The banner of the South. (Augusta, Ga.) 1868-1870, March 21, 1868, Image 1
' "" ’ === ' " ~ VOL. I. THE CONQUERED BANNER. 1?T MOIMA —REV. ABRAM J. RTAJt. Furl that banner, for 'tis weary ; Round its eta IT 'tig drooping dreary ; Furl it, fold it, it in best : i or there's not a man to wave it. And there’s not a sword tc save it, And there's not one left to lave it In the blood which heroes gave it ; And its foes now scorn and brave it ; Furl it— hide it—let it rest. Take that Banner down, ’tin tattered ! Broken is its staff and shattered! And the valiant hosts ore scattered, Over whom it floated high. Oh ! ’tis hard for us to fold it I to think there's none to hold it ; Hard that those, who once unrolled it. Now must furl it with a sigh. Furl that Banner—furl it sadly— Once ten thousands hailed it gladly, And ten thousands wildly, madly, Swore it should forever wave— Hwore that foe man's sword should nerev Hearts like theirs entwined dissever, Till that flag should float forever O’er their freedom or their grave. Furl It! for the hands that grasped it, And the hearts that fondly clasped it, Cold and dead are lying low ; And that Banner—it is trailing! While around it sounds the wailing Os its people in their woe. For though conquered, they adore it! Love the cold, dead hands that bore It! Weep for those who fell before it! Pardon thoso who trailed and tore it! But, oh ! wildly they deplore it, Now, who furl and fold it so. • Furl that Banner! tnit! 'tis gory, Yet ’tis wreathed round with glory, And ’twill live in song and story, Though its folds are in the dust ; For its fame on brightest pages, Penned by poets and by sages, Shull go sounding down the ages— Thirl its folds though now wc must Furl that Banner, softly, slowly, Treat it gently—it is holy— For it droops above the dead. Touch it not—unfold it never, Let it droop there furled forever, For its people's hopes are dead 1 THE TWO MOTTOES* BY BLAKE SPEAK. [Prom the French of Emile Souvestre.] Two young men were standing in the diligence office at Cernay, having just se cured places for Ivaysersburg. They seem ed to he of tlie same age, about twenty four, but their countenances were strikingly dillerent. The smaller was dark and pale, with quick, impatient movements that be trayed his Southern origin at a glance. The other on the contrary, tall, fair, and fresh colored, presented a perfect type of that mixed race of Alsatia in which we hnd French impulsiveness tempered by Gorman good nature. Each had at his feet n small trunk, to which the address was fastened with sealing wax. On one was written “ Henry Fortin, Marseilles,” and the w ax at the four corners of the address here the impress of a seal with this motto, "'Mon Droit." * The inscription on the other was Joseph Mulzen, and the motto on the seal was “ Caritas.” The office r.eeper had just inscribed their names on the register, adding the essential designation with tiro trunks, when Henry demanded that the trunks should be weigh ed. The officer keeper said that it would be done at Kayseisbnrg, but the young man complained of the annoyance of such a . hyiuality at the moment of arrival, and declared that he had a right to have it done immediately. The office keener being thus oppressed, became obstinate m his turn, and tried in vain to interpose by reminding Henry that they had scarcely time left for their dinner. Henry never yielded when lie be lieved he was in the right, and he al ways believed he was in the right. The discussion was prolonged until the* office keeper, becoming tired of it, left the office. Henry wished to continue it with the fac tor, but he fortunately spoke nothing but German. Ihe > oung man was then obliged t<> resign himself to a walk to the inn with ms companion, on whom he vented his ill humor. Good heavens! You would make a saint curse !” he cried as soon as ho was alone with his friend. “ llow is it that yon did not take my part against that blockhead ?” “It seems to me,” replied Joseph, amil ing, ** that it was he who required some one to take his part; you heaped up argu ments as though it were an affair that might compromise your fortune or your honor.” It is better, then, in your opinion, not to defend your right ?” “ When the right is not worth defend ing.” a -Ah \ that is just like you,” interrupted Tlenry, “you are always" ready to yield. You must be trampled on before you ever dream of defending yourself; instead of regarding the world as a field of battle, you look upon it as a drawing-room for the interchange of compliments.” “ No,” said .Joseph, “ but as a great vessel, whose passengers owe each other reciprocal friendship and tolerance. Every man is my triend until he declares himself my enemy.” And I esteem a man my enemy until he declares himself my friend,” "replied Henry. “ That is a precaution which has always succeeded with me, and you will find that I will have recourse to it at Kay sersburg. We are going there to meet the other heirs of our uncle, and they will not fail to extort everything from the property that they can, and for my part, I have re solved