The record-union., 1893-02-03
THE OLD SOLDIER
His Place in the Thought of the Time
"A Gettysburg Veteran.

Ills 1-lacG III JbG 1nOu1ul Cl lilS 1ilIt
"A Gettysburg Veteran.
The "old soldier is beginning to out
lire himself upon the public mind as I
distinct character in American life. Lit
erature has not yet got hold OF him, and
perhaps his evolution IS not far enough
advanced TO make him as SerVIceable as
the soldier OF the republic and the en-
pire, the relic OF the Cid Guard was to
Hugo and BalZac, the trooper of Italy
and Egypt, the manned hero of BorOdlno
and " aterloo, who expected again the
coming OF TIE Little Corporal. 1t takes
time to develop character and to throw
the glamour OF romance over what may
be essentially commonplace. quarter
OF a century has not suftlced TO separate
the great body of the surviving volun-
teers in the war for the Union from the
I body of American citizens, notWithStaud
ing the organization of the Grand Army
OF the Republic, the encampments, the
annual reunions and the distinction OF
pensions and the segregation in Soldiers
Homes.
| The ''old soldieT' slowly eliminates
himself from the mass and begins to take,
ana 10 make us take, romantic VleW OF
his career. There was one event in his
lie, and his personality looms larger and
larger as he recedes from il. The heroic
sacrltlce OF it does not diminish, as II
should not, i'll our estimation, and he
helps us TO keep glowing lively sense OF
1t. The past centers about him and his
great achievement, and the whole Of life
Is seen in the light it. In his retreat in
| the home, and IN his wandering from one
nome to another, he rumiuateS on 1t, he
talks OF 1t; he separates himself from the
rest OF mankind by Il broad distinction,
and his point OF view of life becomes as
| original as ii is Interesting.
In the homes the battered veterans
sneak mainly fhInCf- and Inp
monotony OF their spent lives develop
WhimSeyS and rights and wrongs, patti
Otto ardOrS and criticisms on their Slngu-
lar fate, which are original in their char
acter i'll our society. 1t is i'll human ma
ture TO like rest but not restriction,
bounty but not charity, and the tired
heroes of the war grow restless, though
every physical want is supplied. 1hcy
have fancy that they would like to see
again the homes of their youth, the farm
house in the hills, the cottage i'll the river
valley, the lonesome house on the wide
prairie, the street that ran down to the
wharf where the fishing-smacks lay, TO
see again the friends whom they left there,
and perhaps to take up the occupations
that were laid down when they seized the
muSket in 1861. Alas! it is not their
home any more; the friends are no
longer there; and what chance is there of
occupation Tor man who is now feeble
AZ OOAy anu w lIO has GllG Lotlib VI Co!ll-
palgnlng? This generation has passed
on 10 other things. II looks upon the
hero as an illustration in the story OF the
war, which it reads like history.
The veteran starts out from the shelter
OF the Home. one evening, toward sun
set, the comfortable citizen, taking the
mid air on his piazza, sees an interesting
figure approach. Its dress is half mill
tary, halt that OF the wanderer whose at
tentlon to his personal appearance is only
SpaSmOGlc. The veteran gives the mill
tary salute; he holds himself erect, al
most too erect, and his speech is voluble
and horid. 1t is a delightful evening; it
seems to be a good growing-time; the
country looks prosperous. He is sorry
to be any trouble or interruption, but the
tact is-yes, he is on his way to his old
home in Vermont; it seems like he would
like to taste some home cooking again,
and sit in the old orchard, and perhaps
lay his bones, what is left OF them, in the
burying-ground on the hill. lie pulls
out his well-worn papers as he talks;
there is the honorable discharge, the per-
NIT of the Home, and the pension. Yes,
Uncle Sam is generous; ii is the most
generous Government God ever made
and ne would Willingly light for it again.
Thirty dollars Il month. Unat is what he
has; he Is not beggar he wants for
nothing. But the pension is not payable
till the end of the month. 1t is entirely
his own obligation, his own fault; ne can
fight, but he cannot lie, and nobody
is to blame but himself; but last
night he fell in with some old comrades
at Southdown, and, well, you know how
it IS. He had plenty of money when he
left the Home, and he is not asking for
anything now, but if he had a few dollars
for his railroad fare to the next city, he
could walk the rest of the way. Wounded?
Well, if | stood out here against the light
you could Just see through me, that's all.
Bullets? It's no use to try to get 'em out.
But, sir, Pm not complaining. 1t had to
be done: the country had to be saved;
and I'd do it again if it were necessary.
Had any hot fights? Sir, l was at Gettys-
burg The veteran straightens up, and
his eyes flash as if he saw again that san
culinary field. Off goes the citizens hat.
Children come out here; here is one of
the soldiers of Gettysburg! Yes, sir; and
this knee-you see l can't bend it much
got stiflened at Chickamaugua; and this
scratch here in the neck was from bullet
at Gaines Mill; and this here sir-thump-
ing his chest-you notice | don't dare to
cough much-after the explosion OF a
shell at Petersburg I found myself lying
on my back, and the only one OF my
squad who was not killed outright.
Was it the Imagination of the citizen or
of the soldier that gave the impression
that the hero had been in the forefront of
every important action OF the war? Well,
it doesn't matter much. The citizen was
sitting there under his own vine. the
comfortable citizen of free republic, be- /
cause of the wounds in this cheerful and
imaginative old wanderer. There, that
is enough, sir, quite enough. l am no
beggar. / thought perhaps you had
heard of the Ninth Vermont. " oods is
my name-Sergeant Woods. | trust
some time, sir, 1 shall be in position TO
returl the compliment. Good evening,
sir; God bless your honor and accept the
blessing Of an old soldier. And the dear
old hero goes down the darkening avenue,
not so steady of bearing as when he with
stood the charge OF Pickett on Cemetery
Hill, and, with the independence OF the
American citizen who deserves well of his
country, makes his way to the nearest
hospitable tavern.-Charles Dudley War
ner, in Harper's Magazine.
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