THE war still raged. Everywhere in all the beleaguered land, the
tide of brothers' blood flowed apace. Bitterness grew with every
hour, and not one heaven-toned voice was heard above the din of
carnage, saying, "Stay the madness, and let the blood stop flowing."
The end was not yet reached, the great problem of this unnatural
conflict not yet solved. The bombardment of the Queen City still
continued, though with little hope of its surrender. But the
shelling went on, as though this murderous rain of death were but a
merry pastime, on those summer days. The fort was now deemed
impregnable; and yet the hope of its surrender was one that could
not die in the hearts of the beleaguerers. Day after day, they
assaulted and reassaulted, and day by day were filled with
disappointment.
At last, one bright June day was ushered in by a terrific boom, and
then, as if summoning the last spark of hope and determination, the
grim mouths of the cannon belched forth, for many hours, such a rain
of shot and shell as will ever be remembered. The sky was blackened
early with the cloud of smoke that rolled up from the sea-the
sulphurous smoke that pervaded every nook of the city, and was borne
away upon every hurrying breeze to the far-off hills and valleys.
One might well imagine the scene a very inferno; so terrible was the
conflict. Stern, dark, and resolute, Defiance stood for hours-not a
gun dismounted, not a man dismayed. But the day grew late, and still
the booming cannons roared. The heavens above were overcast, as
though nature were ready with a flood of tears to weep over the
deeds of humanity. The lightning flashed, and the guns flashed, and
here and there and everywhere the dreadful shells fell thick and
fast.
At length one fell upon the ramparts of Defiance and
exploded-exploded with a crash of fury that said to every listening
ear, "Some dreadful deed is done."
Alas! alas! The wild crash sounded the death-knell of one brave,
noble heart, and crushed countless hopes as George Marshall's soul
went out. The murderous fragment of a shell penetrated his brain,
and his life was ended in a flash.
Let nothing more be told of the sad story; nothing but simply this:
he was killed, and the troops left in dismay and disorder-killed and
borne to the last embrace of the wounded heart that knew no after
years of healing-killed at Defiance, the place of weird, mysterious
terror to the widowed heart from the days of her sunny
girlhood-killed and buried away under the magnolia shade, among the
hundreds of brave hearts that perished in the same unhappy cause.