News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1891-12-17
The HorSenan in the Sky.

1AU 4UI DULuuu Ill luU HhJr
On Sunday afternOOnint the autumn
of the year of 1861 a soldier lay in a
clump of laurel by the side of road
in western Virginia. He lay atlength
upon his stomach, his feet resting up
on his toes, his head upon his left arm.
His right hand loosely grasped his
rife. But for the methodcal dispo-
sition ofhis limbs and a slight rhyth-
mic movement of the cartridge box
at the back of his belt he might have
been thought to be dead. He was
asleep at his post of duty. But if de-
tected, he would be dead shortly after
ward, that being the just and legal
penalty of his crime.
The clump of laurel in which the
criminal lay was an angle of therOad
which, after ascending southwark a
steep activity for two miles, turned
sharply to the west at that point,
running along the summit for per-
haps fifty yards. There it turned
southwark again, and went zig-zag-
ing downward through the forest. At
the salient of that second angle was
Il large fiat rock, jutting out from the
ridge to the northward, overlooking
the deep valley from which the road
ascended. The rock capped a high
cliff; a stone dropped from its outer
edge would have fallen sheer down
ward 1000 feet to the top of the
pines. The soldiers station was on
another spur of the same cliff. Had
he been awake, he would have COM
manded view, not only of the short
arm of the road and the juttingrOck,
but of the entire profile of the cliff be
fore it. 1t might well have made him
giddy to look.
The country was wooded every
where except at the bottom of the
valley to the nOrthward, where there
was asmallnaturalm meadow, through
which flowed a stream scarcely visi-
bic from the valleys rim. This open
ground looked hardly larger than an
ordinary doOr-yard, but was really
many acres in extent. Its green was
more vivid than that Of the enclOs-
ing forest. Away beyond it rose q
line of giant cliffs, similar to those
in our survey of the savage scene, and
through which the road had some
how made it's climb to the summit
The cOnfiguratiOn of this valley, in
deed, was such that, from our point
of observation, it seemed entirely shut
in, and one could not but have won
dered how the road which found q
way out of it had found a way into
stream thatparted the meadow 1000
feet below.
No country is so wild and difficult
but men will make it theatre Ofwar.
Concealed in the forest at the bottom
of that military rat-trap, in which
half a hundred men in possession OF
the exits might have starved an ar
my into submission, lay eregiments
of infantry. They had marched all
the previous day and night, andwere
resting At nightfall they would take
to the road again, climb to the place
where their unfaithful sentinel now
slept, and defending the other slope
of the ridge, fall upon a camp of the
enemy about midnight. The hope
was to surprise him, for the road led
to the rear OF his camp. In case of a
failure, their position would be peri
lous in the extreme, and fail they
would, should accident or vigilance
apprise him of the
The sleeping sentinel in the clumr
of laurels was a young Nirginian
named Carter Druse. He was the son
of wealthy parents-an only child
and had known such ease and cult
walton and high living as wealth anC
taste were able to command in the
mountain country of western Nirginia
a quarter OF a century ago. His home
was but a few miles from where h,
now lay. One morning he rose from
the breakfast table, and said, quietly
but gravely: Father, a UnIonregi
ment has arrived at Grafton. | an
going to join it. "
The father lifted his leOnine head
looked at the son a momentin silence
and replied: "Go, Carter, and what
ever may happen, | hope that yOI
will do what you conceive to be you
duty. Should we both live to the enc
of the war we will speak further Oftht
matter. Your mother as a physician
has informed you, is in a critical con
ditiOn; at the best she cannot be witt
us longer than q few weeks, but thai
time is precious. 1t would be better
not to disturb her."
SO Carter Druse, bowling reverentll
to the father, who returned the salut
with u stately courtesy which masked
breaking heart, left the home of hi
childhood to 90 soldering. By con
science and courage, by deeds of de
votiOn and daring, hesoOncOmmend
ed himself to his fellows and hi
officers; and it was to these quahtie
and to some knowledge of the cOun
try that he owed his present perilOu
duty at the extreme outpost. Never
theless, fatigue had been strOnge
| than resolution and he had tallel
asleep. What good or bad ange
came in q dream to rouse him frOr
his state of crime, who shall say
Without u movement, without
sound, in the profound silence an
the languor of the late afternOO
an invisible messenger of fate tOuche
with unsealing finger the eyes of hi
Observation-Disclosures into til
ear of his spirit the mysterious avail
ening word which no humanlips hav
ever spoken, no human memory ha
ever recalled. He quietly raised hi
. forehead from his arm and looked b,
tween the laurels, instinctively cloi
ING his right hand about the stock {
his rifle.
His first feeling was a keen artist
delight. On the colossal pedestal (
the cliff, motionless, at the eXtren
edge of the Gaping rock, sharpI
outlined against the sky was an eque
trian statue of impressive dignit
The figure ofthe man sat on the fgq
of the horse, straight and sol lierl
but with the repose of Grecian gC
!. carved in the marble which limits Il
suoUestion of activity. The gray &C