West-Jersey pioneer., 1878-06-27


Yes, Charley knew it, and he was glad.
He got Sandy Green to tell him over again
about the battles that had been fought be-
fore; he listened, and was bright and chrpy
over the stories; and the old man warmed
with the subject, watched the light in the
boys eyes, and ended by patting him on
the back.
| "You'll doI'' he said, "And now give
us tune, for who knows-well, give us a
tune?"
So Charley brought his fiddle, and sat
down on the side of the drum, and Sandy
laid his sprawling length on the ground, his
head on his hand. Then tune, light and
gay, went forth from the little fiddle. And
| the tune went on and on, till the stars
blinked and grew brighter; and all at once
Sandy said:
'Say, Charley, give us the song you
played last night
There was a slight pause-and then qui-
| city, plaintively, on the pleasant air. came
the old tune of "Home, Sweet Home,'' -
softly and slowly played, filling the air
around, and touching with kind fingers the
hearts of his listeners. The boys head
dropped over the fiddle, as he sat there, bal
auced on his drum, and Sandy Green's hand
was pressed hard into his head. And the
tune went on and on, and the stars sparkled,
the crickets chirped peacefully, when, all at
once, a bugie sounded, a confused noise was
borne to them-Sandy was on his feet, Char
| ley's drum in his hand-and the enemy
was upon them.
Who can tell of the deadly surprise, of
the terrible fight of that night, carried far
into the beautiful morning, when innocent
| daisies were red and horrible to look at, and
the leaves of trees were blackened and
scorched by powder? Who can tell of the
wild, smirched faces turned sightlessly up
to the sky; the dead hands clutching the
grass; the torn and soied clothing pierced
with little new hole, whence his life had
f1uttered out? Long into the day it lasted,
and there were no more birds songs heard.
The white streets of the camp were gone,
and confused mass of men, some wounded
and all bitter, were there instead. The
fight had ended, the enemy had disappeared,
and these men were victorious!
Throughout the fight they all remembered
to have heard the drum. They remembered
seeing young Charley hatless, his 1.-THE, boy
ish figure in the thickest of the fight-for
there had been small order, it could not be
otherwise. And some of them said he had
been seen with a musket in his hand, load
ing and firing, brave and soldierly.
And now there was silence-thoSe were
not his drum taps, and somebody else
sounded the roll-call, as these men stood up
to answer to their names.
There were many gaps in the roll-many
men who would answer to but one roll-call
more, the mighty Roll of the Last.
And when Cha rley's name was called,
there was no response, and many eyes
turned to other eyes in mute inquiry. So
on the roll went; and at last Sandy Green's
name was called-no answer. Again it was
called, and then-then Sandy Green's voice
answered from far away, and they saw
him coming, limping up the hill, Charley
on his shoulder, white and wild. The men
cheered-yes, they did-they cheered! And
Sandy stood in the midst of them, his leg
wounded by ball, and told how he had
been found by Charley, when bayonet
was going to make an end of him; but that
Charley had used his own bayonet to dread
full purpose, and Sandy had been saved.
But, strange to say, the boy had not
seemed to recognize him. Sandy had taken
him on his shoulders for the boy had grown
faint and white, had called his name; but a
blank look was all the reply he received.
Charley's mind had stopped. There he
was, looking at the men, smile on his face
but an unmeaning look in his blue eyes.
They looked at him, they shook him by
the hand; but he said nothing-he recog-
nized no one.
The surgeon came and shook his head.
"Fright ?" he said.
| But Sandy Green cried:-"It's lie, beg
ging your pardon The boy wasn't fright
| ened."
For all that, it made small difference to
Charley. Day after day, as this portion of
the army made intrenchments where they
| were, and prepared for winter quarters, for
| this point must be guarded, Charley loitered
| about the hospital, not sick, not ailing, but
with his mind clouded. One of the boys
had hunted for his fiddle, and only the frag-
ments and the strings were left, and these
| Sandy Green had taken charge of as he lay
in his cot; ''for," said he, "the sight of
these things might make the boy worse"
| The surgeons studied the case. 1t was
new to them, fine opportunity for expert
ment-and experiment they did, and made
nothing of it. And still Charley smiled
and went about seemingly happy, knowing
no one, speaking to no one, missing nothing
he had before known.
| The men, when they met him, called out,
"Hi, Charleyp' and he seemed to be pleased
at that nothing more. Often they would
look at him, speak of him; for you see
| they had all so liked him. And Sandy
Green was grieved at heart, though hi
manner was as gruff and rude as ever.
After a while the surgeons came to a
strange conclusion. They said that the life
of Charley, from. the first surprise on that
memorable evening, that night he had seen
the fight. was blank. They said there was
no bridge to connect the time after thai
terrible experience. They cited vast au
thorities, and confused themselves abou
them, and so far confused Sandy Green
who was hobbling about, that the rough
man looked on Charley as though he wer'
ghost.
One day Sandy Green, feeling in his pock
ct, found the letter which Charley ha'
written to aunt Teddy, and which had neve
been posted, and had been forgotten eve
since. At sight of it he went for paper ant
. | ,....:1 :-,..,od;o+lu That niuht he fold TIN