Lyon County times. [volume] (Silver City, Nev.) 1874-1907, 1875-04-18
The Lost Children.

Born, as the writer was, in sight of
John Browns Tract" on the farther and
eastern edge of his memory there are in
cidents OF strange excitement. One sum-
mer afternoon the Rev. John Blodgett was
preaching his second sermon, when man
stepped quickly in at the door, and said,
1.-TWO children are lost!' The elder halt
ed in the midst of sentence, laid off his
coat, and with "Come brethren and
friends, it is everybody's business to seek
and save that which is lost, down he came
out of the pulpit, and the able-bodied in
the congregation followed him out into
the sunshine, like sheep that know their
shepherd. A few short words told the
story.
Two little children, brother and sister,
had gone out on Saturday morning to
pick berries. Night came, but not the
children; and think that of all nights
in the week, Saturday night without the
gathered household is the most lonely and
dismal. A few of the neighbors had gone
out with lanterns and horns and guns and
the mother had accompanied them, and
had beaten up the adjacent woods, and
had worn out the weary night, and the
Sabbath dawned upon eyes dry with
nameless fear and hearts bitter with an
guish. Many time during the dark
hours had some lanterns deceptive ray
fallen upon pile of leaves half covering
some broken limb, and shout of
"Found!'' had only plunged them into
deeper sorrow. And so the Sunday shone
out, until messenger came to the village
and gave the general alarm.
The campaign was soon organized.
Nearly two hundred men were enlisted,
and the plan was to attack certain piece
of woods, marching up to it in extended
line, at such distances apart as to COM
mand the whole space between every two,
and so fairly harvest the ground of any
thing upon it of human interest. Guns
were distributed, and the order was that
no cry should be raised, no piece dis
charged, but all move in silence; that,
should the children be found, one gun
should be fired; if dead, two; if alive,
three in quick succession. But they were
not men alone who joined the merciful
brigade, but mothers and springy girls,
and they proved the most observant and
vigilant of all, for nothing so quickly
sharpens a woman's wits as love and grief.
And so they set forth. The boy of that
day remembers the scene as if it were now
before his eyes. Groups of the infirm,
the women and the children, spotted the
picture like a leopard's skin. The tones
were subdued, there was listening, long
ing look on every face. Some of them
followed out to the edge of the village
and stood and listened. The settlement
could not have been stiller had it been a
deserted graveyard instead of the abode
of the living.
The shadows were travelling eastwardly.
The sun showed golden rim over the
western hills and was gone. The stars
came peacefully out over the whole hea-
ven, as if there was no such thing as grief
in the universe. Nine o'clock and no sig
nal. Eleven, and not shout. Midnight,
but no gun. The slow clocks licked
slower. Stars went down one after
another, and those who tarried grew paler.
There was a suspicion of dawn above the
woods. And then, far off, faint and yet
certain, there was report. The line came
to an instant halt. The lifted foot was
let down softly upon the fallen leaves, lest
there should be a second sound and they
should miss it, and so be wrong in the
count. A half minute and another sig
nal. "Found and dead,' so far they read.
Was that ala Was the story completely
tolda 1t is at such times that we think
fast. The electric flash is a dull traveller
beside swift thought. A few seconds
and third gun broke the stiffness and
cut the tense cord of suspense and let hui
man nature down, fearful, grateful, over
come. "Found and aliver' was the story
the rifles told; and then arms licked like
clocks along the line and shouts rang as ifan
army had won victory and floated into a
clearing, and reached the watching, wait
ing, sleepless village, and they took up the
cheer, and men broke down in the midst
of it, and women hid their faces and
sobbed. Then back they came, the glad
brigade. in the gray of the morning, with
their dim lanterns and their smoky torches
and their rifles in their hands, bearing the
wanderers, feeble, butalive and unframed,
stained with berries but not with blood
B. r. Taylor.