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JACKSON CO. PUB. COM’Y, )
Proprietors. '*
VOLUME IV.
PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY.
ROBERT S. HOWARD, Editor and Publisher,
JEFFERSON , JACKSON COGA .
OFFICE, N. E. COR. PUBLIC SQUARE, UP-STAIRS.
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accordingly.
fflTßusincss or Professional Cards, of six lines
•r Seven Dollars per annum; and where
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£epf ihberfisments.
NOTICE TO CONTRACTORS.
WILL be let, t the lowest bidder, before the
Court House door in Jefferson, on Satur
day, the 21st ot June, 1870, the contract for build
ing the bridge across the Oconee river, known as
King’s bridge, according to the following specifi
cations : Said bridge to be built just above the
present old bridge, and built on a level with road
on tHe Jefferson side of river, with 12 feet road
way, with one fifty feet swinging span and two
spans extending from each arch under swinging
span to each bank of the river ; supposed length
of end spans, 30 feet each ; the arches under swing
ing span to be built on mud-sills 30 feet long, and
placed as near each bank as the extension of fifty
Icet will allow; uprights to arches to be 12 by 12
inches, well braced with timber 8 by 10 inches,
extending from and out on mud-sills to with 12
inches cap-sills ; upright in centre 8 by 8 inches;
cap-sails to be 12 by 14 inches, morticed half
through ko as to tit on top of tenents on uprights;.
king post 10 by 10 inches ; rafters 8 by 10 inches; :
-5 sleepers to swinging span 10 by 12 inches, said
span to be well bolted with iron bolts and sweed
iron J o®<ch thick and 3 inches wide to hold the
same; 5 sleepers each to end spans 6 by 12 inches ;
flooring 14 feet ia length and 2 inches thick, well
spiked down with 5 inch stringers; banisters, i
fastened to uprights, made of 3 inch scantling. 3 ’
feet high and 8 feet apart, morticed through and
keyed on under side of flooring plank; planked
on inside with inch plank ; four inch strips over
top all sleepers, to lap well on cap-sills. Timbers
to be all heart, and sawed, except mud-sills and
sleepers to swinging span, the latter, if hewn, to
be well and smoothly done. All work to be done
in a workmanlike manner, as the work and alb
timbers will be inspected before being placed in
the water, so that the bridge may be received
when completed. Persons bidding off said con
tract will be required to give bond, with good se
curity, in amount equai to the amount ofbid, im
mediately after the letting.
Full and complete specifications can be seen at
any office. may 21 H. W. BULL, Ord’y.
Jackson Sheriff’s Sales.
WILL be sold, on the first Tuesday in June
next, before the Court House door, in the
town of Jefferson. Jackson county, Ga., within
the legal hours of sale, the following property,
to-wit:
One tract or parcel of land situated and lying
in the 255th District, G. M.. of said county, and
adjoining lands of Butler; Minish and others; the
place whereon Jesse Farrabee resided at the time
of his death, containing fifty acres, more or less.
Levied on by virtue of three fi. fas. issued from
the Justice Court of the 255th District, G. M., in
Cavorof C. W. Hood vs. Jesse Farrabee, now con-
Crfilfed by Z. W. Hood. Notice given to Bailey
Culberson, tenant in possession as the law directs.
Property pointed out by the plaintiff, and return
ed to me by A. C. Campbell, L. C.,255th District,
<*. M., April 29tli, 1879.
Also, at the same tunc and place, will be sold
the dwelling house, lot and premises now occu
pied by and in the possession of Peter McLester,
in the town of Jefferson, in said county, bounded
■on-the west or front side by Washington street in
skid town, on the east or back side by the back
street, on the south by the lot now occupied' by
W. A. Worsham, and on the north by' cross alley,
and containing one acre, more or less. Levied on
as the property of Peter McLester. defendant in
lia. fa., to satisfy two certain Justice Court li. fas..
issued by S. McCarty, J. P. 245th District, G. M.,
in favor of A. T. Yearwood vs. said Peter Mc-
Lester. Said dwelling is a good two-story frame
dwelling, newly finished and painted ; on said lot
is a good garden and small orchard, good well of
water, good kitchen. &e. Levy made and return
ed to me by "W. F. Hunter, L. C. Written notice
given to Peter McLester, the party in possession.
Property pointed out by plaintiff,
may 2 T. A. McELIIANNON, Sh’ft*.
