Renfrew's Record (Alva, Okla.), Vol. 15, No. 29, Ed. 1 Friday, May 26, 1916 Page: 2 of 8
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RENFREW’S RECORD, ALVA, OKLAHOMA
Group of Young Patriots
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The Old Color-Bearer
Through ths rlty’» crowded highways,
Marches on the color-bearer:
White his hair falls to his shoulders,
Whits as Colorado's mountains.
Proud ha bears aloft the standard.
Proud he bore It in the 81xtles;
Xenesaw and Lookout Mountain,
High above the clouds It floated.
Keed, ye young men. heed the lesson.
Keep untarnished all Its glory;
Glory kindling flrst at Concord,
Spreading West to far Maloloa.
Heed ye! Heed ye well the lesson!
Grow not up untrained for battle:
Bell ye not your precious birthright
For a sordid mess of pottage.
Chant our epic, fellow-patriots.
Firmly weld the new-come aliens;
Tell of Prescott, Hale and Reynolds,
Custer. Benchley and young Cheney.
Thus will all the wars and rumors
Fade away as fades the twilight,
True to all our fathers died for,
Firm we'll march adown the ages.
—G. W. Taylor in Uncle Sam's Magaslne.
MEMORIAL DAYS
Of PAST W
y , ^ ACRILEGE, we would have
• • W called it In my girlhood,
^ ~J to have failed to give
very able assistance in
celebrating Memorial day,” said a
woman of middle age. "There was,
first of all, the delight of gathering
the flowers. How eagerly we watched
the bushes, hoping that the loveliest
blooms would open in time, or delay
their coming till the great day. Peo-
nies we could count on. Snowballs
helped, despite their drooplness, and
splrea was always to be had. We
gasped In admiration over Miss Amy’s
contributions of exquisite garlands of
tbe pliable bridal wreath, with touches
of scarlet columbine, or the faint pink
of wild honeysuckle clustered ^ere and
there, but we could never evolve any-
thing half so lovely. They were at
oqce our Joy and our despair.”
" Boys were useful when 1$ cape to
wild-flower gathering, even if picking
g&rgeji posljs was not their forte.
They knew where early laurel and wild
azalea were to be found and they
Rfuid be trusted to bring home colum-
bine, wild geranium and buttercups.
For there never was a Memorial day
with too many flowers. There was
the town hail to decorate, where thq
veterans assembled for a brief ses-
sion belpje, the march to the ceme-
tery. The G. A. R. ladies saw to that,
and beautiful It wbb to childish eyes
when, brave with bunting and odorous
With flowers, you saw it the night
before, under the shelter of mother's
Enfolding gingham apron.
There is only one proper sort of
bouquet for village Memorial day, and
Borry would one woman bo should she
ever see it superseded by anything
modern. An up-to-dato florist would
be horrified at its makeup and bewail
its lack of grace; an artist might
take it as a horrible examplo of crud-
ity of color scheme. But to many, the
stiff, tightly-tied bunch of posies, con-
ical, or bullet-shaped, or flattened into
a parti colored disk, means mingled
pathos and pleasure. To the making
of these nosegays went all the patience
and the primitive taste of the grown
daughters of the household. There
muBt be a rosebud for the center,
grown in the house—for gardeu roses
were still sleeping, and florists were a
needless luxury in the town of girl-
hood days—and brought to punctual
perfection by much watering and sun-
ning. Then in exact order of prece-
dence, circle upon circle, came spice
pinks, white or pale mauve, mock or-
ange, candytuft, pansies, purple and
yellow, with an encircling fringe of
lilies of the valley. And around all,
emphasizing the color scheme, was the
green and rose geranium leaves or the
•tnped slenderness of ribbon grass.
It was redolent of spicy sweetness
and of loving care, even if it were not
artistic, this Decoration day bouquet,
and no debutante ever bore her or-
chids more proudly than did youthful
volunteer soldier boy or tottering
veteran the posy of daughter or sweet-
heart.
