Western Carolina Democrat and French Broad hustler. [volume] (Hendersonville, N.C.) 1913-1915, 1913-09-25

at some awful hour during the morn
ing, when hell seemed to have open
ed it's caverns, and rained forth its
fire and blood, all that vas mortal of
Capt. Walter Bryson feIled to earth
by a Yankee bullet, which entered
n temple of that mothers brave
son, and spend its way onward and
outward through the other temple.
Orderly Sergeant Ambrose Station,
a comrade from his native country,
rushed forward and bore the lfeless
form of the young officer to a hut near
by. In the meantime the faithful ser
want had prepared the frugal morn
ing meal, as directed by the master
and was chasing hither and thither
in the chaos of battel to find him.
Twas late that EVENING", after the
din of gun had ceased, that some sol
dIers, who knew George, CHANGED to
see him and tell him that his master
had been killed, and where he would
ind his body. George was determin-
ed that his very own "Marse Walter"
should not be thrown in a ditch, and
buried with the "A, 900 or more North
ern and Southern men, who gave
their lives in about fourteen hours on
this memorable day at Antietam.
which Horace Greedy was probably
right in pronouncing the bloodiest
day in American history. Rushing
to the cabin that faithful negro boy
Of eighteen years stood sentinel over
the l~ifeless body in that silent house
OF death forty hours, sleeping little,
and not once leaving, save for food
occasionally, and to beg for assist
ance to take the body of his master
back home. On the third morning
some OF the comrades of the deal
captain provided a rough pine coffin
an army wagon, and started started
| George with his beloved "Mecse VA
ter back to the land of his birth for
burial. Who but can picture that
lonely drive with death? Who but
can feel the throbbing of that hear,
AID grasp thoughts of that sorrowful
mind, as owe hill and hale wendell
George and his silent master in the
box of dead.
Fredericksburg, Virginia, was
reached and here George took $100.00
Of the sacred $4,000 entrusted to him
On that last night of life, and bought
a metallic casket and placed the body
therein and shipped it to Greenville,
Tenn, which was the nearest rail-
way station t Hendersonville, N. c.,
At that time. At this terminal of
train, George hired a wagon and
white driver for $500 per day, and
started the long drive across coun-
try. Realizing the weight of sorrow
and suffering he was bearing home
in that casket, George sent on a mes
sage to the father an dmOther by the
stage coach, which could make more
speed than his wagon of death. The
silent party lodged the first night at
Paint Rock, the second night near
Asheville, on the vest SIDE, and reach
ed Fetchers about shutdown the
third day of the drive. Here the
father having received the message,
ret his boy, his dear soldier boy.
Can we not imagine that meeting?
Can we not imagine that greet ng?
Can we not see that old father rs he
falls upon the neck of that faithful
servant? Home was reached that
1ISuL dOOuL LOA O1OCh" again q
scene presents itself to u vision.
Mother grasps father in her anguish.
Sisters sink in the awfulness of the
hour.
The next day George helped to dig
grave. A sorrowful funeral party
passed through the streets, and to
mank aching hearts and pitiful cries,
were added the lamentations of him
who had served the young master in
life, and cared for his body in death.
Today a beautiful grassy mound
and stately shaft Of marble, in the
cemetery at the Methodist church in
Hendersonville, attests to passersby
that a brave southern soldier boy lies
buried there, instead of in Maryland
soil.
Today near Hendersonville, in a
little shabby hut, lives an old white
headed negro, who loves to talk of
the days of 81 to '65, who loves to
tell of the day he saw Jefferson Davis
in Richmond riding around among
"our men" and how 1--WE all raised
our hats and hollered;" who loves to
tell of Jackson and of Lee: and who
~n.odestly, %singularly modestly told
| me this story.