Evening Star Newspaper, March 1, 1925, Page 80

< Bon Voyage THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, By Fanny Heaslip Lea =S Their Sail Through the Town in a Taxi Was Guided by An Unusual Skipper 1 the 7 rty o begin with, entirely 1 to parties in “the ates” Ny which detached and ppish title he was accustomed ater part o Australia, ac now oung wom; one's Ch half-hour or 1y off his in which they any s0—it too! feet, turned hir And the kissed—under | at all meat parting ting up their ¥ white-no: rose-cheeked, -lipped faces « pony puts his- asual w up it that these msclves | blonde | heads, shingled caught oW, ¥ upon Iy the waltz, listen 1y that rembered gratitude plax ench honeyed e fingering gatos of a Chop that no one should chael decided defin little | reviews v book would go < to his room d go to bed Dream o re morous world for the mo- }l C ?lu sciou; know off New there. York a se hope- cople not so n London everybody different stupid danc- nd b vulgar, impossible words I Love Belongs to oy peakable! Like t 1-organ under on far away different. noisy like and laj meaningl shoutir in laugh u doing & pla 2 to that poor piano? and a girl slid on to the ptano bench beside him with a riffle of fragrance, a delicate Jangle of carved jade e rings. was scornful and wistfu impudent—If the three may be said of one human—and a wave of dark halr shadowed her sea-gray eyes so th 1 hardly knew if she were aughing at him—at the party—or at herself. on—don't stop—I lke it! T only wondered I've been sitting in that big chair over there, watching you—and listening—don't look so smug!—watching and listening—I sald—because I was bored to tears— hen all of the sudden the thing you playing went blah.” rdon?" said Michael dazedly repeated a trifie impatiently flooic—dead Michael politely, though he least. “You po: S0’ the s} with a delightful cadenza of laughter. “Dom’t you speak Inglish—not ired here, al- Ame SUSE with I might have | re s a difference, then?” said Michael £he suggested gently, t in England they have quite a Lit of difficulty understanding—you Austri-llans—h'mm?” A wicked thrust. Michael reddened to the roots of his smooth, r halr, “I've just come from London, as it happens.” “But on bourne—no? She was really your way back to Mel- outrageous. Her demure down-sweep of dark lashes velled a glint of unbearable mockery Michael refused to be drawn. Was he going to admit to her that b loathed Melbourne, himself, and w going back n ind up some business for the hat his office was now in New Yo That Mel- bourne had never been more than a port of call to hin reluct call at that? Not likely! Yet that was precisely what in two minutes more he had finis explaining to her. She a coaxing way of waliting to be see—""she mused. noble host told me. By You know him well?” “Very htly,” said Mich; sering a minor chord with slowness. Neither ver met “T see! Our the way. do fin- caressing do I M b, knew tter fact, I fore tonight. A €irl T know Bim in the East. brought to this part ael elucidated with, for extraordinary frankness 1 letter (o him from & York.” “Do you know any of the rest of thexe people? No—not him, had a chap in New Have you been have There really in_the room Michael interesti Isn't it tiresome? intercsting man rhaps you.” ing a book She very the d him forget beside his b. forefinger John Bul wars " she mocked, with his exac inflection. . laughed, as at a worthier i what ¢ you observed at I never shall,” said “Becuuse 1 was only doing it to shut out the party.” / “Oh—have you decided to let n?” it o—-really, I'd forgotten all about Niow boy!" she said softly. Then, with « sigh and a little sudden laugh, “I'm feeling much better myself. Y'm gd I came over and hailed you. By the way, do you know who I am?” “i—not your name,” Michael ad- witted unwillizgly. North | Some- | She told him straightforward 1y Byrd you, | Mict would have given some- | thing to be able to reply that it did. | He couldn’t, truthfully. “Well she drawled with an air | of vast amusement—“my mother was |a lady.” m with a look as as a child's: “I'm Doesn’t mean a thing to ; sure of it,” Michael assured her | She blinked at him |doubt of his serfousness. “How [ r you are, Mr. Tyrrell! You v who you were—I asked." was awfully jolly of you." 1t? I thought you must be movies, with that marvelous no—don't touch it!"