Eph went up the Hill. Half way up Park street he looked back and saw
Ragan disappearing; so when he came to the top, he felt safe in turning
aside a little, to pause before the Memorial and report his triumph to
his Colonel there.
He stood on the steps before the Monument, and took off his hat, and
explained the matter very respectfully; and for all the howling of the
wind that swept up the street and past him, he was sure he heard the low
exclamations of his comrades in the stone ranks there; and he was sure
the graven officer looked down at him, and spoke with him, and praised
him....
The night watchman, at the State House across Beacon street, reported
afterward that he had thought, in the night, he heard the sound of
martial music in the street out there. It might have been a banjo, and
an old man’s voice; he could not be sure.
“But it sounded like a fife and drums to me,” he said, again and again.
“I came to a window and looked out; but I couldn’t see a thing....
Thought I must have been dreaming.... Went back to the fire....”
Whether it was old Eph’s banjo, and old Eph’s song he heard, or whether
it was indeed the shrilling of invisible pipes, welcoming a hero home, I
cannot say. He says it was The Battle Hymn of the Republic that he
heard, so Ragan thinks it was only old Eph. But I am not so sure....
At any rate, Ragan found Eph, in the morning. The old darky was huddled
at the base of the Memorial, cuddling his banjo in his arms, while above
his head the stone ranks marched interminably on.
* * * * *
Ragan and his lawyer between them decided to tell Jim Forrest the truth
of the matter; and it was Jim who devised old Eph’s epitaph. That which
he caused to be set upon Eph’s small, white stone was a familiar phrase
enough; but glorious as simple things may be.
The legend on the stone reads:
“Old Eph.”
“January 17, 1918”
“Dead on the Field of Honor”