to make no concessions.” While they were speaking, the two cousins arrived at the inn of the White Hone. On entering the diningroom they found it empty—hut the cloth was laid at one eud of a long table where the hostess had just placed three covers. Henry or dered that two others should be added for Joseph and himself. “ I hope you will excuse me, sir,” said the woman, “ but wo cannot serve yon in here.” “ Why not ?" asked the young man. “ Because the persons for whom 1 have jn»t set the table desire to dine alone.” “ Let them dine in their rooms, then,” replied Henry roughly. “ This is the pub lic dining room, and every traveller has a right to be served here.” “ What docs it matter whether we dine in this room or another ?” asked Joseph. “ What difference can it make to these people if we dine here ? M replied Henry. “ They arrived before the gent.eman,” objected the hostess. “ Ihen it is the first comer who makes the law in your house?” cried Henry. “Besides, we know' these persons.” “ And you have more consideration for them than for us ?” “ The gentleman ought to know that in the case of a customer —” “Other travellers must submit to their caprices !” “ We will servo you elsewhere.” “ With the leavings of your privileged guests, I suppose ?” The hostess seemed hurt. “If the gen tleman is afraid of a poor dinner at the White Horse there are other inns in Cernay,” said she. “ That is what I was thinking,” said Henry, quickly, taking up his hat, and without listening to Joseph, who wished to detain him, ho hurried away, and soon disappeared. Mulzen knew by experience that it was best to leave his cousin to his whims, and that on such occasions any attempt to rea-! sou with him only served to increase his quarrelsome mood. lie decided then to j let him try his luck elsewhere, and to lose no time in having his own dinner j served in another room. But just as he! was leaving the dining room the three ex- j pected persons entered. The party con- j sisted of an old lady with her niece and a ! gentleman of about fifty, w ho seemed to bo their protector. The hostess, who was telling them of what had just occurred, stopped suddenly [ at the sight of Joseph. The young man j bowed, and tried to withdraw, but the ! companion of the two ladies detained him. ! “ I am distressed, sir,” said lie good hu- ! moredly, “at what has just taken place. In 1 asking to dine alone, we wished to avoid certain persons whose conversation and manners would have shocked these ladies, but not to drive travelers away from the White Horse, as your friend seemed to imagine. To prove it, I pray that you will dine with us to-day.” Joseph wished to decline, declaring that lie was not at all wounded by a preeau-1 AUGUSTA, GA., 21, 1868. tion which ho thought very natural, b u t Mr. Rosin an (that was the name by which the two ladies called their protector), in sisted, in a tone so frank and cordial, that he thought it best to yield. The old lady, who seemed little accus tomed to traveling, seated herself opposite to him, near her niece, heaving a deep sigh. “ Are you tired, Charlotte ?” asked Mr. Rosman; “Am 1 tired ?” cried the old lady. “To pass an entire day in a carriage that jolts you to pieces, to eat at irregular hours, to run all sorts of dangers, for I do not see why we have not been upset an hundred times, the diligence always leaned so much to one side. Ah, 1 would give a year of my life if our journey were ended !” “Happily, the bargain is impossible,” said the young girl, who kissed her aunt with a smile. “ Yes, you may laugh,” replied Madame Charlotte, in a tone of discontent, partly assumed. “ Young girls now are afraid of nothing ! They travel on railroads, in steamboats, and they would go in a balloon if there were a regularly established line. It is the revolution that has made them so bold. Before the revolution, the bravest never traveled in anything but a cart, and only w hen important business demanded it. I have heard my mother, who is dead now, say that she never trav eled except on foot.” “ And also that she had never gone far ther than the chief town of the Canton,” observed Mr. Rosman. “ That did not prevent her being a wor thy and a happy woman,” replied Madame Charlotte. " When Hie bird lias built its nest it dwells there. To-day the habit of being always on the high-roads makes people love their families and firesides less. They become accustomed to leaving them. They have their homes everywhere. All that may be better for society, but it ren ders each individual less good and less happy.” “ Come, Charlotte, you have a spite against traveling on account cf the jolting,” said Mr. Rosman, gaily, “ but; I hope your prejudice will disappear in the presence of this soup. They do not make it better at Fontaine, and I claim for it your impartial judgmeht.” They chatted thus in a pleasant, familiar tone, Joseph at first maintaining a discreet silence ; but Mr. Rosman addres.