Jnckson Countj.
Whereas, R. J. Parks represents to the Court,
in his petition duly tiled, that he has fully admin
istered the estate of G. W. Shamblv, late of said
county, deceased, and applies for Letters of Dis
mission from said estate —
This is to cite all concerned, kindred and cred
itors, to show cause, if an}' they can, on the first
Monday in August, 1879. at the regular term of
the Court of Ordinary of said county, why Letters
of Dismission should not he granted the applicant.
Given under my official sig nature, this May 7th,
1879. H. W. BELL, Ord'y.
Jackson County.
Whereas, 11. C. Appleby, Executor of the es
tate of Elizabeth Buchanan, late of said county,
dec’d, represents to the Court, in his petition duly
tiled, that he has fully and completely adminis
tered the estate of said deceased, and asks the
Court to grant him Letters of Dismission from the
same—
This is to cite all persons concerned, kindred
and creditors, to show cause, if any thev can, on
the first Monday in June, 1879. in' the Court of
Ordinary for said county, why Letters of Dismis
sion from said estate should not be granted the
applicant.
Given under my hand officially, this Feb. 25th,
1879. feb2B H. W. BELL, Ord’y.
Jackson County.
Whereas, John A. Smith represents to the
Court, in his petition duly filed, that he has fully
administered the estate of W. S. Smith, late of
said county, deceased, and applies for Letters of
Dismission—
This is to cite all concerned, kindred and cred
itors. to show cause, if any they can, on the first
Monda}- in June, 1879, at the regular term of the
Court of Ordinary of said county, why Letters of
Dismission should not be granted the applicant.
Given under my hand, officially, March 4th,
18#fk mar 7 11. W. BELL, Ord’y.
XLCO-HT JOB WORK,
Executed promptly, at this office.
THE FOREST NEWS.
The People their own Rulers; Advancement in Education, Science, Apiculture and Southern Manufactures.
SELECT MISCELLANY.
THE MISLAID LETTER.
BY EDMUND C. IIUBBELL.
A quarter of a century ago my uncle, the
most prominent individual in the village of
Fairweather, usually drove himself along the
aCuntry by-ways in a vehicle, built for the
accommodation of two persons only, and
drawn by one horse.
ThuPoriginal equipage I had resolved to
borrow, to drive the acknowledged belle of
Fairweather, pretty Lucy Harper, the best
and most charming lass in the neighborhood,
to the picnic and dance at Sea Beach Grove,
to which both were invited.
Lucy was an only child. Her mother had
met with reverses of fortune, but my uncle,
blessed with unlimited means, gave them the
little Bower Cottage tn dwell in rent free, and
so the two contrived to live on the pension
in the right of her husband’s past military
servitude.
Five miles through the soft, silver moon
light with Lucy by my side, and no person to
interrupt or overhear what I should whisper !
Five generous miles, along a beautiful drive,
bounded by hedges and rosebowers, and not
a sound to disturb my cherished confes
sion.
I was timid. I feared I should not have
the courage to tell her what I had so often
dreamed. For months I had longed to toll
her of ray love, but was too fearful, coward
that I was.
The night before the eventful day my heart
began to fail me. but as I had resolved that
the morrow should not come and go without
Lucy knowing of my love, I conceived a plan
by which bo make sure of myself by writing
a note, which I would slip into her hand at
the last moment if my speech failed me.
A good ideal I waited until my uncle
had retired, and tseu opened my desk, and
spread a sheet of paper before me. I found
no difficulty in petuing the words now that
Lucy’s face was nut near to confuse me.
Oak Ljwx Mansion, June 15.
44 My Dear Lucy;—l am a coward ; but
you surely have guessed my story\ Your
presence makes it impossible for me to speak ;
and I now tell yo<| with my pen, what I am
so anxious you should know—that I love yon,
darling, better than my own existence—and
desire you for my wife. I have never dared
lo tell you this—perhaps, because there are
too many reasons why you should not return
my affection. If you find it impossible to
give me any hope, keep silence regarding
this letter when we next meet, and I will
know what is meant. This is a strange love
letter, I tear ; but it contains an expression
of the feelings of my inmost heart.
Harlan Danvers.”
This I sealed and consigned to my pocket,
feeling secure, in the event of ray constitu
tional weakness tendering me dumb.
