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NERVE.
Drtrvit w Pm*.
“ What constitutes nerve ?" asked
the New York World the other day of
its readers. One man will answer that
it Is presence of mind ; another that it
is pluck ; another that it is being ;cool
and collected in an emergency. It is
none of these. It is something back
of all of them, and something which a
man never had unless it was born in
him. Instances of presence of mind
were met with every day in the army.
An officer out in charge of foragers or
on a reconnoissance would be suddenly
attacked. Presence of mind aided him
to form his meu for defence.. He had
that presence of mind, even though his
face was white as flour and his chin
shaking. Brave men were common
enough in thp ranks. Call for men to
face certain death and a hundred pri
vates would step out at once, yet, test
their “ nerve ” and they had none.
Among two or three cases in miud,
that of John Melrose, a trooper in the
Sixth Michigan Cavalry, is recalled.
He was an under-sized, quiet spoken
man, and he had that wonderful nerve
which not three other men in the whqle
brigade possessed. While acting as a
scout in the Shenandoah Valley lie was
one day eating dinner at a farm-house
when in walked seven Confederate sol
diers. They knew him for a Union
scout, and he knew them for Confeder
ates. A brave man would have made a
rush or had a fight. Melrose simply
looked up as they ’filed in ; smiled over
his fix and called out:
“ Say, old woman, put on more din
ner here and we'll all have a square
meal together!”
“You are my prisoner!” said the
sergeant of the squad as 1m advanced.
“ Yes. I know it, but I’ll pay for a
dinner for you and your men just the
same! Sit right down and make your
selves at home.”
His nerve upset the soldiers, and
after a moment they took seats at the
table, forming a complete circle around
the board. As soon as they began to
cat he began to think of escape. It
was summer, and the window behind
him and ten feet awav was open. If
he stood up all eyes would be on him,
and any excuse to leave the room was
not to be thought of.
The meal was’ about half finished,
and captors and captive were chatting
away, Melrose suddenly flung himself
backwards, upset his chair, and bound
ed through the window. The soldiers
ran out and fired at ati pursued him,
but he made good his escape.
In the Luray Valley, just before the
affair known as Woodstock Races, Mel
rose and his companion fell out of
ranks to forage. After securing a sup
ply of meat they pushed oil after the
column, and were riding at a gallop
when five bushwhackers, well mounted,
came out of a cross-road about twenty
rods ahead of them.
“ We are dead men !” said the scout’s
companion as they came to a halt.
Looking back they saw four more
bushwhackers climbing the fence to take
position on the highway. Melrose
calmly viewed their situation and said :
“We will charge them ! Fall in be
hind me and there will be less danger.
Draw your sabre and strike hard !”
The otner dared not try it. though he
was a brave man. He therefore kept
his place as the scout dashed forward.
Melrose rode straight at the men with
drawn sabre, and the volley they fired
went over him. lie. struck the line,
sabred a man as lie passed, and soon
rejoined the column. His companion
was never heard of again, probably
being murdered in cold blood.
In 1864 Melrose and three other for
agers were captured in the Shenandoah
Volley, taken to a small encampment,
and the four placed in a log house un
der guard until their cases could be
disposed of. They talked the situation
over, and the bravest of them could
ce no hope of escape. Melrose quiet
fey sinewed to their discouraging re
marks, as quietly replied that he
voiild *ke inside of the Union lines be
fore midnight. There was a circle of
sentinels around t&e building, which
had no door. The sentinels paced
■within six feet of the building and the
one in front could see the prisoners
through the doorway, Melrose said
that if all would rush together tlie sen
tinels would be confused and either
bold their fire or fire wild. The three
men bad participated in more than -0
batties, and were known as brave fel
lows, but here they needed nerve, and
nerve was what they hadn’t got.
“ Very well—l will go alone !’ was
the quiet announcement, and as night
came on Melrose wh-j ready. Stand-
The Hartwell Sun.