—for Mi- chael'’s hand had risen uneasily., “It's quite perfect as it is." Please!” ald Michael. earthly good at spoofing!” | She slid & cool little hand down his | sleeve and patted his fingers. I mean Your nose is—bar none—the most | beautiful thing since the person with wings on his heels—" Michael only blushed wretchedly. “There—there!” satd Sally Byrd. think in momentary “I'm no g < It's sweet of you to be 80 mod- but, after all, you didn’t make your nose, you know! A ncke Is just an accident of nature, o to speak— or did you have yours shattered in | the late” war, by any chance—and re- lded nearer to the heart's desire? hat might very well explain it's so—so Greek! if you see what 1 mean. Michael maintained a stony and un- | nappy sllence. Before which Sally | melted into delictous contrition. I'm sorry! You're such a heavenly | creature to tease. Would you like to | wring my neck | “No sald Michael, simply. | He was reflecting, but lacked.audac- | ity to say it, that what he would really lika would be to kiss the white nape of it very gently, where it met | the cloudy shadow of her halr. An | impossible idea, of course! | They looked at each other thought- fully.” She shook her head. Her mouth | tipped at the corners. Her eyes nar- | rowed—Ilifted {n a look of irresistible | deviltry. ¥ good-night—and go." " sald Michael, with acute |and unreasonable disappointment, pro- foundly astonishing himself. “Oh, I say—this is better than—home!" You poor lamb!" sald Sally Byrd | once more. “Who's going home, may I ask?’ | “But | ago— he shook him, two fingers on his it sleeve. “Say good-night—and go “Well, the world is wide."" “You mean——" sald Michael, smil- ¢ difdently bsolutel said Sally, and slid from the plano like snow from the branch of a tree. “Else what are taxis yellow for—and why s park grass green?” “I don't understand,” Michael. No, darling,” such impersonal | was unable to be | word she had used. “I know you don't —but 1 llke you, just the same. It's | very odd. Where did you park your | things?" | Before he vou said—not a moment murmured sighed Sally, with kindliness that he ve that was the ~ould answer, she object- Don't say ‘pardon’ to me You make me feel like & lady Igorrote. Where—I mean to say—is vour hat and coat? As soon as we've made our good-byes you can collect them—fef ‘em, that is—and meet me in the hallway—by the big Sat- suma vase.” THEY * *x % % met, in 10 minutes or less, by the big Satsuma vase in the ball, and Michael thought he had never seen anything more enchanting than Sally’s little dark head rising out of the big fur collar of her cape. She gave him a nod and wrinkled up her nose at him endearingly. that what you call a Burberry she inquired concerning his top coat. “Very sweet! I feel exactly as if I were waiting in the wings of a Somerset Maugham show, about to go on and discuss marriage. Are you married by any chance? “Heavens, no!" sald Michael with unnecessary emphasis | " “Well, I've known men who wer said Sally soothingly, “and still m aged to get about—and see something of thelr friends. I'm not married myself because—nurse says I'm not pretty and I'm very seldom good. | But even so I can see it's a worthy state (state or estate?)—better than solitary confinement, for instance—or a ball and chain on the ankle. They rode the rest of the way to the ground floor in thoughtful silence. ee here!” said Sally, rousing her- self at the head of the steps leading to the street (it may be admitted she callad it “hyah” and drawled it un- pardonably)—"See hers, old thing! When 1 #ald, let's go for a ride, 1 dian’t stop to think—I don't con- genitally, #top to think, you know— | that taxis don't go for a song—and that—ah—you might not happen to | be_in voice I'm a rotten little gold-digger! absolutely frank about it!” ‘Michael only looked tragically em- barrassed. “Don’t you care?” she told him gently, with an Impulsive little hand on his'arm. “It's heavenly, walking." “But there's & taxi just at the corner” said Michael, and now he looked ingredibly disappointed. “You—you'd rather?” asked Sally perplexed. ““Oh, ra-ther!" said Michael. you'd prefer to walk.” Sally looked at him, wide-eyed. She broke into a delicious ohortle. You_didn't know what I was talk- ing_about, did you?’ “Why, not ~entirely, Michael When Sally abandoned herself to muted amusement he added with dignity, “I don't quite, even now.” Wiping her eyes with a wisp of ainbow avhich served for a hand. kerchief, Sally explained delicately: I meant money. Did you have any with 5 ‘Be “Unless admitted of course?” asked Sally. However, since you can refer to the holy metal in that casual way, I feel no further responsibility.” “Drive—I say—where shall him to drive?’ he inquired, helplessi of Sally, having tucked her in and seated himself Leside her. “Oh, just drive till tell him to decreed Sally, with airy au- stop thorit So the stolid and disillusfoned indi- vidual at the wheel set his meter, pulled up his coat collar, pulled down his cap and hurtled across the street in the direction of the nearest park | without further question. | “I dare say he's had that sort of di- | rection before,” observed Michael. Sally, hugging her cape about her, | sinking her pretty chin into the smooth, dark fur of the collar, flung | him a keen, small smile. “Fou mean | this midnight-ride stuff? It's been | done before, of course—and not alone | by Paul Revere. Still, belleve it or {not, I'm not an habitue myself. It | isn’t every young man one wants to | go taxi-ing about with in a | city, in the midst of & party.” | “Thanks —it's pleasant | trusted,” said Michael. Sally laughed up at him outrage- ously. “What's that got to do with it, Galahad? It s not pleasant to be to be— font bored. That's what I meant! I'm terrified of being bored. I'll go any lengths to avoid {t—nearly!” “I see,” said Michael, humbly. You don't bore me in the least— isn't it funny?” said Sally. “Funny, but fortunate” said Mi- chael, with unmistakable gratitude. * ok k% HEY rocked along for a little while in most companionable si- lence. Cool darkness flowed past their windows, and street lights in purple and silver strings. Sometimes the tax{ siid down hill, and some- times it clambered doggedly up. Past houses and shops, and, once in so often, past a vacant lot, with a clut- ter of bricks and a tangle of old ron, sinisterly significant. Regurding one such thumb-nail sketch of desolution, Michael offered, “Fearful earthquake here once, wasn't there?’ “You'll never get the natives to ad- mit it,” sald Sally, gravely. fire—yes! Earthquake? “Isn't that rather absurd? Sally defended, with her head in the air. “I think it's rather splendid! Being able to ignore an earthquake.” “Only an American would,” sald Michael, grinning shyly. “Only an American could!” retorted Sally. They turned into a park, a lovely, black-green place, checkered with light and shade, fragrant with trees and grass; and somehow, inconsplcu- ously, unostentatiously, with the most well bred simplicity even, Michael's 'm lay back of Sally’s shoulders, and she drew {nto the haven of it like a peacefully tired child. “Tell me about you,” she said. “Were you in the war? I have a feeling you were. Do you paint, or write, or what? Isn't It a pity we've only tonight to be friends in? I ltke you, Michael!” Michael, all forgetful of oertain earller views on the sacredness of a man’s given name in the embryonic stages of acquaintance, felt a heaven- ly thrill go through him. How softly, quaintly and childlishly she sald it. With what an exquisite dis- regard of petty conventionalitles. He muttered daringly, "Do you— Sally?’ “Do T what?" He had only wanted to experiment with her adorable patronymic. He evaded explanation. “Yes, 1 was in the war,” he told her hurriedly. “Mesopotamla, and all that sort of thing—the Dardanelles.” “Did you like it?" No, I loathed it. job. Were you wounded, Michael?" He admitted gulltily, as if she had caught him fn all the jampots of the world, “Oh—not to speak of—twice.” “Wers you ever decorated At that, outright, he wriggled. “Most fellows were. Nothing extraor- dinary. Could pick it up in no time.” “But you were?’ He conceded It grudgingly. Bally drew a long, contented sigh. “Perfect,” she sald, “just perfect You're out of all the English novels since Kipling. You write verse, of course “Oh, really—I say, now.” es or no?' demanded Sally “Well—of a sort,” sald M shamefaced. “Prob’bly a very sweet sort” sald “Will you make me a poem?’ m horribly afrald that I sha She patted his hand with the tips of her fingers. “But you don't make poems for a living?” ¥Architect,” sald Michael briefly. Then, most unexepectedly to him- self, and not briefly at all, he launch- ed into a detailed description of the office In New York, of his delightfully rosy prospects, of his chief, who was the wisest old Johnny in the world, and had the eye of an eagle for op- portunities in a building way. He didn’t know what had coms over him to set him oconfiding his personal affairs like any gossipy old woman. He hurriedly deserted the subject, begged with undenlable earnestness: “Now, about you?" “Virgintan,” said Sally languidl “My mother, as I told you, was a lady. My father was a black sheep, with burrs In his wool. I—am a huzzy—or a child of nature, accord- ing as you look at it. Hadn't we better turn back? We're running up nhr arful amount on that go-devil, there. Most unpleasant hael, Sa * k ¥ ok ICHAEL looked distinctly wound- ed. “I've all the time in the world—if you have—and I do want to know about you!" He added polite- 1y, “Are we driving in the places you prefer?” “I hadn’t noticed,” said Sally. She sighed happily against his shoulder. “In the dark all cats are gray— hadn’t you heard? About me? Oh, well, there {sn't anything—much. I'm on my way to Hollywood to go into moving pictures. You may have ob- served that I am not without pulchritude.” “The cinema? You!” oried Michael, stark with horror. “Surely you don't mean it!” “Don't let's talk of it any more,” said Sally dreamily. “I'll tell you what I'll do instead. I'll tell you a story about a girl I know—I know her better, perhaps, than any girl I have ever known—who's sailing for Manila tomorrow. ‘omorrow!” said Michael quickly. “Salling tomorrow—to marry a man she's been engaged to for almost six vears. There's romance for you—if care to hear about it.” “I care to hear anything that you care to tell me,” said Michael. That girl” said Sally, “if you reaily want to listan—I was raised with her—we went to school to- gether—we've been like sisters ail our lives—and tomorrow she's golng off across the world.” “If she's going to be happy,” said Michael, “you're glad, I suppose.” He watched Sally closely In the intermit- tent light of lamps under which they passed. “If she's been In love with this man for six years—" “Did T say s0?" asked Sally. “You're none too accurate, Michael. Engaged, 1 said—for six years. As a matter of interesting fact, she was in love with him for five of those six—or fancied she was. Now she's lost it, the thing she felt for him. It's gone, and still she's salling, tomorrow, to be mar- ried to him “Why?" asked Michael. “That's just what I ask myself, Michael—and I'm darned if I see t enswer! Is it falr to him to marry him, not loving him? On the other hand, {s it falr to him to let him down, for no reason at all, after all this time, when he's been waliting for her? T've talked all that over with her till I'm tired. There's aw much to be said on one side as the other.” “There i3 not,” said Michae] brusk- ly. “There is nothing at all to be #aid on the side of marrying a man to whom you don't glve—what he thinks you're giving.” “Would that be your opinion?” ask- ed Sally gently. “I'm afraid, my dear, you've never been in love. Anyhow, the man we're talking about is just a stralghtforward, faithful old dear. It wouldn't -occur to him in twice 2,000,000 years that this girl counld change. That she lsn't feeling ex- actly the same today as she was the day he kissed her good-bye and promised to come back with a fortune in eaoh poocket. He's made the for- tune—petty nearly. He's carried out