The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1913-06-27
Worn DaguerTeOtype Is Token of Romance BIlghted by
 Conflict
DEAD SOLDIER HELD
 IT IN HIS CLASP
Bridgeport Soldier Has Moi Sought to Restore f Fearful
 Of Causing HGaTtaGheS


 Bridgeport veterans tell many stor- ies of the battle of Gettysburg, some pathetic, some humorous With the | pathetic incidents of the battle. Rms sell qlenn's story of the young Con federate whom he found dead after the battle with his sweethearts pie ture clasped in his hand deserves a. place.
 With Pickett's men who charged on the portion of the Union lines held by the 14th Conn. on July 3, fifty years | ago, came a young Confederate soldier a handsome boy with blue ewes and fair curly hair. A boy, but a vet ] eran of many fights under 'r1farse Rob ert,' he rushed with his comrades to within thirty yards of the Union line. There piece of canister struck him and tore a frightfu1 wound in his chest. Gasping for breath he fell on his hands and knees. Bullets whistled about him, shells screamed over him. Down from the Union line l came rolling thick clouds of smoke | powder. Before the terrible musket- ry fire from the men of the 14th the charging line of Confederates had withered. Their rush was halted and broken. Like desert travellers in a | storm. little group of men hudd1ed
 
 them ragged the tempest of battle.
 Slowly. for the touch of death w4s already stiffening his muscles. the boy dragged himself to the shelter of a boulder. Behind him the ebb of his life blood marked a crimson trail In the shadow of the boulder he lay back aston assbfIlow-
 l For him the war was over. E1 l more long weary marches; no more standing guard at night; no moro hardship or hunger. From the breast l of his tattered gray blouse he drew the picture of a young woman, a da- guerreotype. Resting aganfst the rock he held the picture at arms length and gazed on the likeness of a pretty girl, with dark hair, big dark eyes and full lips parted in a smile. How often those eyes had lighted for him. how often those lips wreathed In e welcoming smile for hirnl The thought made him, too, smile His blue eyes grew dim with tenderness, and then Death grfpped him.
 At dawn next day Russell Glenn and the men. of the 14th walked about that stricken field. Among the rocks of the Devils Den some desperately | wounded foeman might have been overlooked by the parties sent ort | to care for the wounded and they would give him succor. Beside the dead boy they paused. All night long the smiling blue eyes of the dead man had turned toward the smiling eyes of brown in the picture | From the posture of the boy the | Union soldiers thought he stiI lived. They were shocked when they found he was dead. Reverently Russell Glenn unclasped the stiffened fingers from about the daguerreotype, drew the tattered blouse and torn hickory shirt together to hide the gaping wound while they searched his cloth l ing for something which might iden- tify him. There was nothing. Not even scrap of paper to show who l or what he might be- Near where he fell the fire of the 14th had broken the charge of the 16th North Caro- lima. So they credited him to that | command when later they laid him to rest in long trench with dozen others of his brave comrades. | Russell Glenn carried the picture and the story back to Connecticut when he came home on furlough. After the war he tried to find the original of i inc daguerreotype but without tha success he hoped for. A woman who | lost father, brothers and sweetheart | at Gettysburg Is believed to be the o-- 1 tEiuaI of the picture but years aTrer 1 tT1e war when Russell Glenn felt he| had made certain of her Identity, fear 1 f11l of reopening an old wound ne refratned from communicatinG with her. ,,.
 He has the picture still. This uttle 1 incident of a terrible battle, one or a +,.o,,eand foo trivial to be noticed bv the historian yet a mighty reason why there should be no more war; ror1ained a tale to be told by the camp-f1re and after the war about | the fireside.
 l -zl1a,e died that boy in gray, his was tbe sublirnity of sacrifice; far beyond the skyline, way down south in a titt1e town in North Carolina, h'a9 l sweetheart mourned alone.