The news & observer. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1894-current, 1904-12-25

count by puDl1c judgment and the
press if he so much as parts his
name in the middle in official sigma
ture, young Roz st. Quentin, of South
Carolina, late lieutenant of cavalry,
C. S. A.. now disabled through the loss
of his arm in battle, would hardly
have ventured to confess the full eX-
tent of his prenomS and patronymic,
Charles Felix RoZelle st. Quentin, hap
PLY called Rox for short was what his
parents had burdened him with for
life. But then they lived in a romantic
age, among a dreamy, half-awakened
people, in an old house grown over,
like the Sleeping Beautys in the
wood, with leaf and thorn and flower.
with hundreds of slaves to do the bid
ing of their only son, and red camel
las poisoning in the dooryard as but
tercups do in the North Country. ROE
grew up like a young prince in his own
esteem. When the family turned out
of this home at stated intervals dur
ing the year it was to journey in their
own carriages and boats to still
more wildly isolated and overgrown
old mansion among rice fields on the
coast. Wherever Roz had moved he
had considered it sort of royal pro-
gress-so many black faces had bowed
before him, so many rich, soft voices
had acclaimed him and praised his
looks and words and doings. The st.
QuentinS were kind masters, rich and
liberal to their slaves, and there were
few of the dark shadows underlying
life on their plantations that were
presently to gather and blacken and
close in like pail over the Southland.
Roz had found himself first when
they sent him away from his tutors
to the University of Virginia. While
in that ancient and honorable seat of
learning, to which he had come with
the assurance of a young cockerel pre-
pared to crow, he had suffered dis
illusionment on many points. The
simple and manly young fellows there
in training to make the leaders of the
struggle soon to come Knocked him
about until they considered he had had
enough, and after that took him into
their secret societies and friendships
for the gallant fellow that he was.
Then the war suddenly blazed up
like prairie fire, consuming in its
course every young heart far and near
The girls, who knew nothing what
ever about the issues of the strife,
talked themselves hoarse adjuring the
men to defend their country from the
vandaPs tread. They had never met
any of the vandals, and had heard
only the side of the burning question
that their politicians and rabid slave
holders intended them to hear. 1t was
spirits, Graded in idealism The ex-
element of making battle flags and
bandageS, of singing battle songs, their
chorus swelled by ring of stalwart
youngsters in new gray uniforms clus-
tered around the piano like bees, car
ried these Confederate lasses cheer
lily into the fight; and, whether mis-
taken or not, the same impulse kept
them up through the four long years
of shock and sorrow, peril and priva-
ton, to the bitter end, and went with
them into the longer years of strain
% come.
But 1T was one thing to be an ar
lent patriot mounted upon ones own
charger and riding into a fight with
the thrill of battle in ones veins,
thought ROE, and quite another to find
ones self lacking left arm, landed
high and dry in a Richmond lodging
house, at the beginning of the last
winter of war. He had come out of
the hospital with bullet wandering
around somewhere inside of him, in
capacitating him for any return to ser
vice, and an empty sleeve. of which
he was forever reminded by thous-
and little tiresome things that cropped
up in the life of every day. The sur
geons had told him that with care he
might live out the ordinary span of
life, and an old friend of his father,
a chief of one of the bureaus of adj
nliniStration in Richmond, had taken
companion upon his aimless existence.
obtaining from him a small clerical
position that would insure occupation
and keep his body and soul together.
For in addition to the loss of his
arm poor Roz had parted with both
his good parents since the war began,
and with their death and the disinte-
grafton of the labor system on the es-
tates his revenues had almost entire
ly ceased. Some day, given miracle,
they might come up again, but mean
time Mr.. st. Quentin was as poor as
the poorest but for his pittance from
the department.
Thus after the glories of his youth
his earthly kingdom had now come to
be one room, with two icy cold closets,
built into a balcony at the rear of the
handsome old dwelling in Grace street,
now let out to department clerks, OIL
GERS widows and refugees in general
1t was rather a good room, with high
mantlepiece of white wood carved with
garlands and Tyres and shepherds
pipes; a loftv ceiling i'll white stucco.
a carpet of Brussels. not yet worn to
holes covering the whole floor. when
most people were satisfied with
meagre square), and set of furniture
in French walnut, including book
case and a folding screen Inc natter
had made it possible for ROE to cut off
the corner where he slept, on sol
dier's cot His washing things were
kept in one of the refrigerated clos
cts, and in the other a few cooking
utensils and stores answered the calls
Of his still healthy apptite when it
could not by any possibility be induced
to hold its peace. The landlady had
also left him two sets of window cur
tains of red moreen, and when his coal
had not run out and a fire licked the
old Colonial chimney back Roz had
good reason to feel himself the star
lodger as far as surroundings were
concerned.
At an ordinary time Roz st. QUEEN
tin. as generous and sweet tempered
youth as ever drew breath, would
have taken keen interest in different
iating between the occupants of the
various rooms, for nobody had a floor.
lie would have speculated about their
characters and antecedents, their traits
and externals, and would have ended
by making friends among them, since
there were few mysteries in Richmond
society, and everybody knew every
body else to the remotest grandfather
or sixteenth cousin.
But the truth is the poor lad was
sick at heart and sore to the touch