The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 16, 1903, Page 3

By C. B. Lewis. TRYING HIMOUT THE SUNDAY CALL. FATE'S PENCE. By James Norfleet. hed with West Twenty-second — young Warner, Point and been assigned to the who was only a boy, vet, with a face as smooth as a girl's. The captain and first lieu- Company A were old West Pointers and should have given the boy a warm welcome and stuck by him until he could stand alone, but Instead of that they looked at him askance. The captain himself had a son who had falled to pass at the Point, and this had rankled and embittered him, t had taken up his cause. days agone, when a boy from the Point was assigned'to a regiment he front, he arrived one day to find himself face to face with the enemy the He was given a show, however His captain or lleutenant kept an eye s first fight and coached him through it and heiped him to keep e and his horfbr. Sometimes the boy needed no encouragement—some- have lost his head and made a spectacle of himself but for the 1 support of the veterans. It is always an open question as to how a sol- dler, be he officer or private, will conduct himself when he faces death for the tenant of m in time on a battlefleld. Four days after Warner's arrival the command took the fleld against the Confederates at Chattanooga. The boy was not yet familiar with the faces of his brother officers, and he knew nothing of actual warfare except what he had He depended on his seniors to see him through. They had doomed him, They had not plotted and planned, but they had looked into each other's eyes and nodded their heads. The boy would be “‘tried out” within & few days, but he would have to stand or fall alone. He was full of enthusiasm the command marched forth, having no doubt of himself and being eager for his baptism. A soldler is not a soldier until he has heard the bullets whistle It is not years of service, but wounds that give him respect and read however. about his ears. cignity. The Confederates had gathered in force and were strongly entrenched. War- ner's regiment was rushed forward to open a fight which lasted for three hours. To accomplish results aimed at the command had to be spilt up and companies squadrons sent here and there to tight on their own hook. The Cub” had been under the eye of every man in Company A since the shot was fired, and it was admitted that he had kept his nerve as well as could be expected. The privates spoke in praise of him to each other—the captain and lleutenant looked at each other and walted. They had not long to walt. A company was sent far out on the right flank to move up and open & hot fire, and then there was a smile on the captain’s face. To order that boy to push forward with fifteen men against the hundred Confederates concealed in the trenches was “trying him out,” but it was also murder. A whole company could not have carried the position. His face paled for an instant, but then the color came back and he shut his teeth hard and led the way. “Damn him, does he want us wiped out to a man!” growled an old ser- geant as he looked back over his shoulder at the captain. But *“The Cul hurried the little band forward to thelr work and five minutes later they were first botly engaged. 2 Little by little Gompany A was moved to the right, and by and by it was no longer in support of its skirmish line. The time came when It was rifie shot away and when the “grays” took advantage of it to “rush” the ten men still left alive in the ulps and hollows along that front. There was cal- culation on the part of the captain—movement on the part of the rebels. “The Cub” had been given no orders except to advance and attack. He found the enemy ten to one, but he would not fall back. He realized that his little force must be wiped out, but he encouraged the men to creep nearer. The time came when he saw himself unsupported and liable to be cut off, but there was no backward movement. If recalled he would retreat, if not he would die on the firing line. The “rush” eame. Fifty ragged but cool and determined Confederates rose up and dashed forward in & body. The boy did not lose his nerve altogether, t he was the only one of the seves or eight living men who was not cap- ed and dragged back Into the trenches. It was with something like fright his eyes and his face as white as a’%s dead man’s that he rejoined his com- pany “While temporarily under the command of Second Lieutenant Warner fif- teen men were kflled or captured. The officer himself escaped by flight.” Such was the wording of the captain’s report and of the dispatch sent for publication and “The Cub” found himself ostracized. Some of r officers nodded stifly to him, while others turned their backs. The t that he had been put in a false position for a purpose, but he could ing nor advance any satisfactory explanations. He had obeyed or- the act of obedience had ruined his career. There was no court of He was simply ostracized by the officers askance by the privates. There were two remedies—resigna- It seemed to him that to send in his resignation after d with a campaign still