St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1890-01-05
THE LITTLE HERO.
4 New Years Story of the War.

a New Years Story of the War.
am not much Of q story teller. Nor
is it much Of Il story l have to tell. 1t
only about little Virginia boy VINO
died before he was eleven years old,
and yet he had suffered more affection
and displayed more heroiSm than nine-v
tenths of the men who die at mature,
age. | call it New Years story be-
cause this little boys birthday was on
New Years, and because it was New
Years morning, 1868, the day he was
tel years old, that he appeared in The
camp of Virginia regiment camped
near Spottsylvania, and astounded the
colonel by asking to be enrolled as a
soldier in his command.
But must not anticipate, SO we will
go back and commence at the begin
ming. Capt. Peeler could tell this story
better than can, but as he is not herer
to tell it we will dispense with the
graphic and ornate and give the sub
stance in homely language that all little
folks who are fond of New Years
stories can comprehend.
At the outbreak of the war Charles
Murray was the foreman of WOODEN
mill at Fredericksburg, and had a very
happy life with his wife and one child,
a son, in their little vine-covered cot
tage in the suburbs of the historic old
town. The home stood on slight emf
nence overlooking the classic Kappa
hammock, and from the front porch one
could see the spot where the mother of
George Washington lies buried in neg
lected grave. More the shame OF the
American people! When the first war
drum beat, through q mistaken sense of
duty, Mir. Murray left his home. his
wife and child, and enlisted as private
in a Confederate volunteer company
and went to the front. His regiment
was in the hottest Of the fight at the
first Bull Run, and when the battle was
over Charles Murray was gathered UP
with the rest of the slain and buried in
an unknown grave. This was crush
ing blow to the young widow, who was
left without the means of support, and
that, too, in the midst of terrible civil
war. Her only consolation was the brave
little boy who inherited the manly
| qualities of the father and the loyal de-
| YotiOn of the mother. When Mrs. Muir
ray fell in a Swoon on a sofa in the little
| front paTlor when she heard the tidings
| of her husbands death, it was Arthur's
| little hands thatappiied the restoratiyes,
anu ALUM = NOICC LllU
| spoke words of encouragement as he
| begged her 10 bear up under the blow
| and promised that when he grew TO be
| man he would take his fathers place
| and provide for her. A year rolled on,
| and with its close the widows store was
| exhausted. The summer came again,
| but there was no cheer in its sun rays
for her. The flowers bloomed in the
little garden only to mock her grief, and
| to remind her of her desolatiOn. But
| Arthur'S heart did not faint by the way
side. He kept up, and helped to keep
| his mother up. Their only source Of
subsistence was the product of the little
| garden that Arthur cultivated and the
| milk they got from old Cherry, the COW,
which Arthur took to the town every
morning and sold. Old Cherry had a
| calf, little Dun, which was Arthur's
| constant playfeilow, and many a
! romp they had together on the
| greensward in front0t the cottage. The
| summer passed away, the autumn came:
| and with it the gathering of hoStIlei
| armies on either side of the river. From
| Stafford heights Burnside's artillery
| trowned down upon the town. On the
| south side of Fredericksburg, back on
| the Spottsylyania hills, mile or two
| of, Lees legions lay crOuched, waiting
| for the enemy to cross. There was a
season of preparation and waiting, andI
then. one frosty December morning, just
| as the stars began to pale and the first
streak of dawn shot across the eastern
| sky, two signal guns from an eminencey
near by pealed forth, breaking the still
ness of the early morning and sharply
piercing the ear of the sleeping HOSTS
| Before the sun rose the two armies were
in motion and the first battle of Fred
erickSburg was raging in terrible
| earnest. All day long a concentrated
fire of hot shot and shell from belching
Threats of iron was poured into the town.
Angry flames leaped with lightning
speed from houSetop to steeple, licking
out their red-forked tongues high in
the dense clouds of smoke that hung
like funeral pail over the sad scene of
destruction. Helpless women and
children were crowding and cronehing
in dark cellars, expecting every moment
to be consumed in the conflagration or
| buried under the ponderous masses of
timber and masonry that were tumbling
down over their heads at each thunder
ing discharge of artillery. What a
blessed relief to the survivors when
night fell upon the scene and the bonn
bardment ceased.
Mrs. Murray had been confined to her
bed for several weeks. A wasting fever
was slowly but surely doing its fatal
work; but Arthur was unconscious of
| the new sorrow in store for him. Dur
ing the day of the bombardment he
stayed by his mothers side, although