The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1889-08-19
AN ECHO OF ANTIETAM.
tFrom the July Century,

/
march were already being decorated with
flags and garlands The city that afternoon
was full of soldiers enjoying their last leave
| OF absence. The liquor shops were crowded
with parties OF them drinking with their
friends, while others in threes and fours,
| with locked arms. paraded the streets singing
| patriotic songs, sometimes In rather maudlin
voices, Tor today in every saloon soldier
may enter citizens wed for the privilege of
treating him to the best in the house. No
man in blue coat was suffered to pay for
anything.
| For the most part, however, the men were
| sober enough over their leave-taking. One saw
| everywhere soldiers and civilians, strolling
in pairs, absorbed in earnest talk. They are
brothers, maybe, who have come away from
the house to be alone with each other, while
they talk of family affairs and exchange last
charges and promises as to what is to be done
II anything happens, Or perhaps they are
business partners, and the one who has put
tne conntrys business before his own Is
giving MS last counsels as to how the store
or the Shop shall be managed in his absence.
MARY of the blue-clad men have women
With them, and these are the couples that
! the people oftenest turn to look at The girl
who has a soldier lover is the envy of her
companions today as she walks by his side.
Her proud eyes challenge all who come,
saying, 'See, this is my hero / am the one
he loves"
You could easily tell when it was wife
and not a sweetheart whom the soldier had
with him. There was no challenge in the
eyes of the wife. Young romance shed none
of its glamour on the sacrifice she was making
for her native land. 1t was only because
they could not bear to sit any longer looking
at each other in the house that she and her
husband had come out to walk.
| In the residence parts of the town family
| groups were gathered on shady piazzas,
blue-coated figure the centre of each. They
were trying to talk cheerfully, making an
effort even to laugh a little. Now and then
one of the women stole unobserved from the
circle, but her bravely smiling face as she
| presently returned gave no inkling of the
flood of tear that had eased her heart in
some place apart. The young soldier him.
| self was looking little pale and nervous
with all his Effected good spirits, and it was
| safe to guess that he was even then thinking
| how often this scene would ceme before him
| afterward, by the campfire and on the eve of
| battle
In the village of Upton, some four OF five
miles out of Waterville, on a broad piazza at
| the side OF house on the main street,
group OF four persons were seated around
| tea table.
The centre of interest of this group, as of
SO many others that day, was a soldier. He
| looked not over twenty-five, with dark blue
| eyes, dark hair cut close to his head, and
moustache trimmed crisply in military fash
| ion. His uniform set off to advantage an
athletic figure of youthful slenderness, and
| his brOnZed complexion told of long DAYS of
| practice on the drill ground in the school of
| the company and the battalion. He wore the
| shoulder straps of a second lieutenant.
On one side of the soldier sat the Rev. Mr..
Morton, his cousin, and on the other Miss
Bertha Morton, kindly-faced, middle-aged
| lady, who was her brothers housekeeper
| and the hostess of this occasion.
| The fourth member Of the party was girl
OF nineteen or twenty. She was a very
pretty girl, and although today her pallid
cheeks and red and swollen eyelids would
to other eyes have detracted somewhat from
her charms, it was certain that they did not
make her seem less adorable to the young
ofhcer, for he was her lover and was to march
with the regiment in the morning
Lieutenant Phillip King was lawyer, and
by perseverance and native ability had
worked up fair PRACTICE for so young a man
in and around Upon. When he volunteered
hO huu w ino.n6 up HIS mluu W lcdN6 ILLS
carefully gs.nered cientage to scatter or be
nicheu Tom him by less patriotic rivals; but
IT MAJ we'll be BELOVED that this seemed to
hl..a little thing compared with leaving
Grace Roberts, with the chance OF never re.
had been for him to say, he would have
| placed his happiness beyond hazard by mar
| rying her before the regiment marched; nor
| would she have been averse, but her mother,
| an invalid widow, took sensible rather than
| sentimental view of the case. If he were
| killed, she said, wife would do him no good
| and If he came home again, Grace would be
| waiting for him, and that ought to satisfy
| reasonable man. 1t had to satisfy an I'M
reasonable one. The Robertses had always
lived just beyond the garden from the par
| sOnage, and Grace, who from little girl had
| been great pet of the childless minister and
| his sis er, was almost as much at home there
| as in her mothers house. When Phillip fell
| in love with her the Mortons were delighted
| They could have wished nothing better for
| either. From the first Miss Morton had done
| all she could to make matters smooth Tor the
| lovers, and the present little farewell banquet
was but the last of many meetings she had
prepared for them at the parsonage.
| Philip had come out from camp on three
| hours leave that afternoon, and would have
| to report again at half-past Z IL was nearly
that hour now, though still light, the season
| being midsummer. There had been an effort
| on the part of all to keep up. cheerful tone;
| but as the time of the inevitable separation
|
and more left to the minister and his sister.
who, with observations sometimes little
| forced, continued to fend off silence and the
Generalization it would be likely to bring to
their young friends, Grace had been the
| first to drop out of the talking, and Philips
| answers, when he was addressed. grew more
| and more at random, as the meetings of his
| eyes with his sweetheart's became more fire.
/ quent and lasted longer.
| "He will be the handsomest officer in the
| regiment. that's one comfort. Won't he,
| Grace? ?" said Miss Morton, cheeriy.
| The girl nodded and smiled family. Her
| eyes were brimming, and the twitching of
her lips from time to time betrayed how great
was the effort with which she kept her self
| command.
looks very well now, it is nothing to the inn
| posing appearance he will present when he
comes back with colonel's shoulder straps.
| You should be thinking of that, Grace"
81 expect we shall hear from him every
day." said Miss Morton. He will have no
excuse for not writing, with all those en-
| paper in them, which Grace has given him.
You should always have three or four in
| your coat pocket, Phil"
The young man nodded.
| Il suppose for the most part we shall learn
of you through Grace; but you mustn't for
get us entirely, my bey," said Mr.. Morton.
1--WE shall want to hear from you directly
now and then"
| = L eS, l. III Dt sure 10 WTlLt, IHlllp TepNeu
81 suppose it will be time enough to see the
regiment pass If we are in our places by
O'clock" suggested Miss Morton, after a
silence
81 think so," said her brother. ut is a
great affair to break camp, and | don't be-
Iieve the march will begin till after the time. ;
flames has got us one of the windows Of
Ray and Seymaur's Office, you know, Philip"
resumed Miss Norton (which one did you
say, Jamess"
"The north one."
"Yes, the north one," she resumed. "They
| say every window on Main street along the
route of the regiment is rented. Grace will
be with us, you know. You mustn't forget
| to look up at us as you go by"-as II the
| Young man were likely to.
He was evidently not now listening to her
| at all. His eyes were fastened upon the
girls opposite him, and they seemed to have
| quite forgotten the others. Miss Morton and
her brother exchanged compassionate glances
Tears were in the lady's eyes. A clock in
| the sitting-room began to strike!
Zone, two, three, four, five, six, seven"
Philip started.
huskily. No one replied at once. Then Mr..
| Morton said :,