Bemidji Daily Pioneer Newspaper, May 30, 1908, Page 1

Elks™ State Convention s THE BEMIDJ1 VOLUME 6. NUMBER 36. Bomidl, 8,19 and 20 % T BEMIDJI, MINNESOTA, SATURDAY EVENING, MAY 30, 1908. w || Big Celebration, Bemidj AILY PIONEER. . SOC\ ey, uly 4. FORTY CENTS PER MONTH N—A | A ®War Story " 82 and By L. S. MILLS —— BESTLED among the green hills of western Connecti- cut there stands today, a little way back from the lonely country road, a brown, weather beaten farmhouse. On each side of the door the wood- bine climbs, and overhead it forms in an arch of liv- ing green. On the west side “ILL COME BACK by the low bank T0 YOU." wall the old fash- foned red roses bloom in all their springtime splendor. Here ofttimes a few years ago merry schoolgirls, with cheeks that matched the glow of the roses, paused to gather a bouquet for teacher’s desk or to place beneath the flags In the little graveyard on the hill- side on Memorial day. And ofttimes, too, they paused to listen to the quiet words of Mrs. Maynard, who lived here alone. They wondered at the sadness of her voice as she said: “Yes; you are welcome to the roses.” Then sudden hope would light her face as she added, “When Henry comes home he’ll tidy up the yard a bit and pick a rose for me as he did once long ago.” After the sun had set and the shad- ows had crept down the hillside through the graveyard and filled all the valley with darkness the lamp was lit and placed in the window, where its rays lighted the pathway leading to the road. By the table Mary Maynard would sit, her hands folded. She was walting for Henry. Forty-five years ago on May 29 Hen- ry brought home Mary, his fair young bride, saying: “Mother, here is my THE FACE WAS THE FACE BHE SAW IN HER DREAM. wife. Love her as you love me, and don't let her be lonely, for tomorrow I go to the front; but, God being willing, I'll come back.” On the following day earth and sky seemed blended in perfect harmony. The roses bloomed in splendor. On the grassy bank they sat, Mary and Henry, beside the clustering blossoms. Henry had picked one of the roses and lovingly placed it in Mary’s hair. Falr was she then, in all the freshness of youth's bright morning. Tenderly she placed her hand on Henry’s shoul- der and with loving, pleading eyes ‘whispered: “Henry, please don't go.” Badly, slowly, he replied: “Mary, 1 must. But watch for me. I'll come back to you.” So they parted on that fateful day, and the birds sang, the breezes crept softly by, and the roses scented the afr. But Mary alone on the doorstep and Henry marching out of the valley heeded them not. Those were trylng days for north and south. The nation’s best were slaying each other in terrible battles. After Burnside's defeat at the battle of Fredericksburg in December, 1862, there had been a call for more men to A1l the broken ranks, and Henry May- nard had enlisted. Dearly as he loved Mary Harper, he could not resist the nation’s call any longer. At first Mary pleaded with him. Then she realized the need and bravely gave her con- sent, only requesting that they be mar- ried before he went. When on that last day as they sat together by the roses, though she whispered him to re- main, she knew he would go—that above all the sorrow at parting she wished him to go—wished him the brave, true soldier of her dreams. Thus it was that Henry went, and Mary came to live with Henry’s moth- er—just those two In the little farm- house, for Henry's father had been killed years back while hauling logs from the wood lot. The sled had over- turned coming down the steep hillside. Henry’s mother had seen it from the window where she sat knitting and, calling Henry from the wood shed, ‘went to his ald. Crushed and bleed- ing, they brought him home just at the close of the cold winter's day, and he died in half an hour. After this they had toiled on, Henry growing stronger and more manly, overcoming gradually the sorrow caus- | battle being fought. EE— | of ®Wartching Waiting F Copyright, 1908, by L. S. Mills. L NS ed by his father’s death. But his moth- er’s heart seemed buried out in the lonely grave on the hillside with her husband, and, though she gave Henry unbounded love, she cared for little else till Mary came and Henry went. Then she talked of Henry and found in Mary a ready listener. So the two be- came fast friends with one hope—the safe return of Henry. The weeks went by, and together they read the papers telling of the war. Henry, too, wrote sometimes to his mother, but more often to Mary. His letters told of the weary waiting and the seemingly useless marching and countermarching, yet he was always the same brave, loving Henry. Soon the war would be over, and Mary would meet him, and they would sit by the rosebushes