The Jeffersonian. [volume] (Stroudsburg, Pa.) 1853-1911, 1865-11-30
COMING HOME.
BY MARY j. ALLEN.


seems to shrink and cover from the in
tense cold. The very air was full of ic
le PARTICLES which one was forced to draw
= In with every breath and when the mool
rose, round and clear and bright, and tn,
wind came up with it, penetrating ever,
crack and crevice, no matter how minute
the passengers by the night express gath
cred closer to the stove, crowding anc
Jostly each other, as even we'll bred peo
pie will sometimes do, in their efforts tt
keep warm.
All but one man, who sat in seat By
himself near the door, tall man, wrap
ped in an oyercoat of army blue, the Wis
or of his cap drawn low over his eyes
deep dark eyes, with strange expression
in them-such eyes as a man might have
who had been fated to stand for time on
the borders of He'll, and having seen
must bear with him through life the mem
ory of its horrors.
He sat there quietly enough, taking
little beed, apparently, of what was going
on about him. Ali the evening he had
sat so, seldom moving, not speaking, only
once, when he had given up his comfort
able seat near the fire to a poor looking
woman, with a child in her arms. and
himself taking this one farther back; and
the passengers, noticing the little act of
polltenesS, and Observing his dress as well =,
decided that he was "a soldier on his way
home; veteran, probably,' aud then
dropped him out Of their thoughts
And while the hours of early evening
wore away the train thundered on, over
miles and miles of level prairie; past farm
houses nestled down among the trees and
barns and corn cribs past little groups of
dwellings with their home lights shining
cheerily out.
The man by the window watched them
as they fitted by, an eager hungry look
coming into his eyes. Was he thinking
of a house at the end of bis journey,
where the lamps were lighted by this
time, and three faces, sad enough now,
would grow suddenly bright at his com
ing | do not know. The conductor
came in presently, bringing little of the
keen outer air with him. He paused
with his hand on the back of the seat in
which the soldier sat, smiling down into
the gloomy eyes lifted to his face as he
said, cheerfully,
"Wc shall be at NJ. in eleven minutes
You're almost home, sir.
"Yes, thank God !"
Home Did Conductor Hines know
all that word meant to the man sitting
there so quietly? He thought he did
thought he could understand his feelings
for he himself had served three years as a
soldier, and well remembered the home.
sickness, the weary waiting, the longing
that grew almost insupportabIe some
times for one glimpse Of dear faces left
behind
Something of this he said in his earn
est way, still Standing there, his hand on
the back of the seat The soldier grasp
ed it, and the two looked steadily into
each others eyes.
Two faces 50 very, very unlike. One
pleasant to look upon, though shadowed
a little by the cares and responsibilities of
middle life. The other showing worn
and white under the lamp light, grey
hairs about the temples, lines upon the
forehead, deep lines around the mouth
The face Of au old man, and yet he was
but thirty. His very voice had curious
unnatural tone in it as he said, still look
ing at the kindly eye-"Its three years
since | heard from them | have been
prisoner eighteen months at Salisbury"
What a story was outlined-the details
will never be known till the great day of
Remembrance, when the secrets of all
prison houses shall be revealed, and the
black record of Southern cruelty be shown
up to the gaze of angels and men. Eigh-
teen mouths. They had done the work
of eighteen years on the once powerful
frame of this man whose whole heart
seemed centered now in the one thought
of getting home.
Home! Who can tell how blessed
memories of it had steaJied the soldiers
brain and kept him from madness during
those days, and weeks, and months of lin
gering torment, when hope and courage
and manly fortitude alike gave way be
fore the horrors Of the situation. and
brave men who had looked death u the
face many a time without blanching,
shrank now when it came in the form Of
slow starvation. But they lived through
it-some of them-this Mark Ryder a.
mong the rest.
He stood now on the platform of the
car as the train stopped along side low
rooted, dingy little building, dignifed by
the name of station. The station mas
ter stood there, his lamp in his hand ,and
beside him a man and boy waiting to
get on the train The man on the plat
form did not glance once at them, nor at
the group of dozen houses on hillside
to the left, though be had many friends
there when he went away. He was look
ing off across the fields to where, mile
away, single light glowed steady as
star.
"Christie's up yet Likely enough
she's thinking of me this minute" voice
and hand both trembled with excitement
as he turned mn the COLLAR of his over