Western Kansas world. [volume] (WaKeeney, Kan.) 1885-current, 1891-06-06

, CITY of the great unknown. I goSto the
, gates: they swing open on their great
hinges. I did not dare to enter. look
within. Row after row, street after
/ street of little, white marble tomb stones.
\ I sat in the shadow OF the wall. Reaec-
jtious crowd thick and fast upon my MEM
ory. thought of the hearts to whom
they once were famous. Thought Of the
mother who listens for the footsteps that
never come. thought Of the lover yet
waiting for the return of her tried
Knight I thought of the father, bowed
and aged, listening for the sons return.
L thought of the wife, who prays God
that he may yet return. Oh! The city
of the great unknown. Thirteen thous-
and of the immortal dead, and the only
inscription over their final resting place,
unknown" Sleep on, Oh! Immortal
Soldier of the Republic! Above thy
humble grave we bow. Somewhere these
dead are known. To us thou art not I'M
known. We know thy name. Thou art
the brother of every noble soul. They
died as heroes. Go with me to the bat
tie of Chicamauga, after the terrible bat
tie had been fought. The night passed,
the sun of the morrow rose on scene no
pen can picture. Theforms of hundreds
of brave men, cold and silent in death,
remaining as they had fallen while brave
ly fighting. The silence of death brood
ed over the field. The wounded had
been cared for as well as possible, and
now came the solemn duty of
laying to rest the last remains
of their fallen comrades. There
lay husbands, fathers, brothers with no
loved one to shed tear. Suddenly
there rang out on the scene Of stiffness
the sound of a drum; long and loud
rolled out the morning reveille, startling
men and officers as it came from the
midst Of the scene of carnage.
An officer was sent with white flag to
investigate. Far out among the dead he
found little drummer boy, not yet in his
teens. Pale and silent as the bodies
around him, he lay resting upon his drum.
When the officer came up he said: Oh.
comrade, am so glad you come. have
lain here all of yesterday and through the
long, weary watches of the night. Oh! I
have suffered as God only knows. Oh!
how have prayed that he would let me
live till the morning light, that might
once more beat the reveille, and call my
comrades again to duty. He answered
my prayer; my life is slowly ebbing away;
my limbs are lacerated by shell. Oh!
comrade, write mother that I died as
heroes die. Tell her fought for the flag
and home. He gently laid over on his
little drum and his life passed out in the
quietly flowing tide. He laid on his drum
dead. They died as Heroes. They tell
US those men were seeking after glory and
position!
At Andersonville little lad was con-
fined for days; days frightening into weeks
drug their weary length into months. He
longed for mother, father and home. He
saw his comrades dying from exposure
and hunger; he saw them carried out to
the silent city and laid in rows. He saw
the flesh drop from their limbs; he saw
the teeth drop from their sockets. Graz
ed from famine, too feeble to walk or
stand, he crawled away from the dead
and dying, over the ground reeking with
filth. He had almost reached the gate. |
A comrade suspected his purpose and
went to him. This soldier took from be-
meath his ragged coat little flag,
the stars and stripes. It was the
flag the boy loved, he had sworn to
support it, never to forsake it;
tears filed his eyes as he looked upon it
once more; he grasped it with his wasted
fingers. He kissed it. He laid it on his
heart. He cried, "God help me, can't
turn my back upon it, oh comrade am
dying! Outside is freedom. In here I
know I'll die. I am crazed, Oh God!
Help, help! Iwant You, if you get home
to tell mother that stood by the old flag
to the last. Tell her died with it on my
breast. He quietly breathed his last, where
his companions who once were men now
looked like fends incarnate, bearing no
resemblance to the noble type of manhood
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men died, not for position and honor.
They died for freedom, for the stars and
stripes. They died as patriots, loyal and
true.
Friends, forget not, to-day, when you
visit yonder cemetery, to select quiet
spot, knoll where vines trail over the
mound and are swayed by the gentle
wind, where the dew fingers longest, to
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