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The Burial of the Guns-Part9_Thomas Nelson Page(1853-1922)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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I think the jury became satisfied that if any money had been taken

the bar-keeper, to make out a case against "No. 4", had taken it himself.



But there was a technical breaking, and it had to be got around;

so his counsel appealed to the jury, telling them what he knew of "No. 4",



together with the story of the child's dog, and "No. 4"'s reply.

There were one or two old soldiers on the jury, and they acquitted him,



on which he somehow managed to get whiskey enough to land him back in jail

in twenty-four hours.



In May, 1890, there was a monument unveiled in Richmond. It was

a great occasion, and not only all Virginia, but the whole South,



participated in it with great fervor, much enthusiasm, and many tears.

It was an occasion for sacred memories. The newspapers talked about it



for a good while beforehand; preparations were made for it

as for the celebration of a great and general ceremony in which



the whole South was interested. It was interested, because it was

not only the unveiling of a monument for the old commander,



the greatest and loftiest Southerner, and, as the South holds, man,

of his time; it was an occasion consecrated to the whole South;



it was the embalming in precious memories, and laying away in the tomb

of the Southern Confederacy: the apotheosis of the Southern people.



As such all were interested in it, and all prepared for it.

It was known that all that remained of the Southern armies would be there:



of the armies that fought at Shiloh, and Bull Run, and Fort Republic;

at Seven Pines, Gaines's Mill, and Cold Harbor; at Antietam, Fredericksburg,



Chancellorsville, and Gettysburg; at Franklin, Atlanta, Murfreesboro,

and Chickamauga, Spottsylvania, the Wilderness, and Petersburg;



and the whole South, Union as it is now and ready to fight

the nation's battles, gathered to glorify Lee, the old commander,



and to see and glorify the survivors of those and other bloody fields

in which the volunteer soldiers of the South had held the world at bay,



and added to the glorious history of their race. Men came all the way

from Oregon and California to be present. Old one-legged soldiers stumped it



from West Virginia. Even "No. 4", though in the gutter, caught the contagion,

and shaped up and became sober. He got a good suit of clothes somewhere --



not new -- and appeared quite respectable. He even got something to do,

and, in token of what he had been, was put on one of the many committees



having a hand in the entertainment arrangements. I never saw a greater change

in anyone. It looked as if there was hope for him yet. He stopped me



on the street a day or two before the unveiling and told me he had

a piece of good news: the remnant of his old company was to be here;



he had got hold of the last one, -- there were nine of them left, --

and he had his old jacket that he had worn in the war, and he was going



to wear it on the march. "It's worn, of course," he said, "but my mother

put some patches over the holes, and except for the stain on it



it's in good order. I believe I am the only one of the boys that has

his jacket still; my mother kept this for me; I have never got so hard up



as to part with it. I'm all right now. I mean to be buried in it."

I had never remarked before what a refined face he had;



his enthusiasm made him look younger than I had ever seen him.

I saw him on the day before the eve of the unveiling; he was as busy as a bee,



and looked almost handsome. "The boys are coming in by every train," he said.

"Look here." He pulled me aside, and unbuttoned his vest.



A piece of faded gray cloth was disclosed. He had the old gray jacket on

under his other coat. "I know the boys will like to see it," he said.



"I'm going down to the train now to meet one -- Binford Terrell.

I don't know whether I shall know him. Binford and I used to be



much of a size. We did not use to speak at one time; had a falling out

about which one should hold the horses; I made him do it, but I reckon



he won't remember it now. I don't. I have not touched a drop. Good-by."

He went off.



The next night about bedtime I got a message that a man wanted to see me

at the jail immediately. It was urgent. Would I come down there at once?



I had a foreboding, and I went down. It was as I suspected.

"No. 4" was there behind the bars. "Drunk again," said the turnkey,



laconically, as he let me in. He let me see him. He wanted me

to see the judge and get him out. He besought me. He wept. "It was all



an accident;" he had "found some of the old boys, and they had got to

talking over old times, and just for old times' sake," etc. He was too drunk



to stand up; but the terror of being locked up next day had sobered him,

and his mind was perfectly clear. He implored me to see the judge



and to get him to let him out. "Tell him I will come back here

and stay a year if he will let me out to-morrow," he said brokenly.



He showed me the gray jacket under his vest, and was speechless.

Even then he did not ask release on the ground that he was a veteran.






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