Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1889-11-24
THE SOLDIERS DREAM
A Thanksgiving Evening BiVOuac on
a Southern Battlefield.
SLEEPING In TIE MUD AND RAIN.
A Weary Warriors Vision of Youth, Home
and Love.
AWAKENED BY THE BATTLES ROAR
LEEPING IN TIE MUD AND RAIN.
AWAKENED BY THE BATTLES ROAR
WRITTEN FOR THE p1spArcE.1


All day long through the pouring rain,
through mud churned into a sticky, pasty
mass by the feet of men and horses, and cut
into deep gullies by the ponderous wheels,
without rest, with scarce morsel to eat,
save that hurriedly snatched from the hav-
ersack, cold, wet, footsore and weary, the
column has held its way, till at nightfall,
for the first time, comes the welcome order
to halt
Thanksgiving evening; what contrast!
Far away in the North, in the homes which
these men are seeking to defend, there is
comfo4t and good cheer; there is music and
there is dancing; the sound of happy voices,
and if, perchance, shadow falls when now
and ther comes thought of the absent, it is
quickly raised, for realization is not there,
and then is 1t not Thanksgiving? But what
is there to give thanks for here? To these
thousands OF exhausted, famished men this
is the eve of battle, and to many the eve of
death. For them there is no music tonight
but the mourniul sough OF the wind through
the leafess branches, no comfort but bit of
hsrdtack washed down, perhaps, by a
draught of bitter, black coffee, and after
that a bed on the cold earth meath the
dripping skies. No comfort. Stay; there
is one, Que thing at least to be thankful Tor,
il is rest, sleep, and in the land of dreams
TO forget. Not dreams of blood and car
mage. of hardsnipand wretchedness. o, no,
for be .ore its kind fairy, who there leads the
wanderer on, evil things and darkness fly.
What is it that is passing through the
mind of that stalwart fellow, who with sew
eral OF his comrades, has thrown himself
IL r. 8 I r.
is il that makes the hard lines on
causes the sleeper to look almost
as if he were young again, and
why that smile? the smile that his mother
might have remembered as his when a boy.
The answer is simple; it is because he is
boy, q boy again. Time to him was turned
backward in its flight and the rain that is
splashing heavily around and upon him is
the gentle patter of a summer shower falling
upon the roof of the old, red barn at home,
the old, red barn, wherein on rainy days
like this one, he and other lads, happy
in a respite from work or school, were wont
TO enjoy themselves as only country boys
know how. Or he is coming through the
meadows, through the long, sweet grass,
over which the shadows are creeping from
the West, with dog at his heels, and the
on before. How pleasant and peaceful it is,
in the barnyard where the milking is
going on.
THE TINGE OF BLOOD.
He sees it all just as it used to be, and
vet, tits funny, but why does that reddish
tinge on the creamy foam, cast by the light
of the setting sun, make him think of
blood? He stirs uneasily but does not
orr 10 of TNro hr1fo nl-nf
that for moment illumined with sicklv
glare the misty darkness-the boom of some
distant gun. The opposing watch fires,
like the many eyes of two giant monsters
who will at dawn fly at each others throats,
glow sullenly and red; the rain is still fall
ing, but the soldier sleeps on.
Again with the changing scene he is
seated at his fathers Widespread table on
this same Thanksgiving Day. Faces
not seen for many day, and some that have
long been dust How happy he is, and
what an appetItel How delicious the smell
Of the old gobbler, stuffed to the bursting
point with luscious dressing; and that plum
pudding-what fragrance in its steam !
Once more waves the fairy wand,
and as young man he has
scored his first great success. No
matter what tits modest one
enough, no doubt, but to him it is great, and
30 thinks she to whom be is telling it, to-
gether with another story-the only one that
never grows wearisome with repeating. How
pleased is the girl; how she smiles, and,
blushing, looks down only to raise her eyes
again the next moment to the eager, conf
dent face of her young lover. Little she
puesses what will happen ere they two have
trodden lies path to its ending; that the
future is to tell. And SO the pictures come
and 90, but always touched with light, as
gaily roams the warrior through the happy
past, till all too soon the morning star is !
shining.
What was that! Surely not the growing
of a cock, of the honest. old chanticleer, |
whose loud clarion was wont to herald the |
day in the long ago? If yes, then has his |
voice become strangely altered; it is a |
shrek, a scream, like the wall of a lost I
soul, the war cry Of demon. And those |
other sounds; what can they be? Is it? |
Soldier arise, tits the shrek of the shell that |
fills thy dream ear, the roll of the alarm |
drum, the thunder of cannon. The combat, |
which had ragged the day before, has opened |
again, even sooner than was expected. bv a !
sudden, combined movement OF the whole |
line. 1t is rude awakening, |
indeed, but the gallant fellows are no slug
cards. Before the quick commands of |
"Fall in therel fall inl Close upp' are
scarce uttered, every man is on
his feet. Hunger, WEAKNESS, all are forgot.
ten, and in their place cleaning in eyery
eve and throbbing In every nerve is the /
wild, fierce thrill of battle. Crash! the
ground shakes. The rising sun, bursting
through the cloud rack, touches for an in
slant the crimson and blue of the starry
banner and gilds the polished steel, then is |
IL Il
out of whose depths blazes the death light
ming. Men fall, singly, by tWos and threes.
and here and there by scores, but the gaps |
thus formed close quickly. and grim and |
defiant the veterans stand firm, waiting for |
The order to charge.
THE CHARGE.
It comes at last and with ringing cheers
away they go-down the slope and across
the fields where lately waved the golden
yrain, but where now another harvest is
being reaped; over fences and yonder wall
IF stone to where blue and gray seem to
ningle and fame meets flame in sheets of
fire. Listen to the death rattle
ior surely that crash of musketry is nothing
Use. 1t sounds all the palmer now that the
ieeper thunder of the batteries covering the
advance is for the moment hushed. There
s music enough this morning, but tits of q
Iind that the turkey-stufing, champagne
-uzzling stay-at-homes would hardly care to
lance to- Louder and louder sounds this
lreadful music. Hotter and fiercer
rages the fight advanced, forced
Jack, a point gained here and there another
ost, writhing like monstrous serpents,
truggle the serried lines until-can it be?
Yes; the blue falters, wavers and then back
yard reels, while above the bowling of the
wful storm peals again and again the rebel
ell. They fly; the forces of the Union flee
eadlong in mad disaster, and seel To