"This is all that I remember: the last time the Lighter

came,

And the lights had all been lowered, and the noises much the same,

He had not been gone five minutes before something called my name:

ORDERLY SERGeant-Robert BURTON!'-just that way it called my name.

"And I wondered who could call me so distinctly and so slow,

Knew it couldn't be the Lighter; he could not have spoken so; And I tried to answer, 'Here, sir!' but I couldn't make

it go;

For I couldn't move a muscle, and I couldn't make it go.

"Then I thought: It's all a nightmare, all a humbug and a bore;

Just another foolish grape-vine-and it won't come any

more;

But it came, sir, notwithstanding, just the same way as be

fore:

'ORDERLY SERGEANT ROBERT BURTON!'-even plainer than before.

"That is all that I remember, till a sudden burst of light, And I stood beside the river, where we stood that Sunday night,

Waiting to be ferried over to the dark bluffs opposite, When the river was perdition and all hell was opposite!—

"And the same old palpitation came again in all its

power,

And I heard a Bugle sounding, as from some celestial Tower;

And the same mysterious voice said: 'IT IS THE ELEVENTH HOUR!

ORDERLY SERGEANT!-ROBERT BURTON-IT IS THE ELEVENTH HOUR!'

e Old Sergeant

3137

y is this?" "It is Wednesday night,

be New Year's and a right good time ustin?" "Nearly Twelve." "Then happened-all this-not an hour ago!

e gunboats opened on the dark re

micircled his last guns upon the coast; vo log-houses, just the same, or else

sport came and took me over-or its

before me, all deserted, far and wide; fell on Prentiss-there McClernand

a Sherman rallied, and where Hurlallace charged them, and kept charg

Wallace showed them he was of the

elson thundered, and where Rousseau n to breakfast, and we all began to rape-shot took me, just as we began

>w and silence over everything was lue mantle and the old hat on my n doubted, to this moment, I was is silent as the snow upon the dead!

"Death and silence!-Death and silence! all around me as I

sped!

And behold, a mighty Tower, as if builded to the dead,
To the Heaven of the heavens lifted up its mighty head,
Till the Stars and Stripes of Heaven all seemed waving from
its head!

"Round and mighty-based it towered up into the infiniteAnd I knew no mortal mason could have built a shaft so

bright;

For it shone like solid sunshine; and a winding stair of light

Wound around it and around it till it wound clear out of sight!

"And, behold, as I approached it—with a rapt and dazzled

stare,

Thinking that I saw old comrades just ascending the great

Stair,

Suddenly the solemn challenge broke of, Halt! and who goes there?'

'I'm a friend,' I said, 'if you are.' "Then advance, sir, to the Stair!'

"I advanced! That sentry, Doctor, was Elijah Ballantyne! First of all to fall on Monday, after we had formed the

line!

Welcome, my old Sergeant, welcome! Welcome by that countersign!'

And he pointed to the scar there, under this old cloak of

mine.

"As he grasped my hand, I shuddered, thinking only of the

grave;

But he smiled and pointed upward with a bright and bloodless glaive:

'That's the way, sir, to Headquarters.' 'What Headquar ters?' 'Of the Brave.'

'But the great Tower?' 'That was builded of the great deeds of the Brave!'

so of the Prairie Belle 3139

me came o'er me at his uniform of light; d tattered, and at his so new and bright; have forgotten the New Uniform to

must be here at just twelve o'clock to

I remember, you were sitting there, and car a footstep? Hark!-God bless you ve my musket and my knapsack, when

n that's coming, he won't get here till

.. See! it opens!" ... "Father! once more!"

bed the old gray Sergeant. And he lay ore!

Byron Forceythe Willson [1837-1867]

SO OF THE PRAIRIE BELLE

I can't tell whar he lives,

he don't live, you see;

he's got out of the habit

like you and me.

e you been for the last three year

bu haven't heard folks tell

ny Bludso passed in his checks

ht of the Prairie Belle?

t no saint,—them engineers fetty much alike,

in Natchez-under-the-Hill other one here, in Pike;

A keerless man in his talk, was Jim,
And an awkward hand in a row,
But he never flunked, and he never lied,-

I reckon he never knowed how.

And this was all the religion he had,

To treat his engine well;

Never be passed on the river;

To mind the pilot's bell;

And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire,

A thousand times he swore

He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank
Till the last soul got ashore.

All boats has their day on the Mississip,
And her day come at last,—

The Movastar was a better boat,

But the Belle she wouldn't be passed.
And so she come tearin' along that night-
The oldest craft on the line-

With a nigger squat on her safety-valve,
And her furnace crammed, rosin and pine.

The fire bust out as she clared the bar,
And burnt a hole in the night,

And quick as a flash she turned, and made

For that willer-bank on the right.

There was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out,

Over all the infernal roar,

"I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank

Till the last galoot's ashore."

Through the hot, black breath of the burnin' boat
Jim Bludso's voice was heard,

And they all had trust in his cussedness,
And knowed he would keep his word.
And, sure's you're born, they all got off
Afore the smoke-stacks fell,-
And Bludso's ghost went up alone

In the smoke of the Prairie Belle.

He weren't no saint, but at jedgment
I'd run my chance with Jim,