42. the double desertion: an incident of the war.
by H. D. Atwood.
Serius aut cities sedem properamus ad unam. Ovid: Met. x. 32.It was moon-light on the waters, and the stars shone clear and bright,
And the sentry's musket glistened through the shadows of the night,
As he paced his lonely round upon the fair Potomac's shore,
While he thought of home and kindred that might never greet him more;
And his hand drew forth a locket that beneath his vest he wore;
That to him was greater treasure and more precious than the mine,
Where bright gems are found in clusters, and the sparkling metals shine;
For enshrined he saw the image of the maid to him most dear--
Thrice he raised it to his lips, and still again he held it near,
While affection in his bosom claimed the tribute of a tear.
Soon he started — from the distance came what seemed a stealthy tread,
And he crouched beneath the shadow when some tangled branches spread:
Then he listened — cocked his musket — put his locket 'neath his vest,
And still deeper in the shadow there reclined upon his breast,
And the musket firmer, closer, as the sound approached, he pressed. [32]
Then the underbrush was parted, and a man came into view;
And he threw a hurried glance around, as one in haste would do,
When he fears some lurking danger like a Nemesis at hand--
But who hopes to ‘scape it bravely by some means that he has planned,
While his very hopes when drooping, are by fresh exertions fanned.
He could little dream what danger there was lurking for his ill,
For the scene was like a picture--'twas so peaceful and so still--
When all fiercely sprang the sentry from the shadow where he lay,
With his musket firm presented, and before him stood at bay.
“Halt!” he cried, “for friend or foeman can no farther pass this way.”
'Twas not cowardice that led him, oh! for that were infamy,
First to hurl aside the sentry, and so swiftly then to flee--
Straight before him lay the forest, and he thither bent his flight;
But the sentry fast pursuing, of the fugitive caught sight,
And his trusty musket aiming, fired — and the bullet sped aright.
For he staggered once and tottered — and the instant after fell,
And remorse upon the sentry ever after fixed its spell;
For he hastened toward the body, and he turned it on its side,
And he murmured: “Some deserter, who untimely thus has died!”
But he recognized the features--“O my brother!” then he cried.
And he bore the body back again, and laid it 'neath the moon,
Ah! 'twas shame and pity, noble youth, thy spirit fled so soon;
For with speed the news was bruited, at the coming of the dawn;
Through the Southern camp a tremor ran — a noble heart was gone.
“He deserted, and he perished.” But they said it not with scorn.
For denied all leave of absence, yet his heart was ever true;
And upon the wings of love to meet his own sweetheart he flew.
She was o'er Potomac's water, far beyond its swelling tide
Was the fair one who, betrothed to him, had sworn to be his bride,
And you ne'er would find a nobler pair in all the world beside.
Who shall dare convey the news to her? If any be so bold,
Let him pray for nerves of triple strength, and heart that's icy cold!
They be few can stay a woman's tears, or soothe her in distress;
Since the balm so offered fails to heal, e'en silence wounds her less;
And proud manhood, when it deigus to bend, is rough in tenderness.
'Twas the very day appointed to unite their destiny,
But a single hour was wanting of their marriage jubilee,
When the fatal news was whispered by a messenger, who sped
To bring tidings to the living of the lover that was dead.
Ah! the blow indeed was bitter that could bow her lovely head.
But she drew herself all bravely up — a smile was on her lips;
Ah! 'twas such a smile as comes but once, just ere the soul's eclipse,
And she whispered calm and clearly, though the words were very few:
“I am going, darling mother, and shall now desert you too.”
Then with hand above her heart she stopped — and deathly pale she grew.
And she sank upon the floor, but gave no utterance of pain;
Though all efforts to restore her were exerted, they were vain;
Drooping like some lovely flower that a careless hand hath flung
From the only rest it knew to love, and where it fondly clung,
Fell the maiden, pale and dying, with those words upon her tongue.
