Mower County transcript. [volume] (Lansing, Minn.) 1868-1915, 1884-10-15
A BABY'S FLAG.
BY JOAQUIN MILLER.

Grizzled and gray, dazed and indo-
lent, looking as if he had missed the
train in the progress of this life; as if
the world had gone on and left him
hopelessly behind-no Christmas tur-
key for him this year; not for twenty
years past, Ireckon-the old Confeder-
ate soldier (who limped aboutawkward-
~ for he had lot of lead to carry) told
me the story, the other day, in the
Shenandoah. If it is untrue, or dull,
blame him, not me, I only give it as I
got it. Gen. "Jeb" Stuart was hang
ing on the Federal flank. His mid
night camp was pitched on the hillside.
Up the hill a little way a farm house !;
two or three hay-stacks hung upon the
hillside. The WORKOUT horses fed
there and nodded their heads drowsily
at the hay. All around on the ground
under the trees in camp the troopers
lay-black men. white men, brown men,
mon who were gray and old, little lads,
boys who had seen dozens of battles
and hardly yet as many years, a mixed
md motley lot: ragged, wretched, hun
cry. They lay on their bellies before
the fire, munching roasted corn, gnaw-
ing it off the cob greedily, husking it.,
roasting it, rolling it in the ashes or in
the Goals, singeing it in the blazing fire
of old Virginia fence rails. Now and
then shot rang out in the clear, still
night, away where the pickets met too
closely tor peace, and now and then bet.
ter disposed men on the picket lines,
or more favored and fortunate, met to-
gether and rea:hed each other On
their bayonets tobacco, and old ragged
newspapers, in sort of exchange of pris-
oners of war. The moon rose high and
white in thu great blue sea above, and
all the stars of heaven looked down in
pity and in peace.
Then q song burst out. The black
men were singing louder, sweeter, with
| more pathos and memories of home than
the white men. 1t was sad, grotesque,
weird and unique picture. Suddenly
Stuart stood in the midst of the ragged
and uproarious lot
"Disciplinel Look here, Sergt Zeb,
want discipline or death. Disci-
pline, I say. Do you expe It me to fight
battles and win victories with a bowling
mob like this, and the enemy right here
ready to recoil on us the moment we
give him chance! Discipline, say,
Hang your blacks and shoot your whites,
or have disciplined"
Silence in second And the long,
lean men and the sleeping lads pulled
themselves together and tried to look
and act like soldiers, while the blacks
at the suggestion of their being hung
up, melted back from the fitful embers
into the night, as if they were apart OF
it. Then the weary, bearded chief
threw himself on heap of saddles at
hand and forgot his sternness, as he
looked over the wretched group of poor
fellows gathered for little rest under
the oaks.
"Boys, I'm hungry, hungry as wolf
what have you got good to eat?"
A dozen men sprang up, a half-dozen
young beardless troopers rushed for.
ward. and from out of the night, back
under the trees, there came many BLACK
forms. And each and every one, blacl
and white men, old men and little boys
reached up and thrust into the chief
tain's hands, with generous alacrity, ar
ear of roasted corn. Some of these
ears of corn bad only few teeth.marks
in them, being almost entirely intact
Others again were pretty we'll gnaweG
down to the cob. But they were al
alike offered with prompt generosity.
"Cornl" and the Confederate chic
shook his head with grim and sickl,
smile, as he muttered to himself Corn
billed corn, roasted corn, raw corn, whit,
corn, red corn, all kinds of corn. No
no, boys, I'm hungry, but I can't ca
corn any more tonight" The me1
melted back in respectful silence into
broad circle. And there, suddenly
somehow, in the center of the circle
stood child, little boy, who had bee,
aroused from his sleep on the pile O
saddles in the conomotion that attended
the chieftain's coming. Aud now
wide awake, with little toy flag in on,
hand and a red apple in the other, thi
little boy stood there in the midst o
these wild and ragged men, with cheek
as rosy as the apple he held in hi
dim pied little hand.
flyer hungry, mister, captain, gen
| oAoA1 A0A NY JCu appAo, duu Will I'LL
the little boy toddled right up and stoo,
almost between the booted legs of tn
surprised soldier.
"Sergt. Zeb, where in all Jerich,
did this child come from? Is it yours
won't have children around me here
I left my babies home; can't you do tn,
same?"
"Tain't my poor little chickie, Gen
Stuart"
"Then take it to its mother" thun
dered the chief.
Its mother is dead, general"
ITO its father, them"
Its father is dead, too, general"
"Dead?"
dead. Killed in the battle vest g
day when you led over that ston
fence by the farm house on tn
hill, sah." The Confederate genera
bit his lips. Then, muttering to him
self as he rose up and turnet
half away: @Killed at the farm hous
where I led. Some poor farmer de