The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1895-07-03
A WAR STORY.
" After Many Days."

over CnauCellOrsVllle's CORY ueld,
strewn with the dead and dying. At
dusk the smoke of battle cleared away,
but all the long, dreary night, on the
hard ground, under the silent stars,
brave souls were passing home to God
Among those who came at dawn in
search of loved ones who had fallen was
Mrs. Lynne, one of the many women
whom the war had widowed. Her
eldest son, wounded unto death, had
been carried back into a rude hut, and
only few feet from him, on the hard
floor, lay pale-faced, blue-eyed boy,
dressed in the uniform of the despised
Yankees. As the mother ministered
TO the wants of her own precious one,
and at great expense prepared him
savory morsels to tempt his appetite,
she watched with a secret throb of Joy
the hungry eyes of the enemy, whose
mother, in her far-away New England
home, could only weep and pray.
Was he not one of the cruel horde
that had pillaged her home and devas-
tated the sunny South-her beloved
home? How did she know that his
hands had not been imbued in the blood
of her boy? Oh, she could not, even
when witnessing his anguish, so far
forget all that the war had caused her
to suffer, as to cool his burning brow
with a gentle pressure of her loving
hand.
AS the day advanced the fever ran
higher and higher, and the friendless
stranger in his wild delirium moaned
piteously, talking necessarily of his
mother and far-away home.
Poor boy, he will see his mother no
more until he meets her in heaven"
said the kind-hearted surgeon, as he
turned away to hide his tears.
Mrs. Lynne started quickly; a great
throb of pain for that Northern mother,
who could not even look upon the face
of her dying boy, caused her heart to
vibrate strangely.
"Can't you do something for that
poor fellow, mother?" asked her boy,
turning his eyes in the direction of the
Northern soldier.
But he is your enemy, Henry"
urged the mother. HE is your enemy,
and perhaps it was his hand who
robbed you of your life and me of
son."
"Christ died for us, for you and me,
while we were enemies, MOTHER" re-
piled the son, with shining eyes. Can
not you give cheering word to this
dying boy, away from his mother, and
perhaps away from Jesus, too?"
eyes, | can, my precious boy" said
his mother, with a firm voice. " For
his mothers sake I'll do it y; and then,
STOPPING over the stranger, she pushed
back the tangled hair from his smooth,
high forehead, and took his burning
hands in her own soft, cool ones.
"Mother, dear! Oh, how glad 1 am
that you have come" murmured the
suffering boy "Now that 1 hear your
voice and feel your touch, shall soon
be well.'
The magic word, "mother," opened
the avenues of Mrs. Lynne's heart, and
the white, upturned face was bathed in
the tears Of the enemy-an enemy made
near by the blessed bond of mother
hood. For this Northern soldier this
Southern mother prepared comfort
able bed by the side of her own precious
boy; and the same hand that before had
denied even drop of cold water to
tered alike to the suffering blue and
gray. The dainty food that she had
brought for her own precious boy was
uiNlueu Will his 6uGllly, anu DOlU
mother and son felt better for the kind
ness done.
Several days of intense heat, bring
ing increased suffering to the wounded,
passed away, and then Mrs. Lynne's
boy died; and early the next morning
she pressed a farewell kiss upon the
brow of the lad she had befriended for
his mothers sake, and started with her
beloved charge upon her mournful
journey homeward.
Years passed, the war closed, and
Paul Shelby, The boy befrie nded, whose
life the Southern mother had saved, re-
turned to the home Of his childhood,
and again took up the active duties of
life.
But Mrs. Lynne, with her husband
and son sleeping on the hillside, with
her home desolated and her health
shattered, mourned with her people
over the destruction wrought in the
land by the cruel hand of war.
Twenty years after peace had been
proclaimed, Paul Shelby, then an in
fuential lawyer, was called to a south
ern city on pressing business. While
there he became very much interested
in the case of a young man who had
been arrested on the serious charge of
murder. 1t was the name Newton
Lynne" that first attracted his atten.
ton, and caused him to inquire into the
particulars of the case. The name,
though not an uncommon one, sug-
gested the circumstances that had oc-
Cured in that little hut on Chancelors-
villes bloody field, circumstance that
was ever fresh in his memory, and in
the dark, searching eyes and pallid face
of the prisoner he thought he could de-
tect something that reminded him of
that youth who had died by his side 80
long ago-that May day twenty years
before. Time after time had he sought
for some trace of Mrs. Lynne, the
noble woman to whom he owed his life,
but until this day he had found no clew
to his search. He looked to find some
one resembling her-for surely this
boy, so like the dead one, must be her
son: but even if the veil had been