The banner of the South. (Augusta, Ga.) 1868-1870, June 13, 1868, Page 2, Image 2

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, in 2 man of middle age, one Whom you would have felt disposed to commend, in that the care of so numerous a family had not caused her to neglect what was due to her own appearance. Not so did her sis ter-indaw regard this pleasing personnel To her eyes, vanity and failure of duty were written all over the ample skirt and blue ribbons. Conversation languished a little after the interchange of opinion upon cotton hose; but this was nothing alarming. The family visits were not occasions of uproarious hilarity, and no one expected this to be an exception to the general rule. Mrs. Gouriay knitted vigorously ; Cecilia looked over the fashion plates in mi old volume of the Lady’s Book ; and Mrs. William kept a strict eye on little Harry, to see that no mischief was done to that high sanctuary in which they sat. She never brought any work upon her visits hither, dreading that her attention might be absorbed at a critical moment, and direful harm ensue. To the super ficial observer there was no great likeli hood of this. There were no knick knacks about, no bits of glass or china ; the sombre hair-cloth sofa and chairs looked capable of maintaining themselves against any infant sallies. But Mrs. William felt that danger was in ambush everywhere. She was never free from dread that Harry might, in some reckless moment, become surreptitiously possessed of a pin, and take to engraving some of the varnished surfaces around, or over turn the little stand with the big Bible on it, or crack the looking-glass or the shade of the solar lamp. Failing these, lie was always likely to tumble the mus lin curtains by an ill-advised rush to the window. So his mother watched him, keeping foot and hand in readiness to re strain any unwarranted movement; and, having to carry on her share of conver sation, found herself sufficiently em ployed. There was talk about the minis ter and the weather, the scarcity of fruit, and consequent dearth of sweatmeats; while hope was expressed that the autum nal yield might compensate this lack. ‘‘Don’t you think Mr; Holly is falling off a great deal in his sermons?” asked Mrs Gouriay. ‘‘Why, no, I can’t say I have observed it,” replied Jane Maria. “To be sure, I am not always as much interested as I could wish, but think that may be owing to myself, in great part. The cares of the week do pursue us over into Sunday, though I know it ought not to be so. Sometimes, in the midst of a sermon, I will find my mind on some matter about the house or children. Os course, 1 check myself of it as soon as I observe it, but one cannot expect to listen very profitably with divided attention.” Such cause for her own lack of enjoy ment in the services had never entered Mrs. Gourlay’s mind, and she was not likely to harbor it now. She was about to speak more freely of the minister’s de terioration, and her views with reference to it, when she caught the eye of her niece fixed attentively upon her. It would never do to speak before that girl; she was a great deal too sharp for her age. “We have quite overlooked Cecilia,” she said, benigngly; “it must be very dull for her, shut up here with us. Run out, my dear, and see if you can find Kitty and Emma ; I presume they are in the orchard, under the early apple-tree. The apples are ripening fast, and they are very nice.” Cecilia found this unwonted gracious ness perfectly transparent. “Thank you, aunt,” she answered, “but I will stay here, if you please. I don’t care to be with the children, and I can amuse myself very well while you and mamma are talking.” The flow of Mrs. Gourlay’s confidences was thus checked, and Cecilia very pro perly rewarded for her indocility; she was fond of apples, though she liked news better, and, in this instance, she had neither. Her aunt contented her self with remarking: “One thing is cer tain; Mr. Holly doesn’t visit enough.” “Perhaps not,” said Jane Maria; “but then he has his sermons, you know, and the weekly meetings, and people coming to him for advice, and a hundred other calls upon his time.” “But lie ought to visit more,” reiter ated Mrs. Gouriay. We’ve a right to ex pect it from our minister.” “I’ve a good deal of sympathy,” said Jane Maria, smiling, “for people who don’t do all that is expected of them. But I think you’re right in wishing to see Mr. Holly oftener ; lie is so pleasant when he docs come, that I feel sorry that he cannot aiTo.d time to be more sociable. It’s Wesley, isn’t it, that says the small est part of a pastor’s duty is in the pulpit ?” “Wesley may have said so,” returned Mrs. Gouriay, “ though 1 don’t see any call to go out of our own denomination for our opinions. I could have said as much as that myself, and so, I dare say, could plenty of our ministers.” '[TO BE CONTINUED.] [For tne Banner of the South.] The Old Rebel G-rey Coat. A STORY OF THE LAST BATTLE UNDER LEE. BY CARRIE BELI. SINCLAIR. 