The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1884-08-26

7, AUGUST 26, 1884
THE BURIAL OF A SOLDIER.
"A Pathetic Sketch for the Gallant
Boys Who Fought.
One That Will he Read With Tears
by Many a Mother aud Sister as
They Think of Their Dead.
Some of the boys will remember the
day we buried Billy Taylor, private, e
company. l remember it, because 1t was
the first time ever marched 10 military
funeral, and / was only boy; hadn't
seen my nineteenth year then, and /
wasn't much taller than the nusket car.
riei. Billy wasn't killed 10 the battle. He
had passed through dozen fights every
time the Forty.seventh went in, he was
close BY the colors, and shot or bullet
never touched him, but the god Of war
demanded more lives than the rife or
cannon could pour upon his reeking al
1ta1s, and so,death, wearying, may be Of
the red carnage OF the Held, often came
to our tent to select victim for the sac
|rifice. SO Billy was excused from duty
one dav, and sat about in the tent and
tried to shake of the sickness that came
creeping over him, apd had time TO write
Ipart OF letter, aud then he planned
what he would do tomorrow. Aud the
next day he was excused again and stay.
cd in his bunk, bat 1t was hard, and he
could feel the knots 10 the board under
The blanket, and il made him restless, and
he thought il he didn't feel better to-
morrow-but he knew he would-he
would 60 to the regimental hospital
And the next dav he was better; so
much better that he vas pronounced
we'll, and his name was stricken from the
sick list. 1t was also stricken from the
company roll, and he was marked off
duty forever. Six men we're detailed for
pall-bearers,. corporal and eight men
for escort, and following marched the
men and of1,ers Of the COMPANY, 10 the
inverse order OF their rank. Somehow,
the sunshine seemed din and misty as
the muliled drums spoke mournfully and
our slow steps seemed to be marked of
by heart breaking so5s in distant home
away up in the far away northland. The
wailing fifes breatted the pathetic strains
Of the "The Land O. the Lsap until the
air seemed filed with tears:
There's nae sorrow there. Jean,
| There's neither cauld nor care, Jean,
| The day is ever fair
| In the land O the leal.
We could hear the sweet voices OF
women, tremulous, grief stricken, in the
mourning 6fes. Women? Since he
kissed mother, sister and sweetheart
goodbye 10 the Prairie State he had
not heard a womsn's voice syllable his
name His last dying looks we're bent
upon bronzed, bearded faces; and the
kind bands that dressed him for the fu-
neral march we're ha-d, calloused with
toll and war, aud scented only with the
cartridges they bad last han lied.
Tue voice OF woman would have
sounded 20 him like the blessing Of God.
To die, 80 far away from home; to die
and know that at that moment, ignorant
of his passing. the dearest of earth we're
Joyous, singing, laughing. may be; to
die and know that the days would creep
on into weeks. and the weeks drag on
into months before they, whose names
were quivering on his loving. praying
lips, would know it; to die and know
they would be still writing letters to him
when his eyes would be closed and the
heart that longed and loved would he
still forever. 1t is q sad, sad tn ng to
bury soldier.
But sorrows sell wears past. Jean,
And joys a comiu' fast, Jean,
The joy that's aye to last. Jean,
In the land o the leal.
And thev-what would be the measure
of their sorrow In the stricken home ?
His dying kiss. his last good the low.
ing look in the closing eyes, the peace
that death would print upon his face
they would never see it,,hey would never
hear it, they could never know it, What
wonder our soldier hearts were heavy as
the burden on the bier aud our tears we're
faster than our measured stepsl Aud
the mournful drums, in their sad mono
tone, pattering like tears upon coffin
lid, sobbed on like the murmurous rush.
ing of troubled stream, hushing the
shrill grief of the complaining flies, soft
ening their cries into the plaintive moan.
ing of sorrow that has wept its vio-
lence away, and mourns with the whis.
psrs OF the plaintive night wind.
"Halt!" and how softly ,he corporal
voiced his orders. "Rsst on-armsl'
The chaplain is reading something from
the only book men read at that time:
II am the resurrection and the life
he that believeth in Me, though he we're
dead, yet shall he live. And whosoever
believeth in Me shall never die"
With broken voice he prays above the
dead, and our hearts echo his prayer as
they seem to lie In. the rude coffin with
our comrade.
Attention! Shoulder-srms! Load
at will-6rem
How the ringing volleys over the
grave, making Thousand discordant
echoes in the woods about os, break in
abruptly and harshly on our grief.
"By platoon, right wheel-march
CoIumn forward, guide left, quick
march j.
Cheerily the ffes sing out the dancing |
measures OF "Gsrry o wen," merrily rat
tie the close strung, spirited and inspir-
ing drums, with pieces at "right shoul
der" gaily back to the camp we march.
ed.
What! we have followed the dead sol
dier and stood in tears ny bis lonely
grave-we have been away from camp
nearly two hours-aud the world hasn't
slipped cog; it hasn't stood still sec
ond. The second relief had just gone
on when we went out, and there goes the |
third marching out now.
What are those drums for2 Fall in
e. l.