Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1885-08-17
The Colonel.
.sWhat has become of Lenoir ?"
eyes. where is Lenoir ?''

comprising the bulk of the member
ship of Garfield Post, No. 3, grand
army of the republic, had regarded
as downright grievance call to at
tend meeting for the transaction of
special business, appointed at the
very inconvenient hour of two IN the
afternoon. They had responded to
the order under protest. taken part in
the proceedings with an abstracted
air, fumed at the break in their daily
routine, ostentatiously consulted their
watches with the anxiety of men who
are neglecting important engage
ments, and when the meeting at
length adjourned, gathered into cosy
knots here and there, and settled
down for comfortable chat and the
revival of old army "reminiscences.
The first speaker, Jim Brewster,
was lumber merchant who had ac-
quired extensive tracts of land cover
ed with forest growth second only
to the big trees of the Calaveras and
Mariposa groves. He had SO pros
pered in his business ventures that
his name had become identified with
the natural product he ruled in the
commercial world, and he had gained
the sobriquet of the prince of Red
wood. He had lately purchased a
large piece of land at the foot of
Sixth street, including within its
boundaries that unsavory but class
ical region on the banks of Mission
creek, known as "the Dumps" where
the Italian scavenger had from time
immemorial deposited the contents of
their carts, and raked the putrid and
decaying masses of paper, scraps of
| old iron and other articles of COM
merce, as well as the pieces of plate
benevolentIy dropped into the ash
barrel by careless servants. Mission
creek, at high tide, is for considera-
BILE distance a navlgable stream, and
it was generally conceded that Brew
ter's branch yard was shrewd ven-
ture, and would soon turn the tide of
traffic from the crowded thoroughfare
of Steuart street. The prince of Red
wood himself had felt all the glow of
prudent mans sagacity, but stormy
interview in the underwater Office that
noon had disturbed the serenity with
which he had hitherto viewed his new
acquisition. Meeting some old CON-
rades, men of his own regiment, who
had fought side by side with him
through the four years of the civil
war, he cast aside the perplexities of
the day and plunged with eager zest
into an animated discussion of past
campaigns, in the course of which he
made the inquiry which heads this
chapter. The question was repeated
by an echoing chorus.
"Lenoir?" The speaker who vol
unteered reply was member of
that very agreeable and highly enter
tanning class of individuals who are
commonly accredited with the posses
sion of universal knowledge, and
whose information is about as diffuse
and inexact as the average encyclo-
padia of biography. ''Lenoir's wife
died just before he was mustered out
in '65. Broke him all up for awhile,
but he rallied and went down to Flor
ida, invested in an orange grove and
lives on the fat OF the land"
"He was an odd fellow-Lenoir,
remarked gray bearded veteran who
endeavored to reconcile his predilec-
ton for powder and cold steel by
keeping gun-shop in Bush street.
"Odd! there wasn't nobler fellow
in the service. He was a hero, if
ever one existed" Brewster spoke
with such unwonted energy that the
others looked at him in surprise, for
he was generally regarded as phleg-
matte in society and cold-b -blooded in
his business relations. He cooled
down little as he observed the SEN
sation his remark had created, and
exchanged his enthusiasm for dry,
argumentative tone.
| sYou know was mere boy when
I enlisted. Some of our folks knew
Lenoir; my mother spoke to him the
day we marched, and-well, I could
tell you thing or two about the col
onel that none of you ever knew. I'm
not gong to gush over the man, but
you may be interested to hear of a
little incident that happened in cast
ern Tennessee. You remember July,
1856, when we marched through the
mountains and camped in a narrow
defile they called rattlesnake pass
By George! | shall never forget the
place to the day of my death; shut
in by steep, rocky walls, loose sand
underfoot, not green leaf or blade
of grass to be seen, outside of q
scant greenfringe bordering the stary.
ing brook that trickled along one
side. / noticed such things and car.
ed more about them than the Older
men. When / joined the army was
just turned eighteen, and chuck full
, of patriotic fire, ravlng over the JUS
tice of our cause, ambitious to carr
distinction, greedy for carnage ane
bloodshed. One year had cooled mt
down in wonderful way, and tht
cause might have gone to thunder fol
all that l cared that night. l woult
have relinqnished the goriest battl'
that ever was fought to be bacl