Fisherman & farmer. [volume] (Edenton, N.C.) 1887-19??, 1898-11-25
A TOUCHING SCENE.

ron. Ionce saw it carried, ragged
and wet with blood, but trium
phant, from battle field which
was sterwn with the corpses OF
men who had died to defend it.
But nowhere has it seemed to
me more touchingly and im>
pressively used than in homes
" little scene, which I happen
ed to be a witness during the
civil war.
In August, 1868, l was going
from West Virginia to Pheladel-
phia through Pennsylvania. The
south~bound trains that summer
were heavily loaded with troops
and provisions for the army,
but going back they carried few
passengers.
At P1ttSburg, when the tram
rolled into the station, a great,
silent crowd waited for it. A
splendid funeral-car stood i'll the
background surrounded by
troops, and the street was filled
by long line of closed carriages.
A volunteer officer III the Union
army, who had been a man OF
influence and high position i'll
Pittsburg, had been killed IN
the last battle, and now his
native city mourned for him and
did him honor.
The coffin, rich il decorations
and covered with flowers, was
reverently borne from the car.
The troops presented arms the
standards, draped with black,
were lowered, and the air was
filled with the solemn music Of
funeral marches After short
delay, the train rolled on its
way.
Late that afternoon it stopped
at little station among the
Allegheny Mountains. The
station house was but rough
shed ; a pig was roofing under
the platform. In the background
was a squalid cabin IL potato
patch. The whole landscape
spoke Of barrenness and helpless
poverty.
Standing OH the platform was
woman, poor country girl.
She wore an old, patched gown
that chung Imply to her thin
body, and a calico sunbonnet
which she had thrown back that
she might better watch the
train. A little barefooted boy
chung to her, but she did not
heed him. Her face was pinched
and bloodless. She leaned for,
ward, staring with childish
dilated eyes into each car as II
passed.
There was a grating sound as
the trainmen dragged a rough,
pine box from the freight Cal
and laid it upon the platform
The woman went up to it, anc
without a word or tear dropped
down and clasped her arms
about it. There was not a mar
on the train who did not uncove,
his head, but she saw nothing o
the many strange, ylCylng eye:
fixed on her.
Her boy came to her, crying
"Where is pap a! You said he
would come !"
She did not hear or answer
only clasped the box closer.
The tragedy was SO squalid
so hopeless, that tie onlooker:
saw cnly its cruelty. Why SHOULD
this poor farm boy be struck
down, and this helpless wife and
her child be left to struggle anC
to suffer? Why need there BE-
this waste OF human lie? Jus
then q man ran out o. the sta
ton carrying tatt1red old fas
and spread it proudly over the
box.
And at the touch of it, it seem
ed to us who watched, as if GU:
country laid her hand on thu
poor coffin and said:
"This is my son. He died 70
me. Pay reverence to him.
The train steamed slowl,
away. The setting sun threw it
low light over the lonely groul
On the platform the woman
and her child and her dead-bu
the flag ennobled this poo
martyrdem. Never in the t1ium
phs OF peace or fury of battl
it express with more emphasi
the majesty of our country thar
when it claimed the poor volun
teer as its sou, one Of its heroe
to be be honored for all time.
The Best Plaster.
A piece of flannel dampenee