Edgefield advertiser. [volume] (Edgefield, S.C.) 1836-current, 1894-05-16
divided against itself shall not

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field of battle, give me boys,
beardless boys, who but lately at
their mothers bedside lisped their
evening prayer.
Capt. Tillman then spoke feel
ingly of the old soldier and the
youth who had fallen in battle.
"Monuments Of MARBLE" "he said,
''proclaimed the valor of one, no
shaft, no tongue, could ever tell
the glory Of the other. Muelbach
says that at Marengo, Napoleon
sad and disheartened at the repulse
of Lannes-brave Lannes-bis
favorite marshal. turned to a
drummer boy standing near and
ordered him to sound a retreat.
With his soft blue eyes swimming
in tears the lad looked at the en-
peror, and replied; Sire, I do not
know how. Dessaix has never
taught me retreat, but I can beat
a charge. Oh! I can beat charge
that would make the dead fall into
line; I beat that charge at the
bridge of Lodi; I beat it at Mount
Tabor; I beat it at the pyramids;
oh !! may I beatit here?' Catching
sudden inspiration from this
appeal, the charge was ordered
the drum sounded-trumpets
echoed it along the lines; Dessaix,
the hero of Egypt, swept across
the field at the head of the des-
perate charge.
Dessaix fell.
But the battle was won and
Napoleon set another star
glittering in the diadem Of
his greatness. That boy, always a
heroin his parents eyes-was now
a hero in the eyes of France.
Lingering at home juat long enough
to receive a moth er's embrace-to
hear q moth er's prayer-to have
impressed upon his youthful lips
mothers parting kiss-he again
Joined the army, and brave as the
bravest marched away. We see
him now with Macdonald on
that terrible nlidwinter march over
Splugen Pass, a whole army
mounting dizzy Alpine heights
which mortal man had never
sc led before; Fifteen thousand
defle through driven snow, over
rocky cliffs, with cloud capped
peaks on one side and on the other
raging torrents rush below. For
seven days, men faint with hunger
and chilled with cold, clingilg to
the mountain side for support.
they fight their way. Suddenly
at the dead hour of night a snow
storm RACES. Alpine blasts sweep
over the breast of the mountain
and howl like unclaimed demons
through the gorge below; fright
ened soldiers crowd together as
though proximity added safety,
and shiver to the blast that seems
to pierce their very bones. An
avalanche leaps down the noun
tain and ere they are aware
whole company is borne to its
deep, dark resting place below, and
with them went the little hero OF
Marengo. Above the roar of the
storm as it bore him away his YOUTH
full voice cries! Mother France,
Farewell! Down to the bottom of
the gulf be is carried and crawling
out from the mass of snow
which had broken his fall, he rolls
from his drum the call for relief.
Deep down in the darkness amid
the crushed forms of his comrades
the poor boy stands, and for whole
hours beat the rapid strains which
had so often summoned his COM
panions to arms. The muffled
sound comes ringing up the
precipice, the most touching ap-
peal that could be made to q
soldiers heart. But no hand can
reach him there, and the rapid
strains grow fainter and fainter
until they cease altogether. The
drummer had sounded his last
charge. The Alpine storm sings his
dirge, while the torrents bear
him away.
And his mother, God pity her,
smiled and slept, dreaming her
arms were around him.
How many noble women here
bade their boy good-bys never to
see him again. How many, on +!
how many, kissed a father or a
brother, and watched through a