his part. The only reason he didn't come back {s that it wasn't ensy fer him to leave his work, so she offered to go out” “When did she offer? knew she'd changed?” No, she knew it direotly she's of- fered and he'd cabled how happy he w. Isn't life amusing, Michael?” It's abominable!” sald Michael. “On the other hand,” sald Sally quiet- ly—not at all the Sally of the plano bench and running away from the party, & much tenderer creature, with shadows in her eyes and a kind of hunger in her low voice, “isn't it something to feel that she's keeping falth—with the per- son who's loved her most in this world? After all, one's own happiness Isn't everything? And if she could slip out of loving him—for no reason at all mightn't she elip back, once she's mar- ried to him, just as easily 2 “No,” said Michael, “she mightn't “You think she hasn't any chance for happiness ™" “No chance at all"” “Then think of the man whose happi- ness she's saving—there's that!” “And think of the man,” satd Michael slowly, “the man she's shutting the door on before she's ever heard him—whose happiness might be her happiness, too, 1f she'd only sense enough' to wait for him. There's that!” “Yowll ‘make me ery in a minute” said Sally. “I wish T could!" said Michae!, perhaps, you'd listen to me.” “Well, I've listened to you already, as long as a lady should—maybe a littie bit longer. It's getting on to 1 o'clock, Michael. Tell the driver to take us to the Clif—and T'll bld you good-night.” “I don't want you to bld me good- night!” said Michael. He tightened his arm about Sally's shoulders and for one mad, rebellious moment laid his cheek against Her hair, “Like lilies of the val- ley.” he eaid huskily. “——Odd " ‘Not odd at all,” eald Sally, pushing him away with a tired little laugh. She added the name of a famous French per- fumer. Michael sat erect and withdrew his arm. He felt rebuffed—misunderstood— in a manner of speaking, outcast. He gave the taxi driver instructions brutal- Iy briet. Sally leaned back in one corner— silent. Michael leaned back in the other —silent. They arrived eventually at the hotel, depopulated and dim as became a proper hostelry that hour of the night. “I can hardly realize,” said Michael suddenly, with almost painful intensity, “that tonight is all. That I shall never see you again.” “Yes?' said Sally faintly. Her lips smiled. It was her Michael happened to be looking at. He drew himself up, he made Sally a rather formal little bow, he said abrupt- ly: “I'll be running along—hope I haven't tired you—good-night ! S HE book by his bedside no longer allured. He stretched out in the dark, considering stormily. Sally— Sally Byrd! Delicious name . . . and, little as Michael had expected to admit it, deliclous and incredible girl! No one like her in Michael's ex- perfence. A bit of Undine, if you like. A Dbit of Rosalind's boyish swank. Lilies of the valley and Cho- pin and jazz. Frail jade earrings against a cloud of dark hair. Silver cloth, a supple sheath, within which a slender body moved like a reed by the river. Sally—Selly Byrd—on her“way to Manila to be married—to a man she no longer loved, but with whom, no legs, she was stubbornly keeping faith; disastrously, foolishly, splen- didly keeping faith—because, after all—“one's personal happiness fsn't everythin, " Michael hadn’t been put off for an instant by the gauzy disgulse of “a &irl I know—I know her better, per- haps, than any girl I have ever known." That girl, of course, was Sally her- self, easing her wistful, restless soul to a stranger's ear on the eve of sailing away—into what troubled waters, under what unfavorable stars, she alone knew. Michael continued to hear, like a bird singing bevond a waterfall, Sally’s low, impudent chuckle. Would it fall into silence and be lost once the man in Manila had slipped his ring upon Sally’s small finger? Quite likely it would! It was late—or early—when he slept . . . and late when he woke Was {t worth while thinking of Sally when she had flashed into and out of hin life 8o absurdly? Since he was nevar to see her again why not begin at once to forget her? She'd have left her hotel very soon—the boat sailed at 10. (He knew this because as soon as he woke he weakly rang for a newspaper and looked up the steamer list.) If he had wanted to see her—and, kind heaven, why should he?