The Washington herald., 1914-05-29
After the Battle.
By EMORY J. HAYNES.

The first man. dead and returned from battle,
greatly stirred Randolph town, nigh the whole of
Orange County in fact assembled at West Randolph
railway depot The four miles of the rural highway
winding up the hills to the center village packed
with mourners the gdraped hearse crept slowly
by. / was boy. My father one of the half
dozen pastors of churches in the villages These
all marched at the head of the procession There
were three brass bands, playing mournfu music But
much of the way only the drums throbbed. l never
can forget those drums had climbed on the stone
part of the cemetery gateway.
The older people were in tears. Not SO we chill
dren. Does some read this who as boy re-
members the return of the first dead hero from Bull
Runs Then bear me witness that the children did
not weep. We were in sort of glorious terror,
moved American children had been moved
before recall that could not fall asleep that night
and my father coddled me to calm my excitement,
and told me the dead man a hero and quoted
to the Latin line that it sweet and glorious
to die for ones country" Alas, later on, We too
were numbered with the martyrs.
For many days those Vermont villages rocked with
the emotion as the sea sobs and means for time
after storm has passed. Just mans death,
mind you, was enough to break the hearts of many
thousands. His name was on every lip. His pic
ture in every home His glory a common legacy
Within six months the village children saw un-
moved, the almost daily deposit of the cons on that
depot platform. There never was another town
funeral over a soldier. How could there be when
the dead back by scores after every battle? 1t
was this way, if you will read my recollections. A
battle would rage one day. The newspapers would
print the casualties" two three days later An
entire page two would be filed with these names,
in small type. The people must read for them
Thex did ,uithe fhath 10
The that struck, like stray bullet shot into
a crowd dropped the young widow in her tracks You
knew her, you knew him also. But you only walked
past the little cottage and saw the Grape on the
door, There was no funeral. Only home disrupted,
a lovely young mother heartbroken, a group of
orphans. The village pastor to kneel in prayer.
That was all.
How could there be anything mores For the next
day there another battle, dreadful whole
pages of casualties for unspeakabe mis-
eries-and other spattered shots that hit the next
farm, or in the next street. The paste: was always
on the move carrying his ministries of prayer along
every crossroad into every school district.
Many of these afflicted ones themselves sank down
and soon died. The old white-hared farmer came to
town, bent lower and lower in his buggy. Suddenly
the old people, whom knew, changed sadly that
scarce recognized them in the Sunday congregation
My father used frequently to remark, he Will never
get over Charles DEATH It is killing his father"
My memory of those boyhood days is of uni
versA all pervading sorrow. To escape the gloom
that did not rightfully belong to my generation.
fused to read newspaper I was sitting in an at
mosphere thick with misery. The glad blue sky above
my youth, that sky over the Green Mountains, was
gray. My outlook life, boys rightful outlook,
that should have been full of hopes, was >sf1t in
Everywhere that barefooted for play saw Grape
at the door.
My playmates were like-minded. They ceased even
to laugh in the sweet familiar childish way, and
met>eaeh other at the school yard with did you
hear that Marys father was killed yesterday" Often
sh, 50 often, when Mary came again to school, we
tried to 'be real good to Mary because"
Those of you Americans of the day, who are
eager for war, God forgive you May he inspire you
with fear of war Go you to some older men
and women of us and let us, IA homeiy language
portray what the land is whose brayest and best are
gone 10 the wars. when no funeral ship returns
the saered dust. When Unknown" is the familarest
inscription on the dead soldier in some national
cemetery, and while immortal memories, alike grand
and tender. are IN every fold of the flag we love.
vet to tb day the flag has for me- at times, pathos
that comes down from those days Of sorp'w