The record-union., 1895-05-25
For the REcoRD-UNIoN.l
AN ECHO OF THE WAR.

For the REcoRD-UNIoN.1
AN ECHO OF THE WAR.
Moon beams shone o'er the valleys gloom,
And the armies of Grant and Lee,
Sllenced the cannons ominouS boom
And the rattle of musketry.
Hard was the fight they fought that day,
Where the light it softly shines;
Many the rebs at night there lay
Within Union picket lines.
Amongst them in the battles space
Was Colonel of "Rifle Grays'';
The pallor OF death was on his face,
And the stars met his sightless gaze.
Beside his breast, a little book
Bespattered with blood and loan;
The same from mothers hand he took
When he left his Northern home.
The good old book, our light and guide.
Written with mother love to John;
With name, the date and State beside,
The cover they were plain upon.
Thus brothers met again that night,
AS comrades that found the dead
Surmised it well, for they were right,
He was brother of their Captain Ted.
Well send him home. the Captain said,
SO remove each cruel stain.
But ere another day had fled
He too, was with the slain.
But comrades they were brave and true,
And remembered what he said;
30 cared as we'll tor gray as blue,
For they sent Jack home with Ted.
Il
1t was in the Hoosier land,
When the cruel strife was DER,
And the troops would all disband
For to learn of war no more.
With farewells to comrades greeted,
10 each company and corps.
And the ranks that were depleted
Since they started for the war.
Some are Northward now returning
From the Southern fields OF gore;
Many hearts in homes are yearning
For the ''lOved that come no more"
At the depot great the crowd
When the train comes rolling in.
There are cheers and sobs aloud
From hearts glad or sad within.
AS they hear the whistle shrill,
More than usual stir 1t makes,
Though 1t 8 only "Greasy Bill"
That is calling for the brakes.
For SO many times with nerve
On the foOtboard he has stood
And has whistled at the curve
Just emerging from the wood.
But to-day there's something strange,
AS some dark i'll omen sign;
Many hearts can feel change
Ihat mere words could not define.
Was IT the presence or the dead
That had brought it from afar?
For two lifeless forms now sped
homeward in the baggage car.
Bill was now his engine leaving
His run ended with its cares;
The hostler had been receiving
his instructions for its repairs;
When hand il pressed his own
A companion S, true and rare
And voice said in kindly Tone
LED and Jack. they lie over theren
Within two cases brothers lay
That had faced the cannon's mouth;
Duty called them each away,
one from North. the other South.
And his brothers dear and true
He had brought them home that day
Ted a Captain in the blue,
Jack Colonel in the gray
"Greasy Bill' no word had spoken,
AS he brushed away the tears
Thinking of lfes ties all broken,
,,1a And their merry boyhood's years,
Wnen SO happy in their home
Until each to manhood grew,
And Jack was tempted South to roam
Where the winter days are few.
Now an arch it spans their graves,
On the hillside where they sleep;
Near the bank each ripple laves,
And the Wabash's waters sweep.
From its keystone the flag it waves
Neither Ter its friend nor foe,
But links with love the brothers graves
AS their hearts were long ago.
Between them with flowers they strsw
Now on each Memorial Day;
They cover not the loyal blue
Nor rest o er the rebel gray;
But far beyond, where duty goes.
Loves footprints may be found
Where lies the dust of former foes
Love 1t makes it sacred ground
VINO knows loves depths in mothers heart
The first to own, the last to shun;
In theirs no rebel had part.
She only knew he was her son,
For freedoms land how great the price
She had paid her heart confessed;
But as mothers sacrifice
She loved her Johnny best.
AS relics in her treasure store
Keepsakes of LIES griefs and Joys
Are now the shoulder-straps they wore
These her two bright soldier boys.
The good old book, its faded leaves
with tears oft she turns them Ger
And in her dreams as golden sheayes
Are the days before the war.
And Greasy Bill'' may well deserve
The road S best run of all;
They hear his whistle at the curve
When the evening shadows fall;
And children that he loves SO well
They are always eager for
To hear the stories he can tell
Now IS echoes OF the war.
w. B. DUTToN.
Sacramento, May 1895,