There was one corner just by the
First church where every extra bunch
of flowers found Its way. There, In
charge of the minister s wife, they
were ranged In bowls, In case any sol-
dier be forgotten. Should there be
any such, away raced Tom or John-
ny, Will or Frank, or tomboy Nell, If
the boys had all followed the drum
corps, to supply the lack, glad V> be of
use on this day of days, and pleased
with tbe grateful “Thank you” of the
recipient. "One Memorial day, a trag-
ic day that I shall never forget,” said
the lady of the letter, "grandmother
promised that I should help make Un-
cle Henry's bouquet, an honor that
seldom fell to an eight-year-old. To-
gether Aunt Emily and I constructed
the masterpiece, a triumph in bouquet
building, for the climbing rose bloomed
early that year, and our scheme wax
simple yellow and white. But Memo
rial day morning brought some child
ish ailment, and when Uncle Henry
resplendent in his uniform as a cay
tain of volunteers, and carrying a sitV
flag just presented to the company
rode up to the door for his flowers, hw
found a weeping small girl clutchiiu
the bouquet and pushing away tilt-
sticky balsam remedy that was grard
mother's panacea for all aches.
"In an instant he was off bis taork-
and down on his knees, Bpoon in hand
coaxing me to obedience. In a franliw
attempt to be good I Jarred his elbo n
and the contents of the tablespoon
splashed down over his spotless uni-
form and the shimmering red, whltt
and blue of the banner. In the gen-
eral confusion that followed, the while
and yellow pyramid got badly dam-
aged, and all that I recall of the re
mainder of that holiday is the quirt
haven of a big four-poster in a raft-
ered -oom, and a comforting grand
mother, who read me to sleep out ol
her illustrated Bible.
Parades were personal affairs la
those days. Every other man in the
procession was a friend, or at leant
an acquaintance. You knew even the
distinguished gentlemen in the car-
riages. In tbe first rode the stjulru
and the First church minister, escort-
ing the orator of the day, Hon. Mr.
GrowH, congressman of the district,
Judge Smith and the school superin-
«ntj ik? si sfeaAlji
News, came next, and so on down the
line of lesser notabilities. Cheers wero
loudest when the crippled, age-worn
veterans rode by, in the village band-
wagon, followed by Grand Army men
who wye sUll able-bodied. A goodly
array they presented in that decade.
More than half have gone since.
Every man who coui5 Gobble heUl
his place in the line till the cemetery
was reached. There was a thrill ii,
every blue coat, in each bit of tarn-
ished metal, a story in the empty
sleeve, a tale of adventure in halting
step and twisted back. Bull Run and
Chancellorsville, Gettysburg and An«
tietam, were near at hand when the
thin blue columns passed us by. .A 4
the end of the company, the last maj.
of all in the procession, one girl knew,
there came inevitably Uerman Charlie,
general utility man in the newspaper
office, so bent and crippled by wounds
and rheumatic pains that his treacher-
ous legs could not be relied on to keep
time to the martial strains of the band.
But ho plodded along, eyes shining
under his service hat brim, a posy in
his button-hole, a loyal veteran of the
Union army he had enliBted in when
a boyish immigrant, proud to the core
of his uniform and his right to wear it.
German Charlie has gone, and so
have most of the men who marched
with him; and so. alas, has some of
the spirit they kept alive.
DECORATION DAY
Flags ami the band and marching—
Of faithful veteran feet.
Fathers, young men and children
With voices shrill and sweet;
And Lincoln's spirit marching In evert
shining line,
And Lincoln's pence and freedom lit with
the smile divine!
Flags and the band and marching—
Banners Hint proudly wave,
May green upon the meadows
And on the soldier’s grave;
The boys In blue are ashes 'neath tht
lilacs on their sod,
But their souls ure free forever With LJn.
coin and with Qod!
Flags and the band and marching—
And the drum-beat's steady throb,
Pipe on above, O robin,
To drown a sudden sob!
The laurel wreath for heroes dead! At A
a cheer for all the brave
Who march with Lincoln’s soul today to
liberate and save!
—Martha Gilbert Dickinson UlancM.
THE REVEILLE
Earle! I hear the tramp of thousands.
And of armed men the hum;
l,o! a nation’s hosts have gathered
Round the quick alarming drum—
Saying, "Come,
Freemen, come!
Ere your heritage be u-asted," said the quick alarming drum.
"Let me of my heart take counsel:
'War is not of life the sum;
Who shall stay and reap the harvest
When the autumn days shall comet**
But the drum
Echoed, "Come!
Death, shall reap the braver harvest,’’ said the solemn-sounding drum.
“But when won the coming battle,
What of profit springs therefromf
What if conquest, subjugation,
Even greater ills become f”
But the drum a
Answered, "Come! ' ------
You must do the sum to prove it,” said the Y'anke e-answering drum. ,
"What if, ‘mid the cannons' thunder,
Whistling shot and bursting bomb,
When my brothers fall around me,
Should my heart grow cold and numb t”
But the drum
Answered, "Come!
