The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1896-06-18

the Confederates decorate the graves of
their dead, that Dudley and myself crossed
the Tennessee at Moccasin Point, described
as ''heIls gallery by the artillery men,
who answered from that bend In 1868 the
plunging shot and shell from Lookout
yankees don't come up much this way
no noah, said an old man at whose cabin
we rested at noon. II was hyar on t'other
side in them days, though most of my kin
was TO- the Union. Things hasn't changed
right hyar very much, an thar amt been
a stranger in Dicks cove sence the prophet
come that was right after the war. Who's
the prophet9 WaA we-uns don't know,
but hits allowed that he Is a scholard-at
least he was till he got into this var grave
yard bizniss."
Being asked to explain about the prophet
and the graveyard bizniss," old Hen Col
ley stroked his long white beard, took a
chew of tobacco, hitched up his single knit
suspender and said:
"The prophet, he's got place I'D at the
head of the cove, whar he keeps some stock
an raises stuff enough to live on, an they
do say he gifts money ev'ry quatah at Ste
vensville He don't tell his name eff he
hez one, witch some doubts but this hez
leaked out He had three sons. One went
into the Yankee army an was kilt two
went into the Confederacy an was kilt,
but no one don't know whar them three or
any one of 'em was buried.
"'Twas just about the time they got to
putin fiowahs on sojers' graves that the
prophet come byar, a-looSin fo' the graves
of his boys, but of course he couldn't find
'em But thar amt a hill nor cove nor
valley, nor kirk, of all this land that
didn't have no Ind of unburied dead on
'em when the fuss inded. So the old man
he had two niggahs to help-sot to work
to gather In the skeletons, with blue an
gray rags on thar bones, from all over. In
this way he has got big graveyard of his
own. Thar amt no gray flowers, but
tbar's blue and W lite and red, an up at the
prophets place you kin see dead waves of
them flowers an he tends them. Go up,
as mos like you'll do, an ak him why, an
he'll say: My boys wore the blue an gray.
Some of these may be Frank or Harold or
Edgar May the good Lor' help an pity
us who was so cruel as to kill them!' Oh,
hit makes Teller feel soft bout the
eyes to heah him go on! / was thar jest a
yeah ago today, an I came back so bad
broke up that had to drink more'n cusA
tom to git asleep. Waal, goodby! But if
you-uns see him, don't forgit the prophets
gent
We babe goodby to our mountaineer host
and rode up to the head Of the cove, where
the prophet had his home. Save for the
spring and the charred wood about 1t,
there was no sign of human life there
when we ran into Wharton's Texas rang
ers on the morning of Nov. 8, 1863
Two hounds barked us a welcome as we
neared the double log cabin. There were
signs of thrift about the place, but what
most attracted our attention were the in
termingled pillows of white, red and blue
flowers on the slopes above the house. and
this day the hermit's home was invaded
by young mountaineers of both sexes who
had come down to help the old man in the
work of decoration, though already every
undulation was pillow of natural flow
ers.
A tall old man, with white hair and
beard and the expression of saint in his
gray eyes and regular features, greeted us
and helped put away odr horses.
cit is always Decoration day to me-" he
| said, 'even when the snow is on the hills
and knee deep in the cove. 1t is to me the
drapery of peace, covering the last resting
place of dead Americans.
Colonel Dudley could not speak, but I
Endorsed the old mans sentiments
For years. he said in the same low,
quiet voice. 81 tried to find the bodies CT
my sons, but in vain. One night, when
my heart was very heavy, dreamt, or felt
that a spirit came to me and whispered
All the dead are your brothers or your
sons' Then gave up the search for the
few and gathered in the many. Here they
sleep, the blue and the gray, as if they had
never fought gathered them in from
the jungle and bleak hillside, from the
marshy margin of the rivers where they
sank to death, and from the shadows of
the pines where they breathed out their
young lives. Over there near the cabin is
the place where l shall sleep when the
death angel calls me over the dark river to
the white tents of the silent. But shall
not be alone. The men about me, whether
they wore blue or gray, are my boys, my
countrymen.
! We stood in the midst of the floral bill
lows, Dudley white faced and silent, and
the old man absorbed in telling us how he
had gathered in the dead, in blue and gray,
and how he had given his life for his boys
sake In caring for the graves.
| "Harold" he said, fought OH the
| Union side. He was our baby-sweet,
gentle and beautiful as his mother. Two