The Caucasian., 1909-08-15
NEWS AND NOTES
Items of Interest Gathered BY Cau-
casian Representative.

mountain top and the enemy is near .
The winter wind roars through the tor
tured pines, and the frost in the heart
of the maple tree rends it asunder with
report like a revolver shot; but the
Southern picket without overcoat or
gloves, walks his beat while the army
sleeps. Hungry, freezing and clothed
in rags, he hears the slightest sound,
and the noiseless flight of the great
Virginia owl among the tree tops does
not escape his notice. He owns neither
land nor slaves; he is only hunter of
the Alleghenies, but his heart is with
the Southland in her fight for freedom ;
and whether freezing in the snow on
the mountains or charging the enemy's
guns in battle, no man who ever wore
the cross of the Legion of Honor was
braver or truer than he.
Spring is here, the army has come
down from its camp among the pines
and the snow, and is moving down the
valley, with Stonewall Jackson on old
Sorrel, at its head Our picket is here
too, hungry and ragged still, but enliv-
ening the bivouac and march with Jest
and song. His shoes have disappeared
and in his foot prints are seen the red
stains of blood; but he sings the songs
of Dixie Land, and on the battle field
laughs in the face of death. .
The mocking bird is singing in the
willows by the stream; Stonewall is
praying under the trees to the God of
battle for victory; the Federals are
over the Rappahannock, three to one,
and Lee is marching his thin gray lines
to meet them.
There is a roar of cannon far away,
the crash Of musketry, and the yell of
Southern men, Stonewall is in their
rearl A single brigade is pitted against
an army corps, and is melting away in
the fame of the Federal guns. A regi-
ment comes rushing through the pines
to its support. The colonel is boy i'll
years, but veteran Of many battles.
Give them the bayonet," he shouts,
and the whole line dashes forward. His
horse goes down; on foot, his cap on
the point of his lifted sword and the
battle yell on his lips he leads on his
men. His right arm falls helpless to his
side; blood is dripping from his finger
tips, but he takes his sword in the other
hand and goes right forward.
The color bearer of the regiment falls
shot through the heart.
A pale boy with face like girls,
seizes the staff before the battle-cross
and stars have touched the earth, and
rushing on before his comrades, plants
the staff right in front of the Federal
line and stands unharmed beside it in
a storm of bullets, with folded arms
and smile on his beardless lips. The
Southern yell browns out the roar of
the guns. Stonewairs whole corps is
charging now through the gloom of the
dark pine woods; the Union right,
broken and beaten, is doubled back in
utter rout upon their center, and the
victory is won - A gray-haired
man, professor of literature in a uni
versity of the South wears on his breast
the Southern Cross of Honor. He was
the color bearer on the battle field of
Charlottesville His colonel who led
that desperate charge is prouder of his
cross of bronze than all the civic glory
he has won.
Marching barefoot through the snow
and sleet, bearing the Southern colors
in the front of battle, leading forlorn
hopes into the jaws of death, scouting
within the enemy's lines, bravest where
all are brave, is the way the Confeder
ate soldier won his Cross of Honor
James M. McCann in The Confederate
Veteran.