Tr.i.m.m.i.n.g his craft with caution Paul could make But little headway with a single oar-- Clutched in despair and madly wrenched away By drowning souls the other. Firm and cool Paul stood unscathed; then fell a sudden shower That broke his bended oar-stem at the blade.

Down to the brink we crept and stretched our hands, And shouted, 'Overboard, Paul! and save yourself.'

"He stood a moment as if all were lost, Then caught the rope, and stretching forth his hand, Waved to the foe and plunged into the flood.

Slowly he towed the clumsy craft and swam, Down-drifting with the rapid, rolling stream.

Cheering him on adown the sh.o.r.e we ran; The current lent its aid and bore him in Toward us, and beyond the range at last Of foemen's fire he safely came to land, Mooring his boat amid a storm of cheers.

"Confined in hospital three days he lay Fatigued and feverous, but tender hands Nursed and restored him. Our old Colonel came And thanked him--patting Paul paternally-- And praised his daring. 'My brave boy,' he said, 'Had I a regiment of such men, by Jove!

I'd hew a path to Richmond and to fame.'

Paul made reply, and in his smile and tone Mingled a touch of sarcasm:

"'Thank you, sir; But let me add--I fear the wary foe Would nab your regiment napping on the field.

You have forgotten, Colonel--not so fast-- I am the man that slept upon his post.'

Our bluff old Colonel laughed and turned away; Ten minutes later came his kind reply-- A basketful of luxuries from his mess.

"Paul marched and fought and marched and fought again, Patient and earnest through the bootless toils And fiery trials of that dread campaign Upon the Peninsula. 'Twas fitly called 'Campaign of Battles.' Aye, it sorely pierced The scarred and bleeding nation, and drew blood Deep from her vitals till she shook and reeled, Like some huge giant staggering to his fall-- Blinded with blood, yet struggling with his soul, And stretching forth his ponderous, brawny arms, Like Samson in the Temple, to o'erwhelm And crush his mocking enemies in his fall.

"Ah, Malvern! you remember Malvern Hill-- That night of dreadful butchery! Round the top Of the entrenched summit, parked and aimed, Blazed like Vesuvius when he bellows fire And molten lava into the midnight heavens, An hundred crashing cannon, and the hill Shook to the thunder of the mighty guns, As ocean trembles to the bursting throes Of submarine volcanoes; and the sh.e.l.ls From the embattled gun-boats--fiery fiends-- Shrieked on the night and through the ether hissed Like h.e.l.l's infernals. Line supporting line, From base to summit round the blazing hill, Our infantry was posted. Crowned with fire, And zoned by many a burning, blazing belt From head to foot, and belching sulphurous flames, The embattled hill appeared a raging fiend-- The Lucifer of h.e.l.l let loose to reign Over a world wrapt in the final fires.

"In solid columns ma.s.sed our frenzied foes Beat out their life against the blazing hill-- Broke and re-formed and madly charged again, And thundered like the storm-lashed, furious sea Beating in vain against the solid cliffs.

Foremost in from our veteran regiment Breasted the brunt of battle, but we bent Beneath the onsets as the red-hot bar Bends to the sledge, until our furious foes-- Mown as the withered prairie-gra.s.s is mown By wild October fires--fell back and left A field of b.l.o.o.d.y agony and death About the base, and victory on the hill.

"I lost a score of riflemen that night; My first lieutenant--his last battle over-- Lay cut in twain upon the battle-line.

With lantern dim wide o'er the slaughter-field I searched at midnight for my wounded men, But chiefly searched for Paul. An hour or more I sought among the groaning and the dead, Stooping and to the dim light turning up The ghastly faces, till at last I found Him whom I sought, and on the outer line-- Feet to the foe and silent face to heaven-- Death pale and bleeding from a ragged wound Pleading with feeble voice to let him be And die upon the field, we bore him thence; And tenderly his comrades carried him, Sheltered with blankets, on the weary march At dead of night in dismal storm begun.

We made a stand at Harrison's, and there With careful hands we laid him on a cot.

