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VOL. 111.
Reply to the Conquered Banner
by w.
DEDICATED TO GEN’. J. B. KERSHAW.
Why should that Flag be furled for
ever ?
Can it be forgotten ? Never !
It shall be the Southron’s glory:
It shall live in “song and story;”
Must we furl it then, for aye ?
Those who once “hailed it so gladly:’’
Those who around it swore “so madly”
To preserve it, answer—Nay.
Because some bands that proudly “grasp
ed it,”
Because some hearts that fondly clasp
ed it,
“Cold and dear are lying low;
Shall we furl that banner tattered—
Tho’ its staff may now be “shattered;”
Shall we furl it, and for aye?
Those who made that “banner gory;”
Those who wreathed it round “with
glory;”
Aud their sires, tho’ bent and hoary,
Answer quickly , proudly —Nay.
Is there no one left to “hold it.
Love it,” bless it and unfold it ?
Must it then be furled for aye ?
Those whose blood spots now impress it;
Young and old who now caress it;
Unborn millions who shall bless it,
Answer quickly , j?roudly —Nay.
Do none live who proudly “bore it ?”
None who vet, love and “adore it,”
And envy “those who fell before it ?”
Must they iurl then for aye ?
By the dear ones slain to save it;
By the blood they gave “to lave it;”
We, quickly, proudly, answer—Nay.
Tho' our “glorious flag is weary,”
And “round its staff’ is drooping dreary;”
Shall we furl it and for aye ?
By the wrongs impressed upon us—
By the dear ones taken from us—
By the withered hopes among us—
We, the living , answer Nay!
Voices from the grave are coming,
Heavenly choirs are sweetly humming—
“ Save it ! save it V thus they say.
Glorious angelic sonnet,
Our faith takes hold and hangs upon it—
“lis our God, our God who has done it
Unfold it, leave it —and for aye
THE CARRIER PIGEON.
A Legend of the Eliine.
In the days of old, known by the gen
eral term, the middle ages, there dwelt
at Stonnenberg a nobleman called the
Baron Yon Altenfeldt. As far as stature
and strength of limb went, he was a fine
specimen of the ancient German nobility.
At the time of my legend lie was pacing
the declivity of years ; nevertheless he
possessed remarkable strength and activi
ty for a man of his age. The Baron was,
however, clear-headed and successful in
his calculations. He Lad received sub
stantial proof of the favor of his sover
eign, and did not fail to exact from those
around him the respect due to his'age,
wealth and station. He had within his
castle of Sonnenberg an estimable treas
ure—a priceless jewel; this was his only
daughter, Odellia. Haughty and impe
rious as was his manner to most persons
around him, he was uniformly kind and
gentle when in her presence ; indeed, his
rough voice was even tuneful when ad
dressing the bright creature who called
him father. But the love of the old
Baron had in it a certain amount of self
ishness; he was proud ot his daughter,
and if he disdained to look beyond him
self for honor, gratification and comfort,
he found so pleasing and so influential a
portion of that self in the beauteous
Odellia, that in lavishing upon her the
most unbounded affection and even defer
ence, he fell into common delusion, and
never doubted but he was enriching her
with indulgences he was in reality bestow
ing upon himself. It was not at all likely
that he would see his own error so long
as the tide of life carried along the inter
ests of both in the same channel. An
obstacle, however, shot into the stream,
and thenceforth the divided currents
drenched asunder.
The indulgent father ail at oilce be
came a fierce denouncer—an exacting
domestic tyrant. At Weisbaden there re
sided a family by the name of Herberger.
Every member of this bouse the imperi
ous Baron deemed his. mortal enemy.
An ancient feud,which had been bequeath
ed from sire to sop, existed between the
Altenfeldts and the Herbergers. Unhap
pily for my heroine, as years went on, it
increased rather than diminished. Odel
lia fondly hoped to heal up the breach
between the two houses. She bad ex
changed vows of unfading constancy with
Frauke Herberger, a sciun of a race who
was so detested by the parent. The
lovers held secret meetings, and for a
long time the Baron was in utter ignorance
of his daughter’s fatal attachment. It
would have been less painful, perhaps,
to him if he had heard the confession from
her own lips; fate, however, had willed it
otherwise.
