The Jackson standard. [volume] (Jackson C.H., Ohio) 1847-1888, 1888-06-14
"How Sleep the Brave
SOME THOUGHTS CONCERNING AN "UN-
KNOWN" GRAVE AT SHILOH

expression that starts such saddenet
train of thought through the human
mind as the simple legend unknown,
written upon the rough headboard O.
Soldiers grave. Such a grave, ant
such legend, rises up before us to
day. Who was he? What was he
What were his last experiences or
earth, and what the manner Of his
death? Vainly the mind seeks for an
answer, and in desperation we appeal
to Memory-oft times tickle quaint.
ty, but generally faithful recorder
of passing experiences. Even men,
ory hesitates, and sea Of uncertainty
lashes and beats against the senses.
But at last there is rift in the clouds,
a faint ray of light rapidly broadens
into a flood, and ere yet the mind can
realize the transformation, we are
looking away, through the mazy lab
arynths Of the past, contemplating a
small home on the banks Of the Mus
kingum. It is the typical country
home. Without, the house is ex-
cessively modest and unpretensious;
within, all is peace, and content
ment, and good cheer. In such a
home we find merry light-hearted
boy, possessed Of those qualities that
render him a desirable companion
among the young people, and an
equally acceptable friend among the
older people. A plain, modest, coun-
try life, yet with courage magnif-
cent in its proportions, and a wit as
keen as two-edged sword. It is the
life of an American boy. As Memory
slowly turns the kaleidoscope Of the
years, we catch glimpses of that life
now and then, as it advances along
the pathway of progress. We behold
our young friend as, in the Joy of ear
ly manhood, he stands at the altar
with fair maiden, where each SOL
emnly takes the marriage VOWS.
Along the Journey of the years still
we follow them; their home is the
home of peace and joy, the home of
christian aim and noble endeavor.
The oppressed ever finds welcome
there-the wrong-doer never. The
husband avows himself the firm friend
of right, and the bitter, uncompromis-
ing enemy of wrong. To know that one
was foe to liberty, was to consider
him a foe to himself. A well-round-
ed, earnest, prayerful, patriotic life.
Suddenly, sweeping over the hearts
of the north like wintry blast, comes
the reverbrating echoes of the South
ern guns, as they open upon the stars
and stripes, floating at the mast head
Of the Star of the West All is ex-
citement, and eagerness, and confu-
sion. Men bid farewell to their fam
lilies; lovers tear themselves away
from sweethearts, sisters and brothers
part. The braves are going to the
front. There, in the very foremost
file Of men, his kindly face somewhat
marked by advancing years, his head
slightly tinged with the frosts Of time,
marches our old friend. At the first
sound Of the shots OF traitors he hast
ened to enroll his name among his
country's defenders. Through the
three months service unharmed, we
behold him again marching away,
for three years or during the war"
He marches away at midnight. The
fife and drum has a weird, lonely
sound, as accompanied by the heavy
tramp of the men, it breaks on the
air. But they march away, the brave
men all. This life we have been con-
sidering is a typical American life-a
life to be proud of. Yet, as we look, the
gathering clouds of conflict drift be-
fore the vision, and we see him no
more.
Naturally, we look for him again
amid the exciting experiences of the
Southland. We prosecute our search
to the field of Shiloh. It is Sunday |
morning, and our thoughts revert to
our old friend. How we'll we remem-
ber our old friend, and his last "exper-
ience" talk in class meeting. Il co."
said he, ''to fight the battles of my |
country; it is not probable that you
will ever hear my voice again; but re-
member, my friends, that if [ fall,
I shall fall like a brave SOL
dier and die like a brave soldier"
Where is he who spoke those words? |
We are awakened from our reverie by
the sudden and awful clash of arms.
Ten thousand Confederate bayonets
CLEAN in the morning light, borne
by the hands of as many brave foes;
behind them come ten thousand more,
whose rifles flash in the faces of the
brave boys in blue; ten thousand more
take up the angry song of war, and
the battle is on.
Here the Union line wavers and
breaks; there it rallies and stands
firm; the smoke drifts heavily about
the field; the lurid fame of the shell,
the whistling of the bullets, the clash
of steel, the angry shouts of men, go
to complete the picture of mortal con-
fict, the like of which is seen
but once in a lifetime. Amid the
heaviest of the firing, and the hottest
of the conflict we glance for the mo-
ment, and there, lighted up by the
flame of hattie his face hearing the