Bv BENSON & McGILL.
VOL. I*-#O. #7..
ing in the doorway he asked the senti
nel what time it was. r TANARUS" ( 1 /
“ You git back tUnr, or I’llJohoDt
was the prompt replj\
“ Yes—l’m going right back !” said
the scout, and he dashed upon the man,
(lit him a stunning blow, and made for
the woods. He had to run across an
open field in full sight of camp, and
though it was dusk, he could be seen
Ogite |J:ly for half tit distance.
,fUge thto| fifty; shots war# fired at him,
and then pursuit began, but he reached
the woods and made his escape.
He was one day scouting up the val
ley, having on a mixed uniform, when
he suddenly came upon two ferocious
looking guerillas, while crossing a thick
wood. They were seated on a log,
backs to him, but at the sound of his
step they sprang up and covered him
with their carbines. Jt would have
been bold to bolt and take the chances
of being hit. Melroso never slacken
ed his pace nor changed countenance,
but walked directly up to the men ahd
quietly suit]: ' h .
“ I’ve got news for the Colonel, and
I want you botli to go along and show
me tire way.”
" Who said so ?” asked one of the
men. j. rs
“ If I miss the way there'll be a row,
for this is important news,” he an
swered.
“ Who be you ?”
“Come along and ask the Colonel.”
“ Well, we ain't going to tramp clear
up thar’. Yon go down to tire road,
foller it for a mile, and when you come
to the old log stable on the right turn
into the blind road.”
“Why cau’t one of you come along ?”
“Oh ! you can't miss the way. We
are watching here for game.”
Melrose slouched otf in a lazy, tired
manner. He had got about fifty feet
when he heard them cock their guns.
He did not ttim his head or quicken his
pace.
‘ He’s a Yank—shoot him !” called
one of the men ; but the scout walked
on. They were trying him, but he had
the nerve of a Napoleon, and he kept
his leisurely pace until well away from
their neighborhood.
A PRETTY RHINE LEGEND.
Once upon a time there lived beside
the Rhine a beautiful young lady. She
had a lover who loved her, aud whom
she loved in return. But, after he had
wooed her—not one year, but three —he
asked her to marry him ; aud she, anx
ious to show her power, merely answer
ed :
“Wait.”
“'I have waited three years,” lie said,
but at your bidding, I will wait once
more—just once more.”
Theu he went away and became a sol
dier, and praise of his bravery filled the
land ; hut the lady was piqued by the
thought thiU he had been able to leave
for even a year, and wheu he returned
she determined to punish him, though
all the while she loved him well.
He knelt at her feet, and took her
hands and said:
“ Lady, I have come to claim you for
my wife.”
But all she answered was :
“ Wait longer ; a patient waiter is not
a loser.”
“ I will wait two years longer,” he
said, calmly. “If I do not lose all is
well.”
Then he left her again. She had
hoped that he would plead for l*?r, and
that she would be forced to change her
mind ; but now he waS^oqe —g6ne for
two long years. How she lived through
them she could not tell ; bp|, they pass
ed, and again her lover was before her.
“ I have waited patiently*” was all
that he said.
The lady yearned to cast herself into
bis arms, but pride was strung w ithin
her.
Wait longer,” she said.
“ No" he answered. “ This is the last
time. If I wait now I will wait forev
er.”
At this she drew back haughtily.
“ Then wait forever,” she said coldly.
He left her without a word. And
now her heart sank in her bosom, fcbe
wept bitter tears, and repented iD dust
and ashes. When a year had gone by,
she could bear her woe no longer, and
HJHmvm, <U., WEDNESDAY, MAY 12, 1880.
sent her little foot page to her old lover
bi(hjing hiii bejy |hi? message, “Come
haw to me.”
But the message tho little foot page
brought was just this: “ Wait.”
Agaiji she was left to her sorrow, and
twg tea* glided hy; then qnce more
she bade her page ride over the moun
tains to her lover’s castle.