Better there in death united, than in life a recreant—ComeF
Thus they answered—hoping, fearing,
Some in faith, and doubting some,
TUI a trumpet-voice proclaiming,
Said, "My chosen people, comeF
Then the drum,
V,
Lo! was dumb,
For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, answered, "Lord, we comeF
—BRET HARTE.
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UTILE LEFT OF
old mm
^ OLDIERS of 1865 who revisit
the town of Appomattox find
that the half-century which has
' done so much for their country
bas done nothing for the hamlet made
famous by the great event of Bee's
surrender.
Indeed, the place has gone back-
ward in fifty years. Its houses have
fallen Into decay or have disappeared,
and its fields have grown up to pine.
The village of Appomattox Court-
house was never a considerable set-
tlement Like many another county
seat in the South, it had its origin in
a courthouse, a jail, a tavern, a house
or two and a blacksmith shop—a cen-
ter to which the inhabitants of a rural
district could come at Intervals to
transact legal business.
A visitor to Appomattox Courthouse
today—or "old Appomattox,” as it is
now called in that neighborhood—must
be disappointed, unless he has the
faculty of visualizing the momentous
events that took place there, and near
there, in April, 1865.
The cqurt building had then stood
there half a century. About 1890 it
was burned. Today the square in wGicft
the old courthouse efooT Ts covered
Wl^h tj^e debris of the Are, but out 6f
tbe wreckage trees have grown up
as companions to those that shaded
the old courthouse before the fire.
The village that clustered around
the courthouse has nearly disappeared.
Four old frame structures have sur-
vived fire, storm and neglect, but these
are sagging and out of joint and seem
soon to pass away, tine or two of
these houses are tenantless. The tav-
ern, once the Appomattox hotel, is the
home of a farmer and the overseer
of about 1,500 acres of adjacent land
now owned by Col. George A. Armes, a
retired officer of the United States
army, who lives in Washington. An-
other house is occupied by a small
farmer who has not dwelt long in that
part of the state.
The Surrender house, the McLean
house, in which General Grant and
his staff met Lee and his military sec-
retary, is not there. It was a broad-
fronted brick house with a covered
porch across the front, with the en-
trance in the middle and a hallway
through tbe center.
The house was torn down in 1892.
It was proposed to reconstruct it at
the World's Fair in Chicago, but after
the demolition of the house the plan
was carried no further, presumably
for lack of funds. The piles of brick
and lumber that had been the house
are rotting in the garden. There has
been some talk of a patriotic society
building tho house on its old site.
An interesting personal story goes
with the history of the Surrender
house. It was the home of William
McLean, who bad moved to Appomat-
tox from the vicinity of Bull Run, to
avoid the scenes of war that destroyed
the peace and safety of his family in
1861.
McLean was a farmer, then living in
a frame house near Manassas on the
road leading to Blackburns Ford, on
Bull Run. July 18 the flrst fighting
between the troops of Gen. Irwin Mc-
Dowell and Gen. G. T. Beauregard took
place at that ford, and General Beaure-
gard took up his headquarters in the
McLean house. A shell from a Union
battery struck the house.
After the battle of Bull Run, July 21,
1861, McLean and his family moved to
upper Fauquier county. He next moved
to Lunenburg county. War followed
him. Then, declaring that ha would
take hie family so far from the fighting
grounds that war would not further
trouble them, he rented a house in the
hamlet of Appomattox. Fate made this
house the Surrender house.
The McLean house near Manassas
long ago was a ruin, but another house
near it, which Beauregard also used
as headquarters, is often erroneously
pointed out as the McLean house.
McLean’s son—J. Wllmer McLean—
is a business man in Manassas—a ham-
let that since the war has grown into
a thriving town.
The table in the McLean house at
Appomattox on which the articles of
surrender were written is in the Na-
tional museum at Washington. The
flag of truce under which the negotia-
tions between Grant and Lee were con-
ducted is also there, having been
loaned to that Institution by the wid-
ow of George A. Custer.
Colonel Whittaker of Grant’s staff,
who carried the flag, lives in Wash-
ington and is expected to take part in
the celebration at Appomattox.
Maj. George C. Rounds of Manassas,
a Civil war veteran, resident since
the war at Manassas, who promoted
the Blue and Gray reunion on the field
of Bull Run, has promoted the coming
fraternal celebration at Appomattox.
