The Washburn times. [volume] (Washburn, Wis.) 1896-1976, 1910-04-21
Civil War Stories
"Who Is MY Neighbour"


"Who Is My Neighbour"
Behold the happy warrior! He who
lifted high,
conspicuous object in a nations eye,
Looks forward p~ersevering to the last
From we'll to better, daily self-sur-
passed;
And while the mortal mist is gather
ing, draws
His breath in confidence of heavens
applause.
This is the happy warrior.
For two days the battle Of the VIII
derness had been raging. Slowly but
surely, every inch Of ground contest
ed. the Federal forces pressed. the sui
len rebel foe before them. The citizens
Of the village, Warren, pallid with
anxiety for friends, .scowled with bit
ter hate and muttered curses at the
boys IN blue, who marched slowly
through the village to an advantageous
position a few miles beyond, where
they were to encamp for the night.
Shortly after the main body OF the
army had passed, a group Of officers,
accompanied by a squad OF cavalry,
dashed through the village eG route
for the encampment.
They had proceeded scarcely a mile
when a violent storm burst suddenly
upon them.
An old farm house about a stones
throw from the road was the only
building in sight. With a hasty order
to their men to proceed to camp, the
officers put their spurs to their horses,
and in a moment were under the roof
of the porch, which, after the South
ern fashion, extended across the front
of the house.
A gaunt woman appeared in re-
Spouse to their summons, of whom
their spokesman requested shelter
from the storm and something to eat,
promising substantial payment.
Ushering them silently into a cheer
less room, devoid of furniture, except
a few chairs and an old pine table,
she motioned them to be seated, while
she placed before them a loaf Of corn
bread, some bacon and a pitcher of
water, after which she withdrew to a
corner of the room, where on a rude
pallet, protected from the keen noun
tain air by a ragged coverlet, lay a
sleeping child. Crouching on the floor,
she seemed oblivious to all that was
passing around her.
The weary soldiers partook CRATE
fully of the coarse fare, seasoning
their repast with "reminiscences of the
fight that day. They chatted, too,
upon trivial subjects, and now and
then a laugh rang out upon the air.
True, they had beheld blood and car
mage all day, but the strain was re-
moved for a little while, and they
thankfully accepted the respite.
One among the group, a plain, quiet
man, whom all treated with Difference,
mingled but seldom in the converse
ton; but as his keen eyes roved
around the humble apartment and its
miserable occupants, upon whom bit
ing poverty was so plainly depicted,
his falcon glance grew dim, and his
head dropped upon his breast in ap-
parently sad reflection.
Having finished their repast the
officers arose, and, producing their
pipes, prepared to indulge in the sol
dier's luxury, a smoke.
Rousing from his abstraction, the
quiet man spoke a few words to his
companions In a low tone, pointing
to a rude porch at the back of the
house, protected from the fury of the
storm. They having departed thence,
he approached the woman, who still
crouched on the floor.
Madam" said he, gently, "you seem
to be. in trouble. Cannot we assist you
in some way?"
Looking up with dazed, horror
stricken eyes, which seemed to have
lately gazed upon some dreadful sight,
the woman slowly shook her head and
resumed her former position. "The
Federal encampment cannot be far dis
tant," insisted the firm, kindly voice.
."If you will tell me your name, you
and this little one," pointing to the
sleeping child, shall be provided for"
"All we want, Robby and me, is to
die" answered the woman despairing-
ly, and that" laughing wildly, we're
likely to do before long. Come Rfs-
ing and passing swiftly through the
room, she crossed the hall into an
other apartment, followed by the Off
GER.
Pointing to a bed wherein was
stretched the ~lifeless body Of a man,
she exclaimed:
There's my grief. Can you help
me? Can you give me back my hus-
band, killed by your men this morn
ing?"
Kneeling beside the dead man, she
abandoned herself to grief. The little
boy, awakened by his mothers lamen-
t~ations, crept sobbing into the room,
whittier the other officers also came.
Motioning them to retire, the man,
who looked into the cannon's mouth
unfinching, with moistened eyes rails
ed the grief-stricken creature from the
inanimate clay to which she chung so
fondly, and, by gentle questioning, as
certained the particulars of the trag-
edy.
With streaming tears she told how
her husband, Powell Hunter, had been
shot while on picket duty that morn
ing.
"He was here last night" sobbed
she, "cold and hungry, but he would
scarcely eat a bite for fear of Bobby
and me starving. Oh, my husband"
throwing herself on the heart that
would never beat for her again, take