“Tell hint I am waiting,” she said.
The page'Jdrte npv’ijfy i Aid role, liHy
H stood before Ws/lfftjiy and dotl-d hi*
cap, and repeated the message that had
been given him: “The patient waiter
is not a loser.”
“He is punishing me,” thought the
lady, and for two years longer she re
mained in her castle. Her heart was
breaking—her'heulth failed—she knew
death was nonr.
Again she sent her cruel lover a mes
sage. “Tell him,’ she said, “ that I
am near my etid, awf that if I wait
longer before f sey him I shall wait for
ever." yy
The page returned aud stood beside
his lady’s olmir. /His eyes were full of
tears j his head was bent upon his
breast; lie sigfied and hid his face in
plumed cap.
The lady lifted her wan face.
“ Speak,” elm said, “the message !”
“ Alas !” sighed the page ; “ I would
it were a more tender one.”
“ Whatfeffit it may be. speak!”
gasped the laity,
“ The only message that I have,” re
plied the page is ‘ Wait forever.’ ”
“I am well paid in my own coin,”
said the lady. “At last I have receiv
ed all my own answers back.”
In a little while she died, and they
buried her in the old churchyard, with
a stone at her head and a stone at her
feet.
When spring came there was grass
upon the grave, and there also was a
new plant strange to those who’ looked
ed upon it; a plant with‘dark, glossy
leaves, that crept slowly but surely
along, clutching fast to every rough
surface it met.
There had never been a plant like
that on earth before. Now we call it
the ivy, but this is what those who saw
it for the first time said of it:
“It is the lady whom her lover bade
to wait forever. In this form she is
creeping toward his castle slowly but
surely. So she will continue to creep
on until she reaches the heart she once
threw away.”
Generations have passed from earth.
The castle is a ruin, covered with ivy,
and the peasants will tell you that it
lias crept there from the lady’s grave,
point by point, over stone and rock,
through the graveyard and over gates
and fences. You can trace it if you
choose, the}’ say, but you do not try.
LEFT ON THE BATTLE FIELD.
Perhaps you knew what it was to
have a bullet plow its way into your
flesh, but were you ever left wounded
on the field—left to wear away hours
of daylight amidst groans and prayers
and curses—to wear away a night which
seemed years long, while men shrieked
in agony and died—while wounded
horses sighed and groaned and dragged
themselves along—while ghouls prowl
ed over the blood-red grass and wet
their fingers in warm blood as they
searched the bodies of dead and wound
ed for plunder ?
“ Forward !” came the order.
I looked up and down the line as we
left the cover of the woods, and the
regiment was dressed as if on parade.
We were tbfeiMttie-front of a brigade,
and were going to charge a battery half,
a mile away; No skirmishers put—no j
firing. The battery was belching away
under a cloud of blue srpoke, and the
ground was open and clear.
Tramp ! tramp! tramp ! No lagging
—po forging ahead. Conynon time—
inarch ! maith! march ! It was snail’s
pace, but we were to increase it. The
left of the line was swinging ahead a
a little as the impatient men increased
their steps, when suddenly the enemy
discovered our maneuver. There was
a lull in the firing for fifteen seconds
as the battery changed front, and then
a shell tore through our center and bat
tered six or eight men into bloody pulp.
“ Double-quick—charge !” and away
we went, each man shutting bis teeth
Devoted to Hart County.
ban! as he entered the smoke-cloud,
from under which the red tongues of
death leaped forward to scorch and
wither dozens and seizes and hundreds.
A grim veteran at my left raised a
cheer. It was yet on his lips when a
grai>e-ahot tore a hole through his braast
and seat him into a dry ditch, dead be
fore he struck the grass. Two boy
brothers on my right halted for an in
stant as the grape and cannistor shriek
ed art Hind them. I looked back and
they were gone—dead under the feet
of theareond line.