There resided within the Castle of
Sonnenberg a certain person named Gil
bert, who was a kinsman to the grim
Baron. He was a criDging, fawning, pal
try, mischievous knave, who had on very
many occasions pestered his cousin Odel
lia with his attentions. He professed to
be her friend, and sought to be her confi
dant and adviser. It happened most un
fortunately that the Baron’s daughter
believed in the sincerity of Gilbert, albeit
she had no very high opinion of his intel
lent. She ultimately found out to her
cost that he was as crafty and cunning
as a serpent.
Between the Baron and Gilbert shore
was a sort of friendship, and this the
latter thought the safest cover for his
machinations. He aspired to the hand
of his cousin, and made up his mind to re
move all impediments that might stand
in the way of his obtaining his object.
W hen matters were sufficiently ripe for
his purpose, he made the Baron acquaint
ed with the fact of the secret meetings
between Odellia and Franke Herberger.
The Count of Sonnenberg was so astound
ed at the intelligence that he at once
boldly declared it to be a base slander,
and, in addition to this, he gave Gilbert
so smart a cuff on the side of the head as
to send him reeling several paces.
“Insolent traducer!” exclaimed the
wrathful Baron; “dost though dare to
maiigu my daughter with thy slanderous
tongue ?”
“I have done; will say no more,” ob
served Gilbert, rubbing the side of his
face. “And from this hour I swear—
“ Peace !” interrupted his companion.
I do not are to h a-your silly resolves!
Peace, I say!”
“I am silent,” returned the other, as
suming by amok of humility an appear
ance of passr.. submission to the will of
his superior.
“I have i ren somewhat hasty—your
pardon,” sab .‘Baron, in an altered
tone. “Teb ... , >od Gilbert, since you
Lave broae : tui.t, business —tell me ail
thou knowes:, without reserve.”
“You rail at me, and cuff me, if I speak
the truth. It would be far wiser for
me to remain silent,” said the wily de
pendent.
“Nay, nay, I will be patient. Out with
it. Let me know the worst. I was wrong
in being angered with thee; for, after al°
I do not think it likely you will deceive
me. Therefore—”
“You may satisfy yourself upon the sub
ject this very night.”
“Ah tell me how ; good Gilbert
how ?”
•‘Not far hence, on the Wiesbaden road,
stands Jerome’s Cross before which pious
AUGUSTA, GrOY., AUGUST 27, 1870.
pilgrims are apt to say their orisons. |
Conceal yourself in the thick cluster ol
trees near to the spot. Be there to-night,
between eight and nine, and then say if I
am a slanderer.”
, “Enough; I will do as you desire,”
| exclaimed the Baron, who ther -upon drew
from the pocket of his doubfb’t a well
filled purse, which he slid into the hand
of his kinsman, saying, “The ’e is some
| thing to recompense thee for that hard
knock I gave.”
Gilbert accepted the gift with a grim
smile of satisfaction. Then the two
i parted.
At the specified time, the Baron con
cealed himself in the dark mass of foliage
near St. Jerome’s Cross. The truth of
Gilbert’s statement was soon but too mani
fest. To his dismay and horror he be
held his daughter—his darling Odellia—
in close converse with a scion of a race
whom he so detested. Smothering h:s
rising wrath as best as he could, Baron
Yon Altenfeldt hastened back to Sonnen
berg. After this he was no longer the
doting, indulgent parent. He showered
| upon his daughter a perfect torrent of
angry epithets, and bade her think no
I more of Franke Herberger. Odellia at
| once boldly declared that she could not
consent to do this; whereupon the wrath
| ful Baron stretched his power :o its fullest
; extent, and made her a close prisoner
! within her own suite of apar nepts, and
to pass without the wall of Sonnenberg
she found an utter impossibility.
Never for a moment suspecting the
treacherous part Gilbert had been play
ing, she sought his advice and freely
made known to him all her sorrows and
| trials. The apartments devoted to Odel
lia’s special use were fitted up with the
most sumptuous magnificence. Their oc
cupant owned and cherished a number of
pets. She had an aviary which contained
; some of the rarest and most beautiful
; birds that wealth could purchase, and at
the top of one of the towers she kept the
best specimens of the various breeds of
pigeons. It has been said that “love
laughs at locksmiths,” but Odellia found
that the bolts and bars of Sonnenberg
formed an insurmountable barrier to her
egress from the walls of the old castle.