Now I had learned to prize the n.o.ble boy; My heart was touched with pity. Patiently I watched o'er Paul and bathed his fevered brow, And pressed the cooling sponge upon his lips, And washed his wound and gave him nourishment.

'Twas all in vain, the surgeon said. I felt That I could save him and I kept my watch.

A rib was crushed--beneath it one could see The throbbing vitals--torn as we supposed, But found unwounded. In his feverish sleep He often moaned and muttered mysteries, And, dreaming, spoke in low and tender tones As if some loved one sat beside his cot.

I questioned him and sought the secret key To solve his mystery, but all in vain.

A month of careful nursing turned the scale, And he began to gain upon his wound.

Propt in his cot one evening as he sat And I sat by him, thus I questioned him: 'There is a mystery about your life That I would gladly fathom. Paul, I think You well may trust me, and I fain would hear The story of your life; right well I know There is a secret sorrow in your heart.'

[Ill.u.s.tration: STOOPING AND TO THE DIM LIGHT TURNING UP THE GHASTLY FACES, TILL I AT LAST I FOUND HIM WHOM I SOUGHT.]

"He turned his face and fixed his l.u.s.trous eyes Upon mine own inquiringly, and held His gaze upon me till his vacant stare Told me full well his thoughts had wandered back Into the depth of his own silent soul; Then he looked down and sadly smiled and said:

"'Captain, I have no history--not one page; My book of life is but a blotted blank.

Let it be sealed; I would not open it, Even to one who saved a worthless life, Only to add a few more leaves in blank To the blank volume. All that I now am I offer to my country. If I live And from this cot walk forth, 'twill only be To march and fight and march and fight again,'

Until a surer aim shall bring me down Where care and kindness can no more avail.

Under our country's flag a soldier's death I hope to die and leave no name behind.

My only wish is this--for what I am, Or have been, or have hoped to be, is now A blank misfortune. I will say no more.'

"I questioned Paul and pressed him further still To tell his story, but he only shook His head in silence sadly and lay back And closed his eyes and whispered--'All is blank.'

That night he muttered often in his sleep; I could not catch the sense of what he said; I caught a name that he repeated oft-- _Pauline_--so softly whispered that I knew She was the blissful burden of his dreams.

"Two moons had waxed and waned, and Paul arose, Came to the camp and shared my tent and bed.

While in the hospital he helpless lay-- To him unknown, and as the choice of all-- Came his promotion to the vacant rank Of him who fell at Malvern. But, alas, Say what we would he would not take the place.

To us who importuned him, he replied: 'Comrades and friends, I did not join your ranks For honor or for profit. All I am-- A wreck perhaps of what I might have been-- I freely offer in our country's cause; And in her cause it is my wish to serve A private soldier; I aspire to naught But victory--and there be better men-- Braver and hardier--such should have the place.'

"His comrades cheered, but Paul, methought, was sad.

One evening as he sat upon his couch, Communing with himself as he was wont, I stood before him; looking in his face, I said, '_Pauline_--her name is then, _Pauline_.'

All of a sudden up he rose amazed, And looked upon me with such startled eyes That I was pained and feared that I had done A wrong to him whom I had learned to love.

Then he sat down upon his couch and groaned, Pressing his hand upon his wound, and said: 'Captain, I pray you, tell me truthfully, Wherefore you speak that name.'

"I told him all That I had heard him mutter in his dreams.

He listened calmly to the close and said: 'My friend, if you have any kind regard For me who suffer more than you may know, I pray you utter not that name again.'

And thereupon he turned and hid his face.

"There was a mystery I might not fathom, There was a history I might not hear: Nor could I further press that saddened heart To pour its secret sorrow in my ears.

Thereafter Paul was tenant of my tent-- Sat at my mess and slept upon my couch, Save when his duty called him from my side, And not a word escaped his lips or mine About his secret--yet how oft I found My eyes upon him and my bridled tongue p.r.o.ne to a question; but that solemn face Forbade me and he wore his mystery.

