Shepherdstown register. [volume] (Shepherdstown, Va. [W. Va.]) 1849-1955, 1884-10-31
A DABY's FLAG.

Grizzled end gray, dazed and iadolent,
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 be-
hind-no Christmas turkey for him this
year; not for twenty years past, reckon
the old Confederate soldier (who limped
about awkwardly, for he had lot of lead
to carry) told me the story, the other day,
in the Shenandoah. If tits untrue, or dull,
blame him, not me, only give it as got
il. General "Jeb" Stuart was hanging on
the Federal flank. His midnight camp
was pitched on the hillside. Up the hill
n little way lay farm house; two or three
haystacks hung upon the hillside. The
worn-out horses fed there and nodded
their drowsy heads to the hay. Allaround
OH the ground under the trees in camp
the troopers lay-black mea, white men,
brown men, men who were gray and old,
little lads, boys who had seen dozens OF
battles and hardly yet as many years,
mixed and motley lot; ragged, wretched,
hungry. They lay before The fire, munch-
ing roasted corn, gnawing it off the cob
greedily, husking it, roasting it, rolling
it in the ashes on the Goals, singcing 1t In
the blazing fire of old Virginia fence rails.
Now and then n shot rang out III the clear,
still night, away where the pickets met
too closely for peace, and now ana theh
better disposed men on the picket lines,
or more favored and fortunate, met to-
gether and reached each other on their
bayonets tobacco, and old ragged ncwspa-
pers, in sort of exchange Of prisoners OF
war. The moon rode high and white in
the great blue sea above, and all the stars
of heaven looked down in pity and in
peace.
Then n song burst out. The black men
were singing louder, sweeter, with more
pathos and memories of home than the
white men. twas sad, grotesque, weird
and unique picture. Suddenly Stuart
stood in the midst of the ragged and up
roarious lot.
"Discpline, Look here, Sergeant Zcb,
[ want discipline or death. Discipline, l
say. DO you want me TO fight battles and
win victories with bowling mob like this
and the enemy right here waiting to rccoil
on us the moment we give him chance !
Discipline, say. Hang your blacks, and
shoot your whites; or have discipline! ~
Silence in Il second. And the long, lean
men, and the sleeping lads pulled them
selves together and tried to look and act
like soldiers, while the blacks, at the sug-
gcstion OF their being hung up, melted
back from the fitful embers into the night
as If they were a part of it. Then the
weary, bearded chier Threw himself on
heap Of saddles at hand and forgot his
sternness, as he looked about 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 TO eat?''
A dozen men sprang up, half dozen
young, beardess troopers rushed forward,
and from out Of the night, back under the
trees, there came many black forms. And
each and every one, black and white men,
old men aud little boys, reached up and
thrust into the chicftain's hands, with
generous alacrity, an ear of roasted corn.
Some Of these ears of corn had only few
teeth-marks in them, being almost entirely
intact. Others again were pretty well
gnawed down to the cob. But they were
all alike offered with prompt generosity.
"Corn." and the Confederate chief
shook his head with grim and sickly
smile, as lie muttered to himself: Corn!
billed corn, roasted corn, raw corn, white
corn, red corn, all kinds of corn. No, no,
boys, Pm hungry, but | can't eat corn
any more tonight" The men melted
back in respectful silence into broad cir
Gle. And there, suddenly, somehow, in
the certre of the circle, stood child,
little boy, who had been aroused from his
sleep on the pile of saddles in the commo-
ton that attended the chieftain's coming.
And now, wide awake, with little toy
flag in one hand and red apple in the
other, this little boy stood there in the
midst of these wild and ragged men, with
cheeks as rosy as the apple he held in his
dimpled little hand.
"If yer hungry, mister, captain, gen.
cral here's my yed apple and with this
the little boy toddled right up and stood
almost between the booted legs Of the sur
prised soldier.
Sergeant Zeb, where in all Jericho did
this child come from? Is it yours? | won't
have children around me here. / left my
babies home; didn't you do the same?"
"'Tain't my poor little chickie, General
Stuart"
"Thcn take it to it's mother, :" thundercG
the chief.
"It's mother is dead, general"
"To lis father, then"
"It's father is dead, too, general"
"Dead?"
"Dead. Killed in the battle yesterday
when you led over that stone fence by the
farm house on the hill, sab. The Confed-
crate general bit his lips. Then, mntter-
ing to himself as he rose up and turned
halt away: "Killed at the farm house
where / led Some poor farmer defend
ing his home and little ones. can't stand
thisr"
"Please, sir, Mister General, won't you
take my yed apple? Papa growed it in
his orchard. And he buyed me-that, too"
Here the child reached It's little flag,
irving hard to make friends with the SEEM