Soldiers' record, 1869-05-01

              Dovotea to tUo Interests of tlio Soldiers and Sailors oftlio late W a r.
YOL. I. HARTEOKD, OOOT., SATURDAY, MAY 1, 1869. . TO.
iiirs a
S H A L L I D R A W T H E I K F I E E ^
D ) you tliink ho was tired of living,
Tho soldier who calmly said,
"Shall I (Iriiw their fire stepped forward,
And straightway fell down—dead.
Tho troops ruslicd onward in safety.
And gained their ground at a stride;
Do yoa thiidv tliat they or tlio angela
Forget wliy tlieir comrade died'<
I think that man was but doing
The work he was set to do,
And found not death, but new life, by
The gate which, his soul passed through.
Years after wo read in the story,
And thrill witli a high desire
Unawakened by shouts of glory,
His words, "Shall 1 draw their fire V
Ah ! heroes of self surrender,
Never in vain yo die.
While there is a wrong to conquer,
Or a right lo lift thereby.
Forerunners in ways of duty.
Never alone yo full,
While touching the holy footprints
Of the Lord w ho died for all.
Cincinnaii Times.
T H E F A T A L A R R O W .
BY ALICE CAUT.
My father had a fiiir-haired harvester;
I gleaned behind him in the barley-land ;
And there he put a red rose in my hand:
O cruel, killing leaves those rose-leaves were !
Ho sung to me a little lovelorn lay.
Learned of some bird ; and while his sickle swept
Adiwart tho shining stalks, my wild heart kept
Beating tho tune up with him all the way.
One time wo rested by a limpid stream,
O'er which tho loose-tongued willows whispered low;
Ah blessed hour! so long and long ago,
It Cometh back iipon me like a dream.
And there he t o l d mo, b l u s h i n g soft—ah me!—
Of one that he could love,—so young, so fair,
L i k e m i n e the color of her eyes a n d h a i r:
0 foolish h e a r t ! I t h o u g h t that I was she 1
Full flowed his manly beard; his eyes so brown
Made sweet confession with their tender look ;
A thousand times 1 kissed him in the brook.
Across the flowers—with bashful eyelids down.
And even yet I cannot hear the stir
Of willows by a water bnt I stop.
And down the warm waves all their length I drop
My empty arms, to lind my harvester.
In all his speech there was no word to mend;
Whate'er ho said, or right or wrong, was best
Until at last an arrow pierced my breast,
Tipt with a fatal point;—he called me friend!
Still next my heart tho fading rose I wore.
But all so sad; full well I know, God wot.
That I had been in love and he had not,
And iu tho bur.oy-fiold I gleaned no more.
Atlantic MontUhj.
H O S P I T A L R E M I : ? I S 0 E 2 ^ C E S.
BY GEORGIANA.
ONBOF tliosG pleasant mornings in Sep-tcmbci',
18G2, a lady and niyselt' visited
the r itont Ollice in Washington, D. C.,
then nsed as an hospital tbi- our wounded
and dying soldiers, little thinking wo
should lltid aiiytlung to do, as so many
ladies and gentlemen were giving tiieir
wiiole time nursing and caring ibr all in
dillerent buildings devoted to that bon-eticent
purpose. We soon saw how mis-taken
we were,and cheerfully added our
small help daily lor many weeks, and wore
a tiiousand times repaid each visit by the
gratitude oftliosc sullbring men.
One day I said to a young man (altnosfc
a boy), very low with consumption, " Is
there anything in particular you would
liave me to bring you V
"Oh, yes ; I am longing for some sponge-cake
; if I could have some I should be
better." "You shall have some, if there
is any to bo found iu this city." How I
wished ibr a kitchen, that I might make
it. At last, after a long search, a' loaf was
found, and, though not very fresh, ho re.
lislied it, saying, "It is good ; it goes
right to the spot, and I shall get well."
IJo did improve from that moment, often
saying, as I carried him his daily loaf, "If
I had only had this before, I should not
have been so sick." We all thought he
was really getting well; his cough was
better, and he could walk around a little
with assistance—tho Doctor telling him he
could have his discharge iu a month.
Every day ho would say to me, " I shall
go home so soon /"bnt alas! one coldriiiny
November day lie took cold, violent heyior-rhage
came on, and in two days he had
only strength to whisper his thanks ; the
third morning, going to his cot, I found it
vacant—he having passed away the night
before. True enough, lie had "gone home
soon," not to his widowed mother, in a
distant city, who so anxiously waited his
coming, but to a better home, to meet his
reward for I'M his bravery and suffering.
I found those well enough to talk, liked
to tell ns of the battles they had been in,
how they were wounded,etc., etc. It was
very easy to bo a good listener, and many
a graphic descriptin of a conflict, or of a
march, have I heard from those poor men.
