The Wellington enterprise. [volume] (Wellington, Ohio) 1867-188?, 1883-08-15
THE BATTLE OF ARDMORE.

THE BATTLE OF ARDMORE.
The sunshine never kissed n lovelier
day nor blessed fairer scene. All the
land. and the sky and the clouds were
clad in the beauty of June. The lanes
were fringed with emerald; the round
eyed daisies peeped out from the bill
lowy fields of grass, and daintier wild
flowers of the woods nestled like gems
in the velvet moss. Down in the mea-
tons 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 sung and babbled like a child play
ing 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 slender spire.
How quiet and peaceful all the world
lay before the window of my prison
that day in June. Far away the note
of a meadow-lark came, and was heard
no more. Now and then the whistle of
a robin; at times the twitter of n blue
bird. 1t was such an afternoon as you
would wish to endure forever. White
winged peace smiled in the sunshine,
and sang with the zephyrs and the
brook, and .he far-away calls and
scarcely-heard laughter of the children
playing somewhere unseen. Its music
is the crown of the days beauty and
tranquility.
Clear, mellow, distant, four or five
notes of bugle ring out over the low
hills and come echoing down the for
est aisles. A hush in woodland and
meadow follows it. Again the ringing
notes, softened by distance, call through
the sunlight; but there is an impe-
rious accent of command in the clear
cut tones, musical as they are. Once
more the bugle-call thrills through. the
beautiful May afternoon. The meadow
lark answers it, and the robin whistles
merrily back to its echoes.
How my heart leaped at the sound
of the bugle-calli How my blood went
surging through my veins ike tide Of
lava! Out of my prison window 1 look
with straining eyes. In the fluttering
leaves l can see no glitter of bayonets.
I listen, but down the road or across
the meadow / can hear not the rumble
of a battery hurrying into position,
How silent it all is! and yet not silent
enough. wish the robin would hush
his merry note. 1t is mockery. Does
he know what he is singing aboutf
Does he know what tho bdgie Sang. that
he answers with such merry defiancei
And then l want him to keep perfectly
quiet. want the wind to hush, and
the leaves to keep still, and the brook
to stife its babble and laughter. 1 am
listening for football, the cracking
of twig, the muffied tramp of col
umn of men stealing through the wood:
under leafy cover. / am listening FOL
the neigh of a horse, a clatter OF
rythmic hoof-beats, ringing carbine-
shot. Peering out of the window o
this lonely cell, | am Gstening-evel
since that first bugle-call came winding
over the hill have been listening-foi
sterner music than the robins note anC
the wood brooks murmur.
.Marchr'
There it is at last! l can see nothing
from this window. The voice comes
bovish voice, softened into music by thu
day and the distance. picture to my
self the fair-haired Lieutenant who com
made men of boys; the school-boy
fought beside the veteran. and the Ad
| jutant of twenty messed with tht
Colonel of forty. VIII the line never
come in my sight?
HALT"
Silence again, and once more tn,
bugle calls down the unseen line. Nov
/ can hear the tramp of feet amid al
| the terrible hush of preparation. Al
about me the tide of battle will sweep
save only where 1 can see it; and L
| penned in this prison like Gagged rat
with ringing bugle and clanking sabel
calling me out, shouting my name il
words that burn and ring and ring agaiI
and am here.
D. Marchi''
Away off the tap of drum, the fam
fam, fam, cadencing the step of tn
marching column. Nearer it comes
and further away it sweeps, faints int,
/ quiet at last.
| Tramp, tramp, tramp. Muffied, ye
distinct, and stepping nearer with ev
| ery football "There they GOMEZ
shouts some one. / hold nv breath;
press my hand on my heart and wal
! for the first shot from the skirmishers
Ready
The click of a musket so close
seems in the very room where / am
Gods! If the robin would only hush hi
song. / listen for the sound of the boy
ish voice again. 1t seems to me, in m
excited condition, there is childis
treble TO it. 1 wonder it,
s.Firer'
How the cheers, pealing up in wave
of sound, drowned the crash l wa
listening for! Again the boyish voic
calls: "Firei" and again the shril
cheers follow. They hush as the bugle
notes come peahng down the line again
i hear the wheels as battery is hurrie
forward. l hear drum beat. 1 hea
the tramp of hurrying feet. Some on
is calling for ''the flag Once | hear
so close the tide of battle swept t
my prison-a saber spring from il
scabbard with an angry sweep. An
all this time l could see only the gold
en- sunshine-only the fluttering leave
and the playing shadows lengthenin
into the waning day; and floating in a
my window came the mellow whistle c
the robin.
The cheers are fainter now as tn
shadows grow longer. The robins not
has ceased. Mellow, clear and beaut
fully imperious as ever, the bugle call
again. A pail of silence falls upon til
ciamor and din of the battle. / try th
door of my prison. 1t yields to m
touch. Down stairway, with noise
less tread, hasten. l step through
curtained door. 1 stand on the fiel
where the waves of contention ha
thundered and dashed. The level ray