The Pickens sentinel. [volume] (Pickens, S.C.) 1871-1903, 1883-09-13
TIE BATTLE OF ARDMORE.
BEING A GRAPHIC ACCOUNT OF FIERCE
DOMESTIC WAR,

The sunshine never kissed lovclicr
lay nor blessed n fairer scene. All the
and, and the sky and the clouds were
lad III the beauty of June. The lanes
we're fringcd with emerald the round
'yed daisies pccpcd out from the billowy
;clds of grass, and dnintier wild flowers
If the woods nestled like gems in the
;clvct moss. Down in the meadows the
)uttercups cleaned like buttons of gold.
Over the low hills the soft winds whis-
pered to the leaves about other sum-
mers, and down through the shadowy
woods tho little brook laughed and sung
md babbled like child playing by it.
self. Here and there a cottage nestled
among the trees. The distant calls of
children came ripping across the fields.
The long road wound away, yellow and
quiet. until it turned out Of sight beyond
tho little church with its snowy walls
and slender spire.
How quieI 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 a
robin Mt times the twittcr Of a blue
bird. 1t was such ali afternoon rs YOU
would wish to endure forever. White
winged peace smiled in tho sunshine.
and sang with the zephyrs and the
brook, and the far-away calls and
scarcely heard laughter of the children
playing somewhere unseon. It's music
is tho crown of the lays beauty and
tranquility.
THE BUGLE GALL.
Clear, mellow, distant, four or five
notes of bugle ring ont over the low
hills, and come echoiDg down the forest
aislcs. How my heart lcapcd at the
sound Of the bugle call How my blood
went surging through my veins like a
tide OF lava Out of my prison window
L look with straining eyes. In the 1ut-
tcring leaves [ can see no glitter Of bay
oncts. L listen, but down the road or
across the meadow 1 can hear not the
rumble of battery hurrying iIto posi-
ton. How silent is al this i! And vet
not silent enough. I want tho wind to
hush, and the leaves to keep still, and
the brook to stifc it's babble and laugh
ter. am listening for foot-fail, the
cracking of twig, the mufllcd tramp of
column OF men stealing through the
woods under lcafy cover. am listening
for the neigh of horse, q clattcr of
rythmlc hoof-beats, ringing carbine-
shot. Pecring out Of the window of my
lonely cell, am listening-evcr since
that first bug le.call came winding over
the hill have been lis stening-for sterncr
music than the robins note and the
wood brooks murmur.
"March p
There it is at last? [ can see nothino
from this window. The voice comes
like far-away echo of the buglc~-a boy.
ish voice, softened into music by the day
and the distance. I picture to myself
tho fair haired Lieutenant who com.
mands the skirmishers. All those DAYS
made men Of tho boys; the school-bo,
ought beside the veteran, and the Ad
lutant of 20 messed with the Colonel O.,
10. Will the line never como in my
sight?
"Ialt !"
Silence again, and once more the bn
gle calls down tho unseen line. Now J
can hear the tramp of feet amid all In,
terrible hush of PREPARATION All about
me the tide of battle will sweep, save
'nly where J. can see it; and I.--pcnncl
in this prison like q Gagged rat, with ring
ing bugle and clanking sabcr calling me
o"'. siloliIlllS my nHmo III words that
burn and ring and ring agnin--and I am
here.
THE MARCHING HOSTS.
"March p
Away off the tap of n drum, tho fam,
liam, tlam, cadoncinR the stop of the
marching column. Nearer it comes, and
'mthcr away it sweeps, faints into quiet
It last.
Tramp, tramp, tramp. Munlod, yet
listinct, and stepping nearer with every
football. "rherc they come ?" shouts
<omO ono. / hold my breath; ] press
my hand to my heart and wait for the
irst shot from tho slSirmishers.
"ReadyW
The click of muskct so close it seems
in tho room where 7 am. Godsi I lis.
ten for the sound of tho boyish voice
again. 1t seems TO me, in my excited
condition, there is childish treble to it.
wonder if
Fire I"
How the cheers, pealing up in waves
OF sound, drowned The crash + was listen.
ing for Again tho bpyish voice calls
| "Flre!' nnu again the shrill cbenrs fol