They would tell us of their families
One says, "I've got the nicest old woman
iu all Pennsylvanjje. I'll bet she's want-ing
to see mo. Why, I haven't seen her
since I enlisted, and I never left her be-fore
;" the tears running down his cheeks
all the while he was talking.
To another I carried some grapes ; he
burst into tears, saying, "Oh, how they
remind me of home ! I never expected
to see any again, and have been wishing
so much for them. Did you know I
wanied some ?" "No, but I thought they
would be good for you." "Heaven bless
you ; some good spirit must have sent you
here." Juit then a young man called,
"Lady, what State are you giving to ?"
" All!" " Well, then I wish you'd give
me same of that sass." I was giving them
currant jelly. "Yes, I will soon be round
to you." When he tasted it, "Ah, that's
so good—-just what I wanted ; you see
I've had the fever, and I'm so hungry,
and this tastes just like lemonade. Will
you give me some more to-morrow ?"
Quite a young man sat bolstered up in
his cot, not having been able to lie down
for many weeks, in consequence, of a terri-able
wound in the back, and when the
surgeon told him he could not live more
than twenty-four hours at most, he looked
earnestly at him some moments, then said,
"My fatlier in heaven, I do not fear to die;
but my mother and little brother de|,>cnd
on me, and I lolll live." The surgeon
told me that in about three months he was
discharged, one of the most wonder-ful
cases ho ever knew.
Two or three every morning compared
their watches with mine, and, if I were a
little late, would say to me, "We were a-fraid
you were not coming." Then they
would ask if I "thought they looked bet-ter,"
&c.. &c.
How vividly memory brings back those
sad scenes, daily witnessed. Old 'athcrs
waiting to bear the silent burdens back
to the homes they left so strong and
brave ; back to tho earth that was tlunr
boyhood's home ! But sadder than all
are the collius marked "/</<A-«ow;/i." An
ambulance containing one or more, cover-ed
with the Hag they fought for, two cav-alrymen
by the side, slowly wending their
way through the crowded avenue, no pro-cession
to follow; though we know,
somewhere^ there arc hearts grieving for
the lost ones, and strangers ])ray for the
bravo boys in blue.
IIow many interesting histories might
be written could these hospital walls
speak!
Never can I forget one young man, beg-ging
to live to see his mother once more.
"If I only could live to get homo 1" Poor
child, his wish come too late—ho was too
badly wounded to be moved, and tho sur-geon
knew he could oidy live a few hours.
He was suffeiing so much that I was not
sorry to hear of his case from all pain—
tiuithe had gone to join that band of
brave souls iu a better land.
Those were sad, sad days. Tlievery
air was full of tVireAvells ; and the long
trains of ambulances bringing the Avound-ed
; brave boys dying all around us;
many others left with but cue limb.
Such wliole-souled devotedness never can
bo forgotten.
In tlie silent lieart, by frequent mem-ories,
in after years of tlioughtfulness,
we shall tell these tales to children a-round
happy, quiet hearthstones.
Packard's Monthly.
FRUIT IN OLD AGE.
The name of Ishmael Day will long be
rememberd in Baltimore county, as that of
one who, without fear of man, but in the
fear of God, used the limbs and faculties
with which God had endowed him, to the
noblest advantage, in his old age.
On Sunday evening, Jidy lOth, 1864,
Day heard that Dulaney's valley, Mary-land,
was filled with rebels stealing horses
and cattle, but did not give credit to the
report, thinking they were Federal troops
pressing horses. About sun-down the
same day he heard that the rebels were
on the Hartford pike, about a mile distant,
the people living thereon being much ex-cited.
He went to bed, leaving a lamp
dimly burning all night, and arose early
on Monday morning and ran up the glori-ous
old Stars and Stripes rather earlier
than usual, then sat down on the front
porch. About six o'clock A. M.., the sound
of horses' feet coming down the road was
heard, and in a short time two of them
came at full tilt up to the door. Mr. Day
moved down to tho lower step to see if
there were any more near, and seeing
none, resumed his scat.
By this time the foremost one had dis-mounted,
seized hold of the foot of tiie
flag, jerked it down and broke the rope,
cursing and calling it a 'damned old rag.'
Day coolly asked him, "What do you
moan ? What arc you about ?" Without
waiting, however, to reply, he ran immedi-itely
up staiis, seized one of his two guns,
already loaded in ti bedroom. With this
gnu, he shot the foremost one of the reb-els,
directing his shot out of the second
story window, which was standing open.
When shot, the rebel was in the act of
folding up I ho flag for his departui'o, but
raised liia hands and fell back, exclaiming,
" l am shot!"
Mr. Day now seized the otiier gun, and
ran down stairs, wiien be was met by Mrs.
Day, crying, and imploring that he would
not .shoot a,^ain or they would kill him.
He however pressed out into the yard to
take a shot at the other marauder, but he
was among the missing, having clapped
spurs to his horse on the fall of his com-rade.
