by Christine Chaplin Brush, May 1880
A patriotic fevor seen very seldom these days (although it seems a bit startling that a child would have wanted a relative to be wounded in battle!). Out of this misguided patriotism a true good deed is born.Two little girls were going swiftly through Squire Blossom's yard, taking a short cut home from school. It was late in the May afternoon. The school had been out some time, and the little girls were hurrying along and talking so busily that they did not notice even the old white sheep who pushed his nose at them through the bars for his usual petting.
One of the children was listening with a sympathizing face to the other, who wore a pink sun-bonnet and a bluechecked apron.
"Of course, you don't mind," said the little girl with the pink bonnet; "of course you don't, for your uncle had one arm shot off, and died, and you can always say he was in the war and was awful brave, and shot off ever so many guns, and waved flags, and drummed awful hard, and slashed his sword about, and cut things all up."
"Oh, did he do all that?" asked little Mary, quite elated. "I did n't know it; who told you?"
"Oh, of course he did," said Sally; "all the men were very brave that went from our town. Mother says father was too sick to go to the war, and I feel awful ashamed about it. My uncle went, but he never lost one of his fingers, even, and never got shot one bit; so it's just the same as if he 'd never been!"
"I should think you 'd be glad he did n't get hurt," said little Mary, who could not follow Sally in her patriotic flight. "Perhaps your uncle fired and drummed just as hard as mine, and perhaps he shot the enemy so fast that nobody got a chance at him."
"Well, I 'm real mad and ashamed, too," replied Sally. "Tuesday is Decoration-day, and there is n't one grave that 's any relation to me in all that grave-yard, and there is n't a name on that monument in Martinsville that belongs to our folks!"
But, when Sally took her seat in school the next morning, her face wore a cheerful and determined air; and at recess, when the little boys and girls were discussing the glories of Decoration-day, she joined in the conversation as freely as if she had owned all the soldiers in town.
"I'm going to walk to Martinsville and hear the speeches, and see the monument trimmed up," said a big boy. "Seven of those names belong to our village. I wish I had been a soldier."
"So do I!" cried Sally. "Why, when I hear the crackers on Fourth of July, I feel awful patriotic! Oh, I wish I had lived in the Revolution! When I study about those brave women I just wish I had been one of them. I 'd have kept a little gun in my kitchen, and if I 'd seen a red-coat coming, I 'd have popped him off."
The boys laughed at Sally's warlike spirit, but the girls were rather startled.
"Why, Sally Barnes," said little Mary, "I never knew you hated folks so, before; why, I 'd have taken a red-coat in, and hid him in our garret, up behind the old spinning-wheel and the chests. I 'd have tied up his shot places and taken his dinner to him. I would n't be so unkind to anybody."
"I guess you would n't have done that if he 'd been shooting your father, would you?" asked Sally, to bring the matter home.
"Oh, but I did n't mean one that had shot father," said little Mary, in dismay.
"They are going to decorate the graves in our village first," said the big boy who had spoken before. "There's only seven, you know, and then they 'll all go over to Martinsville; you girls wont, of course, you can't walk three miles and back."
"I can," said Sally, "and I 'm going to, too."
"Why, Sally!" cried one of the big girls, "you need n't be so interested; you were n't born when the war closed, and none of your relations died in it, and if they had they 'd never know whether you tramped over that hot, sandy road or not. Whose grave are you going to weep over?"
Sally was silent.
"l guess she's going to weep over my uncle's," said little Mary, anxious to share her blessing with her friend. "My uncle used to live next door to her house, you know."
"I don't want to borrow anybody's relation's grave," said Sally, "for I've got one of my own, now. It never did belong to anybody, and I've adopted it; so I've got a right to go to Martinsville, if I want to!"
The big boys and girls burst out laughing. "Whose grave is it, Sally?" they asked.
"It's John Anderson's," said the little girl, "and it does n't belong to any of you, for I asked my father, and he said it did n't. He was a Swede, and worked for the doctor, and went to the war, and came back sick and died, and did n't belong in this town. So I said I'd have him for my soldier, and my father says I can."
Everything Sally took hold of was done thoroughly. "I'd rather have one hour of Sally's work than three of Katy's," her mother used to say.
The family, when she told them of "her grave," only laughed; they were used to "Sally's ways."
Early on Decoration-day morning, Sally went to the grave-yard, which was lying fresh and green in the morning sun. It was a place where one might like to rest after a sad and weary life. It lay on a little rise of ground, and was surrounded by a low stone wall, tinted by lichens in green and gold.
It was uncarcd for, except as Nature tended it. The blackberry-vines ran at will over the low stones, the bees hummed in the long grasses, which waved, and blossomed, and died, untouched by the scythe.
Violets bloomed thickly in the spring-time, and the daisies bent and swayed in the sweet summer air. Far off lay the blue sea. Quiet was always there, and rest belonged to the place.
It looked very bright on this May morning; and Sally, in her pink sun-bonnet, stepped resolutely along until she came to " her grave." She cut the grass carefully from it with a large pair of scissors, and heaped the mound with flowers.