The morning arose bright and sunny. I
took the letter from my pocket, and turned it
over a dozen tirms during the morning, and
felt contented as I looked at ray dernier re
sort. I had only to slip this note into Lucy’s
hand at parting, snd ad would be well.
The eonveyanct was at the door at two
o’clock, and my joily uncle stood in the door
to see me depart. Probably he guessed, from
the unscrupulous csre with which my toilet
had been perforned, and possibly a more
than ordinary sheepishness in my manner,
that this was to bi a momentous day in my
career, for he waited his hand and wished me
success as I dropoff.
•Lucy was waiing. I cannot describe her
dres9. Of coura it was the very perfection
of feminine attie with a dash of color and
airy lightness aiout it that reminded one of
the clouds driftitg across the skv on a sum
mer day.
It was an enhanting drive, and a delight
ful season of scial enjoyment followed, suc
ceeded by gauss and fiances. It was eleven
o’clock when ie were ready to depart.
She handedme a little leather satchel, in
which she brought the daintiest little black
satin sandalef slippers that ever trod the
mazes of a edntrv fiance, and some of those
knots of ribbcis with which she added to her
be witching tUet.
In the foret where the pic-nic had been
held, and bet’een the dances of the evening,
when we wen alone, I had not once mustered
sufficient couftge to put my little question,
and I knew fehould not now. How thank
ful I was thal had written the letter.
A bright ica seized me when Lucy handed
me the satchi, which I acted upon at once.
I knew she wnld open it that night, and 1
took the lettr, slipped it between the slip
pers and thepows, and handed it to her when
she mountedhe seat as though nothing had
happened.
It was, I lared, quite impossible for me to
tell her that* loved her, though my heart
burned. \\ talked on general subjects,
sometimes vtk long silent intervals between
the remarks until we reached Bower Cot
tage.
When I ljfl lifted Lucy down from the
vehicle, as t stood for an instant at the
gate, with If hand in mine, I could not say
a word for tinking of the letter; but I sum
moned cowge to bend down and try to kiss
her. She aided my lips with a laugh, drew
JEFFERSON, JACKSON COUNTY, GA., FRIDAY. MAY 30,1879.
her hand away, turned and ran up the garden
walk.
- On arriving at Oak Lawn, I found great
distress inside, for my uncle had been seized
with a fit of apoplexy and two doctors were
in attendance. I immediately went to his
room.
It was too evident, even before the doc
tor confirmed my surmise, that the old man
had received his death stroke. He had dined
•as usual after ray departure, and seemed
quite in his ordinary health ; but at 8 o’clock,
when William carried in his coffee, he found
him lying back in his chair unconscious.
He lingered through the next day, and be
fore evening I found time to run down to the
cottage to tell them of my uncle’s danger, Mid
to receive my answer.
I felt very calm when talking to Lucy's
mother; but when my darling came into the
room, my’ nerves were affected as usual. I
did not hold out my hand, as I felt today
the first advance must Come from her. She
greeted me with a little bow, certainly colder
than usual, and sat down upon a chair
apart.
There was no hope, then ? My poor let
ter was not worth a glance, or a smile of ac
knowledgment. A sudden dimness crossed
mv eyes, and when it cleared, I searched her
countenance closely'—it was somewhat pale
and averted.
“ Lucy is tired after her day of pleasure,”
said her mother.
Lucy seized the excuse and said she would
go and rest if I would excuse her. I opened
the door, and bowed as cold as she did her
self, as she passed through.
So that was the eud. I had my answer.
I was refused. She despised my offer.
My r uncle died at midnight; and in a few
days I found myself no longer poor and land
less, having come into the possession of my
uncle’s fine estate. I mourned my uncle’s
death honestly, and felt ho joy in my newly
acquired wealth, because Lucy would not
share it with me.
I could not stay in Fairweather; I hated
the place. I would travel; that was a balm
for hurt minds. T made arrangements for the
place to be shut up for five years, during
which I should surely weary of roving, and
long for rest.
I did not go down to the cottage again, but
wrote a note to Mrs. Harper, telling her of
my departure, leaving her to suppose thatMt
was my uncle’s death which made Fairweather
so distasteful to me. I begged that she
would continue to live at the cottage upon
the old terms, as though my uncle had been
alive; then 1 added “My kind regards to
Luc3 r ,” and that was all.
Two years after, I received news of Mrs.