'Tis live years ago since this old coat was fashioned, And the stripes and tlxe buttons upon it were bright, And it folded within it the heart of a soldier, Wh< > went forth to battle for country and right! For two years and more, now, our darling’s been sleeping The sleep from which he will wake never m re! And folded away, as the dearest of treasures, I’ve kept the old grey coat our soldier-boy wore ! Would you hear all the story ? Well, chaw your chair nearer, And sit, while you listen, close —close to my side; And I’ll tell you about them—this bid rebel grey coat' And soldier-boy Willie!—our darling and pride ! I’m sure You’ll be weeping ere I have repeated Thu whole—ah! the half of this sad story o’er; Perchance, as a treasure, you too may be keeping The old faded grey coat some soldier-hoy wore. I remember how eager he watched while I finished the coat I was making—stripes—buttons, and all— And to see bow he’d look in the garb of a soldier, He put on his grey coat, and marched through the hall. Oh! his step was so proud! and his eye shone so bright As lie said he would march in the ranks tlio next day; For in the brave army—our own Southern army We had a young soldier-boy there in the grey. The pants were half done —and he smiled, as he said ; “You’ll finish the vest aud pants both to-day; And then I’ll be dressed out and out for the battle, A soldier all clad in a full suit of grey!” Aud soon we looked out on the proud boating banner, And heard the low tramp of slow marching feet; While anxious hearts followed, with tears sadly falling, For tho boys in the grey marching on through the street. Wc had but a moment to give them a liiessing, And pray God to send them all back from the fray. When tho music was heard—and the banner kept moving, And Willie marched off with the “Orderedaway!" One day, when the battle was raging the hardest, Lee’s Army—God bless him !—the bravest of all! Marched up to the front where tho muskets were gleaming, And thickly around fell each loud hissing ball. The boys were all weary with marching that day, And as they were going just then in the fight, Willie pulled off this grey coat from over his jacket, And gave to a soldier, who passed on the right; “Here, Henry, he said, you’ll not be in the battle, So keep this for me till the fighting is o’er;” And this is the grey coat! —the dear faded grey coat, That Wiilie, our darling young soldier-boy, wore ! *Twas scarce!}' a moment, he said, when ho saw them Together rush on in the midst of the fray; ’Mid the smoke of the battle ho saw them all falling. And Willie was thero in the ranks of the grey. With his hand on his'musket—his face to the foe, A comrade close by our soldier saw fall; And after the battle they found him all bleeding, His heart rudely pierced by a sharp rifie-ball. And over his forehead the soft locks were parted; Those beautiful golden locks dripping with gore. Oh! Willie! no wonder my heart’s almost breaking Above tho old grey coat our soldier-boy wore! They moved him away from tho spot where they found him, A blanket wrapped round tho young soldier in grey, ( And left him to sleep on the red field of glory! Where he in the battle had fallen that day. The guns ceased their fire; the banners were foldod; They said that tho fighting at last was all o’er; And our boys were all coming back home from tho army, To answer the call of tho war-drum no more. Tho day of Surrender! oh! well might each soldier The bravest, the strongest, be weeping to sgo, The muskets all falling! the dear Conquered Banner Drooping round the sheathed sword of our man gallon 1 Lee! They had followed him long—braved many a danger, And now with their leader they all turned away; No spot on the bright swords! no stain on our banner! Ami none, on the soldiers who fought in the. grey! Once more the crowd pressed through the streets o* the city, To welcome the boys coming back on tho boat; There were no marching footsteps—no drums beating music, And there was no proud flag above them to float . But, weary and worn from the heat of the battle, We welcomed them back to our sad hearts once more; But many were missing—and Willie among them, Aud this is the grey coat our bravo soldier wore. One