The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1901-11-09
CHAPTER XVII,

Richard somers did not need his
pass that morning, nor have to ex-
plain why he, if a paroled prisoner,
was wearing the uniform of confed-
crate officer. That uniform was his
salvation in his wild ride upon the
crowded road, for aides and couriers
were rushing to and fro and no one
questioned him. Day was breaking
as he ncared the front, and the tu-
multi of a great battle surrounded
him. He passed cavalry, moving in
fantry and artillery, and was soon
swallowed up in the confusion. He
had no knowledge of the topography
of the country; there was no chance
to use a pass in that mass of con-
fused mcn-he could only move for
ward with the host. An officer, rein
ing up violently by his side, gave him
an order to carry to struggling line
that, half envelopeu in it's own smoke,
rceled back in front of a wooded slope
on when some guns were being han
died desperately, and on that slight
cminence as he approached in mad
gal.op he saw at intervals the familiar
stars and stripes. He passed the con-
federate me, at that moment badly
broken, its officers riding as madly
as he up and down it in an endeavor
to rally it, and seeing here his only
chance of escape, took it. Bnrying
his heels in the TANKS of the terrified
animal he bestrode, he headed
straight for the battery. He swung
back in the saddle rs though endeav-
oring to stop runaway horse. A
little thicket screened him for one
instant, and emerging beyond that.
he lifted his handkerchief in the air,
waved it and with the speed of the
wind swept on into the lines of blue.
Strong hands seized the bride; and
then cheer went up from the bat
terry. Col. Somers was with his own
again.
Somewhere in the records of the
government is told how one battery,
the focus of artillery and infantry,
held back for hours the tide of bat
tie that day; somewhere ATE preserved
the names of those who fell, and OF
the few who, at last, with despairing
strength dragged back the guns that
had not been dismounted, and saved
them from capture; but no official
record preserves the picture of q
wrecked and half demolished cottage
by the roadside, the body of a frail
child dead in the arms Of dead
woman visible through the shattered
timbers. The picture lives to-day only
in the memory of soldier, who
standing before it . moment under
the bursting shells Of that Jun>
morning, covered his eyes and muir.
INJURED prayer.
To this same place in the after
years came ono day in June a man
and woman who tenderly laid flow.
ers upon Il grave beneath the one
cedar which had escaped the battles
wrath. A slender shaft Of marble
stood above the grave, and upon il
was carved the name of the dead
woman who slept beneath. BY the
grave a rose-vine was growing. 1t.
upward branches chung to the tree
and let fall long streamers of white
blossoms, peace banners. in the breeze
II planted it here when I gave the
place to the boy who brought yor
through the lines to me that night
Dick. 1t is a Lamarque. too. 4 want
ed her to share the white rose with
me-to sleep peacefully under it al
ways. For somehow, Dick, 1 have al
ways felt that once you loved her
and that you loved me ut first be
cause she had taught you how te
love" She lifted her b.ue-gray eye.
and rested them upon the manly face
of her companion; tender light wa.
cleaning in their misty depths. "Ant
am glad. my husband, that her brie1
life was blessed even for little
while with the worship Of . brave
gentleman's heart" He drew her to
wards him, and her face grew radian,
against his breast.
"God bless them both, mother anG
ohild!" he said, gently; "and Goo
bless you, Frances, my wife!'
| THE END.