How far it was! How long it took
us to |ias3 over that quarter of a mile !
Now we see shadows around tho guns
—now the powder-flame burns our faces
-now we nre cheering and shooting
and using the bayonet. The guns are
ours ! Alen fall to the ground as they
step intp pdbls of blood. Every gun
lias its blood-stain—every wheel is cov
ered with crimson spots. Men died
before the guns —around them—behind
them. We cheer—hip ! hip ! hn— !
Where am I ? The afternoon sky is
overhead—the roar of battle is in 1113’
ears—l am lying on my back on the
ground. What does it mean? How
came this ? Heavens ! Wlint a burn
ing, Mistering, gnawing sensation in
my left leg above the knee! lam
wounded, and I am lying where I first
went down. The guns were here, but
they are gone now—part, of them cap
tured—part of them dragged away by
hand. The tide of battle has shifted,
and over this meadow the dogs of war
are tearing at each other’s throats.
Is there any one else here? I lift I
my head. Any one else ! Great God !
but the field is covered witli dead and
wounded—with men writhing and
groaning--with fragments of bodies—
with pale-faced dead—with blood
stained dying! I c*n touch the dead
on eithejTr"' l *.- n “d lxUn4 >°
piteous voice calls oilt:
“ Comrade, for the love of Heaven
give me a drink of water 1”
That pain again. Is the leg being
roasted over a slow fire ? Scream and
shriek and clutch the grass and keep
company with thousands of others who
are being tortured to insensibility by
pain or driven to distraction b} r the
still-continued carnage.
Ah! It is night. The falling dew
has brought more than one poor soldier
back to life and renewed suffering.
The batteries are silent. The muskets
are resting after their deadly work.
There is silence—no! From woods
and meadow and knoll and valley, from
almost every yard of ground on that
long battle-front, rise groans and cries
and prayers and pleadings. A general
prides himself on a strategic movement
—a colonel will be promoted for brave
ry —a major is flattered by the cheers
of the living—a captain is proud that
bis men stood like a stone wall, and the
result is five thousand dead and wound
ed and mangled men —fathers, brothers
and sons.
This is glory. Scream and shriek,
but someone lias won fame. Pray and
plead and rave and curse, but the tele
graph is freighting the news of a glo-1
rious victory over the country. The
enemy lias not retired as yet, but is j
getting ready to fall back when the
night grows older.
Hark! Is someone moving ? Yes,
it is a step. Is it some wounded man
hobbling away under cover of dark- j
ness ? Nearer, nearer and someone
looks into my face. It is the ghoul of
of the battle-field—the hyena who drags
his talons through blood and gaping
wounds to rob dying men’s pockets.
uQo away—l am not doadl I shriek !
in bis face as he bends closer, and he
moves aside to growl and curse and
search the body of one whose pale, up- i
turned face is just catching the silver
rays of the new moon. I hear more
steps. Ghoul meets ghoul and holds a
whispered conversation, and they sep
arate with hands full of plunder. Now
1 comes a heavier steps. A trooper's
horse is dragging himself across the
field, a shattered leg making him utter
almost human groans. He is more
merciful than the ghouls. He weaves
and turns to avoid the bodies in his
path—he even halts and put bis nose
against the faces of the dead as if he
would speak to them.
$1.50 Per Annum,
WHOLE NO. 198.
So and so until midnight comes and
goes, and then lanterns flash, the ghouls
speed away, ami strong men careftilly
lift up the wounded and carry white
faces as they fiud old comrades lying
stitf and stark, in pools of clotted gore.
And all this for—what ?
BILL ARP
I I pun (hr A •mil HirmiMi of ttrolher
Tnlmnrr mml Other Niih|n > t.
.lllunl.i (Janttitution.