came with a form and step like his brother’s Aud told us that Willie would come back no more; Then ho gave me this token—this dear tottered grey coat, That Willie, our darling young soldier-boy, wore. I folded it up, while my tears were fast falling, And carefully put tho dear relic away; For Willie, our darling young soldier, had worn it, This old faded treasure—this dear coat of grey; The stripes are all gone from the sleeves where I put them, The buttons are tarnished—the collar is worn; One pocket is gone; the color is faded, And see how the lining inside is all torn. Aud here is a patch where his hand tried to mend it, A stitch like a soldier’s—one here and one there; To keep on the binding—or tack on a button; Oh! the trace of our darling’s hand still lingers here; How oft when the Winter winds whistled above him, He’d fold this old coat snugly over his breast; Then wrapping his blanket as closely around him, Would lay him rdown on the cold ground to rest. Now open this case, and you’ll see a sweet picture, With gold on the hair, and blue in the eye 1 One as bright as the tints of the beautiful sunset; One fair as the light of a clear summer sky. Ah! darling! the flush from the fair cheek has van ished; It died when you left us, to come never more! And yet in this picture he’s smiling out from it— The very same grey coat our soldier-boy wore. And this little banner; I’ll tell you about it, How well 1 have kept it—unspotted each fold; Not a stain on the crimson—and how the stars glitier, All set in their bright shining spangles of gold; Well, when our Willie first went as a soldier I gave him this banner to cherish with care; And told him to guard it;and keep his own honor As bright aB its folds, and as spotless and fair. One night, when the soldiers were posted for duty, The long-roll was heard while the drum slowly beat; The ranks were soon filled—each one in their places, All ready to march—and not one to retreat! And laying this little flag next to his bosom, That he might defend it, and guard it that night, Willie buttoned his coat up, and shouldered his musket, All ready to go with the boys in the fight. But when he was going the last time, to battle, He gave me to keep till he came back once more; .And now they are both lying folded together— This Flag, and the Grey Coat our dear Willie wore; And here in this casket’s another sweet treasure— A soft shining tress of our soldier-boy’s hair He smiled while I clipped it one day from his forehead And tied the bright curl wtth the blue ribbon here. And by it another—all tangled and red With the crimson that stained his fair cheek and his brow; For the life-blood he gave to his country in battle*, Oh! see, it is over this little lock now! I still have another—but see you are weeping; Yet listen, the story will all be told soon: One night out on picket, while waiting for duty, He carved, with a dull knife, this rough wooden spoon. lie was going to throw it away, when I told him I’d keep it, aud treasure it up too with care; ’Tis but a relic ; but oh! you’ll believe me, No pearl from the ocean could be half so dear, And not all the wealth of the Indies could tempt me To part with one treasure, though I might be poor, And millions of money to-day could not purchase This old faded grey goat our soldier-boy wore. Jfc sf: if: The bells in the city were tolling to welcome The boys that liadgope with the “Ordered away;” And, oh ! there was weeping; for sadness and sorrow Was filling the hearts of the people that day; They wore hearing them back—the brave that had fallen, With only pine coffins to cover them o’er; And many a sad heart I know is still weeping Above the old grey coat some soldier-boy wore. We laid them to rest near the homes they loved dearest And twined them green laurels above every sod; We gave them to 'earth—the lov' and forms we had cher ished— Their spirits we gave to the bosom of God ! ’Now fold up these treasures and put them away, Tis useless to sigh; it is Yam to deplore; For Willie’s in Heaven; why should we be weeping Above the old grey coat our soldier-boy wore ? MilhdgevUle, Ga. [For the Banner of the South.] BATTLE SKETCHES—NO, TWO. THE BATTLE-FIELD BY MOONLIGHT. Rising from the contemplation of the young hero’s sepulchre, we set out for the scene of action. The moon was now ob scured by dark masses of clouds drifting across the face of the heavens, and pre saging a change in the character of the weather; but we were safely guided through the gloom of tfie forest by the torches of the hospital cdfps, which gleam ed fitfully through the tangled underbrush, presenting