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