Soldiers' record, 1870-05-14

              ONE FLAG, ONE LAND, ONE EE ART, ONE HAND, ONE NATION, EVEBMOBE!
VOL. II. HAETEOKD, OONX., SATURDAY, MAY 14, 1870. l^^^O. 45.
ioiivs at Ijomc.
AFTER THE BATTLE.
The drums are all inuHled, tbo bugles are still,
There's a ])ause iu the valley—a halt ou the hill ;
Aud bearers of standards swerve buck with a
thrill
Where sheaves of the dead bur the way ;
For a great field is reaped, Heaven's garners to
And stern death held his harvest to-day.
There's a voice on the winds like a spirits low cry,
'Tis the muster roll sounding, and who shall re-ply'?
Not those whose white laces glare white to the
sky.
With eyes iixed so steadfast and dimly,
As they wait that last trump which they may not
defv,
Whose hands clutch the sword hilt so grimly.
The brave heads, late lift«id, are solemnly bowed,
And the riderless chargers stand quivering and
cowed
As the burial re<iniem is chanted aloud,
The groans of tlie death-stricken drowning ;
While Victory looks ou, like a queen, pale and
pioud,
Who await till tiie morrow her crowning.
There is no mocking blazon, as clay sinks to clay;
T)\o vain pouips of the peace time are all swept
away
In the terrible face of the dread battle-day;
Nor cotiins nor shroudiiigs are here;
Only relics that lay where thickest the fray—
A rent cavsque and a headless spear.
Far away, tramp on tramp, peals the march ol the
foe.
Like a storm wave's retreating—spent, fitful and
slow,
With sounds like their spirits that faint us they
By yon red glowing river whose waters
Still darken -with sorrow the laud where they
flow.
To the eyes of her desolate daughters.
They arc fled—they are gone; but oh! not as they
came,
Iu the i)rice of these numbers they staked on the
game,
Never more shall they stand iu the vanguard of
Fame,
Never lift the stained sword which they drew
Never more shall they boast of a gloriou.s uame
Never march with the leal and the true.
Where the wreck of our legions lay stranded aud
lorn,
They stole ou our ranks in the mists of the nu)ru,
Like the giant of Gaza, their strength it was shorn.
Ere those mists had rolled up to the sky;
From the flash of our steel a new day-break seem-ed
born,
As wo sprang u])—to con(iuer or die.
The tumult is silenced; the death lots are cast;
And tlie heroes of battle are slumbering tlieirlast.
Do ye dream of yon pale form that rode on (be
blast
Would ye free it once more, O ye bravo 'I
Yes ! the broad road to honor is red where ye ]>as-sed,
Aud of Glory ye asked but—a grave !
OUT OF WORK.
'It is 110 use, Maria, I have t ried liarcl
evcrywlieve.'
'But you arc not going to give up, ;iio
you, Peter?'
'Give up ? how can I help it ? Within
four days ! have been to every bookbind-erv
in the city, and not a bit of work c-nn I
'But liave you tried anywhere else i'
'What else can 1 try V
'Why, anything that yon can do.'
'Yes, I have tried other things. 1 have
been to more than a dozen of my friends,
and offered to help them if they would
hire me.'
'What did you mean (o do tor them f
'I offered to post their accounts, make
out bills, or attend to the counter.'
Mrs. Stanwood smiled as her husband
thus spoKe.
'What makes you smile V he asked.
'To think you should imagine yon
would find work in such places. But
hov7 is Mark Leeds V
''HHoe w hasso ?n' othing in his house to eat.'
It was a shudder that passed over the
wife's lace now.
'Why do you tremble, wife ?'
'Because when we shall have eaten our
breakfast to-morrow morning wo shall
liave nothing.'
» 'What!' cried Peter Stanwood, half
starting from his chair. Do you mean
that
'I do.'
'But our flour V
'All gone. 1 baked the last this after-noon.'
'But we have pork.'
'You ate the last this noon.'
'Then we must starve !" groaned the
poor man, starting across the room,
Peter Stanwood was a book binder \)y
trade and had now been out of employ-ment
for over a month. He was one of
those wlio usually calculate to keep about
squiire with the world, and who consider
themselves piirti(.;uiarly fortunate if they
keep out of debt. He was now thirty-eight,
and had been married eight years.
He had three children to provide for, be-sides
liimself and his wife, nnd this, to-gether
with house rent, was a heavy
drudge upon his purse, even when work
was plenty, hut now, now—there was
nothing.