This wa,-^ a matter of keen rogi'ct
•to the old patriot, as it failed him of the
opj)ortunity to give him his dose of metal-lic
bitters also. Seeing none of the sqiuid
at the time, he walked up to the wounded
man, and, in his patiiotic anger, said,
" You rebel rascal, i will now finish you 1"
Day cocked his gun for that purpose, but
the rebel asked lor mercy and surrenderod.
Knowing that he had received the whole
charge. Day was satisfied that he could
nut live, and therefore did not shoot again,
—seeing he would never be able again to
haul down and dishonor the flag under
which Avorill 'led to conquer.'
The whole ti'oop was now heard com-ing
down the road. Day returned fbrth-witli
to his bedroom, got a six-barrelled
revolver, and »vith the loaded gun started
for a hiding-place, about two hundred and
fifty yards northeast of his house,—hartlly
doing so before they were all at the hou.-^e,
at once firing his buildings, sparing only
a small corn and hen-house. Everything
was burnt by them, including all tlie j)er-sonal
property. At the md of the con-flagration,
which he was an eye witness
to, Mr. Day went to one of his nearest
neighbors to get some breakfast, and after-ward
to a second one to get his dinner,
and was conveyed to Baltimore the same
day. On the next Tlun slay, ho had his
name enrolled in the com[)any of the Old
l>efenders, commanded by Captain Childs,
for the defence of Baltimore, and on tho
same day obtained a guard from headquar-ters,
to bring in the wounded rebel, who
afterwards died.
A short time previous to thisoccurrcncc,
Mr. Day, on being asked if ho would keep
his flag floating in case of an invasion by
the rebels, said, emphatically—
"Yes, and I'll shoot the first of them
who attempts to take it down, if it costs
mo my life the next instant!"
C H I L D R E N .
Children grow up—nothing on earth
grows so fast as children, It was buL
yesterday, and that lad was playing with
tops, a buoyant boy. He is a man, and
gone now. There is no more childhood
ibr him or for us. Life has claimed him.
When a beginning is made it is like ravel-ing
a stocking; stitch by stitch gives way
till all is gone. The house has not a child
in it—there is no more noise in the hall
—boys rushing pellmell; it is very order-ly
now. There are no more skates, sleds,
balls or strings left scattered about.
Things are neat enough now. There is
no delay tor sleepy folks; there is no long-er
any task, before you lie down, of look-ing
after anybody and tucking up the
bed-clothes. There are no disputes to
settle, nobody to get oft'to school, no com-plaints,
importunities for impossible
things, no rips lo mend, no fingers to tie
up, no faces to be washed, or collars to
be arranged. There was never such
peace in the house ! It -would sound like
music to have some feet to clatter down
the front stairs ! Oh for some children's
noise! What used to ail us, that we
were hushing their loud laugh, checking
their noisy frolic, and reproving tneir
slamming and banging the doors 'i
We wish our neighbors would only lend
us an urchin or two to make a little noise
in these premises. A home withovt chil-dren
! It is like a lantern and no candle;
a garden and no flowers; a brook and no
water gurgling and gushing through its
channel.
We want to be tried, to be vexed, to bo
run over; to hear children at work with
all its varieties. J 'uring the secular days
this is enough marked. But it is the S d)-
bath that puts our home to the proof.
That is the Ghristian family day Tlie in-tervals
of public worship are sf>aces of
peace. Tiie family seems made up that
day. The children are at home, and you
can lay your hands upon their heads.
They seem to recognize the greater and
lesser love—to God and to friends. Tho
house is peaceful, but not still. There is
alow and melodious thrill of children in
it. But tlie Sabbath conies too still now.
There is a silence that aches in tho ear.
There is too much room at the table, too
much at tho hearth. The bedrooms are
a world too orderly. There is too much
leisure and too little care. Alas! what
mean those things ? Is somebody grow-ing
old? Are tiu'se signs and tokens?
Is life waning ? IJ. ir. Beccher,
Tho earth works at Gold Ilai-bor are
last disappearing under the hands of tho
dilligeiit load searchers, who are found
everywhere along tho lino. Tons of old
iron and lead arc cai-ried into Rich-mond
from this field for which a round
price is paid. "Wo met stsvoral ne-groes,''
writes a correspondent, "with
large sacks, collecting the bones of dead
horses, which they sold to tho bono-grinders
in Richmond. Upon quostion-tng
them, to ascertain if they also car-ried
off human bones, they emphatical-ly
replied: 'No, sah, wo don't want no
ghosts axing us for der boiies.' With-out
doubt this superstitious people, who
nail a horse-shoe over their door, that
visitors may bring good luck, and who
believe in all manner of signs and ghosts
withal, do abstain from disturbing tho
bones of soldiers; but it is a quoitiou
if this is the case with all the white peO'
pie."