ANDERSON VILLE VIOLETS. 
Copyrighted by the Rural New Yorker. 
All rights reserved. 
CHAPTER I—INTRODUCTION. 
[Note by the Author. —It is not pre- 
tsnded that this story is exactly true. The 
iuam incident, that of the violets in Ander- 
sonville Prison, is taken from a story told by 
a soldier of the Confederate Army, The 
author has not been able to verify it. The 
scenes of prison life and the escape are taken 
from the descriptions of actual prisoners. 
The New England scenes, and the glimpses of 
life at the South are taken from life. The 
author has no political point to make. The 
war is over. It never can be fought again. 
It is the duty of all good citizens to lend 
themselves to the work of binding this coun¬ 
try solidly together. The past cannot be ig¬ 
nored while men have hearts and memories. 
We may all learn lessons from the past by 
viewing it calmly and dispassionately. The 
author has endeavored to dropout all bitter¬ 
ness ami all argument, and tell a plain and 
simple story.] 
The sun came sullenly climbing up the high 
Georgia hills. The sky had heralded a pleas¬ 
ant morning, but the angry face that pushed 
up over the hills, gave the lie direct to its 
joyful proclamation. The sun came slowly. 
First one hand reached up among the stars 
and drew one long streak of crimson over the 
tops of the hills. Then the arm slowly pushed 
the black curtaiu of night back to make a 
place for the scowling face that followed. 
There was nothing attractive in the face of 
the country upon which this augry gaze was 
bent. Dry, rolling sand hills, covered with 
thin pine forests stretched away on every 
hand—wide stretches of dry sand and old- 
fields with great gashes cut in them. Off to 
the left a high pine stockade ran around the 
ridge of a small valley. The logs seemed to 
push sturdily against each other—like soldiers 
who waif au oncoming charge. This stockade 
lay directly in the path of the sun and that 
gloomy individual was obliged to pass over it. 
The sun bung back with all its might, but 
there was no help for it. At last it made an 
angry start and darted a long stream of light 
over the dry sand hills and thiu pines, and up 
to the hateful stockade. Jack Foster turned 
on his beat just as the light splintered against 
the logs. Even when pushed thus far to the 
wall, the sun seemed to rebel a little. Slowly 
it followed its advance guard up past the reg¬ 
ular mounds iu the hideous graveyards, past 
the ugly barracks and huts, up to the stock¬ 
ade itself. There it paused as if to cover its eyes 
before climbing the rough barrier that hid so 
much of horror. It seemed to wait for extra 
strength, and then, of a sudden, it spraug to 
the top as if to Hash with all its speed over the 
dreaded space aud up the convenient hills be¬ 
yond. It flashed full in the face of Jack Fos¬ 
ter as he walked back along bis beat. 
Jack’s face held such a pleasant expression 
that tho sun stopped iu utter surprise to ex¬ 
amine him. Jack was smiliug as only men 
smile who are greatly pleased. The sun 
seemed to drop its ill temper for the moment. 
It was so lost iu wonder to think of such an un¬ 
heard of thing, that it halted iu its tracks as if 
to assure itself that the smile was genuine. 
Jack’s face bore the examination well. The 
smile brightened perceptably in the sunshine. 
The sun even smiled back and so far forgot 
itself as to take oue look over Jack’s shoulder. 
The sight was enough to call up all desire to 
escape, and it flashed over the yard and hur¬ 
ried on the w ings of horror up the opposite 
hills. The sky before, noticing its eager face, 
blushed with pleasure at its approach. It 
glanced back only once, to throw' a bright 
gleam on the barrel of Jack’s musket. More 
from force of liabit than because he was hard¬ 
er than the sun, Jack glanced down iuto the 
yard. He looked down iuto— AndersonvUle! 
Andersonville! What a dreadful thrill 
runs through the veins-at the word! Who 
hus not formed some horrible picture of the 
place'll What nameless agony the four walls 
held! What death in life was locked behind 
the heavy gate! What noble lives oozed away 
iu that pen of despair! Jack saw it all as be 
glanced from his place. Gaunt, hungry des¬ 
perate men with ail the better feelings driven 
from them by suffering and disease—all but 
one—patriotism. There was not a man in 
that frightful pen who would not have raised 
his feeble liaud to cheer at a sight of the old 
flag. The poor wretches came crawling out 
THE RM 8 AL NEW-YORKER. 