an appearance not unlike that produced by the “fire-fly,’'in the Southern swamps at night. A walk of half a mile brought us out from the shadow of the woods, to the edge of the plain, over which our forces had moved so confidently to the assault on that morning. The plain, or rather meadow, was one of those so frequently met with along the banks of the rivers that run in the central portion of the Old Dominion. Commencing at the edge of the wood it sloped gradually down to the little stream which intersected the middle of it, and then as gently inclined on the other side of it, till it terminated in an elevation or ridge, through which was excavated that “cut,” in which we have spoken of the enemy as being intrenched. During the day the summit of the ridge had been oc cupied by a battery of Federal artillery, and the “cut” likewise had bristled with frowning cannon, both supported by strong brigades of infantry, and the “cut” further protected by the stream which flowed through the valley, and had, when it reached the railroad, been conducted under it by means of a rock culvert, thus ren dering tho position, tor which nature laid done so much, almost impregnable, when improved, as it had been, by tho hand of art. To tho right of this culvert, about three miles from it, and into which the branch emptied, flowed the B river, over which the main body of the enemy’s force crossed before the rear-guard had been intercepted, and who had awaited anxiously during that afternoon for tidings of their comrades, yet afraid to go to their rescue, threatened as they were with an attack from Ewell’s corps and the übiqui tous Stuart, who, as usual, was hanging upon liis flank. To the left, (he valley fringed on either side by forests of oak and chesnut, ran with a gentle inclination upward, until converging into the wood, it was lost to view amidst its gloomy umbrage. It was from this wood that our forces had made their attack upon the lines of the toe, and, like all assailants, had suffered a heavy loss before reaching a position from which they could harm the enemy, who was so completely covered by his intrenchments. When we had attained the edge of the wood, the scene presented to our eyes, was was one, "which by daylight and under or dinary circumstances would perhaps have not been either very beautiful or pictur esque; yet, viewed by the occasional rays of moonlight, which at intervals escaped for a short time from their prison-house of clouds, and threw that softened opaque light upon the scene, which constitutes the enchantment of its power—knowing too that each foot of ground had been hallow ed by the life-blood of the brave, who had poured it forth, a glad libation upon the altar of Liberty—that for every wild flower cruhsed upon the plain, a loving and tender heart was bruised and wound ed —with the di [Terence how ever, that w hen nourished by the kindly dews and sun beams, the flowers would spring into life again, while for the sorrowing heart there is no relief-—feeling that for every man lying there to-night, widow’s and orphan s tears and lamentations would ascend to heaven—it was impossible not to feel deep ly impressed, not to have all our kindlier feelings wrought upon by such a scene. Between the wood and the rivulet the dead were very numerous, and heaps of slain attested the power of the bloody en ginery of modern warfare, while at times the faint agonized moan of the wounded trembled with thrilling cadence upon the midnight air and pierced the very soul of the listener. The corpses lay upon the ground in every conceivable attitude— one or two at a time, in confused and almost undistinguishable array--the upturned luces showing every variety of expression, from the quiet, composed countenance, which an nounced instant death, to the ghastly smile and disturbed features that told of prolonged and fearful agony; bodies wound ed in the heart by rifle balls falling so quickly tjhat they looked as it tying asleep on the turf, while others, so torn and man gled by solid shot or sheji, that their own mothers could not have recognized them in the mass of bloody and revolting . rem nants" of humanity which lay quivering in the moonlight. In some places, too, so extraordinary is their scent of battle, vul tures, those filthy birds of prey, were'seen perched upon the bodies of the victims, making their loathsome banquet, and flap ping their ill-omened wings as they flew in capricious coquetry from one corpse to an other. Shattered gun carriages and caissons en cumbered portions of the held, while the horses which had drawn them, poor brutes, had