again. In her dreams she saw him, her sol- dier, her “boy in blue,” amid the roar and smoke of battle. “They win the crest; he takes the flag; he is a hero.” The dream changed, and she saw him alight from the train at the village station. The neighbors had read of his brave deeds in the papers and had come to cheer him. Once more the vi- sion changed, and hand in hand they sat by the rosebushes. He placed a rose in her hair and, gently kissing her cheek, whispered: “Mary, we won’t part any more.” And, looking to his well beloved face to recd the love his voice ex- pressed, it seemed the face of Henry, but old, so old, and his hair so gray. One day there came news of Lee's swift advance northward in July, 1863. There would be a battle. Mary wrote a long letter full of love and cheer to Henry. But no answer came. In the papers were rumors of a great It was at Get- tysburg. Would Lee win? The sus- pense was awful to millions of north- ern people as they waited with bated breath for news from the front. “Lee retreats!” This was the report that came on the fourth day, and the drawn faces relaxed. Then followed columns of ‘“killed,” “wounded,” “missing.” Thousands of homes were plunged in gloom, for many a husband’s name and many a son’s name and many a lover’s name was there. A neighbor’s boy brought the papers that evening. Though he came on swiftly, Mary couldn’t wait, but ran out to meet him. Together Mary and Henry’s mother looked down the long lst of “killed.” Not there! Thank God! Then the list of “wounded.” Not there! Then “missing”’—Henry Maynard! “There is hope,” said Mary. But she sat with the paper tightly clasp- ed. All night she sat thus and heeded not the time nor saw the neighbors who came to comfort her. As the sun- light stole in the east window they gently lifted her and placed her on the bed. After a time she slept and dreamed of Henry. He was on the crest of a bill behind a low bank of earth. Hun- dreds of men were at his right and left. Before him, advancing up the hill, were thousands of men with gray uniforms. Then began the roar of ar- tillery, and the smoke of battle rolled over all, and she saw him no more. Yet, half waking, half sleeping, she seemed to hear him say, as on that day of parting: “Watch for me! Tll come back to you!” Then began the years of waiting— weary years. In the afternoon when the work was done many and many a day Mary sat on the door- step looking down the road—looking for Henry. To the many friends who came and went Mary sel- dom spoke. She was l!ike one pre occupied, her thoughts far away and a LOOKING FOR HENRY. dreamy look In her eyes, So the time passed. Each succeeding year stole something away from her beauty, Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom and the shadow. Henry’s mother died and was laid away in the quiet graveyard, and the years rolled on; the snows came and went; the roses bloomed. Schoolgirls came for them and in time grew to womanhood, and other girls came. Each evening the lamp was placed in the. window. _Each day Mary watched and waited. The sympathetic neighbors kindly cared for her few wants. Many letters had been sent to the war departrent inquiring for Henry Maynard, but “Missing after the baitle of Gettys- burg” was all the reply. . . * * * . . In a pleasant room in Melbourne, Australia, Hubert Smith lay sick. Over forty years ago he had come to Austra- lia, or had found himself there, bul with no remembrance of where he had been before. He had become a merchant in a small way at first, but gradually increased his business till at the time of his sickness he had be- come a man of means with a small fortune. Still, he had remained unmar- rled. All day he had tossed about in faver, “Tonight there will be a change,” the KEEPING STEP WITH GDANDPA B> LARL T was a splendid morning, With sunshine warm and bright, With lazy cloudlets sailing In their aerial flight. How clearly I remember COPYRIGHT. 1908, BY EARL. MARE) MARB That blessed morn in May, ‘When I kept step with grandpa On dear Memorial day! HE told me many stories About the olden days, Of deeds of darin; Amid the battle’s bla: As toward the village churchyard We wound our solemn way, valor When I kept step with grandpa On dear Memorial day. ;. CARRIED blooming branches of On From mother’s lilac tree, And every one had flowers As far as eye could see, And bands made lovely music As we pursued our way, When I kept step with grandpa On dear Memorial day.. THOUGHT of that this morning When down the village street The yearly sad procession Went on with reverent feet; I thought, as they without him Pursued their solemn way, keeping step with dear grandpa Memorial day. doctor said, and the nurse watched patiently till he seemed to grow