on, smacked of cowardice and he As to the other remedy—well. 4 had not rested thirty days after Chattanooga before another terrific battle was imminent. The regiment must pre- e brunt of the fighting again. One morning, as the men were and fro while making their preparations, “The Cub” rode away from d only a sentry or two saw him go. He rode straight down y at a mad gallop for seven miles and then drew rein under the trees surrounding a spring. There was but the other remedy left, and he was going to accept it. He had galloped away from all human life to be alone with his last thoughts and to die by his own hand. . . - . . . “You see, it was this way,” said one of three or four ploneers who came back from & hot skirmish that afternoon with momentous news. ‘“We got word that the ‘rebs’ was In the valley, burnin’ and pillaging, and we set out to bring the news, but at the Big Rock a band of Confederates headed us off and we had to take cover. We had been standin’ them off for two hours and they were gettin’ ready for a rush when that boy officer of yours came chargin’ down like a thunderbolt. He had only his revolver and saber, and after he had emptied his revolver he used his steel. Say, mow, but he must have wanted to be killed. He rode among the ‘rebs’ shootin’ and slashin’ and cheerin’, and he got up such & panic among ‘em that we had a chance to make a sneak. It was no use to think of helpin’ him out, for they were sixty to five. Every one of his bullets brought down a soldier, and he must have slashed half a dozen more, but we had not got out of hearin’ when we heard the ‘rebs’ yellin’ and knowed that the boy had gone down. Yes, he was only a kid of a boy, but I'm tellin’ you, kur- nel, that he had a heart of a lion, and that we are ready to sell our clalms to butld him & monument fifty feet high!"” S bro: cast his bro court-martial. alone, L3 g A WAR VISION By G. H. ParKer. =—3T was by no means an unusual item in the morning papers. It consisted of less than twenty lines and was to the effect that the cashier and confidential man of B. & B., Broadway, had been mising for two or three days, and that upon ex- amination it had been found that he was short $15,000 in his accounts. The usual explanation was put forward—the races, the stock market and an uptown apartment—and it was add- ed that the police were on the defaulter's trall. . . . . . . . . . A rebel sentry who paced the outer lines down near the water's edge one morning soon after daylight came across & sight which startled him and raised 2 hubbub loud enough to wake his sle-ping comrades among the trees. Thers was a battered old skiff 6n the sands, and a few feet from It lay a man asleep. ““Hi, there! Wake up! Wake up!” sald one of the half-dozen rebels who came down and surrounded the sleeper and wondered who and what he was. “'Well?" asked the man, as he rubbed his eyes and sat up. ““Who are you?"* “You can call me the Man from New York.” . . ““How did you get here?” The man pointed to the old boat and rose to his feet to yawn and stretch. “What do you want here?” continued the questioner. “Take me to your commanding general. I guess he wants recrults, I am ready to join.” That was the introduction of the Man from New York. He gave no name and no Information about himself. He simply sald he was ready to fight for the cause, and he was assigned to the ranks and given arms. After the first skirmish he was made a sergeant; after the second, a lleutenant. He was a cool, fearless fighter and an acquisition. No questions were asked of hirm by the rebels. He was one of a hundred “Northerners” who had found their way to lh;‘dsoulh to take a hand In the revolution. Among themselves, however, they and “He 1s a fighter—too much of a fighter. It must be his desire to get killed. He came to us because he had done something to disgrace his name in the States and he feels that he can never go back. We do not care to know what it is. If we had a thousand more like him we could capture Washington.” In the gray of the morning the Man from New York led a beggarly handful against the flank of the thousands at Vicksburg to produce a diversion, and for & time the thousand were thrown Into a panic. Then the rebel general's plans went wrong and the enemy were allowedito take heart and rally. The regiment swung about and attacked with spirit. The last thirty soon became only twenty- five—then twenty—then ten. Then the ten surrendered. The Man from New York stormed and raved and entreated. He cursed them in one breath and entreated in another; but the ten had had enough fighting. “So it is you!” exclaimed the Yankee colonel, when the leader of the ten had bowed to the Inevitable. *I would rather have captured you than General Lee himself. You shall have a capital military execution T have no doubt. As for the others, let four be taken out and shot at once. We will decide the fate of the others later on.” The flve were Imprisoned for the rest of the day and night. For a time the Man from New York sat apart from the others and 4id not enter into thelr hopes and fears. Then a Yankee sergeant—a Northerner