The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1884-10-18
A BABY'S FLAG.
BY JOAQUIN MILLER.

BY JOAQUIN MILLER.
Gr;Zzled 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, reckon the old Confeder-
ate soldier (who limped about awkward
ly for he had lot OF lead to carry told
me the story, the other day, in the
Shenandoah. Ii it is untrue, or dull,
blame him, not me, only give it as [
got it. Gen. "Jeb" Stuart was hang
ing on the Federal flank His mid
night camp was pitched on the hillside
Up the hill 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,
men who were gray and old, little lads,
boys who had seen dozens of battles
and hardly yet as many years, a mixed
and motley lot: ragged, wretched, hun
SIJ. lucy nay Ol lutIE Dtii les DtIOfe
the fire, munchlng roasted corn, gnaw-
ing it off the cob greedily, husking it,
roasting 1t, rolling it IN tue ashes or in
the Goals, slngeing 1t In the blazing fire
of old Virginia fence rails. Now and
then shot rang ont in the clean, still
night, away where the pickets met too
closely for peace, and now aud then bet
ter disposed men Oh the picket lines,
or more favored and fortunate, met to-
gether and rea he'd 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 ia the great blue sea above, and
all the stars of heaven looked down in
pity and in peace.
Then 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.
Disciplined Look here, Sergt. Zeb,
L want discipline or death. Disci-
pline, L say. Do you expect me to fight
battles and win victories with bowling
mob ike this, and the enemy right here
ready to recoil on US the moment we
give him a chance Discipline, [ say,
Hang your blacks and shoot your whites,
or have disciplinep
Silence in a 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 ftful 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, black
and white men, old men and little bows,
reached mp and thrust into the chief
tain's hands, with generous alacrity, an
ear of roasted corn. Some of these
ears of corn lad 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 a grim and sickly
smile, as he muttered to himself Corn
billed corn, roasted corn, raw corn, white
corn, red corn, all kinds of corn. No,
no, boys, I'm hungry, but / can't eat
corn any more tonight" The men
melted back in respectful silence into
broad circle. And there, suddenly,
somehow, in the center of the circle.
stood child, a little boy, who had been
aroused from his sleep on the pile of
saddles IN the cOmmoGon that attended
the chleftain's coming. Aud 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
flyer hungry, mister, captain. gen
eral, hers my yed apple" and with this
the little boy toddled right up and stood
almost between the booted legs of the
surprised soldier
"Sergt. Zeb, where in all Jericho
did this child come from? Is it yours?
L won't have children around me here.
left my babies home; can't you do the
same?"
"Tain't my poor little chickie, Gen.
Stuart"
Then take it 20 its mother" thun-
dered the chief.
Its mother is dead, general"
To its father, then"
Its father is dead, too, general"
"Dead?"
Dead. Killed in the battle vest err
day when you led over that stone
fence by the farm house on the
hill, sab" The Confederate general
bit his lips. Then, muttering to him
sell as he rose up and turned
half away Killed at the farm house
where l led. Some poor farmer de-
Tending his home and little ones.
can't stand this!'
Please, sir, Mister General. won't
you take my yed apple? Papa growed
II IN his orchard. And he buved me
that, too" Here the child reached it's
little flag, trying hard to make friends
with the seemingly hard man, who was
turning away as if to avoid it.
"Sergt. Zeb, where did that flag
come from?n
Had 1t IN its hand when | found it,
sab; 1t won't give it up, sab; says it's
father gave 1t to it for the Fourth of
July, sah.7
"Fotf of July" piped the little waif.
waving the little stars and stripes over
head, there in the midst of the dark and
gathering circle of soldiers under the
oaks. The general turned, stopped and
caught the child in his arms.
Keep your pretty little flag, and
wave it when and where you like. You
do Mt know the difference, and / wish T