Abilene weekly reflector. [volume] (Abilene, Kan.) 1888-1935, 1890-06-05
CAMPFIRE STORIES.
THE CHILD-SOLDIER.
FOur-Year-Old fodder Prevents
Bloody SkirmIsh.


Summer of 1854 But though the
skies were blue and cloudless and the
earth radiant in her robe of green, with
flowers beautiful and fragrant on her
bosom, the hearts of men and women
were heavy and sorrowful, for the roll
ing smoke of cannon hid the very heav-
ems and stains redder than the field pop
pies dyed the grass, while the rattle OF
musketry and the tread of marching
men drowned the songs of the birds and
the sound of weeping startled them into
silence. The fair hills of Virginia
looked down on carnage and sights too
pitiful to name, and her rivers ran red
with the blood of many a gallant SOL
der for whom a gray-haired mother or
tender wife and children wept in their
far Northern home or mourned beneath
the sunny skies of Dixie.
But nesting close to the rugged side
of the mountain, like a sparrow's nest
under the grim buttresses of some old
castle, the little village of Cloverside
heard only from afar those dreadful
sounds that told of death and sorrow
Sometimes a newly-raised regiment,
marching down TO join the force about
Richmond, would go by gay in uniform
and fiUttering flags-alas, alasi how soon
to have their bravery torn by shot and
dimmed with bloody dew.
These splendid cavalcades went by
watched with frantic envy by two big
eyes like twin wood violets from the
window of pretty white house that
stood half way up the mountain, and
was the home OF one fair, gentle lady to
whom Manassas had meant widOwhOod.
These pretty wistful eyes were the
baby's whose heart swelled at the mar
tial music until it grew too much for a
four-year-old to stand, and so he declar-
cd his fixed and des perate resolution to
become "a soldier too" Mamma caught
the tiny form with the eager face to her
breast, thinking of other mothers whose
sons had once been innocent little chill
dren, too, and who now, perhaps, lay on
some battlefield with their faces turned
upward TO the sky, and bullet in the
quiet hearts. And her own eyes were
dim for soldier who marched away one
bright spring day to return no more to
that loving household on the mountain.
But the baby was firm, so mamma
fastened a marvellous uniform for her
warrior, with glittering buttons and a
Colonels star, and grandma, on condi-
tiOn that it DO not removed from the
scabbard, lent really sword, which
had been to Mexico with grandpa when
he went long ago with General Taylor.
J. drum of Aunt Dicey's own loving
manufacture, and presented with her
black face cleaning with satisfaction,
and big hat contributed by Sister Liz
Zie, who cheerfully turned her own and
only Gainsborough, which, with it's curl
ing feather, had been the pride of her
heart, into a cavalryman's dashing
chapeau, completed the equipment of a
bold soldier.
He was not very terrifying object |
though, for his eyes were blue and inno- |
cent and his hair fell curling and long, |
bright strands from under his hat, while |
his mouth was like rosebud trying to |
frown fiercely, and his chubby hands |
were only just able to drag the heavy
sword in very unmilitary fashion after
him. So all the long, bright summer
the baby played at war and drilled the
maple trees on the lawn with severity
and diligence until if they were not
ready to march away and strike blow
for their country it was certainly not
the fault OF their gallant little COM
mander. He patroled the premises like
a faithful sentinel and gave his admir-
ing women folks his frequent and
70 Ct hr-a nd |
them should occasion arise.
And sure enough, dark and gloomy on
the page of the future was written the
coming of an hour when Cloverside was
to be the scene of the meeting of the
two hostile forces. Not very large ones,
to be sure, only two skirmishing parties,
but led by desperate men and composed
OF others sworn to vengeance for per-
sonal wrongs suffered at foeman's hands.
This hour came just as the summer lay
l-dying, beautiful beyond telling even
in her decay, for nature crowned the
passing seasons brow with her choicest
ylories to hide, as it we're, its fading.
The baby's maple squad had put of its
-inemen's green and stood bright and
cuddy in artillery scarlet, while banners
Of many-hued leaves and vines swung
lightly from the mountain side. Close
TO the pretty singing brook that wound
its silver ribbon about the foot of the
grim old mountain were planted one
lay dreadful wide-mouthed cannon
with horrid threat in each dark throat
--clots in the peaceful scene, and hun
bred or more stern-voiced, gloomy-eyed
men stood behind them waiting for the
foe who was coming presently down the
road. The sun rose higher and higher,
vailing its face from what was to come
in a purple haze, when tramp, tramp
came the advancing army, marching
down to what each man knew would in
all probability be battle unto death,
for in order to pass it was necessary TO
take the battery that held the narrow
road.
Each party reserved its fire by order,
and only the tread of feet, the CLEAN of
fixed bayonets, and a low growing of
from an officer here and there
betrayed the errand of these invaders to
that quiet spot. But as the two lines of
set, defiant faces glared into each other
happened. Out from the
sumach bushes on the side of the road
a tiny figure, bravely dragging
after it in the dust a sword. The big
hat with its Haunting feather had fallen
over one blue eye, but the other glanced
joyously from one body of soldiers to
the other. He marched with great dig
nifty down between the two lines and
paused about to speak when forward
ran every man from both sides and
closed upon him.