Harper’s death ; and later, that Lucy had re
fused to live in the cottage ; and, as her moth
er’s annuity had died with the old lady, and
Lucy was compelled to exert herself, and she
sought for and obtained the position of vil
lage school-mistress.
This news was distressing to me, and I
wrote at once to my lawyer to induce her to
return to the cottage; but this met with a
positivd refusal. That I understood to be
further proof that she had no love for me.
I wandered through many lands ; my sly
ness departed-, and I was able to look back
at my old awkwardness. But still the mem
ory of Lucy haunted me. I did not doubt but
that she was now the wife of someone whom
she loved as she could not love me, and I
thought if I could see her in this position my
craving for her presence would cease.
Five years had rolled into the past, and I
then returned to Fairweather.
I was much changed by exposure to the
weather, and none of my former friends re
cognized me.
1 passed the village school-house and long
ed to stop one fresh, curley headed urchin
and ask him who was the mistress now ; but
I flared not, as all eyes were upon me.
Idly I sauntered about the old place re
newing my acquaintance with the familiar
spots endeared to me by many associations.
On the second evening of my stay I
strolled round to the empty stables, and there
in the coach room I came upon the old chaise
which I had never seen since the day I had
driven Lucy to the pic-nic. llow vividly it
all came back to me—the memory of the
drive, of Lucy’s evasion of my kiss, and of
her manner the next day.
I laid my hand fondly on the old vehicle
in which we had driven side by side ; I even
lifted the mildewed cushions tenderly. Be
hind one of them I felt something. What
could it be ? It was a little leather satchel,
blue witli mold, and crushed flat with long
lying under the cushion, where Lucy must
have tucked it for safety. My heart was in
my mouth a9 I opened it. There lay the blue
bows—alas, blue no longer; there the tiny
slippers, and between them, my letter she had
never read, never seen, or even heard of!
And all these years what mu6t she have
thought of me—l who had told her of my
love in many ways ? I took the satchel and
went across the fields to the school house. I
discovered that she was still there, and that
no man called her wife.
She was leaning over the gate in the still,
summer evening—the same sweet, womanly
face. She recognized me at once, started,
and flushed as I drew near; but before I
reached her, her face had grown paler 1 .
I took her hand—it trembled gently in
mine ; but neither spoke. Then I gave her
the satchel.
‘‘ I came to restore your property.” I said.
“You left this in my uncle's chaise five y T ears
ago. I put something inside for you to read
then; it is there now. Will you read it and
let me come back to you in an hour ?”
She consented, and I turned awav and left
her.
'The moon shone brightly when I went back
to Lucy. She had been weeping, and the
miVdewed letter lay open upon her knee. she
looked up at me, and her cheeks flushed warm
ly through her tears. I sat down by her
side.
“You never answered this, Lucy; will
you ?”
“After all this time ?” she said.
44 Yes.”
I took her hand in mine, and I stooped and
kissed her.
“ Is your answer the same now as it would
have been then ?”
“Yes,” slie answered, “for I have always
loved you and only y f ou ; though your con
duct seemed most cruel.”
“Only seemed, Lucy?”
“Only seemed,” said she, smiling.
Advice to Young Men.
A lady, who signs herself “A Martyr to
Late Hours,” offers the following sensible
suggestions to young men ; Dear gentlemen,
between the ages of “eighteen and forty
five”(!), listen to a few words of gratuitous
advice. When you make a social call of an
evening, on a young lady, go away at a rea
sonable hour. Say you come at eight o’clock.
An hour and a half is certainly as long as the
most fascinating of you in conversation can
or, rather, ought to desire to use his charms.
Two* hours, indeed, can be very pleasantly
spent, with music, chess, or other games, to
lend variety ; but., kind sirs, by no means
stay longer. Make shorter calls and con e
oftcncr. A girl—that is, a sensible, true
hearted girl—will enjoy it better and really
value your acquaintance more. Just conceive
of a girl who, well knowing the
feelings of a father and mother upon the sub
ject, hears the clock strike ten, must
sit on the edge of-her chair, in mortal terror
lest papa should put his oft-repeated threat
in execution—that of coming down and in
viting the gentleman to breakfast. And we
girls all understand it by experience, and
know what it is to dread the- prognostic of
displeasure. In such cases, a sigh of relief
generally accompanies the closing of the door
behind the gallant; and one don’t get over
the feeling of trouble till safe in the arms of
Morpheus. Even then, sometimes the dreams
are troubled with some phantom of an angry
father and distressed (for all parties) mother ;
and all because a young man will make a
longer call than he ought to.
