The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1892-02-11


There has been no enthusiastic patriot.
ism in this Chilean war matter.
"Will it help business ?"
"Will it relieve the pressure 2
These are the thoughts that CONTROL.
How different was it in 1860, when the
Southern folks-men, women and chill
-throwed up their hats, and carried
torches and wore cockades, and the air
was full of such sougs as:
Dixie forever she never will be lost;
Down with the eagle and up with the cross i;
Well rally round the flag,
Well rally once again;
Shouting the battle CRY of freedom.
Well rally round the flag;
Well rally once again;
Shouting the battle cry of freedom.
We will never see such patriotic en-
thusiasm again; never such country
again.
The women are the ones to keep your
eyes upon when you are weighing yenti-
ment. When women are not enthused
for cause, the cause will drag. What
soldier would step high and feel
big as the band plays "The girl I left
behind me-" when he knows the girl has
not his cause at heart The proud step
and the roaring yells that were always
present under the inspiring strains of
"Dixie," was because of the devotion of
Southern women. God bless 'em,
their like will never be seen again, and
the coming generations will never know
what they suffered nor how they should
be appreciated.
know much of their suffering and
much of their loneliness, for it fell upon
me to 90 upon many an unpleasant mis-
sion to inform them of things that wrung
their hearts. When their loved ones
were killed It often fell to my lot to break
the pews, and it was in the fulfllment of
these sad missions that I witnessed the
most heart rending scenes.
Fresh in my memory is the death of
John Pryor. He was near neighbor of
mine and it fell to me to carry the news
to his wife. 1t had to be done by some
one, so with my old 'oman I made my
way to Johns house. It was full dark
when we got the news, and so it made it
away along toward bed time when we
arrived at the house. We stood outside
and watched Johns wife as she fitted
from room to room arranging for the
night. She was singing the chorus of
that old war song all the time-just the
chorus, Ger and Ger:
Weeping sad and lonely,
Signs and tears are vain,
When this cruel war is over,
Praying them to meet again.
We sat for some time out on the horse.
blocks dreading to break the fearful
news We could see her plain by the
light in the house but she had no notion
that We were anywhere about. She went
to the bed and tucked the cover around
the children, kissed 'em, turned and shut
the door and then sat down by the hearth
with her Bible. We moved up to the
door then and could see her through the
chinks. I started to knock upon the
door, but my old 'oman caught my hand.
Johns wife had just knelt down beside a
chair aud was praying. Such a picture
and such prayer! I shall never forget
that prayel sDl l shall never forget my
feelings as | stood there. She prayed
for all the world, for her own little chill
dreu, and that the cruel war might end,
and then, with sobs and tears, she prayed
for John--her far away soldier husband.
She didn't know that We we're there
trembling, 10 let her know that John was
dead.
How hard it was upon that poor wo-
mans heart this young generation can
never know. There in the loneliness of
the night she poured out her grief till
the children, ignorant and scared, Joined
their cry with the mothers grief.
"Their papa was dead"
Something the little things could not
understand, for they bad been taught
that he was great, brave soldier, and
that the cruel war would soon be over
and they would have him at home again.
I only refer to such as this to let this
young generation know that war has
many dark sides, and that its conse-
quences should not be measured by
"business opportunities" nor brought on
to "remove pressures," or to boom poll
ticians.
1t is not all of war to step proudly to
the time of music, nor is it all to die
upon the battlefield. War blights. The
land is not the same, the sky is not 30
bright, things change, people change.
Sorrow was everywhere in the South
in the sixties. Crying women wrung
their hands upon the highways; stations
along railroads were crowded with peo.
pie, Gaping for the newa.
Trains were not loaded with COM
merce; they hurried troops TO the front
and brought the wounded away. Car
boxes were hacked into holes and split in
splinters to let the air in to the men who
were crowded like cattle into the tight
freight boxes. Repairs were fearful
bridges were down, tracks were danger
GUS with "snake heads" and trestles