Bettor late than never, but it does
seem to me Brother Till mage has been a
long time finding out wo were a good ]
people down here. Fifteen yearn is
about sufficient for aseholur to jearn id)
about the whole world and the rest of
mankind, including Asia and Africa
and the Zuloos, but we’ve beam living
right here almost in sight of the taber
nacle. Brother Talninge Ims been over
to Europe and come back and just now
begius to lake some interest in us. I’m
glad of it. lie talks splendidly nd 1
enjoyed it. He is doing us justice. One
I time there was a man who had n wild
boy,and one cold night he told him to
Jgo out to the wood-pile and bring in a
j back log to put on the fire. The boy
( wynt, but lie never came back in a hur
ry. t lie took ship ns a sailor and went
all over the world and was gone fifteen
years, but he came home one Mcknight
ami looking through the windbwj, saw
the old man at prayers, fjo he hunted
round the wood pile and shouldered a
big stick, and when prayers were over
|he walked in, and says he. “ Daddy,
! here’s that hack log you sent me after."
I Brother Talmage has brought in the
backlog at last, but we might have
| froze to death several times awating for
him. Our northern brethren are very
poor scholars. Every year or so some
one of ’em come down to muke a recog
! nisaoce and they go back and say we
are all right— great people—splendid
people, have bocu slandered awfully and
j so-forth, and right straight we hold up
I our heads and wag our tails just like a
dog when he gets a kind word from his
master. Mr. Beecher come down, uml
Dr. Vincent come down, and Genera!
Grant come down, and General Sher
man and several others, and they go
back and say, “ Boys, there’s no harm
iu those fellers down south —they nre all
right,” but bless my soul nobody be-
lieves them, and we have got to enlight
en them one at a time just like we did
Brother Talmage, and it’s going to take
two or three thousand years to do it.
Brother Talmage made the best talk
for us that’s been made, and there’s
some comfort in it, though I don’t sec
as how it’s going to do us any particular
good. We want our rights. We want
our crippled soldiers and soldiers’ wid
ows pensioned just like them ori'the oth
er side, and 1 want some great man like
Dr. Talmage to get up on a stump and
say it ought to he done. I said it be
fore, and I’m going to keep spying it,
there ain’t agoing to be any real peace
until we are put up on an equality with
’em in every respect. When an old
man makes a will and cuts out some of
the children it always breaks up the
peace in that family, and though they
may compromise like? Bill Vanderbilt
did with Neil and his sisters, it don’t re
store paternal harmony by no means.
We are sorter like the niggers in the
Atlanta convention. We want our
share of Uncle Sam's property. They
can’t put us off with a little long delay
ed praise. Mr. Talmagesays the north
lias not done us justice. Well, that’s
so; but we want to know about what
time they will do it. There was a dar
key in the calaboose and he sent for
Judge Underwood and told him wlmt he
was put in there for, and the Judge re
plied : “ Well, Jack, they cant put you
in here for that. It’s against the law.”
“Is dat so, Mas John?” said Jack. “It
is so, Jack,” said the Judge, “ they caw
not put you in here for that.” “ But I
is in here now,” says Jack. “ Mas
JohD, sho as you're boru, I is in heah
right now.”
Somehow I can’t help thinking of
these things whether they fit up exuct
-Ily or not. Old man Isnm came to me
the other day and wanted to know when
Congress was going to do any tiling for
the colored man. He said he had been
| voting for ’em ever since the war and
they had promised to do something but
they didn’t do nary thing. Said he had
done give up ihc mule and the 4<> acres
of land, but that the white folks were
getting garden seed from Washington
and the}’ hadn’t lent any to him. I
told him that the darkeys had just as
well quit expecting anything mory than
they huil already got, for this was a
white,man's country and them white
folks up yonder wus a fooling of’em, I
told him how they done that negro at
West Point and advised hint to let poft*
itiesalone. When 1 asked him who he
wanted for president, he said some of
’em wna gw ine to vote for General Grant
and some for General Bhcrinau. i
thought there was somebody fooling
them niggers ill Atlanta, making ’em
believe that it was ole Tenimp that wiw
running. The way the rndirnl party
fools the darkeys reminds me of ofd
John Mcdlin. He was a sharp obi
iguker and loved whisky, uml bad uioro
wars of getting a dram without paying
for it than anybody. John’s credit was
gone and hia promises not worth a cent.
