The Grange advance. [volume] (Red Wing, Minn.) 1873-1877, 1876-09-06

Chaudlere river, towards Quebec. The
whole history of the women of the
Revolution affords no more character.
istic picture than this-Fair-lady drag
gng Faint-heart to the war. It is
typical; it is allegoric. Only with
pride we remark it) very few Of the
men of that time were made of such
stuff as rendered it necessary for their
| wives to use similar urging.
Having gone thus farW amer dropped
down completely discouraged, and this
time resisted all Jemima's entreaties
to rise again. She appealed to every
motive that could nerve a soldier, to
every sentiment that could inspire and
ennoble man in misfortune and dis
tress; but it was all in vain. She told
him that relief must be before them,
and not very far away. For her sake
would he not try once more! But her
pleadings and her tears were wasted.
The pluckless campaigner had made
his last halt. PROFESSIONALLY he was
very weak, and both husband and wife
were nearly starved. But comparing
the nourishment each had taken, she
should have been physically worse off
than he. It was her mental and moral
superiority that kept Jemima from
much to say to his credit that the poor
fellow was ashamed to live at his wife's
expense, and that he should have
dwindled to such a good-for-nothing
beside her whose champion and pro.
tector he ought to have been. He
begged her to go on and save herself if
she could, but to leave him and let him
die.
Jemima was not the woman to do
that. But her hope that the army,
finding relief, had perhaps already sent
back men to feed and bring forward
the stragglers, impelled her to go and
| meet them. She might save her hus-
bands life by fastening the succor on
the way. Failing to stir him to make
another effort for himself, she filed
his canteen with water, and placing
that and the little remnant Of her
| wretched bread between his knees,
turned to go down the river in search
Of help.
''Good bye, James; you'll see me
again soon.''
"Good bye, Jemima but shall new
er see you again.
And with heavy but dauntless
| heart the noble woman hurried away.
| She knew that Jol. Arnold had gone
| ahead Of the army with some pioneers
some time before to procure and send
back supplies from the settlements,
and she believed that ere this the
| troops were in the camp somewhere
enjoying the promised plenty. If she
| met no one with relief, perhaps she
could keep on till she found her friend
If it was not too far. On her way
she did, indeed, meet a boat coming up
the river. It was birch-bark canoe,
and in it were two army officers and
two friendly Indians. Overjoyed, she
hailed the party, told them her dis
tress, and asked them to take her hus-
band on board. But they replied that
it was impossible. They had been
sent after Lieut.. Macleland, sick Of
ticer left behind with an attendant at
"Twenty-foot Falls,'' and the little
birch-bark canoe would only carry two
more men. They could only tell her
that the army had found supplies, and
where they were encamped, and spare
her food enough to keep herself alive.
Weeping, she turned back, and sadly
followed the canoe up the stream until
it was lost to view. When she again
reached the place where she had left
her discouraged husband she found
him alive but helpless, and sinking
fast. Scores of the exhausted and
famished soldiers, his companions in
that fearful wilderness march, would
have been as James Warner was, if
they had given way to their depress-
! ing feelings as he had done.
| While the devoted wife sat by his
side doing what little she could for his
comfort, the canoe party returned on
| the river, bearing the gallant Maclel-
and, the loving but dying officer. Poor
| Jemima renewed her entreaties, beg
ging, with p1teous tears, that they
would take her husband in. 1t was
no matter for herself. She was only
a woman. But could they not, would
they not save dear: James?
No. All her prayers were useless.
In war, and in every deadly necessity,
decisions are quick and cruel, and the
| estimates of men are peremptOry.
Macleland was worth more than War
ner.
All hope had fled now. Jemima staid
faithfully by till her husband breathed
his last. he-could only close his eyes
and try to cover his body from the
wolves. Then, when love had done
it's best, she strapped his powder horn
and pouch to her person, shouldered
his rifle, and set out on her weary
tramp toward Quebec, Melancholy as
| it was, one sees certain sublimity in