The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1894-11-23
THE LETTER TO ROSE.

1t had been hct and fierce while it last
ed, and the battered remnant of South
ern troops, though at last they had
been forced to fight, leaving one-third
their force on the field, had thinned
the numbers of their conquerors.
To Roland Pearse, monotonously
tramping on sentry duty along the
track worn by his own feet in the
snow at tantalizing distance from
the nearest of the small ,watch-fires
which cleaned around the central one,
where the officers were sunk in sleep,
it seemed as if the dawn would never
come. A years hard campaigning had
toughened him to all accidents of war,
and the coolest and longest nights
watch after the hardest days fighting
or marching came to him, as a rule,
naturally enough But he had been
wounded in the fight though not seri-
ously, yet painfully, and between the
consequent loss of blood and the Bit
ter cold was weary well nigh to death.
In the dead stiffness of the night the
monotonous chant of the river near at
4 hand combined with weakness and
WEAKNESS to stupefg his senses, and
for minutes together he shuffled along
the track he had worn in the snow
with a quite unconscious persistence,
awakening at the end of his beat with
a nerve-shattering start, and falling
asleep again ere he had well turned to
retrace his steps. At last, deeper
doze was terminated by his falling at
full length in the snow. He gathered
his stiff, cold limbs together,
and limped along shivering. swearing
at the snow which had penetrated diff
ferent loopholes Of his ragged uniform,
and, slowly melted by contact with his
scarce warmer skin, served at least to
keep him awake. He drew from his
pocket a flask containing a modicum
Of whiskey. 1t was little enough-he
could have gratefully drunk twice the
amount; but, with self-denial taught
by many bitter experiences, he took
only a mouthful and reserved the rest
for future needs.
With vague idea that a new Beat
would somewhat relieve the monotony
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 form las
situde was again beginning to conquer
him, when 1t was suddenly dissipated
by voice which rang out on the still
ness with startling suddenness, instinct
with anguish:
IF you have the heart Of man in
your breast, for Gods sake help mew
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 glances
from the PROSTATE figure to every
clump Of snow-covered herbage or in
equality of ground which might af-
ford shelter for an ambuscade.
81 am alone" the man said.
He spoke each word upon a separate
sob Of pain and weakness. He wore
the Southern uniform, and Roland saw
that one arm and one leg dragged from
his body, helpless and distorted. An
old sabre cut traversed his face from
the cheek bone to the temple. He
looked the very genius of defeat.
Il am dying!' he painted to Roland.
The young man pulled his beard as
he looked down at him, and shrugged
his shoulders with scarce perceptible
gesture.
Il know" said the Southerner, IT
don't growl at that. I've let daylight
in few of your fellows in my time,
and would again if | got the chance.
Now it's my turn, and I'm going to
take it quiet. But l want to say some
thing-to write something to my wife
in Charleston. viii you do that for
me? 1t isn't much for a man to ask Of
another. | don't want to die and rot
IN ip
Ing good-by to her."
"You must look sharp, then" said
Roland, kneeling beside him, "for I
shall be called into camp in few
minutes"
and with numbed fingers began to
write, at the wounded mans dictation,
on its blank side.
my darling Rose" he began
Roland started as If stung by a
snake, and bent a sudden look of
questioning anger on his companion s
face. The Southerner looked back at
him for a moment with a look of sur
prise. Then his face changed.
Jim Vickers" said Roland.
Roland Pearser' cried the other,
and for a moment there was silence
between them.
Last time your name passed my
lips" said Roland, slowly, II swore to
put bullet in you on sight"
Il guess you needn't" said Vickers;
Tive got two already. Not that I'm
particular to bullet or so, only you
might finish the letter first, anyhow.
For Gods sake, Pearse," he continued,
sudden emotion conquering his dare
devil cynicism, write the letter! It's
for Rose. She won't have a cent in the
world II | can't send her the news ]
want you to write, and she and the
child will starve. | got her by a trick
know, and nasty trick too but I'd
have done murder to get her She was
the one woman | ever cared a straw fol
really. And she loves me, too. Shoot
me- If you like; but for Gods SAX,
write the letter"
Roland bent his head over the scrar
of paper again.
go on" he said. hoarsely, and Wick