-ed several remarks to him, and the conversation had become general, when it was announced that the diligence w*as going to start. Every j body hastened to pay the hostess, and gain the diligence office. Airiving there, Jo seph perceived his cousin running. The time that Joseph had passed in eatir.g his dinner had consumed in seeking a meal at the different inns of Cernay. Find ing nothing prepared, ho was obliged at last to buy some fruit, and a roll, on which he dined. It may be imagined that this hermit-like repast had not improved his temper. Joseph per. eived this, and asked him no questions. The list of passengers was being called out, and they were pre paring to take their places, when the office keeper perceived he had made a mistake in the number, and that the diligence was already full. “Full!” said Henry; “but we have paid our fare!” “ I will return it to you,” said the clerk. “Not at all!” cried the young man. “As soon as you accepted the money there was a contract between us. I have a right to go, and I will go. He seized hold of the strap, in pronouncing these words, and climbed up to the top of the diligence, where he found a place empty. The traveler to whom the seat belonged laid claim to it, but Henry persisted in de claring that no one had a right to make him give it up, and if any one attempted to force him to do so, he would repel vio lence with violence. Joseph tried in vain to make a compro mise. Henry, exasperated by his failing to get a dinner, persisted in his resolution. “ Every one his rights,” he cried, “ that is m y motto! Y our sis charity ‘be charita ble, then, if you like; as for me, I pretend omy to be just. I have paid for this seat, it belongs to me, and I am going to keen it.” The traveler whose place he had taken, urged tne priority ol his possession, but Henry, who was a lawyer, answered w ith quotations from the law. Ihey continued lor some time exchanging violent explana tions, recriminations and threats. Madame Charlotte, who heard it all from the inside of the diligence, groaned with fright, re- iterating her abuse of traveling in general, and public conveyances in particular. Jo seph, at last, finding the discussion became more and more bitter, proposed to the office keeper to have horses put to a coach, in which he would go with the traveler who was dispossessed of his seat. The expedient was accepted by the parties, and the diligence started on its way at last’. It was in the month of December ; the air, which was cold and damp at the mo ment of starting, became more chill at the close of the day. Henry being accustomed to the warm sun of Provenge, buttoned his overcoat up to his chin in vain; he shiv ered like a leaf under the heavy night dews. His face was blue, his teeth chat tered, and very soon a fine rain, driven by the wind, began to penetrate his clothing. His neighbor, protected by an ample cloak, could easily have sheltered him, by giving him a part of bis covering, but he was a rich, vulgar shopkeeper, very tender* of his own person, and very in different to that of others. When Henry refused to surrender his seat, his fat neigh bor approved of his resolution, declaring that “every one traveled on his own ac count*—a principle which the young man had then found perfectly reasonable, but from the application of which he was now suffering. Towards the end of the journey the merchant put his head out of his wrap ping, looked at Henry, and said to him : “You appear to be cold, sir.” “ I am wet to the skin,” replied Henry, w ho coulu scarcely speak. The big traveller shook himself in his warm cloak, as if better to enjoy his comfort. “It is very unhealthy to be wet,” said he philosophically; “ another time I advise you to have a cloak like mine; it is very warm, and not dear.” Having given this counsel, the big fellow drew his chin in his collar again, and slept comfortably to the rocking of the carriage. It was late at night when they arrived at Ivaysersburg. Henry descended from the carriage half dead with cold, and went into the inn kitchen, where he saw the welcome glow ot a large fire, but on enter ing he perceived the hearth was surround ed by a circle of travelers, among whom he discovered Joseph and the stranger whose seat he had taken. The carriage furnished by the office keeper had come by a shorter route, and they had arrived half an hour before. Jo seph seeing his cousin in such a bad plight, hastened to give him his eei t. As to the traveler, dispossessed of his place, he could not refrain from a burst of laughter. “Zounds!” he cried, “ I ought to thank the gentleman tor having driven me fjoin Hie top of the diligence, for had it not been for his usurpation 1 would have found myself frozen in his place instead of com fortable in mine.” Henry had too much the worst of it to reply, so he took his seat before the fire and tried to get warm. As soon as lie had sufficiently recovered, he asked for a cham ber and a bed. But it had been market day at Kaysersburg that day. and the inn wa- full of people who were to leave the next morning. Joseph and his compan ion, who had arrived so much earlier, had only been able to secure one small bed, which the former generously resigned in favor of the latter. But, after