I Odellia, for the first time iu her life,
i was thwarted by her father in a matter
on which the happiness of her life depend
| cd. She was peremptorily ordered to
; think no more of Franke Herberger at a
! time when she could think of but little
; else. She had some consolation in the
i wretched position in which she found
; herself. On several occasions she man
; aged to have one of her carrier pigeons
| together with a note conveyed secretly to
her lover, who each time returned her
1 an answer, written on thin tissue paper,
j which he adroitly bound around one of
| the bird s legs. Franke Herberger bid
her not to give way to despair, as, sooner
or later, he would find the means of pro
pitiating the angry Baron, whom he de
clared would eventually relent. Odellia
knew’ too much of her father's indoraita
| ble will, and his deep seated hatred, to
ever dream of his altering the resolve.
Days and weeks passed over in sad and
| wearisome monotony with the Baron’s
| daughter, who vainly strove to catch one
, faint ray of hope through the clouds that
. lowered over our head.
During this time Gilbert was not idle,
j Well used to dissumulate, he pretended
; to sympathize with Lis cousin, while he
was doing all in his power to widen the
' breach between her father and young
Herberger. The following brief dialogue
j between the dependent and Lis superior
will prove assiduously the former
poured the poison into the ears of the
credulous Baron.
; “I tell you, sir,” observed, Gilbert, in
a low mysterious tone, “that, despite your
watchful guardianship she continues to re
ceive letters from Weisbaden; by whom
| these are penned, you may readily
guess.”
‘ “Is she so utterly lost to a sense of her
own dutv !” ejaculated his compan
ion.
“But no, it cannot be. It is impossi
ble.”
“I am loth to pain you, which, certes, I
shall if I speak the truth, which, for many
reasons, it were best to conceal ”
“Say what thou knowest without more
ado,” said the Baron with an impatient
stamp of the foot,
“Since you desire it, I must perforce
obey. The carrier pigeons, your daughter’s
pets, are adroitly used as a medium of
communication between the lovers.”
“I’ll have them destroyed 1” thunder
ed forth the Baron in a paroxysm of
rage. “They shall be destroyed at
once.”
“Be patient for a while; watch and
wait. Assure yourself that this is the
case, and do not rest content with my
bare word.”
“I’ll never rest content while one of the
brood lives.”
Gilbert, with well simulated concern
and anxiety, strove to persuade his kins
man to wait patiently, and not give way to
anger. He knew quite enough of the
Baron’s nature to feel assured no words of
his could tarn him from his purpose.
While the two were walking together in
close converse, a carrier pigeon flew over
their heads.
“Dost see yonder bird?” observed Gil
bert, placing bis hand on the arm of Lis
companiou.
Baron Yon Altenfeldt raised his cross
bow, took steady aim—he was noted as
one of the best marksmen of his days—
and the pigeon fell within a few paces of
his destroyer. The latter grew pale
with rage upon discovering a piece of
paper wound around one of the legs of
the bird. On this paper was written the
following :
“I shall be at the trysting-placc, St.
Jerome’s Cross, to-night at nine. I dare
not hope to see you, but if you can con
trive to send a line or even a word, by
a trusty messenger, you need not be told
what happiness it would afford to one
whose whole thoughts are devoted to
you”
Hastily thrusting the missive in his
w a
doublet, the infuriated father gave utter
ance to many bitter invectives, and said,
with vengeful looks, “He shall not be
kept waiting, Gilbert. The dullpatcd
fool dreams not of the honor that awaits
him.”
iiY’What would’st thou do!” inquired the
other.
“Meet him; meet this audacious scion
of an odious and detested race.”
“Ob, sir, be cautious ; let not your
choler get the better of your calmer judg
ment.”
“Peace ! when I need advice I shail
seek it from my discreet kinsmai,” ob
served the Baron in a tone of iron} 7 .