-—there wasn't any self-respect- ing way. Go down to the dock and stand about like a love-sick fool, watching Sally out of sight, on her way to an- other man? Not Michael! ‘Which was why, no doubt, he dress- ed and breakfasted in the extremest haste, but before he did efther, tele- phoned downstairs to the brigand by the elevators and ordered a box of After she “Then, lips lilies of the valley to be sent to Miss | Sally Byrd at the Cliff Hotel—at once. “And what name, sir?" “No name.” If she didn't know when she saw them—let her think they came from the Shah of Persia or the Inca of Peru! He commandeered a taxi—yellow, like the one of the night before. What bitter-8weet memories that musty, mingled odor of leather and humans and what-not awoke in Michael's breast! “Pler 50-and-so!" he cried. B ICHAEL, threading between peo- ple, motors, wagons, came at last to the cliffike side of & ship, with & plaintive babble of farewells In the Sally was standing by the rai She wore a durk, boyish kind of eoft and a little, black hat. Her slender throat was bare. Her eyes were ;h:flo:r. ;\ ldm!xxp oé Deople stood ear her, closed in.abo: v Michael watched. e And some one said, “There goes the gangplank!” Michael swung on his hesl. He had come down to see the last of Sally, but he found all at once that he couldn’t go through with it. It hurt too unbearably. He shoved his way out between people. He was almost at the street when he felt a hand on his arm, hoard a breatehlss whisper at his side: “Michael—don't go so fast!'—I saw you just u4s you turned away—I thought I'd never catch you!” Sally’s sea-gray eyes, shining like rain-swept stars. Sally’s soft mouth, mocking—and unsteady! She wore at her walst lilies of the valley, pearl-budded and tragile. They smelicd llke her hair. “Sally!” he sald—his voice broke a little, and, flushing darkly, he began again—"Sally—why aren't you . . . I say you—you didn't . . . it isn't possible Sally—tell met” “Tell you what, old thing, Sally curfously. “Did you—it seems so heavenly im- possible—did you come off that boat because, at the last moment, you found you couldn't quite stick it?” Sally widened her eyes at him. She said with a finger at her lip: “Why, no—it's a very decent boat. 1 came off because they were taking down the gangplank.” asked D. ¢, MARCH 1, 1925—PART 5. SALLY WAS STANDING AT THE RAILING WHILE MICHAEL WAITED. “And vou I never tried—it's never She added con- boat 1 gangplank? seemed nece sclentiously, travel on.’ “Don e sort of with me!” sald Micha lly—the man in Man re you going to do about him? “Why, nothing!” said Sally. “What She stared in honest be- swooped like a what are you t pla should 17" wilderment, then King-fisher. “Mic doing down here?” Michael said grimly, * ael, saw couldn’t do it?” “Do what, Michael? Take down the came down to see you sall—for Manila.” “Me? Me, Michael? But I'm not sailing for any place. Whatever put that into your head? “You did,” satld Michael last night—-" That Charlotte was sailing. I've just been saying good-bye to her.” “You said ‘a girl you knew better than any girl you had ever known!' " “Well—1 do! TI've known her all my life. We were bables down home to- gother. Michael—Michael—you mantic nut! You thought 1 was talking about myself. How utterly “You told absurd of you. How adorably Don't you know the truth when you hear it2” “I'm no earthly good at sald Michael humbly, “and do 50 much of it, Y'know 1 supposed—"" He looked at Sally Sally looked at him. “S80 1 came down clearing hif throat “You poor lamb gently. Michael thought he had never heard such heavenly tenderness in a wom- | stupid! Natura dumbly, and kald Sa off a spri s buttonhole. s find a taxi ded, said Michael a “I've a week be- rne.” asked Sally t with you, in to his ever, said Sally Soldiers Three, Still in U. S. Service, On L Page.) (Continued fr: seen wrapped in the cloak of the war- rior. Possibly It was this