"At that stern battle on Antietam's banks, Where gallant Hooker led the fierce attack, Paul bore a glorious part. Our starry flag, Before a whirlwind of terrific fire, Advancing proudly on the foe, went down.

Grim death and pale-faced panic seized the ranks.

Paul caught the flag and waving it aloft Rallied our regiment. He came out unscathed.

"At Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville he fought: Grim in disaster--bravest in defeat, He leaped not into danger without cause, Nor shrunk he from it though a gulf of fire, When duty bade him face it. All his aim-- To win the victory; applause and praise He almost hated; grimly he endured The fulsome flattery of his comrades nerved By his calm courage up to manlier deeds.

"I saw him angered once--if one might call His sullen silence anger--as by night Across the Rappahannock, from the field Where brave and gallant 'Stonewall' Jackson fell, With hopeless hearts and heavy steps we marched.

Such sullen wrath on other human face I never saw in all those b.l.o.o.d.y years.

One evening after, as he read to me The fulsome General Order of our Chief-- Congratulating officers and men On their achievements in the late defeat-- His handsome face grew rigid as he read, And as he closed, down like a thunder-clap Upon the mess-chest fell his clinched fist: 'Fit pap for fools!' he said--'an Iron Duke Had ground the Southern legions into dust, Or, by the G.o.ds!--the field of Chancellorsville Had furnished graves for ninety thousand men!'[B]

"That dark disaster sickened many a soul; Stout hearts were sad and cowards cried for peace.

The vulture, perched hard by the eagle's crag, Loud cawed his fellows from afar to feast.

Ill-omened bird--his carrion-cries were vain!

Again our veteran eagles plumed their wings, And forth he fled from Montezuma's sh.o.r.es-- A dastard flight--betraying unto death Him whom he dazzled with a bauble crown.

Just retribution followed swift and sure-- Germania's eagles plucked him at Sedan.

A gloomy month wore off, and then the news That Lee, emboldened by his late success, Had poured his legions upon Northern soil, Rung through the camps, and thrilled the mighty heart Of the Grand Army. Louder than the roar Of brazen cannon on the battle-field.

Then rose and rolled our thunder-rounds of cheers.

[B] Hooker had 90,000 men at Chancellorsville.

We saw the dawn of victory--we should meet Our wary foe upon familiar soil.

We cheered the news, we cheered the marching-orders, We cheered our brave commander till the tears Ran down his cheeks. Up from its sullen gloom Leaped the Grand Army, as if G.o.d had writ With fiery finger 'thwart the vault of heaven A solemn promise of swift victory.

"We marched. As rolls the deep, resistless flood Of Mississippi, when the rains of June Have swelled his thousand northern fountain-lakes Above their barriers--rolls with restless roar, Anon through rock-built gorges, and anon Down through the prairied valley to the sea, Gleaming and glittering in the summer sun, By field and forest on his winding way, So stretched and rolled the mighty column forth, Winding among the hills and pouring out Along the vernal valleys; so the sheen Of moving bayonets glittered in the sun.

And as we marched there rolled upon the air, Up from the vanguard-corps, a choral chant, Feeble at first and far and far away, But gathering volume as it rolled along And regiment after regiment joined the choir, Until an hundred thousand voices swelled The surging chorus, and the solid hills Shook to the thunder of the mighty song.

And ere it died away along the line, The hill-tops caught the chorus--rolled away From peak to peak the pealing thunder-chant, Clear as the chime of bells on Sabbath morn:

"'John Brown's body lies moldering in the grave; John Brown's body lies moldering in the grave; John Brown's body lies moldering in the grave; But his soul is marching on.

Glory, Glory, Halleluia!

Glory, Glory, Halleluia!

Glory, Glory, Halleluia!

His soul is marching on!'

"And far away The mountains echoed and re-echoed still-- "'_Glory, Glory, Halleluia!

Glory, Glory, Halleluia!

Glory, Glory, Halleluia!

His soul is marching on!'_

"Until the winds Bore the retreating echoes southward far, And the dull distance murmured in our ears.