Greenbrier independent. [volume] (Lewisburg, Va. [W. Va.]) 1859-1980, 1895-11-21
After Thirty Years.

His was the last case called, and
as he stumped into the courtroom
behind the officer, his appearance
excited the mirth of the hardened
habitues of the place, says the Min
neapolis Journal. He wore an ole
and faded suit of army blue. His
face was unshaven, and his trem
bling hands and bloodshot eyes told
the story of his nights debauch.
"What charger" queried the
Court.
"Drunk and disorderly, you,
Honor.
Anything to say ?" asked the
Court, turning to the prisoner. Then
catching sight of his G. A. r. badge
and pointing to the one he himself
wore, he said, in gentler tone
"What does this mean, comrade
How came you here? What regi-
ment were you In 2"
1.-THE Eighth New Hampshire,
your Honor, Colonel Gray, of Sun.
cook. was born there fifty-five
years ago, and when the war broke
out Joe and couldn't stay at home.
Joe was my younger brother and had
just graduated at law school, and
had begun to practice law. Our
parents had then been dead num-
ber of years, and, as neither of us
had wives, you see there was moth
ing to keep US at home, though I
tried 10 have Joe stay, and told him
that one was enough for one family.
1t wasn't any use, though, for he
was bound to 60, and soon after the
Presidents first call we were on our
way to the South.
At the battle of CorInth the COM
pony that belonged to was ordered
to make the charge on the Confeder-
ate works. tell you, Judge, that
was the grandest charge ever made.
We got in, but 1t was too hot. Flesh
and blood couldn't stand the fire they
poured into us as we huddled in the
trenches. When the boys finally re-
treated, 1 was left on the ground
with bullet hole in my leg.
/ was picked up and taken to An
dersonville, where stayed almost q
year. When I was finally paroled,
1 was taken, more dead thun alive,
to Washington, where my leg was
amputated.
1t was another year before 1 could
get out Of there, and In all that time
l had not written q word or heard
from home.
When / was able to get back, I
found that word had been received
there that / was dead, and that Joe
had gone West. stayed at the
old town for some time, but 1t was
too lonesome there without Joe, and
made up my mind to flnd him If
could.
Last night met an old oomrade
that was In Andersonville with me,
and we made night of 1t. sup
pose we did drink little too much,
your Honor, but 1t had been 10 long
since had met anyone that knew
that forgot myself. We did not
mean to be disorderly, but perhaps
the singing of old war songs was
little too loud, and maybe they did
not sound as we'll to outsiders as thew
did to us old fellows who had sung
them to an accompaniment that
they don't hear nowadays. 1 will
plead guilty to being drunk, Judge,
out ulu uOI ucdu 10 O0 uISOrQ6rIY.
hope your Honor will be as easy
on an old soldier as the law will al
low"
The judge remained silent q mo-
ment as If in thought, turning mean
while the pages Of law book on
the desk before him. Then in a
tone Of voice meant to be unusually
severe, no said;
1.-THE sentence Of this court that Is
you be taken in my carriage to the
best tailor In the town, and fitted to
suit of the finest clothes In bis
store. That you be carried then to
my house, and kept there the re-
mainder Of your life."
The veteran raised his head as the
was ended and looked at
the judge. Then as memory shaped
the features before him into the face
Of the brother he had sought so long,
he cried out "Joe! !" and sprang to-
ward the bench.
The judge mot him over half way
with the word "Bill 4" and for a
moment they stood locked In each
others arms, alternately laughing
and sobbing. Then the Judge drew
his brothers. arm in his own, and
the two left the courtroom.