Major Rounds has been urging upon
the war department and congress for
years the desirability of converting
the battlefields of Bull Run into a na-
tional park. He also takes a keen in-
tercit In the future of Appomattox
Courthouse.
tin the surrender ground is now a
dense pine growth, in which is the
only Important monument at Appomat-
tox. It was erected by North Caro-
lina, April 9, 1905.
Though tGe Appomattox Courthouse
village of the Civil war period has
practically disappeared, there is a new
and thriving town called Appomattox,
which is now the county seat of Appo-
mattox county. It is three miles from
old Appomattox and is on the Nor
folk & Western railroad.
During the Civil war there was a
siding on this railroad called Appomat-
tox station. It was here that Custer
with his cavalry division got in front
of Lee. The place has grown to be
the town which today is called Ap-
pomattox.
When the old court building was de-
stroyed by fire, the courthouse was re-
built at Appomattox station.
FULLY PROTECTED
MEMORIAL
V™
Gather the garlands rare today,
Snow-white roses and roseB red;
Gather the fairest flowers of May,
Heap them upon the heaps of clay.
Gladden the graves of the noble dead.
This day the friends of the soldiers keep,
And they will keep it through all the
years,
To the silent city where soldiers sleep
Will come with flowers, to watch and
weep
And water the garlands with their tears.
> —Cy Warman.
ECORATION day. day of flag*,
1 % aed flowers, and green, grass-
covered graves. Decoration
day, the time of sobs and
tears, of prayers, and memories, and
amiles. Decoration day!
It comes only once a year, this brave
holiday, on the boundary line between
May and June, spring and summer-
time. Schools give a holiday and
banks close. Business is shut up, and
the tired workingman hangs a flag
out over hia porch, and rests. Old
soldiers, tottering on canes, soldiers
bent and white-headed, waiting for
the last “taps” to be sounded, get out
their suits of blue and gray, covered
with tarnished gold lace and brass
buttons, and bobble to the cemetery
to lay a wreath on some comrade's
last resting place.
It is a beautiful thing to think of a
nation celebrating a day—setting it
apart from all others—for the pur-
pose of honoring the nation’s heroes.
I was sitting In a trolley car when
a lady entered—a woman no longer
very young, with a pale, sorrowful
face. She wore expensive black, and
her two carefully gloved hands held a
huge dewy mass of roses. Like an
oasis in a desert they filled the dusty
city air with sweetness and color. In
a little while a small newsboy dragged
himself up the step and presented a
grimy transfer to the conductor.
“I found it,” he confided loudly to a
man seated near the door. Then he
tramped down the aisle, and climbed
up on the seat next to the lady.
“Them flow’rs are swell,” he told her
In a soft, wondering tone of voice. "I
never saw any like 'em before.” Rev-
erently he touched the nearest blos-
som with moist, grimy fingers.
The lady moved down on the seat,
putting several feet of space between
herself and the small intruder.
“Don’t touch them!” she ordered
crossly.
Several blocks farther on she got
out, her arms full of her fragrant bur-
den. With halting foosteps and tear-
filled eyes, she turned in at a great
marble-columned cemetery gate. She
was taking her roses to lay on the
grave of some loved dead one. I was
sorry for the woman; but I could not
help thinking of the little newsboy. He
was very much alive, and a single
flfiwsr would have meant paradise to
him? r
I know a girl who had a very deaf
friend—a friend who meant more to
her than I could possibly put Into
words. One day, the friend died and
left her plunged in grief. A year after,
the dead girl’s birthday came around,
and the day before the anniversary 1
happened to meet my friend on the
street. We went to tea together. I
did not speak to the absent one, but
suddenly, as we sat quietly gazing out
of the window, the girl began to talk.
“Margaret,” she said, “something
has been bothering me. I want to uk
you if I’m doing right.”
“Perhaps 1 won’t help any. I’m not
so good at advice—but go on.”
“You see, it's this way,” she told me.
"Tomorrow is Alice’s birthday—the
flrst birthday when we haven't been
together for ten years. I had earned
live dollars—It seemed more personal
that way—and I was going to buy
flowers for her grave. I was Just on
my way to the florist to order them
when I met a woman I know—a wom-
an who used to wash for us. Mar-
garet, you should have seen her. Her
eyes were large and black and her
cheeks were perfectly hollow. I asked
her what was the matter, and she said
she was hungry. Hungry? She was
starving! And so were the three chil-
dren that belonged to her! Well, I
told her that I would find some work
for her today, and then I gave her all
the money I had. It was only after
she had left me that I remembered
Alice’s flowers—I can't get them now.
