The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1896-02-13

member at all, though ] perfectly Ie-
member how Absalom sprang up, stag
gered, shouted: My foot is sprainedl"
and fell as l turned to look at him and
went racing on.
Then l heard above the sound of our
hoofs the voice of the veteran of war.
Down as he was, his spirit was I'M
broken. In the favorite song of the
army his voice rose clear and gay and
piercing:
| " Hurrah for the Union!
Hurrah, boys, hurrah
Shouting the battle-cry of freedomi"f
We turned our heads and cheer
him as we flew, for there was son
thing indescribably inspiriting in t..
gallant and cheerful Tilt of the fallen
man. 1t was as if he flung US, from
the grief of defeat, soul unconquer-
able; and / felt The life in me strength
ened by the tone.
Old Bader and / for it! He led by
100 yards and Crowfoot's gray kept his
stride. Was l gaining on them? How
was it that l could see his figure out
lined more clearly against the horizon?
| Surely dawn was rot coming on!
| No; [ looked round on a world OF
naked peach orchards, and cornfelds
ragged with last years stalks, all dim
| ly lit by moon that showed far from
midnight; and that faint Light on the
| horizon was not in the east, but in the
west. The truth flashed on mel was
| looking at such an illumination O. me
sky as would be caused by the camp
fires of an army.
THE missing hrigade!" 1 shouted.
"Or southern division!" Bader cried.
"Come on"
Come on!" I was certainly gaining
on him, but very slowly. Before the
nose of my bay was beyond the tail
of his roam, the wide Examinations had
become more distinct; and still not
the proximity of an army.
Bader and | now rode side by side
and Crowfoot's gray easily kept the
pace. My horse was in plain distress,
| but Bader's was nearly done.
Take the paper, ADAM" he said;
"my roam won't go much farther.
Good-by, youngster. Away you go!'
and 1 drew now quickly ahead.
Still Bader rode ON behind me. In
few minutes he was considerably be.
hind. Perhaps the sense of being alone
increased my feeling of weakness.
Was l going to reel out of the saddle?
Had | lost so much blood as that?
Still l could hear Bader riding on. I
turned to look at him. Already he was
scarcely visible. Soon he dropped out
of sight; but still l heard the laborious
pounding of his desperate horse.
My bay was gasping horribly. How
far was that family yellow sky ahead
1t might be two, it might be five miles.
We're union or southern soldiers be-
meath it? Could it be conceived that
no troops of the enemy were between
me and it?
Never mind; my orders were clear
I rode straight on, and was still riding
straight on, marking no increase in
the distress of my bay, when he stopped
as if shot, staggered, fell on his knees
tried to rise, rolled to his side, groaned
and lay.
| was so weak I could not clear my,
self. l remember my right spur catch
ing in my saddle cloth as tried to free
my foot; then ] pitched forward and
fell.
Not yet senseless, I clutched at my
breast for the dispatch, meaning to tear
it to pieces; but there my brain failed
and in full view 0f the goal of the night
| lay unconscious.
When l came to, I rose on my left
elbow and looked around. Near my
feet my poor bay Jay stone dead.
Crowfoots gray!-where was Crow
foot's gray? 1t flashed on me that
might mount the fresh horse and ride
On. But where was the gray?
AS peered round l heard family the
sound of galloper. Was he coming my
way? No; family and more family
heard the hoofs.
Had the gray gone on then without
the dispatch? l clutched at my breast
My coat was unbuttoned-the paper
was gone!
Well, sir, 1 cheered. My God! but il
was comforting to hear those far-away
hoofs, and know that Bader must have
come up, taken the papers and mount.
ed Crowfoot's gray, still good for ten
mile ride! The dispatch was gone for.
ward; we had not all fallen in vain;
maybe the brigades would be saved!
How purely the stars shonel When
I stified my grooming they seemed to
tell me of great peace to come. How
still was the night! and 1 thought OF
the silence of the multitudes who had
died for the union.
Now the galloping had quite died
away. There was not sound; slight
breeze blew, but there were no leaves
to rustic. put my head down on the
neck of my dead horse. Extreme ia.
tigue was benumbing the pain of my
now swelling arm; perhaps sleep was
near-perhaps | was swooning.
But sound came that somewhat re.
vived me. Far, low, joyful it crept on
the air. I sat up, wide-awalIe. The
sound, at first faint, died as the little
breeze fell, then grew in the luft, and
came over more clearly as the wind
arose. 1t was sound never to be for.
gotten-the sound of the distant cheer.
ing of thousands of men.
Then | knew that Bader had galloped