thought which led him into the long years of public service which he undertook after the war—the attempt to heal some of the wounds upon the political and economical life of the country which that war had made. Tt seems especially fitting that those who have seen the physical conflict should undertake the physical and moral construction which the destruction had necessitated. * ¥ wm BEYING the call of right as he saw it fn 1861, Charles M. Sted- man of North Carolina, the only sur- vivor in either house of the United States Congress of the men who served under Gen. Lee, volunteered for service in the 1st North Carolina Regiment, known as the “Bethel Regiment” He was another early volunteer who rose rapidly in rank after his enlistment as a private. A college senfor at the time the call went out for volunteers. he did not stop for the formal commencement exercises of the Unlversity of North Carolina, but took his diploma in a somewhat speedy fashion and ran for the recruiting station. As a member of the Bethel Regiment, he saw service in the first battle of the war at Bethel, N. C. After that engagement he was at- tached to Gen. Lee's army {n the 44th North Carolina Regiment, and re- mained with it during the four years of struggle except when laid up in hospital after wounds received at the battle of the Wilderness, at Spotsylvania Courthouse, and in front of Petersburg. During those four years he rose from private to major. Those years of service under Gen. Lee have left him memories of which fow can boast of that great figure of the Confederacy. Representative Stedman considers Lee one of the REPRESENTATIVE CHARLES MANLY STEDMAN OF NORTH CAROLINA. HE ENLISTED AS A PRIVATE IN THE FAYETTE- VILLE LIGHT INFANTRY COM- PANY IN 186l. LATER, HE WAS A LIEUTENANT, CAPTAIN AND MAJOR, SERVING WITH GEN. LEE'S ARMY DURING NTIRE W. T i ,n'yuza'-m & Dwiog. ast Line of R greatest military commanders who ever lived. e began speaking of the battle of the Wilderness, where he himself was sorely wounded, as an example of Gen. Lee's military acumen: “I regard the Battls of the Wilder- ness as one of the most hotly con- tested fights of the Clvil War. The scrubby forest upon which it was fought was chosen by Gen. Lee as the logical place to attack Gen. Grant's army because of the Inferlority in numbers of his own contingent. Lee recognized that continued formation was virtually {mpossible on a land filled with undergrowth of scrubby oaks. In consequence of these nat- ural handicaps, Grant could not use his great force to any advantage. Crossing the waters of the Rapidan, his men were landed in this dense forest, and were attacked before camp was made. In spite of the difficulty of maintaining formation on the ground I have described, our men were prepared for it, and under their discipline managed to hold fairly well together. “As the smoke of battle grew more dense, I jumped upon & stump to get & better view of the Federal line of battle. And that was when I got this"—here Mr. Stedman pointed to an indenture slightly above his fore- head. “That ball whizzed around under my scalp and came out over my right ear. Another qut me across the chest, and still another went all the way through my right thigh. Strange as it seoms now, the wound in my leg did not bother me as I lay beside that stump—only my head hurt. 1 did not know, in my dazed condition, that my leg was touch until a colored boy who was devot to me followed and found me, telling me that my boot was filled with blood.” The casual observer would never believe that this hale and hearty gentleman of the Southland had ever been scratched by a bullet. He has only one pet boast in regard to scratches, and that is that he never scratched & Democratic ticket In his life. However, hls fr and ad- mirers at home often scratch their tickets when he comes up for elec- tion, for he draws, not the usual 4,000 but a majortly of nearly 20,000 Republicans and Democrats unite their votes in his behalf, for he has proved himself a true servant of all of them, working with a loyal will under the flag which he once thought had done his State a wrong. The