quiet, and finally he slept. Then she knew the crisis was past. When he awoke in the morning he ‘was Hubert Smith no more, but Henry Maynard, and all the remembrance of Mary and home came over him. He had been wounded in the head at the battle of Gettysburg. In a seemingly lifeless condition he was left on the field untll after the battle. He was cared for by a farmer and when partly recovered wandered away, giving no name. How he reached Australia he never learned. His recovery was speedy, and he hastened to America to find Mary if possible. “Oh, Mary, are you waiting? Shall I see’ you?’ he cried. And all night he paced the steamer’s deck over- whelmed with love and longing. . . . . . . . On May 30, 1905, Mary sat in the doorway, looking down the road. Her hair, once black, was now streaked with gray. She had been looking at the roses and thinking of Henry. “Will he come today?’ An hour later an old man came slowly up the road and turned up the pathway to the house. Mary, walting on the doorstep, knew it ‘was Henry, for the face was the face she saw in her dream. “Henry!” “Mary That is all those two said as they clasped hands and sat once more on the grassy bank where the roses bloom, But heart spoke to heart in a love and Joy deeper than all words and deeper than all thought. Slept on Old Glory. Charles Carleton Coffin, who was a war correspondent during the conflict between the states, relates an incident showing the remarkable fidelity of a loyal Unionist to the flag. When Mr Coffin entered ‘Charleston, 8. C.,, in 1865, Just after the evacuation of that city by the Confederates, ‘who had held the place for four years, he observ- ed a small Union | flag floating from a window. Cof- fin knocked at the door, which was opened by a middle aged Ger- man resident. The newspaper man told the cit- izen that he had HE TEUTON BROUGHT CRled out of cu- FORTH A LARGE rlosity to know FLAG. a man who was 30 loyal as to fly the stars and stripes while the city was still beset by Con- federate spies. “Come inside and I will show you a still bigger American flag,” said the man of the house. Coffin accepted the invitation. The loyal Teuton brought forth a large flag, somewhat crumpled. “There,” “e- sald; “my wife and 1 have slept on that flag every night for four years. We had it sewed inside our mattress.” DOINGS IN THE VARIOUS CHURGHES OF THE GITY Hours of Worship and Subjects of Ser- mons to Be Delivered in the City Tomorrow. Catholic Church—There will be mass tomorrow at 8:30 and 10:30 a. m. Norwegian Lutheran—Rev. T. S. Kolste, pastor. Services at 10:30 a. m.and 8:00 p. m. Sunday school, Norwegian and English, at 9 a, m. German Lutheran—Services will be held at the Norwegian Lutheran church Sunday afternoon at 3 o’clock. The new pastor, who takes the place of Rev. I. Wegner, will preside. Methodist Episcopal—]. H. Den- iston, pastor. 11 a. m. sermon by the pastor, subject, “Christian Agnosticism.” 12 m. Sunday school, 7 p. m. Epworth League. 8 p. m. sermon-lecture upon the subject, “The Christian Poet.” Presbyterian—Morning worship at 11. Bible class and Sunday school 12:15. Jr. C. E. 3; Sr. C. E. 7. Evening service at 8. All not worshiping elsewhere are cordially invited to be present at these ser- vices. Strangers and visitors to the city welcomed. Baptist—Morning service 11:00. Subject, “Buying Up Opportuni- ties.” Sunday school 12:10. B. Y. P. U. 7:15. Evening service 8. The layman of the church will have com- plete charge of the the evening ser- vice, the pastor taking his seatin the audience. Prof, Williams will lead the singing. Come out and help the men by your presence. .t ielsteloren SHOWED HIM BLACKWATER General shendan’s Joke on an Aged and Obstinate Confederate. “General Phil Skeridan had a strong sense of humor, which helped us out considerably at times,” says Major W. H. Spera, sole survivor of Sheridan’s escort on the famous ride to Winches- ter. “I remember once when we were trying to reach a creek called Black- water he hailed an old man in passing and asked him questions. The old man refused to direct him to the creek, plainly intimating that his sympathies ‘were with Lee. “‘How far are we to Blackwater? asked Sheridan, studying a map in front of him. “‘1 do not know, sir,” replied the old man obstinately. “‘Have you never been to Blackwa- ter, sir? inquired Sheridan. “‘I have never been to Blackwater, sir, snapped the old man. “‘Never been to Blackwater? in- sisted Sheridan, “‘No, sir,’ said the old man. “Sheridan called an orderly and in- structed him to arrest the old man and lead him at the head of the troops. For four miles the old fellow walked that dusty road, getting madder every min- ute and choking in the clouds of dust raised by the troops. “When we reached Blackwater, Sher- idan rode forward and sent for the old man, who came silently. enough, but with defiance and hatred showing plainly in every action. “‘I thought it a pity, sir,’ said-Sheri- dan quietly, ‘that a man born and rais- ed here, as you tell me you were, had never had an opportunity to see a creek only four miles from his home. I have brought you here, sir, to show you Blackwater creek. When you have looked at it well, sir, you may return to your home in sntety sir.’ “The crestfallen man quietly retired to be met all along the line with cheers and yells and courteous inquiries as to how he liked the looks of Blackwa- ter.”—Cincinnati Commercial Tribune. General Eliot M. Mii.ur a civil epgineer:of New Orleans, tells how General U..S. Grant made his father, Chaplain Mil- ler, swear: It was one of the chaplain’s duties to receive and distribute the mall to Gen- | eral Grant's staff. Whenever the mail was late he was greatly annoyed by questions as to the cause of the delny, time of probable arrival, etc. On one occasion, when the post was unusually late, the chaplain for fear of losing his temper attached the following notice to the door of his tent: “The chaplain does not know -when the mail will arrive.” Shortly afterward General Grant, passing the chaplain’s quarters, noticed the sign. He paused before it a mo- ment and then walked slowly.on his way. Coming out of his tent a few moments later, Chaplain Miller was horrified to read: “The chaplain does not know when the mail will arrive, and he doesn't give a d—n."—Harper’s Weekly. PN Il Ghe Martial of “Infants By ROBERTUS LOVE O was the youngest Union sol- dier In the civil war? Every lit- tle while this in- teresting ques- tion is asked. Immediately springs up a crop of claimants, ei- ther for them- selves or for oth- ers. Very prob- ably the. young- est soldier is not now alive, and if allve he is a grizzled. veteran, for it is forty- three years since the war ended. Mere boys were plentiful on both sldes of the terri- “MR. PRESIDENT, I WAS bleconflict. Some IN THE WAR” of the striplings who bore muskets were surprisingly youthful, while there were drummer boys of amazingly tender years. Per- haps the youngest drummer was John- nie Brooks, later John F. Brooks, Esq., who practiced law at Ellsworth, Kan. Johnnie went into the service as a drum- mer boy at the age of nine years. He served from July, 1863, to August, 1865. But he was not enlisted. His father was a fifer in the musicians’ corps, and the boy went along to beat & drum, One of Johnny’s sad duties was to beat the dead march in Indian- apolls when the body of President Lincoln was borne through the streets there to lle in state for a-brief time during the journey from Washington to Springfield. Thirty years after the war this drummer boy’s congress- man introduced a resolution to have the secretary of war muster in and discharge John F. Brooks, so that he might get the regular pay for his two years of service. Only a few months ago an applica- tion was received by the New. Jersey adjutant general for a civil war vet- eran’s medal, as provided by the state legislature, for Daniel Willlams, who was belleved to have been the young- est drummer boy regularly enlisted. ‘Williams went into the volunteer serv- ice when he was eleven years, five months and sixteen days old. That was in 1862. He served with both New Jersey and Pennsylvania volun- teers. Mr. Willilams now resides in ‘Washington. One of the most remarkable records for a drummer boy is that made by John L. Clem, now a colonel in the regular army. Clem was the famous “drummer boy of Shiloh.” After Gen- eral Grant became president in 1869 a youth scarcely elghteen years of age gained admittance to the White. House. “Mr. President,” he said, “I came to request you to admit me to the Mili- tary academy at West Point.” “Why don’t you take ‘the regular ex- amination?” asked the president. “I have done so, but I failed to pass,” admitted the boy. “That is very unfortunate,” said the president, “but you should have studied harder.” “Mr. President,” said the applicant, “while the other boys who took the examination with me were in school I was In the war.” “What!” exclaimed the president. “What war?” “The civil war. I served four years.” The soldier president looked the youth in the eye. John Clem produced his papers, showing that he .told the truth. President Grant commissioned him as second lieutenant in the regular army. Another drummet boy. whnsa record shines brightly was J. C. Jullus Lang- bein, who in later life became a well known city judge in New York. When a mere boy he enlisted as a drummer in the Ninth New York volunteers, known as the Hawkins zouaves, a regl- ment which did some of the fiercest and. most picturesque fighting of the war. He was the youngest drummer boy from New York state and was sald to be the third youngest;in all the .Union armies. Langbein served chiefly in the Virginia campaigns. Like the big soldiers in his. regiment, he was @ressed in the zouave uniform, with baggy knee trousers and short, flaring Jacket, his head covered. with a tas- seled cap. 8o slight and childish Lang- bein looked that he seemed out of place among the strong, rough men around him, but every man.in.the regiment loved the little drummer boy. ' One big soldier who had a sweetheart up home named Jennie declared that the boy, looked . like .