Clarksville weekly chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1873-1890, 1883-07-07
TALE or The WAR.
Paducah Journal.


On page 2s2 of scott's Life of Mosby, the
Confederate cavalry, the following state
ment appears:
Leaving the dead to bury the dead, the
rangers recrossed the shenandoah River, In
Virginia. AS they assembled the mountain
(the Blue Ridge) 1t was discovered that a
solitary prisoner had escaped the fate of his
comrades. He was conducted deeper into
the forest and ordered to prepare for death
1t was a solemn spectacle to see this brave
young fficer kneel in the solitude of the
mountain and pour forth a fervent prayer
to the Great Father.
The young man then arose slowly to
his feet, and, tearing open his shirt, with
unquailing eye received the fatal shot.
OF all the strange things that happened
during the war, nothing was stranger than
the fate of this young man who had been
born in Virginia; had left his home and
gone to California some time before the war;
had enlisted in the cavalry, and returned
home to be killed within a stones throw of
the cabin where he ''first saw the light"
What could be more touching, strange and
sad ? The story is thus told in verse, under
the title of
"The Phantom of the Shenandoah"
Once in time of war and danger,
Nearly twenty years ago,
A quaint and pretty maiden
Lived above the Shenandoah;
And her father kept the ferry,
Where the waters foam and How
Through the channels in the mountains,
And the trailing MOSES grow
Ger the turretS of Mt. Carmel,
Just above the Shenandoah,
The maiden's name was Ellen Moore.
Round about the cabin door,
Gathering sticks and trash for fuel,
In the cold and bitter snow
Humming songs about her brother,
KSEOn the distant golden shore,
While her father dreamed of roaming
With his boy so long ago,
Ere he heard the cannon's roar;
Dreamed and Slumbered in the cleaning
OF old sge and lifes declining,
In his cabin in the mountains,
Just above the Shenandoah.
Hark! There came the tramp of horses
Stumbling on the rocks below,
And she thought some friend was straying
Ia the wooded wild below.
Is it Stewart? Is it AShby?
Can 1t be the Black Horse corps?
All! They've missed the ford, entangled
In the WilderdeSs below
And she left her father dreaming
OF his boy in the cleaning
Near Mt. Carmel, in the mountains,
Just above the Shenandoah.
With a dim and old tried lantern,
Through the vines and mlstletoe,
She could see the dull gray column,
In the valley far below,
Marching through the falling snow.
Is it Stuart? Is it AShby?
Can il be the Black Horse corps,
Like dark and funeral column
Marching through the falling snow?
How she wished she could guide them
To the river ford below,
Old MI. Carmel in the mountains,
AS she'd often done before.
She could hear no sound of bugle,
And no banners they up bore,
Still she hailed them as they halted
Meath the cedars' dropping boughs,
For she knew that they were rebels
By the uniform they wore.
And she loved all Southern soldiers,
And she waved the dim old lantern,
But they needed not its glow,
And halted near Mt. Carmel,
Just above the Shenandoah.
Halted-and dismal silence
Spread its wings upon the air
And the maiden vaguely tancied
She could hear q soldiers prayer;
Fancied that the soldier kneellng,
In the solitude, she knew,
And the rifles flash replying,
Proved her fancieS all were true
Maddened all her soul with woe
And the life blood of her brother
Crimson turned the winters snow.
To her humble home returning,
Through the Sleet and ice and snow,
All her soul within her burning,
Sank beneath her weight OF woe,
And each evening in the cleaning,
When the pines begin to SOugh
A white phantom waves lantern,
Calling "brOther' weird and low,
And the simple hearted people
Named the phantom in the mountains
Near Mt. Carmel, just above the Shenan-
doah-
Named the phantom Ellen Moore.