The Pacific commercial advertiser. [volume] (Honolulu, Hawaiian Islands) 1885-1921, 1892-03-08
AN EPISODE OF '63.

Night had fallen on the banks of the
Chippaloga and the fight was over. It
had been hot and fierce while it lasted,
and the battered remnant of southern
troops, though at last they bad been
forced to fight, leaving one-third their
force on the field, had thinned the num-
bers of their conquerors. Though the
smallest Of the episodes of war whose
issue settled the future of the American
continent and affected the history of all
mankind, the battle had brought the
peace of death to many valiant heart,
its bitterness to many a woman and child,
who, yet unaware, were praying, safe in
distant cities, for the husbands and IA
theirs whose lips would never more meet
theirs. Overhead, the stars sparkled
keenly in the frosty sky, but from the
horizon a ridge of inky cloud spread up
ward to the zenith, threatening not only
to quench their feeble fire but to deepen
the crisp, powdery snow in which the
landscape was smothered. The river
ran like long, black snake between its
whitened banks.
To Roland Pearse, monotonously
tramping on sentry duty along the track
worn by his own feet in the snow at a
tantalizing distance from the nearest of
the small watchfres which cleaned
around the central one, where the Off
GERS were sunk in sleep, it seemed as If
the dawn would never come. A years
hard campaigning had toughened him
to all the accidents of war, and the cold
est and longest nights watch after the
hardest days fighting or marching came
to him, as rule, naturally enough. But
he had been wounded in the fight,
though not seriously, yet painfully. and
between the consequent loss Of blood
and the bitter cold was weary well nigh
to death.
In the dead stiffness of the night the
monotonous chant of the river near at
hand combined with weakness and
WEAKNESS to stupefy his senses, and for
minutes together he shuffled along the
track he had worn in the snow with a
quite unconscious persistence, awaken
ing at the end of his beat with a nerve
SCATTERING start and falling asleep again
ere he had well turned to retrace his
steps. At last a deeper dozs was ter
minated by his falling at full length in
the snow. He gathered his stiff, cold
limbs together and Imped along SILVER
ing, swearing at the snow which had
penetrated different loopholes of his
ragged uniform, and, slowly melted by
contact with his scarce warmer skin,
served at last to keep him awake. He
drew from his pocket flask containing
a modicum of whisky. It was little
enough; he could gratefully have drunk
twice the amount, but, with self de-
NAL taught by many bitter experiences.
he took only mouthful and reserved
the rest for future needs.
With vague idea that a new beat
would somewhat relieve the 1nonotony
of his watch, he struck into another
track, and trudged resolutely at right
angles with his former course, the two
lines of footsteps making a gigantic
cross upon the snow. His former lassi-
tude was again beginning to conquer
him, when it was suddenly dissipated by
voice, which rang out on the stiffness
with startling suddenness, instinct with
anguish:
eff you have the heart of man in
your breast, for Gods sake, help mel"
Twenty feet from where he stood
Roland beheld the figure Of a man raised
feebly on one elbow above the level Of
the snow. There was only just light
enough to distinguish it. He approached
it cautiously, with his rifle advanced
and shooting rapid chances from the
PROSTATE figure to every clump of snow
covered herbage or inequality Of ground
which might afford shelter for an am
buscade.
81 am alone" the man said
He spoke each word upon separate
sob of pain and weakness. He wore the
southern uniform, and Roland saw tina
one arm and one leg dragged from hi
body, helpless and distorted. An Ole
saber cut traversed his face from tn,
cheekbone to the temple. He looked
the very genius of defeat,
81 am dyingr" he painted at Roland.
The young man pulled his beard as b
looked down at him and shrugged hi
shoulders with a scarce perceptible ges
ture.
81 know" said the southerner; &c
don't growl at that. I've let daylight il
few of your fellows in my time, ant
would again if 1 got the chance. Nov
it's my turn, and I'm going to take j
quiet. But want to say something's
write something to my wife in Charles
ton. VIII you do that for me? It ism
InuCu Iur d man 70 ask or anoTner.
don't want to die and rot in this cursed
wilderness without saying goodby Il
her."
"You must look sharp then," said Ro
land, kneeling beside him, ''for shall
be called into camp in few minutes"
He took an old letter from his pocket
and with numbed fingers began to write
at the wounded mans dictation, on it.
blank side.
''My darling Rose" he began.
Roland started as if stung by snake
and bent a sudden look of questioning
anger on his companions face. Thu
snaatherner looked back at him for