The Idaho Republican. [volume] (Blackfoot, Idaho) 1904-1932, 1912-06-07
THE GRAND ARMY
Continued from page 81

seemed to be. He seemed to be like
the dying gladiator, as pictured by
Byron, His eyes were with his heart,
and that was far away, far away to
the south, where the bones of his
comrades were whitening on the des-
olated fields of Virginia. 1t was as
though he understood the emptiness
of words, and preferred the incom-
parable eloquence of silence.
But there was greater, more woe
full difference when prisoners were
exchanged under the cartel of war
when Andersonville and Libby dis
gorged their living skeletons, when
the Confederacy traded so many pale,
diaphanous ghosts for able-bodied
"Johnnies" who could take their
place in the ranks and fight as well
as they ever could. At Elmira, only
seventeen miles away, seventeen
thousand of them were stockaded;
and l know that they had clothing
enough, food enough, and sufficient
shelter both in summer and in win
ter. That was anything but true Of
the emaciated wretches who were
considered as their equivalent while
the terrible game of war went on.
can still see the army of nurses, with
their white caps and long white
aprons, the long tables covered with
jellies and fruit, and the great caul-
dron kettles in which broth was
boiled; and l can still see strong men
drop tear as they lifted the ghast-
ly wax faced northern soldiers from
the cars to give them rest and re-
freshments. But generally it was USE
less. They were practically dead men
before they left their prisons, and
every time trainload of them came
up the line there would be a long
row of corpses on the depot platform.
Somebody would button the blue
blouses over their bosoms, tie the thin
hands with canteen straps, tip the cap
down over the sightless, sunken eyes,
and then wagon would be driven up,
and the relics would be buried at the
expense of the county, for half the
time there was nothing by which the
dead soldier could be identified Per-
4 haps it is not right to remember these
things, but whether it is or not, l
shall see that particular picture as
long as l see anything in this world,
and I am afraid / shall never get up
any great amount of enthusiasm for
the chivalry that painted it. But do
not misunderstood me. l do not
speak to upbraid or recriminate. The
whirlwind has passed and its raveges
have been obliterated. Valor and mil
itary genius are praiseworthy quail
ties, even in an enemy, and when the
fiery ordeal of war has been endured
and reconciliation has at last frater-
nally linked the hands that were once
raised in fratricidal strife, we forgive,
or at least, we blot out whatever
must be charged up to human pas
sion and remember only. the qualities
that we would desire to have remem-
bered in ourselves.
The camp fires have vanished, the
drum note is banished,
The woodlark pipes truce to the
| deep cannonade;
White Peace hath dominion, and from
her soft pinion
| Shakes down benediction on mead
ow and glade.
Where the mimic ball lodged in the
brain of the picket
The whip-poor-will sings to the lis
tening stars;
The mockingbird trills in the green
| of the thicket,
And not stray shot the transquil-
ity mars.
In dealing with a sentiment like
this, the great and blessed fact of a
reunited nation, with a common her
itage of freedom and glory, and a
common hope for the future, it seems
to me that the poet nearly always
beats the orator. Whether it is be-
cause he expresses his thoughts in
music, or because he congresses more
/ in a line than the orator nuts into a