TWO years rolled away-two short, bright years of individual and
national prosperity, and then came a change. To use the words of the
immortal Dickens, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of
times; it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness; it
was the season of light, it was the season of darkness; it was the
spring of hope, it was the winter of despair; we had everything
before us, we had nothing before us; we were all going direct to
heaven, we were all going direct the other way." These utterances of
inspiration so fittingly describing the period that ushered in the
bloody French Revolution, may be applied with equal truth and force
to the years that inaugurated the war between the States in fair
America.
Did not prosperity bud and blossom in every vale and hamlet of this
fair domain? And yet were a people ever more unmindful of, or more
ungrateful for their blessings? Bickering and strife, dissension and
hatred, grew fiercer with the growth of the nation's grandeur.
Slavery, on one hand said, "I will," and Freedom, on the other, "You
shall not." So the war-cloud, "the size of a man's hand" only at
first, appeared upon the dim horizon of the future. Wisdom sought to
devise plans for averting war, but Folly shook her locks tauntingly,
and said mockingly, "Ha! ha! War is pleasant pastime." So the
culmination was reached, and a misguided people, clamorous for war,
sounded the tocsin that caused rivers of blood to flow from
brothers' hearts, and enshrouded a grand and happy people in
desolation and disgrace.
At the time when the war-cloud of fratricidal conflict was rolling
dark and broad over the land, a treacherous enemy on the border were
menacing and even destroying many of our country's peaceful
citizens. Upon the broad frontier at the Far West it became the duty
of the government to hold these wily foes in check by a strong and
reliable armed force. To this north-western outpost of service
Captain Marshall had been ordered by the voice of his country. Not
ordered there as to a holiday excursion, but ordered into actual
bloody conflict, and to an ordeal that would have tried the bravery
and courage of a veteran. At the head of his command, Company A, 3d
Regiment U. S. Regulars, Captain Marshall reached this post of
danger in the hour of its most imminent peril. But for this timely
arrival of troops, the peaceful little town of Minneopoli might have
been laid waste, and its defenceless inhabitants cruelly butchered
or carried away captive. But the premeditated destruction of the
town was averted, the treacherous "red-skins" disappointed, and
Captain Marshall's bravery demonstrated beyond a peradventure.
It was the night after the attack of the Indians, and the bloody
repulse. All was quiet. The troops were reassembled in camp. The
usual garrulity of the soldiers was checked by the recollection of
their dead comrades, so recently laid to rest in soldiers' graves.
All, too, remembered the danger through which they had passed, and
many were moody and silent. At length a bright-faced, light-headed
young recruit spoke out, seeing the silence and sadness around the
camp-fire. "I say, captain, that was a wretched red-skin of a chief
that you hauled in yesterday. He looked more like the Prince of
Darkness than the chief of a tribe. I thought once, cap'n, he had
you; and I was just ready to pick him off, when I saw you were
safe."
"Yes, Carlos, that was a close place, and but for a kind fate, I
should be sleeping with those brave fellows who have left us. Peace
to their resting-places."
"I was sorry you did not kill him; he deserved death. But how quick
he did surrender, when he saw you close in on him with your sword!
Ha! ha!"
"Yes, Mico is a bad, bad Indian, and has caused more trouble to this
settlement than all the other Indians combined. I guess he will
enjoy his freedom, when he gets it again. Confinement and chains are
worse than death to him."
"I tell you, cap'n, they are cowardly devils. They can't stand
gunpowder. At the very smell of it they run out from their
hiding-places, like so many rats from a burning building. I hated to
see one of them taken alive. It's not like fighting civilized
people; is it, cap'n? I am in favor of the black flag in a fight
with these red devils."
"War is war, Carlos, and brutalizes the most intelligent people on
earth, if they indulge in it. I trust our troubles are ended here,
for a long time, if not forever, now that Mico is our prisoner. At
any rate, I hope all will remain peaceful and tranquil till I go
home and return. For a month I have a leave of absence, to visit my
native State."
"Going home, captain, to see your mother?" spoke up a fair-haired
young boy, scarcely eighteen, who had sat a silent listener to the
conversation between Carlos and his commander.
"Ah! Franco, I have no mother; she died long ago," replied the
captain; "but I am going back to my native State. My father and a
brother and sister live there."
"It has been many a long day," said Franco, "since I saw my native
hills, and heard my mother's gentle voice, as she went singing about
our humble home. I often wonder how she could sing so, with so much
poverty and care constantly about her. Maybe I shall never see her
again ;" and a shade of sorrow crept over the fair young face of the
French recruit.
The captain replied, "I trust that you may, Franco, though you are
now so many leagues away. What brought you away from her, Franco?"
"Poverty, captain, poverty; and unless I can lighten the burden of
my mother's life by returning, I shall never go back!"
Silence at length settled upon the camp, and one by one the groups
of comrades disbanded. The campfires were extinguished, and at an
early hour sleep tenderly enfolded these guardians of their
country's peace and security.