not escaped the fate of their masters, the artillery men, but all lay in one lifeless, shattered mass. The guns pointed towards the enemy, some discharged others remain-, ed loaded yet; the cannoneers with sponge and gunstring in hand, seeming but to await the sound of their commanders voices, to arise and renew the conflict with unabated ardor; the horses, some of them King dead with the harness broken by their desperate struggles, and removed some little distance from their mates, yet, all dead. No more shall tho artilleryman point his piece against the foe; no more shall the noble animals pull the pieces up in almost point-blank range of the enemy; guns, gunners and steeds, all lie motion less in the moonbeams, dead. The burial squad, with their glimmering torches paling before the greater lustre of the moon, contributed, too, in a great measure to the weird character of the scene; while at times driven by their ap proach from their position among the corpses, the vultures flew suddenly away, intercept!Jug, with their lingo wings, the faint rays from on high, and casting a dark ening shadow on the plain below them. In one portion of the lield, just at the toot ot the hill, and on the banks of the rivulet, there was presented an unusual scene in the annals of modern warfare, and the era of long range guns: ’twas—where, from appearances, the assailed must have, either inspired by heroic valor or frenzied by despair (for the difference is not so great between courage and desperation as we may imagine), rallied upon the assailants, and met each other with that most terrible, but little used, weapon—the bayonet, which, in former days, had restored the diadem of royalty to the Bourbon of Spain, and, at a later interval and more moment ous crisis, had wrested the sceptre, on the field of Waterloo, from the kingly grasp of the first Napoleon. So terrible had been the force of tho shock, that weapons, in some places, had been interlocked with such strength that the soldiers’ (in one place Federal, in unother Confederate) grasp had been unloosed, and the arms lay shivered into fragments, while the owners, thrown several paces completely off their feet, had either received death from the hands of a different adversary, or had met with the hard lot of captives, and been carried to the camp of the enemy, to droop and languish for weary months, prisoners ; to endure the freezing blasts and snow-storms of Johnson’s Island, or the miasmatic and malignant exhalations of Andersonville and Camp Chase, Point Lookout and the Libby, until a welcome death came to their relief. Broken bayonets and shivered muskets lay scattered over the field, and the remnants of steel glittered in the rays of the moon with that cold, murderous lustre which has been so utten described. In this place, tiie dead and wounded on both sides were more numer ous than in any other portion of the lield, for bayonets, at close quarters, still remain, despite the recent improvements in the art of killing oft* the human species, the most deadly and effective weapons that can be put into the hands of a soldier. Out ot a column of live hundred Southern infantry, which had gone into the conflict here, but one hundred and seventy-five of their number had returned uninjured from it; and, on the other side, the loss had been equal as great. Over six hundred men, a majority of them just entering the morn ing of life, few who had more than reached its meridian, lay grouped in every phase and attitude of death, a monstrous holo caust upon the sacrificial stone of Tyranny and Oppression. From the foot of the acclivity to the hanks of the streamlet the turf was uprooted and furrowed by the contestants, as if it had been passed over by a herd of buffaloes; while little rills of human gore trickled through channels of its own making, till it reached the stream which sent its waves rolling on to the bosom of the Atlantic crimsoned with the blood which had flowed from a thou sand death wounds. Victor and vanquish ed, friend and foe, Southerner and Federal, the Blue and the Grey, all lay in confused heaps, distinguishable from each other only by the color of their uniforms. A ever<an the memory of that*scene, sublime from its very fearfulness, be eradicated from our memory ; even now our blood curdles within its veins when we" think of that torn, mangled, and bleeding innssof lifele» humanity lying on the dark matted grass, with upturned faces and fixed eyeballs; and we often awake in the dead watches of the night, pale and panting from the horrors of the battle-field, which have come to us even into