'Maria,' be said, stopping und gazing
iiis wife in the fat;e,'we must starve ; 1
have not a single penny in the world.'
'But do not despair, Peter. Try again
to morrow for work. You may find some-thing
to do. Anything that is honest
will be honorable. Should you make but
a shilling a day we would not starve,'
'But our house rent V
"Trust me for that. The landlord
shall not turn us out. Jf you will engage
to find some work to do, I will see that
we have house room,'
'I'll try once more,' uttered Peter de-spairingly.
'But you must go prepared to do any-thing.'
•Anything reasonable, Maria.'
'But what do you C!>,11 reasoual)le ?'
' Why,—anything decent.'
The wife felt almost inclined to smile,
but the matter was too serious for that,
and a cloud passed over her face. She
knew her husband's disposition, aud felt
sure he would find no work. She knew
he would look ubout for some sort of work
that would not lower him iu the social
scale, as he had once or twice expressed
it. However, she knew it woidd be ot no
use to say anything to him now, and she
let the matter i)ass.
On the following morning the last bit
of ibod i.i the house was put upon the ta-ble.
Stanwood could liardly reulizo that
he was penniless and without food. Fur
years he had been gay, thoughtless and
fortunate, making the most of the present,
forgetting the past, and leaving the future
to take eai e of itself Yet the truth was
naked and clear ; and when he left the
house he said something must be done.
No sooner had the husband left the
house than Mrs. Stanwood put on her hat
and shawl. Her oldest child was a girl
seven years oh I, and her youngest four.
She asked her next door neighbor to take
care of her ciiildren till noon. These
children wore known to be good and quiet,
aud they were taken cheerfully. Then
Mrs, Stanwood locked up her house and
wont away. She returned at noon, bring-ing
some dinner for the children, and then
went away ag.^in. She got home in the
evening before her husbaiid, carrying a
heavy basket on her arm,
'Well, Peter,' she asked after her hus-band
had entered and sat down, 'what
luck V
'Nothing! nothing !'ho groaned. '1
made out to squeeze a dinner out of an
old chum but I can't find work.'
'And where have you looked to-day V
'Oh !—everywhere. I have been to a
liuudred places, but it is the same in
every place. It is nothing but" one eter-nal
no! 110 ! I'm tired and sick of it.'
'But wluit sort of work have you oiler-ed
to do
'Why, I even weut so far as to offer to
tend in a liquor store down town.'
The wife .smiled.
'Kow, what shall we do uttered
Peter, siiasmodically.
Why, we will eat our supper first, and
thou we will talk the matter over.'
'Supper 1 have you got any T
'Yes—i)lenty of i t'
liut yon told me that you had none.'I to Mr. Smith's, and one to Mr. Dixal's.
JTeither hiid we this morning, but I And the new carrier worked all day, and
work to-day, and found when it came night he had earned just
I ninet3'-s\even cents. None
CX-'
have been after
some.'
'You !—You been after work V
claimed the husband in surprise.
'But h o w W h e r e ? What V
'Wliy, first I Avent to Mrs. Snow's, 1
knew her girl was sick, and I hoped she
might liave work to do. I went to her
and told her my story, and she set me to i
had sneered
at him, and his acquaintances whom ho
had met had greeted him as usual. He
was far happier th in when he went homo
the night before, for now he was indepen-dent.
On the next day he earned just a dol-work
doing her washing. She gave me {lar, and thus he cuutinuod to work and at
Ibod to bring home for the children, and
])aid me three shillings when I got
through.'
'What! you been out washing for our
butcher's wife V said Peter, looking sur-prised.
'Of course I have, and thereby earned
enough to keep us in food through to-moii'ow
at any rate ;so to morrow you
may come home to dinner.'
'But how about the rent V
'Oh, I have seen Mr. Spinner, and told
him just how we are situated, and ^'ffered
to give him my watch as a pledge for the
pay of the rent in two months, with inter-est
on all arrears up to the date. I told
him I did the business because you were
away hunting for work.'
'So he's got your ^old watch ?'
'No—he wouldn't take it. He said if
I would bjcome responsible for the pay-ment
he would let it rest.'
'Then we have got a roof to cover us
and food for to-morrow. But what next?
Oh, what a curse these hard times are !'
'Don't despair, Peter, for we shall not
starve. 1 have got work enough engag-ed
to keep usi alive '
'Ah—eh, what is it ?'
