The Marietta journal and courier. (Marietta, Ga.) 1909-1918, 1917-07-20
s. ON E -
BY N. X. SMITH.

Some where in the National Gene
terry, Marietta, Ga.
! Monday morning a funeral car
came in from Atlanta silently a
gray covered casket was carried to
the waiting hearse by detail of
brown-clad soldiers, and headed by
another detail proceeded to the
National Cemetery.
There beneath the dropping boughs
of tall pine was laid away ONE of
the soldiers of the nation.
Sergeant Geo. w. Holcomb, of Co.
G. 5th Ga, Infantry, died in service
ready to go to the front, ready to
charge the enemy, ready to take to
his breast the cold steel, or the death
dealing lead. Ere he could cross the
seas and take his place in the ranks
of those who will defend the princi-
Piles for which this war is waged he
has answered to a higher command,
and gone. Is he not as much a hero
as though he had been first in a
charge on bloody battlefield in
France, and fallen with his body torn
by enemy shot?
This incident should bring closer to
US all the stern fact that we are at
war. Had Sergeant Holcombs life
been taken nearby from an enemy
bayonet some would realize it, who
now dream of a far distant war
fought by strangers. And yet ONE
has been laid to rest in our very
midst. Two, three, perchance many
more will quietly come to take their
places beside him underneath the
signing pines, without the glory of
drum and fife or military pomp, but
slowly and silently seek last resting
place in the nations tomb.
Oh We who are dreaming away the
hours, thinking only of all that is
pleasant, and free from sadness,
when ever these funeral corteges
come and wend their way over the
hill to the signing pines above an
open grave, cease your business and
gather at the grave side, and even if
it be woman's way, shed a tear for
the life that was given so freely for
our flag and our country. For who
knows, this loving tribute for some
mothers son who cannot take her in
his manly arms and hold her whiten-
ed head to his breast again, NAV
sweeten the sorrow that may be ours
some day. For we all have friends,
loved ones, brothers and sons who
have taken up the cause, and stand
now ready to face death from the
ruthless foe, ready to be mangled by
the cruel shells, or torn by shrapnel.
It is not so far away from us now as it
seemed bit ago when every seat at
the table was filled, when loved ones
voice. The table seat is vacant, for
came at the sound of another loved
awhile, the footsteps cannot be heard
only the echo of a thousand feet
marching forward, ever forward. to
meet they know not what. And vet
they have gone, ready, willing and
trained to meet whatever comes. With
a brave heart and steady eve thew
ever face the front, and go to glory.
to death, or perchance in Gods mer-
cy to go through a living hell and
come back home to loved ones.
To him who joins the colors, wheth
er he dies from fever on his native
soil, or whether he dies holding the
enemy back in last charge in a for
eign land, he is hero, he is one of
our boys, and no matter whose son
he is or how he is reared, or from
whence he came, he is hero.
The Captain gives the word, the
detail fires the salute, the bugler
standing at the foot of the open
grave sounds the last call, the sol
der lying beneath him, has heard
from somewhere the sound-and is
standing at attention before the
Great Commander Of us all. Low
ing, gentle hands spread over the
grave cover Of flowers, Red, White,
Blue, the glorious flag is folded, the