Now, young gentlemen friends. I’ll tell you
what we girls will do. For an hour and a
half we will be most irresistibly charming and
fascinating; then, beware! monosyllabic re
sponses will be all you need expect. And if,
when the limits shall have been passed, a
startling query shall be heard coming down
stairs, “Isn’t it time to close up?” you must
consider it a righteous punishment, and,
taking your hat, meekly depart—a sadder
and, it is to be hoped, a wiser man. Do not
get angry ; but, the next time you come, be
careful to keep within bounds. We want to
rise early these pleasant mornings and iro-
prove the “shining hours” ; but, when forced
to be up at such unreasonable hours at night,
exhausted nature will speak, and, as a natural
consequence, with the utmost speed in dress
ing, we can barely get down to breakfast in
time to escape a reprimand from papa, who
don’t believe in beaux—as though he never
was young—and a mild, reproving glance
from mamma, who understands a little better
a poor daughter’s feelings, but still must dis
approve outwardly, to keep up appearances.
And now, young men, think about these
things, and don’t fail to remember the safe
side of ten.
Largest Orchard in the World.
The largest orchard in the world is doubt
less that owned and worked very successfully
by Mr. Robert McKinstry, of Hudson, Colum
bia county. N. Y. The orchard is situated
on the east bank of the Hudson river, on
high, rolling table land, and contains more
than 24,000 apple trees, 1,700 pears 4,000 cher
ries. 500 peaches, 200 plums, 200 crabs, 1,500
vines, 6,000 currants and 200 chestnuts*
The varieties grown are: Rhode Island
Greening, 7,000 ; Baldwins, 6,000 \ King of
Tompkins Count}', 4,000; Ast,radians, 800;
Northern Spy, 500; Wegener, 500; Graven
stem, 400; Cranberry Pippins, 200; Ben
Davis, 200; Duchess of Oldenburgh. 200;
with Jonathans, Hnbbardstons, Cayugas,
Vanderveers, Pearmains, Kussets, and others
in less number.
The pears are Bartlett, K.d’Anjou, Sheldon*
Seckel and Lawrence chiefly. Of cherries
there are twenty-eight varieties. The or-
chards are remarkable thrifty', and the oldest
trees are about twenty years oUL The soil
is dry, rolling gravel, with some limestone ;
the trees are planted twenty feet apart and
do not by any means 9eem to be crowded.
The ground is plowed several times in the
year aud kept fallow ; except when thought
advisable it is seeded to clover. The orchard
is intersected by’ roads over six miles in length
for the passage of wagons, and is bounded
by f a continuous row of apple trees set ten
feet apart for four miles- and a half. The
apple crop of last year is 30,000 barrels.
Twenty-four men and fourteen horses are
employed hauling out the crop or in plowing.
The success of this orchard has not been
achieved; nor has it been maintained, without
the closest supervision and most industrious
work. Suckers and sprouts are removed as
soon as seen ; the borers are watched and
followed with vigor. Wires are used to reach
them in their burrows, and the damaged bark
is removed with chisels. As trees fall, others
are planted in their places.
As the market for good frtflt is extending
every year, and foreign customers arc seek
ing supplies, the business of growing fruit
cannot fail to be profitable and permanent.
No other business pays better than this for
the most skillful attention and management;
indeod, without these, it is vain to expect a
crop that will sell in the market for remunera
tive prices. Good fruit sells itself, and the
grower is soon sought for by the purchasers.
Those who desire to take a lesson in things
appertaining to the business, and to prove
the truth of these facts, may well study the
ways and methods of Mr. McKinstry and his
orchard.— Rural World.
Pennsylvania’s Dunkers.
A writer who has been journeying through
that portion of the Keystone State where a
class of people known as Dunkers most
abound, give us on insight into some of their
curious customs. He says that the Dunkers
will not take an oath, and are not allowed to
hold office; although where they comprise
nearly all of the population of a settlement
they perform agreeable duties like those of
an overseer of the poor. One of the preachers
naively suggested that the government did
not miss the Dunkers from its council fires,
as Americans have not all got similar com
punctions against officeholding. They r do
not fight or engage in war. They do not sue
or appeal to the courts for any sort of' legal
settlements that can be arranged by r the
church.