“the girl_he. left behind him,” 8o the drummer was known: by his- grownup comrades as “Jennle" Langbein, Adjutant, olomew, w,glment took a_particular interest. in the boy. He had promised.Langbein’s mother that-he-would look after:the little fellow.as well as heeould. At the battle .of Camden, or S8awyer’s.Lane, near the gouthern end of the Dismal' swamp, cangl, the Hawkins. zouaves. made a desperate.charge.- A, lragment of, exploding shell..plowed a. A£rightful furrow in the neck of - Adjutant Bar- tholomew, who, crazed. wdnmt:é smk and pain, s‘aggered outsi eral formation and wmdend almlessly FTHE EBEL Achievements In Arms” & Copyright, 1908, by Roberius Love AR T | about between the lines in a zome of fire from both armies, ‘“Jennle” saw what happened to his friend. He rushed to the wounded man and managed to pllot him to a place of reasonable safety. Giving Bar- tholomew a drink of water from his canteen, the little drummer dashed away to find the regimental surgeon. The doctor probed the wound with his fingers and told the boy that the adju- tant was done for and it would do no good to move him. But after the doctor had gone to other duties the boy hunt- ed up the big drum major, Charles Wi- ley, who helped him carry, Bartholo- mew to a house. When the Union forces were driven back, “Jennie” re- fused to leave his friend to fall into the enemy’s hands. He succeeded in get- ting the officer into an army wagon and remained in attendance until Bar- tholomew was safe in the Federal hos- pital on Roanoke-sland. The adjutant recovered and told what the boy had done for him., More than thirty years later Judge Langbein received the medal of honor for that service. Two other young drummers from New York were Fred Y. Ritschy and Philip Corell, both with the Ninety- ninth volunteers. These boys were boon companions throughout their serv- ice of three years. After they returned home and grew up they married sisters and for many years lived within a few blocks of each other. Like “Jennie"” Langbein, these boys saw much service in the region near Norfolk, Va. Mr.: Ritschy in later life told some interest- ing facts about the life of the dmmmer boys. “We lived the same as the soldiers,” he said, “being served with the same sort of uniforms, generally too big, and the same sort of rations.” i ! H i | | JOHNNIE BROOKS. Phil Corell told how he and Fred Ritschy were put to bed one night by a motherly southern .woman in her guest chamber, tucked in “just like mother used to do at home,” and then given a good might kiss by-the tender hearted Virginia lady, who had a boy of her own in the field fighting against them. Next morning their hostess gave them a fine breakfast. and then loaded them down with yams. Some years ago the Wisconsin legis- lature voted a gold medal to H. E. Francisco, living at that time in Ma- son City, Ia., in the bellef that he was the youngest Union soldier who served in. the civil war. Francisco had en- listed at fourteen years of age. Very soon stories began to appear in behalf of other “youngest soldiers”” C. H. Wynn of Sioux City, Ia., had enlisted at the age of thirteen years and eleven months. J. L. Keplinger of Detroit gave his enlistment age as thirteen years and four months. Andrew F. Links of Chicago reduced this record by one month. Then came Gilbert: Van Zandt, also of Chicago, to take away the laurels of Links. . Van Zandt's enlistment was on Aug. 31, 1862, at the age of ten years, eleven months and eleven days. He showed that bhe had joified Company D, Seventy-ninth Qhio volunteers, on that date at Port ‘William, Clinton county,” O, by special permis- sion from the and that be was mustened out at f “Camp * Denison | Zandt. rode a. pony, d\xx;lnx this; service. a4, a, eoldlers hendqnuters to_carty. When: he went. to \Washington to be mustered. out:his; pony wasitaken away from him.!" He wanted to takaiithe ani- mal* home, and he went -to* g.uldcut ‘Andrew: Johnson andstated ‘The.president personally wrote an or- derthnttheboybepermifihdwhcn the pony. — war department . duties. for nearly rs. He 1