Weekly Trinity journal. [volume] (Weaverville, Calif.) 1857-1972, 1868-03-14
NUMBER 10.
After the Battle-Mtssion Ridge.

battle and furnace are alike. 1t is won-
derful how dull nature brghtens and grows
costly in the glow of battle; how the sterling
worth that is in them shines out and the COM
mon man stands transfgured, his heart in his
hand and his feet in the realm of heroic grand
eur. But, ah when the fire is out and the sa-
cred earth heaped with rigid clay, the black
mouths of the guns speechess, the wild hurrah
died away, and the splendid action of the charge
vanished from the rugged field like q fash OF
sunshine, and you wander among the duii re-
mainders, only yesterday, and, drifted with the
skirmish line, you begin to know what these
words mean, s'after the battle"
Standing the edge of the field in the dim
moonlight, calm Goods acre." stretches the
rough valley that hut an hour before, Jared
with the whirl of battle. From away beyond
the ridge, indeed, three miles out to Chicka-
mauga Station, the dropping shots from Sher-
dams guns family punctuated the silence, but
here, listen you will, you can hear no sound
but the click of ambulance wheels, slowly roll
ing in with their mangled butdens no sigh, no
groan, nothing but the sobbag lapse of the
Tennessee can never tell you with what a
warm feeling at the heart | looked up and saw
the Federal fires kindling like a new constella-
tion upon Mission Ridge they were rs welcome
MS dawning day to eyes that have watched the
night out. The old baleful glare from The rebel
camp and signal light was quenched with some
thing thicker than water, and Chattanooga was
at peace. You go out 10 the field, and you keep
saying over and over, ''after the battle-after
the battle" Men prone upon their faces in
Deaths deep abasement here one, his head up
on his folded arms there one, his cheek pressed
upon IL stone, as Jacob s at Bethel yonder
one, his fingers stifened round his musket. Now
you pass where bntiernut and true blue nave
gone down together, the arm of the one flung
over the other; young boy of fifteen lies face
upwards, both hands clasped over his heart, and
tbo h,c had ha frost hat w
hair, as if he had grown old in a night, and it
hangs like tears fresh fallen upon his cheeks
where a lieutenant grasps bush, as If he died
vainly feeling for little hold upon earth and
life; where stained trail leads you to shelter
behind rock, and there dead captain, who
had crept away out of sight and fallen asleep;
where rebels and true hearts lie in short win
rows, as if death had begun the harvest and
wearied of the work And those faces are not
as you would think hardly distorted with any
passion almos; all white and calm as Ben Ad-
hens dream of peace; few strangely beauti-
tul. Wounded ones that have escaped the moon
light search, have lain silently waiting for morn
ing without murngr or complaint. Wiley, of
the 4lst Ohio, fell terribly wounded at the first
| line of rile-pits, and General Hazen rode up,
with the words 9 hope you not badly
wounded" q Do you think we Il make it?'
asked the Colonel. "I do, was the reply.
{. That's enough, said the gallant officer. 81
can stand this !" And there he lay, bleeding
ard content, and the tide Of battle rolled on.
Indeed, ''death loves shining mark" The roll
of officers for whom their comrades say to-day,
6 dead on the field of honor, will lend a spIen-
dor to the story of Mission Ridge. Sherdans
division lost at Stone river seventy-two; at
Chickamauga ninety-six while at Mission Ridge
one hundred and twenty-five bars, single and
double, leaves silver and gold and six spread
giles, lay bloody and blent-the total loss in
the two divisions of Wood and Sheridan alone
being twenty three hundred and forty-four.
Spots all along that rough and terrible noun
tain route are waiting some poets breath to
blossom with flowers immortal. Here, by the
gray rock, lay the soldier, one shoulder shattered
like Il piece of potters clay, and thus urged to
two comrades who had halted to bear him to the
rear: :" Don't stop for mel m of no account
for Gods sake, push right up with the boys -
and on they went and left him weltering in his
bloody vestment. Do you talk of your royal
purple and your Tyrian dyes? Beside that hero
lying here, those tints grow dull as gray Novem-
ber Hard by that little oak, Colonel Harker,
crawling up the hill, saw two brothers, one
wounded unto death, and the other bending
over him. The Colonel not seeing the fallen
man, ordered the other to move @ But this
is my brother" be pleadingly said. The poor
stricken fellow on the ground rallied an instant:
"Yes, that's right, George; 90 on, go on, go
on !" George turned a piteous look upon his
dying brother, grasped his musket and clambered
on. That WAS his last farewell for, the summit
reached, he FASTENED back, and there beside an
oak, the soldier lay in that sleep without a
dream Between the first and second ranges of
rebel works, right in the flush of the charge, a
captain fell, and two men came to his aid.
g Don't wait here" he said go back to your
company; one useless is enough don't
make it three" Just then cheer foated down
the mountain, as they took the rihe-pit. Don't
you hear that, he cried g march - and away
they went. Such incidents these strew all
ha laDDpniuO n
stant, lost and forgotten in whrwind worthy,
every of them, of place in loyal hearts.
With such spirit inspiring rank and flea
| spirit as lofty as the Alpine Traveller breathed,
whose burden as he went, still 4" Excelsior"
who can wonder that Mission Ridge was car
ried on a November afternoon? As think OF 1t
| ALL | seem to have the poets qnickening ear,
and to me, standing in the valley below, from
hundreds of lips now white and still, voice
flows down down the ridges side in grand ac-
cord
ga voice comes a falling star,
Excelsior