The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1883-08-22
The Battle ofArdmor.

All the land, ana tne sAy anu eHS
clouds were clad in the beauty OF
June. The lanes were fringed with
emerald: the round eyed DAISIES
neeped out from the billowy fields
Of grass. and dantier wild flowers OF
the woods nestled like gems in the
velvet moss. Down in the meadows
of buttercups cleaned like buttons
of gold. Over the low hills the soft
winds whispered to the leaves about
other summers, and down through
the shadowy woods the little brook
laughed and babbled like child
playing by itself. Here and there
a cottage nestled among the trees.
The distant calls of children came
rippling across the fields. The long
road wound away, yellow and quiet,
until it turned out of sight beyond
the little church with its snowy walls
and splender spire.
How quit and peaceful all the
world lay before the window OF my
prison that day in June Far away
the note of meadow-lark came,
and was heard no more. Now and
then the whistle of robin at times
the twitter of a blue-bird. 1t was
such an afternoon as you would wish
10 endure forever. White-winged
peace smiled it the sunshine, and
sang with the zephrys and the brook,
and the far-away calls and acarcely
heard laughter of the children play
ing somewhere unseen. Its music
is the crown Of the laws beauty and
tranquility.
Clear mellow, distant, four OF lve
notes of a bugle ring out over the
low hills, and come echoing down
the forest aisles. How my heart
leaped at the sound of the bugle
CALI How my blood went surging
through nay veins like tide OF lava
Out of my prison window | look
with straining eyes. In the hutter-
ring leaves | can see 10 glitter OF
bayonets. listen, but down the
road or across the meadow L can
hear not the rumble of battery
hurrying into position. How silent
il ali this And vet not silent enough.
/ want the wind TO hush, and the
leaves to keep still, and the brook to
stifie its babble and laughter. | am
listening for a football, the cracking
of a twig, the mufiied tramp OF
a column of men stealing through
clover. | am listening for the neigh
of a horse, a clatter of rythmic boot
beats. a ringing carbine shot. Peer
ing out Of the window of my lonely
cell, / am listening-ever since that
first bugle-call came winding over
the hill | have been listening-for
sterner music than the robins note
and the wood brooks murmur.
March y
There it is at last? l can see moth
ing from this window. The voice
comes like far-away echo Of the
bugle-a boyish voice, softened into
music by the day and the distance.
/ picture to myself the fair haired
lieutenant who cammands the sklr-
mishers. All those days made men
of boys; the school-boy fought be-
side the veteran, and the adjutant
of twenty messed with the colonel of
forty. VIII the line never come in
my sight.
Halt "
Silence again, and once more the
bugle calls down the unseen line.
Now can hear the tramp of feet
amid all the terrible hush of prepa-
ration. All about me the tide of
battle will sweep, save only where |
can see it and I-penned in this
prison like a Gagged rat, with ringing
bugle and clanking saber calling me
out, shouting my name in words that
burn and ring and ring and ring
again-and / am here.
March !"
Away off the tap cf drum, the
fam, fam, fam, cadencing the step
of the marching column. Neares ii
comes, and further away it sweeps,
faints into quiet at last.
Tramp, tramp, tramp. Muffiedl
vet distinct, and stepping nearer
with every foot fall. There they
Gomez" shouted some one. hold
my breath; / press my hand to my
heart and wait for the first shot from
the skirmishers.
Ready"
The click of musket, so close il
seems in the room where | am
Gods / listen for the sound of the
boyish voice again. 1t seems to me
in my excited condition, there is q
childish trebble to it.. | wonder
if
"Firel"
How the cheers, pealing up in
waves of sound, drowned the crash
was listening for Again the boy
ish voice calls, Fire" and again
the shrill cheers follow. They hush
as the bugle-notes come pealing
down the line again. l hear the
wheels as battery is hurrying for
ward. / hear a drum beat. l hear
the tramp of hurrying feet. Some
one is calling for ''the flag" Once
hear-so close the tide of battle
swept in my prison. saber swrig
from its scabbard with an angry
sweep. And all this time | could
only see the golden sunshine
only the fiutterlng leaves and the
playing shadows frightening into
the waning day; and floating in at
my window came the mellow whist
ling of the robin
The cheers are fainter now, as the
shadows grow longer. The robins 5
note has ceased. Mellow, clear, and
beautifully imperious as ever, the
busle calls again. A pail of silence
falls upon the clamor and din of the
battle. try the door of my prison
1t Yields to my touch. Down a
stairway, with a noiseless tread,
hasten. / step through a curtained
door. / stand on the field where the
waves of contention have thundered
and dashed. The level rays of the
setting sun drift over the helpless
figures stretched about me like a
blessing upon the dead.
At my feet the overturned cannon
Il i