The Pickens sentinel. [volume] (Pickens, S.C.) 1871-1903, 1883-09-13

forward, 1 hear drum bent. / hear
the tramp of h,wrying feet. Some one
is calling for "thc flag" Once + heard
SO alose the tide of battle swept TO my
prison--a saber spring from it's scnb-
bard with an angry sweep. And all this
time could only see tho golden sum
sline-only the iluttcring leaves and the
playing shadows lonethcning into the
waning day; md floating in at my Win
dow came tho mellow whistle of the
robin.
The cheers nro fainter NOW, as the
shadows grow longer. Tho robins note
has ceased. Mellow, clear, and beauti-
fully impcrious as ever, the bugle 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 q stairway, with noise.
less tread, L hasten. J. step through
curtaincd door. I stand on the field
where the waves of contention have
thundercd and dashed The level rays
of the setting sun drift over the helpless
figures stretched about me Ike bless.
ing upon the dead.
At my feet the overturned cannon lies.
There are its shattered wheels. Lying
across the brazcn muzzlo. "his back to
the field and his feet to the foe" is
stretched an artillery sergeant, still
grasping the broken sabcr in his nerve
less hand. Here is a group Of infantry
soldiers; they will never stand upon their
feet again. Here is trooper; hcadless
he lies under the horse that, with two
legs torn away, has fallen upon him.
THE DEAD.
"A little edrummer-boy-how came such
child here where the fierce maelstrom
of war circled and eddied in fire and car
mage and fury ?-lics by his drum. I
bend above him, and in face and form
there is nothing human left. fed are
the stains about it, and the broken little
hand hangs stiff and rigid on the edge
Of the shattered drum. 1t is terrible
Here, ghastly and horrible, lies a head,
the blue cap with It's scarlet and white
pompon still resting jauntily over the
brow; but nowhere can I sec the SOL
dicr's body. Here is sabCr bent and
twisted in the fury of hand hand COM
bat. walk among tho headlcss trunks,
arms and legs without bodies, crippled
horses lie prone on their sides, or stand
wearily, and with dumb patience, upon
three legs. / tread carefully over and
around the broken, shattered bodies of
the fallen men. Here is the flag, tat
tered and unfurlcd, just as it dropped
from the hands of The sergeant; here an
epaulet, glitcring in crimson and gold:
here is the gilded belt of General; here
marred, bent and dentcd, lies the buglc
whose silver voice called into play this
wreck and carnage. And here away
off on the edge of the field, away where
Just the spray Of this angry sea of strife
could have reached, my foot almost falls
oil child lying PROSTATE, half turned
IN her face. The dainty feet peep out
Of cloud of silk and lace; the tangled
hair Of gold. n skein Of sunshine, half
hides the brow and cheek. There is no
sign Of life in the beautiful face. Killed
hy the terror and fear born Of the battle?
bend to lift the little form, and the arm
upon which l thought the child was
wing is gone; horrible gash reaches
from the temple to the base of the brain,
and the left eye is crushed in its socket.
The chlld-the dear, sweet little girl:
somebody's darling, fair sacrifice to tho
hldeous Moloch Of war, how could
"Robbie!." [ hear tho voice of her lit
TIC serene highness. "Robbic! come
now, and pick mp your tops, dear
4ou've left your dollya and all your soldiers
scattered about over the floor, so that
papa can scarcely walk across the room.
And somebody has stepped on poor lit
tie Bessie's head. I'm afraid smell havo
to go to the surgical institute"
patter of flying feet, and the blue
eyed commander of the troops, aged 6,
comes charging into the room. and, re-
solving himself into IN amhulan &c corps,
collects the dead and wounded with both
hands, scoops them into big pox, OK.
amlnes the fracture in the wounded
dolly's head for saw dust, and appears
surprised to find the skull lined with
hole.
"Papa" he cries "did you hear e
battle zis appenoon ?"
eyes, Major, / heard it.
owe tightcd awful" the Major says,
can 1 fell down on my drum and brckcd
my cannon, but grampa will get me
anuzzer one. ."-RoBERr J. BURDETTE.