Raftsman's journal. [volume] (Clearfield, Pa.) 1854-1948, 1861-08-14

scarcely any relatives, she was delighted to
be with those who supplied the place, as we
| earnestly desired to do 10 her. To us she
could talk freely of the absent soldier, and,
still better, she could more easily obtain news
of the army and its progress.
Still, the time wore on heavily; and often
| the pale cheek and sunken eyes of Agnes at
| tested to a wakeful night or a night of painful
| dreaming.
Austin was with the troops at New Orleans,
under General Jackson. He had been promo
! ted, and now Ensign Rea bore the colors of
his country-proudly, no doubt, as he should
have done. His tall, finely formed figure must
have been nobly conspicuous as standard bear
/ er.
The eighth of January, 1915, had passed
| and soon after, we learned, disastrous news of
our absent soldier. | call him ours, for so
dearly had Agnes Dale wound herself about
our hearts, and so pleasant were remem-
brances of the brief time in which We had
| known her lover, that it really seemed as if
| they both belonged to us. We had adopted
them both as heart children-second only to
| those human blossoms that clustered, by right
of birth, around our fireside.
l read the news before 1 went home and
| carried the paper that contained it directly to
Agnes. She looked up eagerly.
| ''Oh, that is good of you," she exclaimed,
before she had read it. & hope you have
| good news.''
|
the events of the battle and gave the names
of the wounded at the hospital. Among them
| was the name of Ensign Rea and tribute was
| paid to the gallant manneri in which he defended
the flag he bore, even after he struck
| down, clasping it to his breast, while it
| bathed in his blood.
| Agnes read it without tear. "Brave heart
and true 20 was all she could trust herself to say
We waited, of course, with the greatest
anxiety, until we heard that the wounded
| soldiers were to be sent home. AS Austin's
death had not been reported, we hoped great
| deal and tried to imagine that he was not seri-
ously hurt. This hope, however, was dispelled
| by a letter, written for him by some more
| fortunate comrade, and forwarded to my care.
| This was all he wrote
My Darling .4gneS Il am lying, badly
wounded, insthe hospital-so badly that fear
you will be horribly shocked, should live to
| reach home once more. Prepare yourself for
the worst. l am object painful to behold;
| yet the love of life is not dead within me, nor
will II be, unless you turn away from me in
disgust. 1 cannot dwell on this. AUsrIS.'
She sat as if transtixed, for a long time
At length she said s'Doctor, do you think
| that Austin believes that this circum stance
can weigh an atom against my true love for
| him ?''
looked at Mary, who sat by Agnes with
| one hand in hers and the other wound care
| lesslv about her waist. That look decided
that met me.
.Ask Mary, Agnes She can tell you
best.''
And left them. whispering over the pour
et contre of the question of which Mary after
wards told me that she supported the for, and
poor Agnes the against
No moan escaped the brave girls lips that
night; but her cheek grew paler from this
| time until it reSembled the waxen treasures
that twine their long stems in our New Eng
land ponds. And still there was the lovelight in
her eyeS-bright and undimned as ever. 1t
was the evidence OF her hope and trust in God
and in her solder-in God, that he would re-
store him, and in himself that nothing in
life could seperate his heart from her own.
The pealing notes of the cannon had an
nounced the glad news of the peace of 1915.
Every where, bells sounded upon the ear,
borne through the clear March air. Every
where, triumphant shouts were arising from
assembled multtudes.
A letter from Austin's faithful comrade
told Agnes when to expect her lover. Again
he had asked what, to him, seemed a fearful
question-if her love could survive personal
deformity and distortion.
aAnd what answer did you make ?'' ask
ed smilingly. 81 wrote Austin that if enough
OF his frame was left to hold his soul, l would
marry him 20 she answered, her eyes glisten-
ing with love and pride.
We had to wait many tedious days. Ag-
mes wished to go home, to be with the parents
of her lover; or, at least she felt it her duty
but they refused to have her come, thinking
she had better stay to accompany him home,
whenever he should arrive. SO she waited.
One day heard, in my morning round of
visits, that the wounded soldiers had arrived
in Boston harbor. A few moments after,
was upon the wharf, after sending haSty note
to Mary. / determined, long before, that
Austin should come to my house, and, un-
known to Agnes, had made all my prepara-
tions, intending to send for old friends to
meet their son there. Mary had so longed to
carry out this little romance, that could not
disappont her; and, moreover, l wanted to
be with Austin and satisfy myself of his injur-
les, which he had but imperfectly reported
through his. comrades letters.
All was not sick and faint when 1 enter
ed that vessel! was glad indeed to escape
from it, with two stout sailors bearing my
poor wounded friend. found the easiest OF
coaches, into which l entered and received
the exhausted frame in my arms. 1t was in
deed wreck.
"Look, Doctor!' said the poor fellow, faint
ly. as he held up the armless sleeve that dan
gled loosely from his shoulder.
oAnd see here.'' he added, mournfuly, ssI
can never walk with Agnes again. l am a
pretty lover for that sweet girl, Doctor am
not 2" And he tried to smile, as he pointed
to his knee, from just below which his leg had
been severed.
We were slowly approaching the house, and
I only replied to him in monosyllables, lest
he should lose his self control if l spoke to
him of Agnes, or talked tenderly to him OF
his sufferings. l saw that he was already
flushing and paling, alternately, and | abso-
lutely dreaded the meeting, least one or both
of these sensitive and finely organized beings, |
should suffer beyond any mere earthly healing. |