The Breckenridge news. (Cloverport, Ky.) 1876-1955, 1892-06-22

! His Vision Were Afterward Realized
ON the Field.
| A summers midday
The warm southern breeze gently
smoothes the bearded cheek of the un.
dulating wheut and rustles among the
whispering leaves of corn.
An old sorrel farm horse indolently
crops the tai timothy in the fence cor
ner. He is attached to al old fashioned
shovel plow, But the plow is lying idly
on its side among the potato vines that
hedge the cornteld round about, and the
loosened bride rein bangles against the
sorrel's ears.
Now and then a vigorous stamping of
hoof or swaying of the head attests the
animals disgust ~ to certain pestiferous
yellow flies that alternately attack his
legs and throat. Otherwise the swish,
swish Of the bitten grass and the rhythmic
| swaying Of the corn are the only sounds
distinguishable upon the summer air.
The myriad floating aec.is of thistle
down noiselessly join the golden spray
from the nodding taSSels all soar aloft
with a million intangible atoms to fall
In lanes md furrows, while as many dis
tinct and y"' commingling perfumes, the
daily delicious output of grass and grain,
assail the senses of all animate things.
La freshly turned arrow between
the corn rows near at End lies youth
ut full length. The dirty brown feet and
legs protrude Ostenta tiously from the
short and simple blue over,llls; the shock
head of neutral. sunburned hair rests
upon an arm, while the discngaged hand
burrows in the soft. warm earth. The
soiled cotton shirt is flung open at the
throat, the cheap chip hat has rolled
away. 1t is the figure of "A boy of twelve;
yet the face is that of budding manhood.
a curious mound of earth is in front
of him-a miniature fort. with trench,
traverse, parapet, redoabt upon redoubt.
embrasure above einbrlsure. Rudely
constructed of the recently turned loan.
1t has already begun TO cruinble away
In the dry, hot atmosphere of midday,
while the Young engineer lies uncon-
scious beside his work. He dreams. And
as he dreams the mannish look comes
into his young face. his square jaws are
set and his hands now and then are
clinched. He mutters III his sleep, and
once cries aloud, so that the old sorrel
pauses in the process of mlstication for
a moment and turned his white face to-
. ward the corn.
In this vision the youth had grown to
manhood. The old. dull, hated farm life
had faded into the forgotten past. He
10 hnI nj.
and hoped to he soldier. He had read
the lives of the great military heroes,
pored over the romantic adventures of
the soldier of fiction and often sighed
when he thought of the peaceful era and
unmilitary country in which he lived
Now, here ut last he wore uniform,
slept in tent AMI cooked ut u camp fire.
There We're thousands of other soldiers
around him everywhere Through his
boyish dreams had long floated the I'M
substantial shadow of marches and
drills and battles. the glistening steel II
bayonets, the clany of arms, the roll of
drums and the rumble of artillery. Now
he was a real soldier. He pinched him
self for fear it was only another dream.
This was glorious life! How little
his old schoolmates and playfellows
could realize his future! He would carve
out a name for himself that they would
delight one day to honor. He was not
exactly clear just how he had become
a soldier or whom he was expected to
fight, but this fact didn't bother him.
He found himself marching. Ii was
vast moving army. Tney marched aud
marched and marched He was tired
almost to death, but there was no halt
He was terribly thirsty, but there was
no water. He thought he would die of
thirst, and he remembered his mothers
well and the jug of cool water in the
shade of the fence corners at home.
Suddenly he was lying in the same
kind of fence corner ON the edge of a
cornfield, his gun polred through be
tween the rails. The roar of battle was
around him, the enemy was in front of
him. The latter came steadily on, rain
ing lead and iron AS they advanced. In
vain he and his comrades struggled in
vain the hurtled shot and shrieking
shell. The foe came on and on. The
cries of the wounded and groans of the
dying rose high and soul piercing above
the din of battle. The enemy were now
coming on in run, close, nearer and
nearer. Just then he felt sharp pain
in his side. He fell in one of the corn
burrows, bullet through his body,
while the foe with one wild yell and |
crash of musketry plunged through the
line of battle and trampled him into un-
consciousness.
In the excess of his terror the boy |
awakes with the cold perspiration start
ing from every pore. The old sorrel, sa-
tiated with fence corner diet, has turned |
about into the corn, aud after smashing |
down half dozen hills finally stumbles |
over the somnolent youth.
Do you believe in dreams2
II you do not, then sop right here.
For this Is no fancy sketch. was
that boyish dreamer.
Now, there are dreams and dreams;
those which leave not wreck behind
and those which leave an impression
which tire cannot easily efface. 1t was
many II 10 gday of twenty-four hours be-
fore for ,ot that dream | have here
briefly set ,lnwn. Not that l supposed
for an ins ant that it was to be in any
way assoc. tied with my future life.
was but a farmers lad. The great re-
bellion W ich followed six years later
had proba -ly not been even dreamed of
by my eldes. The idea that would
ever be ,itier lad never crossed my
youthful imagination. was gorged
with militia and naval stories, but that
| would 4 bear musket and bayonet