SEPTS 
of their dens, aud ranged themselves on the 
little hill alongside the ravine. How wist¬ 
fully they watched the sun slide away to the 
Western hills! They watched all iu vain. 
Not for them that path leading up to the 
crimsou sky. They could only sit and dream 
that the same sun looked down upon the 
friends at homo. 
Jack Foster did not smile because he was a 
Rebel and these dreadful creatures were the 
hated Yankees. Far from it. He had 
learned to respect these Yankees after Gettys¬ 
burg aud Cbancellorsville. They were brave 
men he knew; and at Gettysburg a Yankee 
soldier had spared Jack’s life when ho might 
easily have taken it. When he first entered 
the army, he might have rejoiced at this 
dreadful picture, but three years of fighting 
had taught him a eertaiu respect for his foes 
He had been pained at first at the sight of so 
much wretchedness, but he had grown accus¬ 
tomed to it at last. He could not feel a very 
earnest, sympathy for hungry men when his 
own rations were shortened and ofttimes 
dropped entirely. 
There was nothing about the dreadful scene 
that made Jack Foster smile. That facial 
twist was caused by something eut.irely foreign 
to the surroundings. The cause had come 
over the bills, far ahead of the Hullen sun, 
from the world outside, where there were 
brightness aud tenderness and kindly sympa¬ 
thy. It bad touched the springs of Jack’s 
heart, and set tho whole machinery of his face 
iu motion to manufacture a smi e. 
Jack held this wonderful stimulant iu his 
baud, between himself aud the prison, as he 
walked with the sun gleaming ou his musket. 
It is easily described. It was nothing but a 
letter from Lucy Moore. He had others in his 
pocket. Jack carried these valuable doeit- 
mouts about with him wherever he went. 
He had stitched a great pocket ou the inside 
of his coat, aud iu this receptacle the whole 
correspondence was crowded. There were two 
of the letters—the best of them all too—one 
written just after Fredericksburg, and the 
other at the time when McClellan was driven 
back from bis position before Richmond— 
that were so badly worn that handling them 
was a somewhat serious business. But their 
very use had saved them. Jack had read 
them so many times that he now knew them by 
heart. He had made it a habit to say them 
over to himself time after time when he felt 
that he needed some great inspiration to 
nerve him ou. 
On that fearful third day at Gettysburg, 
when the lines moved out from under the trees, 
some of the boys noticed Jack reading his let¬ 
ters. There were some that smiled at him, 
but yet there were ruauy that felt, at the 
sight, for a little package under the breast of 
theeoat. Jack came sullenly back out of the 
fight, but niauy of the soldiers who smiled at 
him lay cold and still out in the valley with 
letters that never could be answered. 
Jack had selected for his morning's reading 
a letter written by Lucy just as the army 
stopped to draw itself together after the 
dreary retreat from Pennsylvania. That was 
a time when men needed all the brave words 
and tender consolation that womeu could give 
them. The soldiers knew well enough when 
Lee reeled back for the last time, that the life 
of the Confederacy was doomed. There was 
no thought of giving up the light, however. 
They called Gettysburg a “drawn battle,” and 
every man set his teeth hard aud made a vow 
that the cause should go down in glory. 
This obstinate feeling had been intensified 
all through the dismal retreat. The men who 
toiled back to Maryland, through the mud and 
wet, listening to tho groans of the wouuded, 
and thinking of the dead men lying ou the 
battle-fields behind them; of the womeu wait¬ 
ing with white faces in the lonely Southern 
towns, reformed themselves, when next they 
reached Southern soil, into a desperate band, 
urined with the courage of despair. The wo¬ 
men watching at home, in the lonely towns, 
held their friends at the front with letters of 
grim determination. Lucy bad written Jack 
a letter that well expressed the feeling among 
Southern womeu at that day. They begged 
their friends to fight on. The letter had done 
Jack good at a time when he needed help. It 
had nerved him ou to the bitter death strug¬ 
gle. There was one sentence that he was 
never tired of reading over. 
“No matter what may happen—if you are 
only true , I will love you forever.” 
The word “true" was underscored, and 
Jack made his own estimate as to its mean¬ 
ing. It was the one great idea for which men 
were dying, and women were suffering, that 
he must hold true—the mistaken idea of 
Southern independence. 
