The daily citizen. [volume] (Asheville, N.C.) 1889-1890, 1889-11-05
A RUIN OF THE WAR.
THE OLD U. 3. ARSENAL AT
FAYETTEHILL-E.

The Observer Paints the Scene
With the Hand of Master and
the Heart of "a Loving Patriot
A Melancholy Scene.
We take the following from the Fay
ettcville Observer. 1t has relation to
the United States arsenal which stood
on the brow of the hill known as Hay
Mount, overlooking the town of Fay
etteville 1t had been made most beau
tiful place, principally under the long ad-
ministration of Captain, afterwards Col.
Bradford of the artillery. He was a gen
tlcman of taste and culture, and i'll the
piping times OF peace, of leisure; and
that leisure he had spent to improve and
beautify the grounds and buildings until
he had smoothed away etfectually the
frowns of grim visagea war. When war
did come, it came to the people OF Fay
etteville as a solemn Joke, rather than re-
alitv. The arsenal was there, the prop
erty of the enemy, and menace to safety;
but it was garrisoned by friends, and
commanded by gentlemen in intimate
social relation with the citizens. Violence
was out of the question; force was only
form. The surrender was made as
pleasant as an old field muster could
make it. Nobody was hurt, and every
one was in laughing humor. 1t was
years after and rebuked the levity OF that
occasion by his lerocious retributiOn; for
everything on the arsenal grounds was
obliterated, and made the waste it is to-
day:
A walk along the brow Of the hill skirt
ing the grounds, and overlooking the
town set in it's amphitheatre of hills now
glowing and blushing in the deep hues OF
natures own adjoining, gives one ta1r
picture.
As we strolcd through this quiet
neighborhood the other evening, the up
rising smoke OF the city pierced the haze
| through which the sunlight struggled,
and hoatcd lazily above autumn's rus
set foliage mantling the housetop and
spire, while behind us lay the cold, gray
ruins, but not voiccless. They are elo-
quent of the past, which, alas. has
slipped by us with its shifting scenes ir-
revocably garrison life in the piping
times of peace" with the good old com
mandants, Schwartzman, Bradford,
Dyer and Laidley, and the venerated
William Bell (whose beautiful grand
children we fondled on Hay street an
hour ago. and the stalwart old Scotch
man, McPhail, and the stern Hibernian,
Monaghan, whose menaclng cane struck
terror to the treSpaSslng SchOol-bOy' S
heart, and the SundOwn bell with the
flag dropping earthward, like beau
tiiul bird seeking rest on the sward,
and the Fourth of July fireworks, when
great crowds thronged the lovely
grounds. A little later on, when the
cloud at first mo bigger than mans
hand" was enveloping the whole land III
darkness, and the portentous whispers
at first, like the muffled murmuring o.
lar-off waters, had swollen into the
hoarse voices of impassioned men about
to engage i'll deadly strife, when the gal
liant D'Lagnel surrendered to an over
powering force under the command of the
lamented General Draughon and Colone
Cook-a band OF patriots who wOulC
have died right there, but whose i'll
experience in warfare nevertheless i'll
terjected exquisite comedy through al
the incidents of that historic day.
: Lieutenant Walsh, in charge of thu
artillery, borrowing port-tire from th'
belcaguered garrison with which to fire ;
, triumphant salvo over it's capitulation
and the immortal reply of brave ole
: Captain Bulla as to the number OF mel
and rounds of ammunition he had
!, Farther on still, when the country wa
j devastated its resources like lcmol
D squeezed of its pulp, and the army was
skeleton, and it's soldiers were scare
D crows OF hardship and privation, an,
! they turned Sulenlv like noble lions a
! bay, and fought i'll our streets, an
I crossed the river to fight in the woods
IL and then the magnificent building of tn
arsenal melted away in great caldro
= of flame like wax in the chemists rctort
II or were hurled into the air by explosion
/ that seemed to rend the very earth, an
everywhere there were raging fires, an
) lurid columns of smoke, and the tram
+ of invading hosts, and the jeers an
+ T. cries of theving hordes.
IN These are the only ruins in our mids
Stout arms have rebuilt the waste place
and stout hearts have put away tt
ashes of the dead past; the fortunes
other days have been scattered to Il
winds of heaven, and our fathers WI
le amassed them have passed into that Ii
L which needs for it's completeness nothir
X, of mans gains or achievements; bu
ID where they rest in the city whose silen
OF not even earth's artillery can picrC
TX loving hearts cherish the memorial shat
ST and loving hands keep green the Sc
ne above their heads.