Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1888-07-26
THE MYSTERIOUS PICKET.
He Counted Nine, Was One Short, But
Filled Up With a Dagger,

As the sun went down and darkness
began to creep over the face of the
earth, the angry artillery died away
and the crackle of musketry was less
spiteful. For while the fighting on
the extreme right hung on to settle the
question of who should occupy the old
earth-works, but at length dead silence
fell upon the whole field.
Silence? No! 1t was silence COM
pared to the awful roar of the long
afternoon, but it was silence broken
by the screams and groans and prayers
of wounded men-by the movements
of wagons and artillery-by the sub
dued voices of $4,000 men as they
camped for the night without fire and
anxiously debated the chances for the
MORROW.
The sergeant marches off to the left
at the head of half dozen men. He
drops man at post No. u and gives
him whispered instruction. 1t is the
same at posts 2, 3, 4, ETC., until the last
man has been stationed.
There must be yigilant, wakeful men
between friends and foe while the long
night wears away.
'EPost No. 81 is under a great beech
tree. Shot and shell have SCARED and
riyen its trunk, and shot and shell
have scattered and riven its thick
limbs. a quarter of a century hence
this tree will bear witness to the terri
bic struggle of today.
"From this tree to the edge of thar
thicket, and the countersign is Jus
tice,'" whispered the sergeant, and as
he passes on the picket takes up his
beat. He counts as he passes them by
one, two, three, four, five, six, seven,
eight. What? Corpses? They are lying
on the grass so near the path he travels
that he can touch any of them with his
foot. There are others to theright and
left, further away. 1t was here that
the enemy charged battery-here our
forces rallied to preserve it. Grape
shot and canister, bullet and bayonet,
found victims here. Some lay as if
asleep, worn out with the tremendous
conflict-others raved and prayed and
cursed God and man before death re-
leased them from their sufferings.
The picket counts them as he walks,
and sigh escapes his lips. Tomorrow
night some sentinel may number his
mutilated corpse with others on the
same meadow. Tomorrow night the
autumn winds may vainly seek to rouse
him from his death
From tree to thicket and turn. From
thicket to tree and turn. He must
watch and listen and be on his guard,
but by and by he finds time to count
again. One-two-three- four-fve-
Observation-Disclosures! What! He
counted only eight before! Was he
mistaken, or can the dead of the bat
tle-feld creep and crawl? Six-seven-
eight-nine. Yes, there are nine. In
the darkness he had made a mistake.
Nine! Well, what matters one more
or less corpse upon battlefield?
To the tree and turn. To the thicket
and turn. AS he heads for the tree
again the ninth corpse assumes a sit
ting position and looks after him. A
moment later it struggles up and a
figure goes creeping after the picket.
The grass in the meadow is thick and
matted. His footballs give out no
sound. STANDARDIZATION as the
shadow of death creeping creeping,
and now he is close upon the lone
picket. There is a CLEAN of steel in
the darkness-a swift and powerful
blow, and he who was placed to watch
will watch no more.
Through the gaps the spies will pour
in and skulk about the camp; regi-
ment will be silently advanced to the
key position; the ghouls will scent plum
der and creep up to rob the dead.
The picket had counted: Seven
eight-ninen'
There is no missing corpse. The
number has been made good!-Detr0H
Free Press.