who had lived in Boston for years, but who had also been fighting on the side of the “rebs”—crossed over to him and said: “They may spare us, as we are only small fry, but your death is certain.” “Only a matter of a couple of days,” was the reply. ““We have known you, and yet we have not known you well,” continued the sergeant. ““You have a name; you have friends in the States; you want to send a last message to some one.” “I have no name, no home, no friends,” replied the lleutenant, after a mo- ment. ‘“There is no one to whom I would send a message. If any one thinks of me it Is with contempt.” “‘A mother?” softly queried the sergeant. es, but no message. “A girl—a sweetheart?” The lleutenant shook his head, and the sergeant drew away a pace and sighed. Presently he whispered: “Say, old man, we have been proud of yvou. You have been a devil In battle. You have made your mark and you have got to die because of it. We wish to remember you as a fighter.” “Don’t Worry, my man,” sald the officer, as he laid a hand on the other's arm. “T see your drift. You.don't want to think of me as standing blindfolded against a wall to be shot at. Well, that shall never happen. Leave me alone now and wait for the morning. An hour later the officer was put into a room by himself and told that at daylight he would be started for headquarters under escort. He was awake and alert at daybreak. When the corporal’s guard came to lead him forth, he fought his last and greatest fight. The Yé4nkee soldlers told of it to the last day of the slege of Vicksburg. When at. last he was killed, his enemies stood around the dead body and removed their hats In respect. *“Two dead and three wounded” was the corporal's report. One morning last month a daily paper raked up the old case of defalcation, in connection with many another historic affair, and closed by saying: “As far as we can learn, the police have never secured a clew to the defaulter's where- abouts. ~ THE BATTLE OF CHATTANOOGA. Copyrighted, 1885, by L. Prang & Co., Boston. ENNETT,’ silence, eald Layard, suddenly, as we trudged along ‘do you know any one called Rosalind?” “Do you mind telling me who she is? “Not a bit—my $oungest sister. “AR Now, wasn’t that like a Scotchman? To ask you a question that really pre- mised some interest—and we wanted all the Interest we could get out of any- thing just then—and then to knock off with a ruminating “Ah!"” and nothing further. k“r’hlt about Rosalind? Have I been talking of her in my asked. “You? Oh, no! not that I'm aware of!" ‘“Well, what then?” I persisted. Layard strods on without a word; he was a dour, raw-boned Scotchman of about thirty; a good man to fight, to ride and to endure anything, but not much of a talker and no company on a tollsome march, or at irksome piece of fatigus duty. How he had ever come to throw in his fate with the Yankees had always puzzled me. But that we should have become so chummy during this latter part of Sherman's famous march to the sea was not less amazing. Still—Rosalind? What could be in his head about Rosalind? I waited, al- most hungrily, for the name conjured up irrepressible memories of home. We plodded along; the day was very hot and the dust and stones made heavy going, and by-and-by Layard spoke again, turning his leathery, tanned face and wistful blue eyes straight to mine. e ';h'u laugh at me, maybe, but I've been dreaming of her every night o)y 1" “Of my sister Rosalina?” “Of a girl ca’ed Rosalind. I didna ken it was your sister, Bennett, but someLow I felt bound at last to ask you. Walt and I'll tell ye what she's like! She has a beautiful face, heart-shaped, like an angel In a plcture, and very falr halr falling loose about it, just curling at the ends; her eyes are deep blue, not pale blue like you ses In Scotland, but just as deep as violets, and the lashes and the eyebrows above are black as night! She’s pale, not ower strong, I should say, and she's but a bit lassie yet—sixteen, seventeen at most.” . “That's my sister Rosalind to a T—by Heavens! this is interesting! But you haven't told me what else she's like, tall or short, nor how you came to know her name!” “That I can’t tell you; I kent it, may be she sald it the first time she ap- peared, but I'm no sure! And for the size of her, I canne say either, I oaly see her face, naething more.” Now, thls was very strange—stranger than Layard knew! For Rosalind, my little seventeen-year-old sister, was a cripple. Years back. when she was a tiny child of about two, there had been a nursery scuffle, and Rosalind had been burt; at the time little was thought of the injury; our nursery was so full of children that & knock here or there did not count, but presently alas, alas! the mischief was done, and our little sister was lamed for life. Horace and I always feit bad about it, though we sald nothing, as is the way in big familles. And I did not tell Layard now. Do tell me some more. When did she begin coming? Great Scott, Layard, it is almost as If the dreams had been meant for me, and you got ‘em by mistake, sleeping next me,” sald I “I dinna see that,” sald Layard, jealously. “She never says anything about you. BShe just comes every night, smiling and looking so happy to see me, her face, with the curling hair, and a necklace of red things, coral beads, I take it, but cut in a curious fashion, about her throat. That is all I can see of her, but she seems aye pleased to come, and she listens to what I have to say &' night through.” My companion’s plain, rough face had a new look In It, now I came to con~ sider him. “I've no womenkind of my own, so it's wonderfu’ to me to dream of Rosa- 1ind,” he confessed, and his voice softened. “I'm glad you didna laugh, Bennett! T'll tell yo malr about it if there’s anything to tell, and I can truly say it's & mighty comfort to me to have her face coming the nights!