man who has grown out of the college boy, who was in such haste to enlist in & cause he thought right, has shown the same eagerness to un- dertake other causes for his country as he undertook that of his State. As president of the North Carolina Railway he proved himself c: of material construction as well as legislative construction. * ok ok ¥ A VOLUNTEER for dangerous duty was Senator Francis Emroy War- ‘who in the Senate of the without a single xom- rade at arms to keep him company, although in the past there have been with him not only men who wore the Blue, but also those who wore the Gray. The statesman and soldier su; urvival of the fittest. his fellow veterans, he got an early start, for the age of 17 found him enlisted in the 49th Massachusetis Regiment of Infantry, and then he continued at it, only laying down his arms at the end of the Civil War to take up civilian endeavor in the serv- ice of his country. The physical hardships of Army eampaigning fitted him for the ple- | | SENATOR FRANCIS MROY ! WARREN OF WYOMING, WHO | ENLISTED IN 1862 IN THE49TH | MASSACHUSETTS REGIMENT | OF INFANTRY. HE RECEIVED i THE CONGRESSIONAL MEDAL OF HONOR FOR GALLANTRY | IN ACTION. e o SUppRAt by Hawis, & Nwing. neering he was later to do, for in 1868 he moved from his native State of Massachusetts to Wyoming, and there started out on the career of citizen, which has kept him occupied until this, his 81st year. Step by step he came up: Member of the & Leglislature, president of the State Senate, active participant in national Republican movements, member of the United States Senate—and in this last-named office he has served con- tinuously since 1890, with the excep- tion of two years. Sitting in his office in the rooms of the Senate committee on appro- priations, which he serves as chair- | man, surrounded by murals depicting scenes from an earlier corflict, the Revolution, Senator Warren spoke a little of those early days of military service: fter my enlistment I received the usual training in drilling, pltching | camp and military maneuvers. From Worcester, where I experienced my first taste of Army routine, our regi- ment was sent to Norwalk, Conn., and from there went by boat to encamp- ment on Long Island. Our particular duty while we were encamped there was provost duty in New York City. But soon we were needed in the ac- tive battle area, and so aboard an ocean liner we sailed all the way Florida to the mouth of the ippl. There we were stopped by the silt which washes down the Mlesissippi and forms the delta there. “It seemed to us, eager as we were fter that long trip for action of some sort, that we waited an Interminable time for the side-wheel steamers, which ran up the river to points north. Finally they came, however. and we were taken as far north as New Orleans and encamped at Car roliton. Some skirmishes took place | around Baton Rouge, but the out- | standing memory for me of all that | Southern campalign is the siege of Port Hudson. 3 “Port Hudson controlled, with Ite |1t was the | were | began econstruction ppi River for mi point which re Vicksburg - men and e Navy in i 5o it was tion and holding 100 feet food f the enemy the fe uft or more “On those in « Port Hudson suffi allow to take it by omma weak- and so lunteerad n that carry = fas vo were was asked one of little shovel on his arm: a gr bundle branches bounc to be used to which surrounded The shovel was for digging « ment after the us a footing in t company his back Now and GTHE over the red trees t crawl. Th ing through the fallen to pick us Perhaps it was good picked off early mi low stumps and char- ough which he had to rebels spotted us mov timbers by that Y game, off, one one. fortune in the found Port Hudson means out of the stren their gun fantry and wound in conscious not by any fon or out of to to both In “With a sometimes until in the cool of the evenin n the firin had ceased, our comrades came o and rescued us.” ght, as artillery fire. head REPRESENTATIVE ISAAC SHERWOOD. WHO, IN 1861, - LISTED AS A PRIVATE IN THE J4TH OHIO INFANTRY. HE WAS MUSTERED OUT AS A BRIGADIER GENERAL IN 1865, R.