There was anew grocery opened in the
little town, and so John meandered
round, aud aeciug some ginger-cakes on
the slielf, he priced ’em and said lw
would take one. The fellerlaid ittiowß
on the counter and John handleditn
while, and asked him how he sold whis
ky. “ Five cents a drink," said lie. So
John usked him to take hack the ginger
cake and give him some whisky, whioh,
of course, be did, and John drunk it,
and after a remark or two about tho
woutlier, started ont. When the feller
reminded him that ho hadn’t paid for
the lirfuor, John looked at him like he
was astonished. “ T give you tho gin
ger onko for tlie w hisky ” said he indig*
nantly. ** But yon didn’t pay for the
ginger-cake,” said the feller, “ W by,
you’ve got your ginger-cuke,” said John,
“there it is on your shelf right where
you put it/” aud lie wnlkod out mutter*
ing something about a fool.
1 wonder when them Yankees frill
learn any sense about the nigger. Don t
they know white folks are not going to
mix with ’em. Ilarven t they tried it in
hotels ami railroads mid churches. Did
they not pass all sois of laws to make
ns*mix mid their own folks were the
first to break ’em? If they want to
make West Pointers and midshipmen,
out of ’em why don’t they establish
branches of that business ami keep 'em
separate. That’s the way we do down
here. The nigger don’t go to school
with the White folks. They don’t want
to and we wouldn’t Jet cm if they did.
Mr. Beecher may preach about the hor*
rible outrage till doomsday but he can’t
preach social equality with the niggers
at West Point nor any other point. Mr.
Beecher ain't the man to regulate so
ciety nohow. He lives in agluss hotwe-
He may throw his stones around his ow n
folks, hut we don’t want him to be sling
ing ’em down here. Them congressmen
who are making all that fuss about
Whitaker don’t care a cent nlmut him.
They are just howling for votes —fool-
ing the nigger again- Poor darkey; he
hasn’t got but one friend, and that’s his
old master. Thirteen thousand emi
grants landed in New York last week,
and all of ’em gone west —uary one
come south- afraid of the nigger—
don’t want to mix with him. Some of
'em got tired of the Mississippi swamps
lust year and tried to find homes higher
up, but found nobody to give ’em wel
come -nobody standing at fhe gate with
an umbvel —no phaeton at the depot—
no reception committee —no nothing;
and so what of ’em didn’t perish to
death come back, and I reckon they will
stay. I don’t care whether they do or
not. I’ve learned to chop my own wood
and catch my own horse and black my
own boots, but when there is a darkey
about I make him do it, just to keep
him reminder! that I’m the boss of the
premises and the color line ain’t wiped
out yet, law or no law.
Yours, Bii-l Arp.
Immortal Laudation.
Marietta Jrurnal.
The Atlanta l'ost speaks of Hoyle as
“God’s nobleman.” Evidently the
Post has conceptions of God, that does
not comport with the teachings of the
Bible. The bigger the steal the great
er the “noblemau.” If Hoyle had
only stolen a ham of meat, be then
would have been in the eyes of the
Post, a low down criminal. But he
stole $40,000, therefore he is “ God's
nobleman!” Other tax collectors will
please take notice and govern them
selves accordingly. Such is the beau
tiful moral principle, evidently, the
Post intends to teach.
A man told his friend that he had
joined the army. “What regiment?”
his friend asked. “Oh, I don’t mean
that; I mean the army of the Lord.”
“ Ah, what church “ The Baptists.”
“ Why," was the reply, “ that’s ot the
army ; it's the navy.”