightlike to have near you in time of imsband now. Lady Fairfax. Do not
danger,doubt,difficulty, or trial.; There prove your trutii tome by being false to
was intellect in tho broad, high brow ;
there was tenderness and truthfulness in
the large, sad, brown eyes, which at times
seemed to be looking "far away," as Car-ry
Lane said, and there was a brave firm-nees
in the mouth and the massive chin.
Presently (.Japtain Challoner stopped
in the middle of the walk. His ear canght
him. It is too late now."
"Who told you 1 was mai'ried V" she
cried with a breathless gasp.
A bitter smile curled his lip as he re-plied.
"You forgot that English newspapers
travel to India, and though they may not,
always bo tho bearers of pleasant tidings.
the sound of inusic lu the drawing-room, at least they are truthful. It was through
across the hall. Ho stood a moment to them I learnt that Clare Holroyd was
listen, \oimg sweet voices sang, "An- married, at Brighton, in January last, to
uie Laurie.' blowly he staggered back pj^^i Fairfax, tho owner of Dimeden
to tho sofa again, carrying a horde of halt- Staffordshire, the—"
forgotten memories with him,—memories j ..r^^j^o greatest fool in London," he
which Imd gone to India a year ago with have added, in his bitter scorn :
him, following him all through tho scenes initho chocked himselt, linking wearily
of war and death, and returning home a- upon his couch,
gain, only to be banished by fever and i ^ over Clare Hoi-unconsciousness.
Back they flowed with I face-the old,glad light which left
double force, as "Annie Laurie broke on ^^ ^^^