the realms of sleep, through the medium of ghastly dreams— the streamlet with its crimsoned waves— the grass smeared and stained with blood— blood on the guns —the uniforms—dyeing the wild flowers its own red hue- not hint hut blood and death wherever we turned —until the heart sickened and the brain reeled, unable to stand such an accumula tion of horrors—while the gentle moon sends her struggling beams down from amid the and ark clouds, and sailing so calmly ami peacefully through the broad expanse </ heaven, presents such a striking contrast, by its quietude and calmness, to the scene upon which it seems to look so sadly down ; and the pitying night, too, seems to died its pure dews as tears wept by the angels on high, over the miseries of fallen men: and the very breezes which play upon the dusky cheeks of Darkness, seemed to play a melancholy strain through the distant trees, like the dying cadences of an gE< Fuji harp, as if making a requiem for the soul of the fallen braves. Presently the glowworm-like lights of the burial detail, were seen moving si »wly along the valley, until they reached the place where we were standing. A hasty survey of the scene sufficed to tell their leader what to do—experience in his melancholy work had made him perfect master in it. Stepping to a comparatively vacant spot, ten or twelve paces removed from tho stream, he marked rapidly upon the groin; .1 a trench of six or seven feet in width and ten times that length. The detail, with tlieii implements, proceeded to work with a will, and, in an hour’s time, had the par allelogram, which had been marked our, excavated to a sufficient depth for their purpose. Then commenced one of those terrible scenes, of which war furnishes so many exemplifications. Into this trench, without regard to rank, or difference of sides in the struggle, the bodies were care lessly thrown —Federal and Confederate, private and officer, native and foreigner— while the wild, unearthly light of the torches cast an expression of savage feroci ty over the faces ot the detail, and reflect ing on the waves of the stream, turned them to a tide of rolling fire. Already they had come to the last heap.of slain which remained above ground, and, re moving all but one body, they came hack to place it too in this modern Golgotha, when, just as they attempted to raise it from the ground, a faint moan escaped from the lips of the supposed corpse. As tonished, they recoil from him, but aston ishment soon gives place to sympathy; and, while a portion of the men remain behind to place the turf upon this huge sepulchre, another portion procure a litter, and, placing the wounded man upon it, start towards the rear for the field hos pital, after first moistening his brow and parched lips with water taken from the rivulet which flows at their feet. As we felt that we had seen enough, indeed, all that was of interest to be seen, and the waning moon had begun to sink behind the tree-tops, preparatory to beaming upon another world, and the star of morning was shining high in the heavens, a glorious har binger of the coining dawn, we decided to go with the wounded man, happy if our aid could do aught towards alleviating his suf ferings. Slowly and carefully the litter-hearer wended their way across the valley, over the stream, and through the wood, until we came to the old farm-house which had been hastily fitted up as a hospital, where, on one of the field-cots, which had been placed in rows on the floor of the dining-room, we placed our burden. The skillful, but over-worked, surgeon was soon summoned to his bedside, and, after an ex animation of the wound—a bayonet stab in the side—shook his head in a manner to dispel at once the hopes we had had <■! his recovery. “ Will I live?” murmured the patient in a low voice. “ I am afraid there is no chance for your recovery ; although you may linger for several days yet,” replied the surgeon. “Thank God tor that; 1 may at least - e Ellen before I die. Is there any one who will telegraph to Ellen Fairfax, at tl e Georgia Hospital, in Richmond, that lb w) Winton is on his death-bed, and wishes to see her once more before lie dies?” Ami the young boyish face turned to where >\e were standing, with such a wistful, yearl - ing look in the deep blue eyes, that ’ > heart so dead to kindly feelings but who' would have been touched by it. Telling him that we would telegraph s once, and that he must not get excited, he wished to live to see his friend, thd kind-hearted surgeon wrote out the n sage and dispatched a servant with it to the telegraph office, which, as wo were on