The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1880-05-29
"s At them, my boys, and do your

"' AT them, my boys, and do your
duty!'
"What happened after that, know
not. Know not, do 1 say? Oh, would
it were true that / knew not! Begrimed
with his own individual foe, and if there
be fighting among fiends, then surely
did our fighting resemble theirs. | was
myself wounded when fair-haired man
bore down upon me from the opposing
line, if line it could then be called, and
| received his headlong onset with ter
rifle bayonet thrust, and as he fell |
thought of Cain, and of that deed which
has made the name of Cain a name of
malediction forever. | know not why,
but 1 felt myself compelled to halt in
the midst of the melee to kneel beside
that fair-haired man and look at him.
l turned him over, and looked upon his
face-his dear, dead face. All! mother,
it vast vast was my brothers face,
and my own arm had slain him!"
The scene at that moment it would
not be easy to describe. In an instant
the weeping mothers tears were dry
and her face became passionless as
marble. My own emotion, which 1
have already acknowledged, I took no
pains to conceal. Rough, hard-favored
soldiers standing by listened with bated
breath to this more than tragic nara
tive, while big tear-drops welled
from their eyes unchecked and undis-
guised.
eyes," he continued, soliloquizing,
"my own arm had slain him. Dear,
darling brother Fred! laid my face
upon his and it was cold-that face
which in our boyhood seemed but the
mirror of my own; ever near meat
home, at school, at meal, at play
which laughed when Iswas glad, and
wept when was sorrowful. Oh, would
we both had died in those fresh bright
days of innocence. l kissed his pallid
lips; 1 looked into his eyes, but in them
was no responsive glance. He was
dead. I had slain him! The very
thought was burning madness in my
brain. l needed not the carnage around
me. l thought not of my own wounds.
I even knew not when my arm was
gone. Oh, the arm that had done such
deed deserved to perish. Forgive me,
o my brother! How gladly would 1
give my life to bring back thine again!
Stay, friends; do not shut out the
blessed light. Let in the light. can
not see my brother. Fred, sweet BROTH
er, put up your sword, and let us play
with flowers once more upon this pleas
ant grass.
And so he passed away-to join his
brother, let us hope in land where
bloom the flowers that never fade,
where strifes and wars are unknown,
and where the mysteries and misunder-
standings of our present state are dis
PEELED by the light that never dies.
Reverence for the childless mothers
grief, as well as the many-voiced call of
duty, prevented my making at that mo-
ment the inquiries which thronged my
mind both as to the history of this
strangely sorrow-smitten family, and
the means by which the poor mother
had come to know of her sons condi-
ton and whereabouts. [ have often
since tried to trace her; but the search
has always been fruitless. They Ger
tainly belonged to the better class of So
ciety; and l think it likewise certain
that they were Southerners. The
younger brother-which l took him to
be-whose sad narrative is here given,
and probably resided for sometime in
the North, and becoming imbued with
the sentiments and opinions which
charged the atmosphere around him,
found himself eventually in the ranks.
In a word, look upon the whole cpl
sode as one of these awful condolences
of fate which are generally thought to
take place only in the pages of romance,
but which wide experience has taught
me to believe are by no means infre-
quent among the unrecorded realities of
Cham6ers'S Journal.