Jack's thoughts went back over the hills, us 
he marched slowly along with tho letter n 
his hand. He did uot look at the letter; he 
did not need to do so. He thought it over, as 
his eyes swept back over the bleak hills, still 
gilded with the radiance the sun could not 
help leaving. His musket fell loosely at his 
shoulder aud he forgot the scene of misery so 
close at his side. 
Over tho hills, far away in that quiet Mis¬ 
sissippi town, his dear little girl was thinking 
of him at this very moment. He could see 
her as she stood under the trees, looking sadly 
down the long street where hr had marched 
so bravely away. Jack bad often pictured 
her as she stood that morning when ho 
marched down that beautiful street. He 
could full just what she wore that day, even 
to the color of the ribbon iu her hair. A 
mist had gathered before the honest fellow’s 
eyes ns he turned for a last look, aud au ugly 
lump had risen in his throat. Jack could not 
understand why it was that he remembered 
everything so well. It is strange how the im¬ 
age of those we love when viewed through the 
magnifying dew of tears, can never be put 
from sight, but will grow iu distinctness as 
the years go by. 
Who could help beiug true when such a 
dear little girl smiled through her tears ? 
Who would not walk into death’s door with a 
smile at the wish of such a womau f So at 
least honest Jack asked, aud he grasped his 
musket more firmly as he thought of the 
danger he would gladly go through to add 
one ray of pleasure to tho light in Lucy’s eye. 
It is a fact that such letters aud such 
thoughts do not mean business after all. 
They add to tho enthusiasm of a campaign 
somewhat, but whou allowed their own way, 
they interfere with military discipline con¬ 
siderably. 
It is a good plan to allow soldiers to read 
over their letters just before the bugle sounds 
a charge. The army will be doubled then, for 
with every soldier that rushes iuto the fight, 
the inspiration of a wife, a mother or a sweet¬ 
heart will go. A woman’s smile—so tender 
in love, so terrible in hate, will add a brighter 
gleam to each flashing bayonet. When any 
intricate evolutions, or any sober, earnest 
work are needed it may be well to keep the 
letters in the pocket. 
Jack knew that he never could carry that 
letter in his hand and at the same time hold 
his gun in exact position and keep the military 
step, so with a final reading lie thrust the pre¬ 
cious document iuto his pocket aud straight¬ 
ened himself into a better position. He 
walked along slowly repeating, “No matter 
what may happen, if you will only be true I 
will love you forever.” There was so much 
consolation in this thought—the fact of his 
failing to be “true” being so far out of the 
question, that Jack smiled again aud glanced 
ouce more into the yard. He did not take his 
eyes away at ouce, for there was something 
there to interest him. 
The “Babes iu the Woods” had come out of 
their place into the sun. They were almost 
within a stone’s throw of Jack’s beat. The 
little one was lying on the ground with the 
big one sitting beside him. Jack had seen 
them iu this position many times before. 
{To be continued.) 
piSttUantottSi 
Scrofula 
Probably no form of disenso In sc generally din 
tributed among our whole population as scrofula. 
Almost every Indi/idual has Ibis latent ools f 
coursing Ms veins Tho terrible si.ffor.nga en 
duxed by those afflicted with scrofulous sores 
cannot bo understood by others, and their grati¬ 
tude on finding a remedy Thai cures then, aston¬ 
ishes a well person. The wonderful power of 
Hood’s Sarsaparilla 
<n eradicating every form or Scrofula has been so 
clearly and fully demonstrated that It leaves no 
doubt that- it is the greatest medical discovery of 
this generation. It is made by C. i. HOOD & CO, 
Lowell, Idas*., and is sold by all druggists. 
IOO Doses One Dollar 
AGENTS WANTED 
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This is it rare chance. Apply at ouce 
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The JS'mmermrta was distanced, 
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AWARDED fllK 
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BELLOWS FALLS, VT, 
TREES 
Frnit & Ornamental. 
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6RAPE VINES 
MT. 1I0PE NH US HU 1158, lHH UKSTEIi.New York. 
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We offer the largest and most com. 
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ELLWANGER & BARRY 
The NEW FLACK CRAPE 
‘•EATON,” 
HARDY, VIGOROUS AND PRODUCTIVE. 
Awarded two First-Class Certificates of 
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John B. Moore & Son, 
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