™ 1 didn’t know what to make of it; the thing bothered me, although Layard, as far as I knew him, was an honest, decent fellow and thought a lot of women, whilejas for a fighter—why his courage alone would have made Sherman’s march memdrable. I had had no home letters from Boston for some time; they were accumulat- ing for me, I supposed, somewhere at the base, while we were cutting a terrible swath through the South, and I longed for news of Rosalind. Could it be that she was in my abnormal cofidition of mind and was aware of the link between my comrade and herself? Anyhow, whether the imagination were dual or confined to Layard alone, it was an extraordinary instance of clairvoyance—those coral beads beat me! ‘Why, Rosalind had worn them all her life—she was the youngest of us, and, perhaps owing to her lameness, had never ceased to be the baby! One day Layard and little Hayes were missing, and a lot of us turned out to look for them; Hayes was dead when we found them; a rebel bullet had gone through his brain and killed him on the spot; the enemy, a straggling handful dodging after their leader, had strirped them of their arms and left them for dead. Layard was dead from the waist down, but his head had cleared. I sat down on the ground beside him and listened (it was no good torturing him by at- sempting removal), and asked myself was he wandering, or what did he see? “Yes, Rosalind, I'm coming—you gae first, dear, an’ show me the way!” he was whispering softly to himself. “Eh, Bennett, is that you? I'm sorry, man, but I must leave you. I meant to see ye home safs, but it's nas to be! And ye'll be home the noo, but I'll tell Rosalind.” I bent my head, for his voice was very faint; “T'll tell Rosalind, Layard, and how you liked to think of her, and how we talked of her together,” said I, thinking to please him. ‘““Why, man, I'll see her first!” sald Layard, speaking quickly and with = smile, as he turned over and died. We burled our comrades under the rock where they fell, and mourned an hour or two, and then spoke of them more as needs must be In war time. When presently Grant cornered Lee at Richmond and the war was over, and I, for one, ‘was among. the first ordered home, I got a whole packet of letters months old, and some more, that had gone afield, followed me back to the North; but letters mattered little when I was homeward bound, and the gaps in my correspondence aid not trouble me! But there was a gap in the home-circig as I looked around at the first mo- ment of arrival—Rosalind! Very gently they broke it to me—the wound was still fresh with them all and they knew that it would spoll my home coming; she had dled of pneumonia after iniuenza, a few weeks before. Mother and the girls were so brave and so determined not to break down that I took my eue from them and would not show my feelings either; it is no good in a big family—you simply mustn't gush; but after dinner, when Horace and I were smoking quietly, he told me one or two strange things. How all through the winter months Rosalind had talked about “her Scotch- man”—it was only Horace whom she told. *“ A fair, srandy chap, keen of his duty,’ she described him,” said my brother, and I don’t know that there was anything else to say about poor Layard. “The 0dd thing was that though she was immensely interested in this dream friend of hers, she didn’t want him to come to Boston and make her acquaint- ance. ‘You see, he doesn’t know I'm a cripple—we only know each other’'s faces,’ she sald to me once. ‘I guessed he was a soldler from his clothes, and down as far as my necklace he thinks me quite beautiful: but if he found out I was lame he would be so disappointed!” " quoted Horace; and he : ded softly, “We buried her in her coral necklace.” I told Horace all that I knew, down to those jubilant last words, “Why, man, I shall see her first!” and we sat silent a while wondering what it meant. “I am glad you never told him she was a cripple,” satd my brother at length; “here, in this world, the dear little thing would have had to look on at love and marriage, and all that, and if your friend had come home with you there’d only have been heart-break all round! But now—I think they've met, don't you, Harry? and know each other, or else what was the good of 1?7 And I, who belleve that there is good in most things, think the same. sleep?™ I