If one brother owes another and cannot
pay, all the brethren sustain equal shares of
the debt and wipe it out. If a brother does
not payq but can do so, first one, then three,
then all the brethren labor with him, and if
he is still stubborn they cast him out of the
church. This seldom fails to bring the sinner
to his senses. The same course is pursued
when a Danker offends in any other way’;
but such cases are very rare. If a brother
fails or desires to start in business, all the
brethren club together and set him on his
feet. They do this three times. If he does
not then succeed they’ consider him no longer
worthy of help, and he has to look out for
himself.
They are severe upon liars and dishonest
persons, and profess to have hardly any in
their ranks. Their condemnation falls upon
outsiders, also, in this respect, and the trades
man who cheats one Dunker is shunned by
all forever afterward. They are kind-heart
ed and hospitable, and are cheerfully’ obedient
to the law that compels them to lodge and
feed and clothe whoever calls on them for
assistance.
“Morley’s” Letters from New York.
[from our own regular correspondent.]
New York, May 27th, 187'J.
TIIE COMING EXHIBITION.
Knergetic measures continue in prepara
tion for the coming exhibition. After an ex
tensive canvassing and several partial settle
ments upon a time, the date has been fixed
positively for 1883. This is, next to 1876,
the memorable year of our early history, and
nothing could be more fitting than its selection
for a great national jubilee of a practical kind.
On the 19th of April, 1783, the close of
hostilities was officially proclaimed to Wash
ington’s army, then at Newburgh. May 13th.
the Society of the Cincinnati was formed with
Washington as President, and General Knox
as Secretary. On June Bth, Washington
issued that famous letter to the Governors
of State, in which he pleaded so eloquently
for “ An indissoluble union of the States under
one federal head ; a sacred regard to public
justice ; the adoption of a proper peace estab
lishment ; and the forgetting of local prejudices
and politics,” adding, “these are tire pillars
on which the glorious fabric of our indepen
dence and national character must be sup
ported.” Who can read these lines without
asking ; “ Was Washington also a prophet
that he should look down the vista of a cen
tury to come and see so clearly the precise
dangers that should menace his beloved
country at its close:'” There is more truth
and statesmanship in that single letter than
the country has had from all its political
teachers for fifty years. The celebration of
1883 will do much for oar country’s future
peace and welfare, if it does no more than
turn public attention to this prophetic ut
terance of its great founder.
September 3fci, the final treaty of peace was
signed ; November 3d* the army was disband
ed ; November 25th, the British troops
evacuated New York and Washington for
s TERMS, $1.60 PER ANNUM.
I $1.06 For Six Months.-
■ tnally entered it, and on the 23d ofDftfertfbt*
resigned his commission into t!c hands of
Congress. Richly freighted Its tile year 1785
j is with hallowed memories and associations,
the people will find some means of eelebrst,-
ing these events, and ri great internft’lrmal
convention and jubilee will inevitably give
a force, completeness and unity to these' ob
servances which coitld not otherwise !w
attained.
THE LIGHT BRIGADE OUTDONIi
Can yon stand another war incident? It
is not as grand a scene as Gctt.ysbnrgh, nor
perhaps as big with results ; but t lie many
ringing responses to my last (which l confess
was ottered in your New York correspondence
witli many misgiving) have somehow stirred
the ghosts of many thrilling memories which
have chased each olhe through my mind till
si.ence s impossible. Few Americans ever
dreamed that, among the dark ami .gloomy
pines of Clmncellorsville was enacted a
tragedy worthier to live in epic verso than
the famous charge of the Light Brigade at
Halakl ea. Only once iti all the war have l
seen it mentioned, ami to-night my thoughts
brood over the nameless graves of those
unsung heroes till ray soul cries out in protest
against the favoritisins of historic lame, an !
for these humble heroes I mit&f. crave the
meagre justice of a passing mention in the ears
of their countrymen.
It was the night Stonewall Jackson received
lus death wound. lie had completely surprised
Howard's Eleventh Corps and was driving
them in the wildest confusion along towards
the centre of our lino. In their flight they
passed through a woods, just beyond which,-
in a clearing, lay four of Sickles' butteries,
and a 11 ing artillery battery and the Kight.li
Pennsylvania cavalry of Gen. Pleasanton's.
