The Colfax chronicle. [volume] (Colfax, Grant Parish, La.) 1877-1981, 1896-03-14


that his sorrel rolled over do not re-
member at all, though ] perfectly re.
member how Absalom sprapg up, stag
gered, shouted: Ny foot is sprained!"
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. hurrahl
Shouting the battle-cry of freedomr'
We turned our heads and cheered
him as we few, for there was some
thing indescribably inspiriting in the
gallant and cheerful Tilt of tn. fallen
man. 1t was as if he flung us, from
the grief of defeat, soul unconquer-
able; and felt he 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 gaining ON them? How
was it that l could see his figure out
lined more clearly against the horizon?
Surely dawn was not coming on!
No; 1 looked round ON a world of
naked peach orchards, and cornfields
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 of the
sky as would be caused by the camp
fires of an army.
"The missing hrigade!" I shouted.
"Or southern division!" Bader cried.
"Come on!"
"Come on!" was certainly gaining
on him, but very slowly. Before the
of his roam, the wide Examinations had
become more distinct; and still not
vidette, nor picket, nor a sound Of
the proximity of an army.
Bader and I 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;
s'my roam won't go much farther.
Good-by, youngster. Away you go!"
and drew now quickly ahead.
Still Bader rode on behind me- In
q few minutes he was considerably be-
hind. Perhaps the sense of being alone
increased my feeling of weakness.
Was 1 going to reel out of the saddle?
Had / lost so much blood as that?
Still 1 could hear Bader riding on. I
turned to look ut him. Already he was
scarcely visible. Soon he dropped out
of sight; but still 1 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.
Were 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.
rode straight on, and was stifl 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 could not clear N.Y.
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, / clutched at my
breast for the dispatch, meaning to tear
It t. pieces; hut there my brain failed.
and in full view IL the goal of the night
lay unconscious.
When I came to, rose on my left
elbow and looked around. Near my
feet my poor bay lay stone dead.
Crowfoot's gray!-where was Crow
foot's gray? 1t flashed on me that I
might mount the fresh horse and ride
on. But where was the gray?
AS peered round 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? Iclutched at my breast.
My coat was unbuttoncd-the paper
was gone!
Well, sir, cheered. My Godi 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
l stified my grooming they seemed to
tell me Of great peace to come. How
still was the night! and 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 fa-
tigue was benumbing the pain of my
now. swelling arm; perhaps sleep was
was swooning.