Do you think that she’ll mind—very
much?”
"Mind?” I groped blindly for words.
"Mind? Of course not! She would
be glad and thankful it she only
knew.”
Do you think so too, friends of mine?
One day this week I felt rather blue
and unhappy. It was a dark, gloomy
day, with a biting wind coming around
the bleak corners and a heavy rain
that fell drenchingly to the ground—
a steady downpour of big splashing
drops. Somehow the world inside my
office seemed very lonely and gray. I
had a headache, my work had been
going badly and I was rather discour-
aged. When the mall came in—a big
package of letters to be opened—1 was
not much cheered. But my special
guardian angel was on duty that day.
When I cut the first envelope, 1 found
• plain little letter, written la pencil
en cheap paper, by an unknown lady,
old enough to be my grandmother.
But the words, lightly written in an
old-fashioned hand, fell across my
heart like a ray of golden sunshine,
through the grayness of the rain.
"Dear Friend,” read the letter, “1
have been seeing your pieces in the
Christian Herald for some time, and
I made up my mind to write to you.
Some people believe in keeping their
kind words and their flowers and their
love until a person is dead. But 1
don’t. I want you to know, right now,
that you've cheered me up lots of
times, and that I like your stories and
that I like you.”
Now, I don't want you to think that
I am disapproving of Decoration day.
The world is stupid enough and mat-
ter-of-fact enough to forget easily the
heroes who lie In our cemeteries. But
we should consider the living, too. Let
us place roses over the little green
moundB, but don't let us overlook the
pleading child-hands that are stretched
out for their sweetness. While we
honor the memory of those beautiful
spirits that have passed from us, let
us not forget the living, breathing
souls that need our help.
It Is not necessary to save all the
flowers, the kind words and the kisses
until lips and hearts and minds are
cold and dead.—Margaret E. Sangster,
Jr., In the Christian Herald.
UNITY OF NATION PROVED
Great Southerner Long Ago Pointed
Out How Complete Has Boon
Its Restoration. y
From an address delivered by Henry
Watterson at the National cemetery,
Nashville. Tenn., Decoration day. 1877.
We are assembled, my countrymen,
to commemorate the patriotism and
valor of the brave men who died to-
save the Union. Tbe season brings its
tribute to tbe scene; pays Its homage
to the dead; inspires the living. There
are Images of tranquillity all about
us; in the calm sunshine upon tho
ridges; In the tender shadows that
creep along the streams; In the wav-
ing grass and grain that mark God’s
love and bounty; in tbe flowers that
bloom over the many graves. There
is peace everywhere In this land to-
day.
Peace on the open seas,
In all our sheltered bays and ampler
streams.
Peace where'er our starry banner gleams.
And peace in every breeze.
The war Is over. It is for us to
bury its passions with its dead; to
bury them beneath a monument raised
by the American people to American
manhood and the American system,
in order that "the nation shall, under
God, have a new birth of freedom and
that government of the people, by the
people, and for the people shall not
perish from the earth.”
The Union Is, indeed, restored when
the hands that pulled down that flag
come willingly and lovingly to put It
up again. I come with a full heart
and a steady hand to salute the flag
that floats above me—my flag and
your flag—the flag of tbe free heart’s
hope and home—the star spangled
banner of our fathers—the flag that,
uplifted triumphantly over a few brave
men, has never been obscured, des-
tined by the God of the universe to
waft on Its ample folds the eternal
song of freedom to all mankind, em-
blem of the power on earth which Is
destined to exceed that on which it
was said that the sun never went
down.
IMPRESSING YOUNG AMERICA
Wasn't That Sort
Experience does not show that the
strength of the domestic affections is
Impaired by the long separations un-
avoidably incident to war. On one oc-
casion a private soldier said to Gen-
eral Thomas: "General, I want to go
home and see my wife ”
"How long is it since you have seen
her?” asked the general.
"Over three months.”
"Three months,” replied Thomas.
"Why, 1 haven’t seen my wife for three
years."
"That may be so,” admitted the sol-
dier, “but, you see, general, my wife
and ms ain’t that sort.”
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Renfrew, J. P. Renfrew's Record (Alva, Okla.), Vol. 15, No. 29, Ed. 1 Friday, May 26, 1916, newspaper, May 26, 1916; Alva, Oklahoma. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc1078467/m1/2/: accessed May 7, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.