The progressive farmer. [volume] (Winston, N.C.) 1886-1904, 1894-08-07

thirst-a wild charge In which perhaps
one fell and was hunted for when night
came and carefully removed from the
battlefield to be nursed back to Life.
Some men tried to appear careless or
Indifferent, but it was q vain effort.
When we could not talk, we placed our
hands on each others shoulders and
sat and thought. Lips ~quivered, and
tears came az we separated. Sabre
cuts and bullets had been treated with
contempt, but this was different.
Our comrades frst-our horses next.
For two days we had been turning
them over to the quartermaster. We
went out to the grounds alone-by
tWos, by fours-to single out our horses
and say good bye. Not one man in all
that Third division would have left
Washington and a horse behind with
out a last word. You can get to lovea
comrade and you can get to have a
feeling akin to love for the dumb brute
who has been your sole companion at
midnight on picket-who entered into
the ferceness of the charge with you
who carried you over hundreds of
miles of highway and never served you
meanly. Did they know that the war
was over-that the smoke of battle
would never dilate their nostrils againV
If we had a friendship for them, think
you it was not returned0 Many and
many a time we had shared our crack
ers with them-brought them a dole of
water in our hats-taken hours from
our sleep to cure their ailments.
There yer a few rough riders, but
only a few. The great majority were
kind and mertiful and patient. They
got to know their horses as they knew
their camp mates, and to bear with
them and humor them, and to feel a
real bond of friendship. We found
some Of the steeds munching their for
age, but it seemed to us that all were
uneasy and had that v look
which comes to a horse as he waits for
the battle to begin. We called to Tom
and Billy and Charley and Joe, they
came and rubbed their noses against
our cheeks. We had a cracker or a
lump of sugar or an apple as a parting
gift. We stroked their soft noses-we
put arms around their necks-we
even talked to them as we had to each
other. The war was over. Most of
those horses were veterans, bearing
the scar Of sabre or bullet. AL
had at least carried their riders into
the powder smoke of Appomattox. We
were to go away-to return home-to
leave them behind. How would they be
cared for9 To whom would they be sold
Lgeethes scar Of the wound received by the
chestn1ta at Kelly's Ford9 On the fore
head of the bay is tbs an Of a sabre
cut received at Brandy Station aeslssh
which would have left the rider on th
field to die. That sorreI is blind of al.
eye-a hurt received at Winchester.
There's a scar on the hip of the black
the rake of a grapeshot fred the day
Sheridan made his famous ride.
Yes, we talk to them of the raids and
marches and campaigns and battles,
and they droop their heads as if listen
ing to catch every word. We lift their
feet and clean them for the last time.
We rub them from ears to tail with
our hands. We are still with them
when the bugles sound and tell us that
the hour has come. Discharge papers
and pay to-day-home tomorrow.
Then a thousand pairs Of arms clasp
the necks of the horses, a thousand
tongues whisper good bye, " and there
are but few eyes which do not glisten
with tears as the steeds whisper and
neigh and try to call us back.
NJ. QUAD.