The batteries were not in position but were
“parked." waiting orders. Through their
lines dashed the panic stricken fugitives,
hotly pursued by Jackson's immense corps of
over twenty thousand men. The field became
a sight for a painter. Infantry, artillery,
ambulances, pack mules, negroes and strag
glers, the worst scared men I everlooke 1 upon,-
came tearing like mad past us. The batteries
had no common commander, but each captain
excitedly acted for himself. “ Battery—left
wheel. Fire to the rear. In Battery : Caissons
pass your pieces, trot—march!” and a fright
ened bugler caught only the word “trot,” and
sounded it and no more. It rang out clear
above the worse than Babel; many took it
for a general stampede signal, and across the
field, and down the hill, and across a stone
wall near its foot, in that famous ravine dashed
several caissons and a few guns. “ Fix
prolonge to fire retiring.” V With canister
—load/* On came ■the fugitives, nearer and
nearer through the sounding woods cauic
that Confederate yell, and the rush of
wall Jackson’s victorious legions. tickles
was almost a mile away', pushing through the
woods with his splendid corps. " Not a Fede
ral musket was in sight except what the
Eleventh corps men were bearing to the rear
as rapidly* as legs could carry them. We
must make our fight against those tremendous
odds alone—five batteries of us and three
hundred cavalrymen—not over six hundred
men, all told. On swept twenty thousand
Confederates, and we were not yet ready to
fight. Otir line was confusion wotsc con
founded ; guns stood pointing whithersoever
the excited cannoneers listed, and ut'the first
fire one half of us would blow tire other half
into eternity, and Stonewall would have
Hooker's headquarters, and double rtp our
whole army—a cheering prospect that !■ The'
sun had set behind the woods, and through
them, yet faster, in the thickening gloom,
rushed Jackson’s troops. Suddenly out ini
front of our guns rode the familiar form of
General Pleasanton. Above the din rang
his shrill Voice J "Align those pieces! - '
It was a work of many minutes, and Stone
wall Was now just upon us. Time ! Oh for
ten minutes time I How to £et it? There
sat Major Keenan with his three hundred
horsemen. Here was the' sacrifice, which, if
every man were a patriot like Arnold Winkel
ried, would give ui> those precious minutes.
General Pleasanton said quickly to Keenan.
“ Major, you must charge in those woods with
your regiment, and hold the enemy till I can
get those gnhs into position. You must do
it at all cost.” Pleasanton says : “It was
just the same as saying ‘you must be killed.’
but with a smile lie replied, ‘General, I will
doit.’” Oh what a sight was that! Would
to God some American Tennyson might see
that sight, and lift those humble names into
immortality ! Three hundred troopers, with
deep-set spurs and flashing sabres, rushed a£
the throats of twenty thousand armed men.
Nobody had blundered, but somebody must
die to save the Army—that was all! 80
mad a blow did they strike in Jackson’s very
teeth that he stopped his onward rush to re
form his lines—surely there most be more'
coming—no single regiment could be charg
ing his army single-handed —and when no
more bold riders came, then it was that bravo
Ivcenan died, at the head of his regiment,
and whole platoons perished with their feet
in the stirrups ! But they dhl not die in vain.
Ten minutes purchased at that fearful price
to us, were costlier still to Jackson. When
he came on again, flesh and blood ebufd hot
stand up before our terrific canister fire. Ilis
veterans quailed before that sirocco of death,
lie rode up to rectify' his lines. Was mistaken
in the gathering darkness for one of our
cavalrymen, and shot by bis own men. Our
“three times three” had hardly ceased to
ring when Sickles, who had dashed ahead of
his veterans hurrying to our support, rode up
among our guns and called out: “ You've
done nobly, boys! Stand 6rm. and in ten
minutes I'll have fifteen thousand men here
who don't know anything but fight.” He was
good as his word, and quickly the old Third
Corps tiled in behind the guns and Jackson's
famous corps had received its first defeat.
Three hundred men made Thermopylae liva
through the centuries; six hundred, at
Balaklava rode to fame in sight of the whole
world ; but t ie cynicism of America has Kit
to slumber in unknown graves beneath the
pine cones of Chancellorsville. a little band
of men whose deed was as great and worthy
of renown as those whose fame poets havt*
sung through all the ages. Mobley.
NUMBER 5b