Long before the appointed hour, the
Ban>n, on that eventful and fatal evening
concealed himself asbefue in the mass
of foliage near St. Jerome’s Cross. He
had never proved himself to be a patient
man at the best of times, and it is there
fore the more remarkable that he should
have contrived to remain passive for
nearly one whole hour. Young Herber
ger, unconscious cf the si prise that
awaited him, leisurely tookhis way
along the road. As he neared the tryst
ing place, he sighed, and furtively
glanced at the cross, before which he
| paused for a few brief seconds. A howl,
| such as an animal of prey might give
I when it is about to pounce on its victim,
was the first notice the miserable lover
received from the. dangerous proximity
ofthe infuriated Baron, who with hasty stri
des, approached the young man.
“The Baron von Altenfeldt!” said
| Franke Herberger, removing at once his
| plumed hat. “This meeting is, indeed,
j unexpected, and ”
“I waste not words up:n knaves or
| fools! If thou art not a coward to boot
I draw, and defend thyself”
* ‘ -Uj Lord Baron, why this excess of
wrath?” exclaimed Franke “You do
me wrong by making use of such epi
thets.”
“Prove thy words! I will hold no
parly with you!” shouted Altenfeldt,
waving above his head his heavy sword,
which every moment seemed about to
descend upon his mortal foe.
“I repeat again, you do me wrong,”
said the young man calmly.
“Though art a craven, like the rest of
the Herberger’s!” cried the Count of
Sonnenberg, with a haughty curl of his
lip.
A conflict with the father of his belov
ed, Franke endeavored to avoid, it btdng
about the last thing he would think of
entering upon; but his wrathful adver
sary was not to be propitiated by fair
words. He madly attacked his daugh
ter’s suitor, aud the latter was forced
from sheer necessity to ward off the
blows as best he could that were so mer
cilessly showered upon him. Notwith
standing the violence of the Baron’s at
tack, Franke did not attempt to act on
the aggressive, but contented himself
with keeping his angry assailant at bay.
At length, however, by a vigorous ef
fort, the Baron struck the weapon from
the hand of Herberger, whom he then
caught by the throat, that he might
make sure of fulfilling his fell purpose.
Poor Franke felt the point of the Baron’s
sword ngaint chest. He closed his eyes,
beiieving his last hour had come. Much
to his astonishment, he found the hand
on his throat relax its grasp—heard a
deep groan; and, on the next instant, be
held the Baron von Altenfeldt stretched
at his feet, bathed in his blood. Be
fore him stood the tall and silent form of
Gilbert.
“What hast thou done?” murmured
Franke, to whom the events of the last
few moments seemed more like the dis
jointed fragments of some hideous night
mare than a living reality.
“Saved your life”’ said Gilbert. “Had
I been a second later, you would have
sacrificed.”
“ Wretch !” ejaculated Harberger,
“Monster have you slain your protector
and kiisrnan!”
“Is it thus you thank me for saving
you from the vengeance of an infuriated
madman?”
“Mother of Mercy, but this was hor
rible!” ejaculated Franke, passing his
hand rapidly over his brow. “So hor
rible that it almost surpasses belief!”
“You are right there, my friend,” ob
served bis companion. “Say what thou
mayest, this noble’s death will be laid at
your door.”
“At mine?'’
“Aye, even so. There are no witnes
ses beside our two selves.”
“What demon was it that prompted
you to commit so heinous a crime?”
“None; I have stood your friend in the
hour of ueed. Why, think you? For
tho sake of my cousin Odella. Had
you fallen iustead of your adversary, she
would not have long survived. For her
sake I have made this sacrifice, and ytt
you do not thank me.”
Herberger waa stupefied with as
tonishment. He had always held the
speaker in utter contempt whom he re
garded as a paltry, shuffling knave. The
blow dealt by Gilbert had been aimed
with such deadly intent that his weapon
passed through the heart of tho ill-fated
Baron von Altenfeldt. *
“Heaven bo merciful to us!” exclaim
ed Franke, shuddering “Infamous as
sassm! thou hast slain thy protector aud
kinsman!,”
“This is not the time for reproaches,”
answered Gilbert. “Be thankful that
you have escaped. If you stay here all
will be lost. They will charge you with
murder!”
“But I am innocent!”
“No matter for that. His death will
be 1 tid ai year door. Away at once,
wane lucre io j et time.
No. 24.