'Why, .Mr. Snow has engaged me to
carry small packages, baskets, ^""dles '
and so forth to his rich cijsiomers. He; p^te,, 4f I had been in
has had to give up one ot his horses. ; j ^aken up with
' Whiit do you mean, Maria ? : ]jjg >
'Ju.st whatl say. When Mr. Snow, Mark"" mentioned the name of the same
came home to dinner, 1 was there, and I ' individual again,
asked him if he ever had any light articles ! ' Why,' re'sumed Peter, 'I have been
which he wished to send around to cus- doing the work of a butcher's boy for the
toniers. Never mind all he said. He jjast week '
oid happen to want just such work done, " Mark was incredulous, but his compan-though
he meant to call on some of the ion soon convinced him, and then they
idlers who lounge about the market. He ' separated, one going home happy and
promised to give me all the work he could,' contented, and the other going away from
and I am to be therein good season in ' them to lind some sort of excitement in
the morning.' ; which to drown his misery.
'Weil that it a prett> go ! my wife. One day Peter had a basket ofprovis-tnrned
butcher's boy! You won't do ions to carry to Mr. W . He was his
any such a thing.' former employer. He took his load up-
'And why not ?" on his arm and started off, and just as he
'Why not? Because—because—' was entering :he yard of the customer,
'Say because it will lower you in the he met Mr. W coming out.
social scale.' ^ 'Ah, Stanwood,is this you ?' asked his
'Well, and so it will.' ' old employer kindly.
'Then it is more honorable to lay still 'Yes, sir.'
the end of the week he had five dollars
and seventy-five cents in his pocket, be-sides
having paid for rhe 'ood for his
family, save some few pieces of meat Mr.
Snow had given him. On Saturday eve-ning
he met Mr. Leeds, another binder,
who had beer, discharged from work
with himself. Leeds looked careworn
and rusty.
'Dow goes it?'asked Peter.
'Don't ask me,' groaned Mark. 'My
family are half starved.'
'But can't you find anything to do ?'
'Nothing.'
'Have you tried ?'
'Everywhere ; but it's no use. I have
pawned all my clothes save these I have
on. I have been down to the bindery to-day,
and what do you think the old man
offered me V
'What was it ?'
'AVhv, he oiibred to let me do his cart-ing
! He had just turned off his nigger
for drunkenness, and offered me the
place! By the powers, I had a great
mind to pitch him into the cart and run
him to the—'
Mark mentioned the name of an indiv-idual
who was supposed to dwell some-where
in a region somewhat warmer than
and starve, and see one's children starve
too, than to earn honest bread by honest
work. I tell you, Peter, if you cannot
work I must. We should have been with-:
out any bi'cad to night had I not found
work to-day. You know that all kinds of
light work are seized upon by those who
have particular friends and relatives en-gaged
in tnem. At such a time as this,'
it is not for us to consider the kind of
work wv3 !?hall do, providing it is honest.
'What are you up to now ?'
' I urn a butcher's boy.'
'A what?'
'You see I have brought your provis-ions
to you ; I am a regular butcher's
boy.'
'And how long have you been at work
thus ?'
'This is the tenth day sir.'
'But don't it come hard ?'
Oh ! give me the liberty of living on our jj^'^Nieostt,h inang d cwomille sf urhnairsdh smoy lfoanmgi lays witi tihs
own deserts, and the independence to be jj^gad.'
governed by my own convictions of right.' | t^J^] i^^ch can you make a day at
'But, my wife, only think—you carrying' this ?'
our butcher's stuff! Why, I would sooner • 'Sometimes over, a dollar and sometimes
go and do it myself.' not over fifty cents.'
'If you will go,' said his wife with a ^ 'Well now, look hero, Stanwood, there
smile.- 'I will stay at homo and take have been less than a dozen of my old
care of the children.' ! hands hanging around my counting room
It was hard for Peter Stanwood : but' whining for work, for the last fortnight,
the more he shought about the matter the , They are stout, able men, and yet they
more he saw the justice and right of the lie still because I have no work for them,
path into which his wife had led him. He- Last Saturday I took pity on Leeds and
fore he weut to bed he promised his wile offered him the job of doing my band
ho would go to the butcher's iu the morn- carting. 1 told him I would give a dol-ing.
lar and a quarter a day, but he turned
Aud Petei Stanwood went upon his up his nose aud asked me not to iusult
new business. Mr. Snow greeted him him. And yet he owned his family was
warmly, j)raising his faithful wife, aud suffering. But you come to «iy place to-then
sent him with two baskets, one to go morrow aud you shall have something to