An Echo of Antietam | Page 5

its rhythm. The unearthly
gayety of the fife, like the sweet, shrill song of a bird soaring above the
battle, infects the nerves till the idea of death brings a scornful smile to
the lips. Eyes glaze with rapturous tears as they rest upon the flag.
There is a thrill of voluptuous sweetness in the thought of dying for it.

Life seems of value only as it gives the poorest something to sacrifice.
It is dying that makes the glory of the world, and all other employments
seem but idle while the regiment passes.
The time for farewells is gone by. The lucky men at the ends of the
ranks have indeed an opportunity without breaking step to exchange an
occasional hand-shake with a friend on the sidewalk, or to snatch a kiss
from wife or sweetheart, but those in the middle of the line can only
look their farewells. Now and then a mother intrusts her baby to a
file-leader to be passed along from hand to hand till it reaches the father,
to be sent back with a kiss, or, maybe, perched aloft on his shoulder, to
ride to the depot, crowing at the music and clutching at the gleaming
bayonets. At every such touch of nature the people cheer wildly. From
every window and balcony the ladies shower garlands upon the troops.
Where is Grace? for this is the Upton company which is passing now.
Yonder she stands on a balcony, between Mr. Morton and his sister.
She is very pale and the tears are streaming down her cheeks, but her
face is radiant. She is smiling through her tears, as if there was no such
thing on earth as fear or sorrow. She has looked forward to this ordeal
with harrowing expectations, only to find herself at the trying moment
seized upon and lifted above all sense of personal affliction by the
passion of self-devotion with which the air is electric. Her face as she
looks down upon her lover is that of a priestess in the ecstasy of
sacrifice. He is saluting with his sword. Now he has passed. With a
great sob she turns away. She does not care for the rest of the pageant.
Her patriotism has suddenly gone. The ecstasy of sacrifice is over. She
is no longer a priestess, but a brokenhearted girl, who only asks to be
led away to some place where she can weep till her lover returns.

III
There was to be a great battle the next day. The two armies had been
long manoeuvring for position, and now they stood like wrestlers who
have selected their holds and, with body braced against body, knee
against knee, wait for the signal to begin the struggle. There had been

during the afternoon some brisk fighting, but a common desire to
postpone the decisive contest till the morrow had prevented the main
forces from becoming involved. Philip's regiment had thus far only
been engaged in a few trifling skirmishes, barely enough to stir the
blood. This was to be its first battle, and the position to which it had
been allotted promised a bloody baptism in the morning. The men were
in excellent heart, but as night settled down, there was little or no
merriment to be heard about the camp-fires. Most were gathered in
groups, discussing in low tones the chances of the morrow. Some,
knowing that every fibre of muscle would be needed for the work
before them, had wisely gone to sleep, while here and there a man,
heedless of the talk going on about him, was lying on his back staring
up at the darkening sky, thinking.
As the twilight deepened, Philip strolled to the top of a little knoll just
out of the camp and sat down, with a vague notion of casting up
accounts a little in view of the final settlement which very possibly
might come for him next day. But the inspiration of the scene around
him soon diverted his mind from personal engrossments. Some distance
down the lines he could see the occasional flash of a gun, where a
battery was lazily shelling a piece of woods which it was desirable to
keep the enemy from occupying during the night. A burning barn in
that direction made a flare on the sky. Over behind the wooded hills
where the Confederates lay, rockets were going up, indicating the
exchange of signals and the perfecting of plans which might mean
defeat and ruin to him and his the next day. Behind him, within the
Federal lines, clouds of dust, dimly outlined against the glimmering
landscape, betrayed the location of the roads along which artillery,
cavalry, infantry were hurrying eagerly forward to take their assigned
places for the morrow's work.
Who said that men