Manchester Democrat. [volume] (Manchester, Iowa) 1875-1930, 1900-05-30
A MEMORIAL
DAY UNION
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80 USINESS had brought him to his
IS native town in the sunny South.
he was in haste that his mission
should be concluded SO that he might get
away from the quiet village. The very
beauty of its fragrant spring dress sad
dened him.
In timid, hesitating way he had made
few inquiries for old-friends, but the
answer was ever the same. War had
scattered most Of the old families. Those
alone remained who slept in the peaceful
cemetery in the dip which formed vale
( at the bend in the river.
And the Ralstons?'
All were gone. OF the impetuous, high
/. spirited family, only Miss Erma was still
alive The RaIstoh boys-four or them
lay in soldiers graves beside their GAL
liant father.
Mrs. Ralston had seen her brave BOYS
brought home dead one by one. But she
gave them for her country's sake, gladly,
put her heart was slowly breaking. She
did not long survive her husband.
Did Miss Erma still live at Iron
wood?"
No. The old plantation was desolate
and Miss Ralston lived in little white
cottage down the road, the one almost
smothered in jasmine and roses.
The gentleman took his cane and with a
brisk step which told of some young blood
{ still flowing in his veins, started down the
street In the warm spring sunshine. The
square shoulders, erect head and firm
tread all bespoke the soldier.
As he came in sight of Miss Erma's
house his steady walk became jerky and
finally settled into an uncertain amble.
For the fraction of second he paused
at her gate, then beat hasty and con-
fused retreat. Completely out of breath
he drew up beside the high arched gate
which opened upon the soldiers last tent
ing ground.
by Jove! It's no use. l couldn't face
her" and the old man mopped his brow.
Whew, how her eyes did blaze! Facing
9 cannon is play to standing the fire Of
Erma's angry eyes,
He leaned against the post. The light
died out of his face and he thought of
that long away time when he and Erma
had been lovers. And then came the war,
How quickly had followed that awful day
when he went to say farewell and she
would not look at him, because he wore
the hated blue. He tried to argue. tried
to persuade, but she would not listen.
She was a Southern girl-Col. Raj
ston's daughter. If he fought the South.
he fought her and was her deadly foe.
Was 1t not cruel enough that the dread
full war should deprive her of her lover,
without calling him to fight against In,
stead Of for her?
How clearly he could see her as she
stood then on the low, wide steps, a slim,
zirlish figure clad in clinging white. Her
hcaakr rxyar Q,xp u \ l.
ulous, but the chin was firmly set. All
through the war he had carried in his
heart the memory Of her as she stood in
the sunshine, framed by the stately pill
lars Of the gallery; while he, with despair
In his heart, but logged determination
In his eyes, turned, when half way down
the broad avenue Of live oaks, and lifting
his Union cap, murmured, "God keep
my Southern sweetheart"
How often he recalled her words, He
could almost hear them now. go. You
are traitor. l never want to see your
face again"
The old man shook his head sorrowful-
~. No. she would never forgive him, not
even now after all these years. Well, he
would go back north on the morrow, SO
what matter2
He and the Ralston boys had been COL
lege students together. He would pay a
visit to their last resting place. He open
ed the gate and slowly made his way
among the fower-covered mounds. When
he reached the Ralston lot, he looked
about him sorrowfully. He felt sadly
desolate. He alone was left Of all those
merry, laughing fellows.
Presently his eye wandered to grave
somewhat apart from the rest, The
scarcity of its flowers drew his attention
toit. He wandered idly toward 1t, think
ing. "Some poor friendless chap"
He started and then dropped upon his
knees in his eagerness to read the simple
inscription on the headstone. It ran.
"MERRILL FREMONT"
Born 1885, Killed at Gettysburg, 1868. .
why, that's my name!" and the old
man looked about him in dazed manner
as though for a moment he doubted his
identity.
Yes, my name is Merrill Fremont and
] was born in '3s, but though was
wounded did not die at Gettysburg. A
Union soldier in a Confederate grave
yard. All. that accounted for the lack of
memorial flowers" and be smiled grizzly.
"4ut I'm not dead" and be thumped bis
eaas yi-sr0usly upon Tho gravel path,