many questions and much trouble, it was discovered that there was a vacant bed in one of the chambers of the inn, but the room was occupied by some pecilers, wl o refused to receive a stranger among them. Did they engage the whole apart ment?” asked Henry. “Not at all, ’ replied the inn-keeper. “Then you have a right to dispose of the vacant bed ?” “ Certainly.” “ What reason do they give for refusing to have another person in the chamber ?” “ They do not give any reason ; but they appear to be very bad characters, and no one cares to have a quarrel with them.” Henry rose quickly. “That is coward ice,” cried he. “For my part, I do not choose to pass a sleepless night because it suits lour unknown persons to monopolize the beds of your inn. Show me the way to their room. They must be made to hear reason.” “ Take care, Henry,” said Joseph, “they are rough, brutal men.” “ And those vices give them the light to make us sit up all night ?” asked Henr>, sharply. “ No, by heaven ! I will sleep there to-night in spite of them.” He had taken up his hat, and was about to follow the inn keeper, when Mr. Rosman, who had heard the conversation between the cousins, advanced towards them, and said in his frank pleasant tone : “I perceive, gentlemen, that you have some difficulty in procuring a resting place for the night.” “ 1 will not be long without one,” inter rupted Henry, trying to pass. “One moment,” said Mr. Rosman.— “ Those men will probably respond to your reasoning by insi lting you, and you will have some trouble in making them recog nize your rights. Accept, then, a bed at my house. I live hut a few steps from here, and I shall be most happy to have your company.” Henry and Joseph bowled and thanked him, but their tones were different. Jo seph appeared pleased and grateful, while Henry’s manner vras constrained, though polite. He had not forgotten that Mr. Rosman was the cause of his poor dinner at Cernay. “ You are very kind,” said he, softening his voice, “ but I do not like to give you so much trouble. Besides, it will be well to give these men a lesson. They should be taught to respect the rights of other travellers.” With these words he bowed and left the room. Joseph, fearing some altercation, followed him to the chamber occupied by the peddlers, hut either the intentions of those persons had become modified, or the resolute air of the Marsellaise had greatly impressed them. They confined them selves to some low murmurs, in spite of which Henry prepared to go to bed. His cousin, reassured, t hen decided to go down stairs again, and followed Mr. Ros man, who had been good enough to wait for him. When they arrived at the house of the latter, they found Madam Charlotte and Louise preparing tea before a fire of pine-cones. Ills conductor said a few words in a low tone to the tw o ladies, who received the young man with courtesy, and insisted on his taking a place at the table, while Louise refilled the cups. As for Madam Charlotte, she had not yet re covered lrom the confusion caused by her voyage; she pretended to feel in her easy chair the jostlings of the diligence, and to hear the noise of the wheels in the singing ot the kettle. In spite of all this she in quired what had become of the young man who, at Cernay, had taken the impe rial by assault, and so Mr. Rosman related what had just passed at the inn. “ Why, lie seems always on the lookout for fights and squabbles,” cried Madam Charlotte. “ One should run from him as from fire.” “ A better heart could not be found,” said Mulzen. “He only wmlies to carry out strictly his motto —* To every man his own rights.’ ” “And yours is ‘Charity,’ replied the old lady, laughing. “Oh! I heard every thing at Cernay.” ** Are you traveling together,” asked Mr. Rosman. “W 7 e are cousins,” answered Joseph, “and we have come to K< vsersberg to be present at the reading if a will, which will take place to-morrow.” “A will!” repeated Madam Charlotte, in astonishment. “ That of our uncle, Doctor Harver.” The two ladies and Mr. Rosman ex changed glances. “ And you are the Doctor's relatives,*’ said he, looking at the young man. "For tune could hardly have directed yon bet ter, for I was his old companion and his nearest friend.” This sort of recognition served to lead the way to a conversation regarding the dead gentleman. Mulzen had never seen him, but he felt for him that respectful affecion which instinct establishes be tween the unknown members of the same family. He spoke for a long time of the Doctor, ami listened with lively interest to all that they told him about his life and Jiis dying moments ; and at last, after one of those unre.-trained ’conversations in which we sometimes forget ourselves, and both see and are seen free lrom disguise, he went to the ro m prepared for him, de lighted with ills hosts, who were equally well pleased. Fatigue made him sleep heavily, and when he awoke the next morning it was quite late. lie dressed in haste to rejoin his cousin, with whom ho was to go to the notary’s oflice ; bur lie found the notary hi mself in the parlor, to No. l.