The weekly pioneer and Democrat., 1863-05-01

DuSullllS AROUND Ill IL perfect WHlTlWlHu Vi
business and stiff muslin. Old Mrs. Hop
kins was slowly rolling up her knitting,
while the Deacon, who had just received
his newspaper from the postOtfice, was
dimly spelling out the heading to the
columns.
What pretty little scream from fright
ened blushing Cicily, while Lizzie burst
into laughter, and old Mrs. Hopkins drop
ped her knitting in astOnisment; for there
stood Nick Dudley himself, an unobserved
spectator of the scene, and looking hand
somer than ever in his Colonel's uniform.
What passed between Nick and Cicily
that night, in the long walk they took to-
gether under the naples, know not only
when the Colonel returned home towards
midnight, he went strolling along the
lonely road, trolling out snatches of Span
ish ballads and old love ditties, while Cicily
went softly up to her chamber, richer by
a happy heart and ring upon her finger,
which had never glttered there before.
A battlefield masses of smoke
drifting overhead below, black masses of
men 3ere and there-here motionless -
there hurrying--charging- red
flashes of fire dashing angrily out at sud-
den intervals -stragglers lying stark and
dead, clothing the fields, the woodlands
and the roads-batteries with their pow
der-s stained pieces, and the haggard artil-
lerymen fitting wildly around them-an
occasional cheer coming hcarsely up in the
distance, as some regiment goes swinging
on at the double quick, the men barehead-
ed, with their tongues lolling from their
mouths, eager-eyed, all dust-begrimed and
breathless Skirlnishers outlying in every
thicket, creeping up hills and through
woods, in long, snaky lines-bare-armed
surgeons, sweaty with hacking and mang-
ling, towards the rear-pa.e officers in
groups, discussing, giving hurried orders,
and peering anXiously through field glas-
ses; aids darting off into the smoke and
never returning-blood-s stained orderies
darting up and out of the smoke with
mysterious dispatches, and instantly dis
appearing again like phantom messengers
the roar of the great guns heard miles
ssfnd miles away, rafting the glass in
,fhe windows OF peaceful homesteads,
where they think it is some distant thun-
derstorn over the mountains.
Look at that regiment charging the
rebel battery on the hill, yonder-that
formidable battery, which, hidden by fall
len trees, and stone walls, and brush bar
ricades, has been playing all day with
such deadly effect upon our poor fellows.
Down they go into the little valley at
half run, canteens .jingling, muskets at
slope, tight-waisted officers already be-
ginning to pant a little; men loosening
their knapsack straps, ready to throw them
off when they begin the real work. Now
they cross the little brooklet in the hollow
dozens of them STOPPING TO catch a
draught of muddy water-and now and
then they check their speed for an instant
to dress before they face the unseen bat
terry, whose position is indicated only by
the thunder of the discharges which at
every instant shakes the ground.
Nick Dudley is at their head, as where
else should their Colonel be? And, see,
see what G. fimy fire CLEANS in those
dreamy eyes as he turns his flushed face
up towards the threatening heights!"
"Now, boys!'
A hoarser cheer from their thousand
parched throats, and on they go, sweeping
up the hill like great sea wave. A deep
er roar from the rebel guns, depressed so
low that the cruel grape goes tearing right
in the face of the advancing ranks. An
instant's pause, and out of the smoke come
pouring hundreds of rebel horsemen, bar
baric fellows, the cleaners who follow the
harvest of the grape-shot, riding down the
reeling columns-yelling-slashing like
devils.
Where is the Colonel, now? Why does
not his voice rise above the death shrek
and musket that like a trumpet call to his
brave boys?
See! Flash, flash from his revolver,
and down goes rebel dragon. Too late!
for, with the rush and roar of cataract
they sweep over him, and Nick is left lying
on his back, with another and fresher scar
across his forhead his right arm twisted
hopelessly under him; a stinging, numb
ing pain in every nerve; thousand pieces
artillery on his brain
Oh! the sweet, sweet light-Cicily-all
fade together from his bewildered soul.
A crippled invalid, an exchanged pris-
oner, is sitting in an easy chair, propped
up with pillows in the cosiest, warmest
nook of the old farm house. Poor Mrs.
Dudley! her wrinkled face, so sad and an
xious, is watching him with tender eyes.
He doesn't seem to care for the fresh
flowers on the table, for the jellies, the
fragrant lemons, the iced drinks, the little
comforts and luxuries SO plentifully strewn
around him. -....
A cripple! White, SCARED face; lips
contracted by sharp pain one arm gone
at the shoulder, emaciated frame, shaken
by frequent fits of coughing; lack -lustre
eyes, vacantly straying around the room,
as though seeing something forever unat-
tainable. Not even mothers love, all
pervading as it is, seemed to satisfy his