When the little procession turned into the yard, the people were all surprised to see the grave of the poor Swede, who had lived for so short a time among them, carefully trimmed and decorated.
After the simple ceremony was over, the people separated, most of them returning to their homes. Sally, however, followed the men and boys who were going to Martinsville.
The minister and his wife rode in a buggy. When they saw Sally trudging along in the hot sun, they offered to tuck her in between them, and she was very glad to accept the invitation.
"Why were you taking this long walk, my dear?" asked Mr. Raymond.
"I want to hear the speeches, and go to Decoration-day, and see the monuments. Besides," said Sally, " I want to hear what they are going to say about John Anderson."
"Who is John Anderson?" asked the minister. "Do you mean Major Anderson of Sumter?"
"I don't know, sir,—I mean a man who died in the war, for us. He was a Swede, and need n't have gone to our war at all, only he was so polite," Sally replied.
"I remember the poor fellow, now; he came here as a sailor on one of our ships, and stayed—worked on the doctor's farm. He was an honest, hard-working man; he little thought he had come among us only to find a grave."
"Why did n't they have him buried near his relations ?" asked Sally.
"No one knew, I suppose, where his friends lived."
"And perhaps," said Sally, "his mother is looking out for him all the time, and thinks he has forgotten her," and tears came into her large gray eyes.
Sally told Mrs. Raymond about adopting the grave, and the lady was much amused and touched.
When they came into Martinsville, the scene was quite exciting to the little girl.
The streets were filled with people, and, on the little square where the monument stood, the band was playing slow and mournful music.
Sally's heart thrilled with the sound.
Mr. Raymond tied his horse to a tree near the square, and then they walked on to the "green," to be within hearing of the speakers.
Sally listened attentively, as one after another named the brave fellows who had given their lives for their country.
When Squire Barnard rose, Sally never took her eyes from him; he was from her village, and would speak of the soldiers who belonged there.
He named and praised one and another, briefly, and then sat down; he never mentioned John Anderson! Sally's cheeks grew red,—she pulled Mr. Raymond's sleeve.
"I did n't think Mr. Barnard was so unkind and mean," she whispered; "he never said one single word about John Anderson; and I 'll never play with his little girl again! When I'm big enough, I 'll carve a head-stone for my soldier."
A gentleman now spoke to Mr. Raymond, and the two walked off together toward the platform. The minister rose to say a few words.
He said he wanted to tell a little story. So he told them of Sally's adopted grave, and spoke very tenderly of the poor stranger who had cast his lot among them; and of the little girl who wished to keep his memory fresh, and who had felt hurt that the Squire had forgotten to mention him.
"Let 's see the little girl," said a voice; and before Sally knew where she was, a man had lifted her on to the platform. She looked upon the crowd; and then she held down her head, the tears in her eyes. The people all laughed.
"I propose," said Mr. Raymond, " that we give money enough to this little woman, to buy a simple headstone for the grave of John Anderson."
The people clapped their hands, and a man passed his hat around among the crowd. Pennies rattled, and bits of paper fluttered into it; and soon he came to the platform, and told Sally to hold out her apron. It was quite heavy with pennies, and there were dollar bills among them!
Sally smiled and quite forgot herself, thinking of the people's kindness. "Oh, thank you," she said, her eyes sparkling. And then she added, suddenly, in a grateful tone of voice: "I 'll put some flowers on your monument the next time we ride over."
Then everybody clapped their hands, and stamped and laughed; and Sally was helped down and took her seat again by Mrs. Raymond.
The Squire said the speakers ought to ride home together; so he put Sally into his carriage, which was lined with blue cloth, and had a nice stuffed back, and springs in the seat.
Sally's mother was quite surprised to see her little girl getting out of Squire Barnard's carriage. She had worried about her all day, for she never dreamed that she really meant to go all the way to Martinsville.
Sally told the family all about her day, and how she had been on the platform; and she showed the money; and her father, when he had heard all, said he should never worry about that girl,—she always fell feet down!
The story of Sally's patriotic zeal soon spread around the firesides of the county, and several gentlemen and ladies, who were not present at the celebration, sent her money to help in buying the head-stone.
When she had thirty dollars, Sally began to grow impatient to have the work done. So she dressed herself very neatly one afternoon, and called on Mrs. Squire Barnard. The lady smiled kindly on her, and said:
"Oh, this is the little girl who made the speech at Martinsville! I am glad to see you again, dear. Can I do anything for you?"
"Yes, ma'am," replied Sally; "I came to ask you if you would take your nice carriage some day and go shopping with Mrs. Raymond and me, for a head-stone for my soldier. I don't want to buy just any one that happens to be left over at the Center."
Mrs. Barnard said she was going on Monday to the county town, where there were two or three marble-yards, and that she would be very happy to take Mrs. Raymond and Sally with her in the carriage.
That was a proud and happy day when the little girl climbed into the fine carriage and took her seat opposite the two ladies.
But when they reached the marble-yard, Sally was very much disappointed not to find a stone all ready and waiting for her, with drums and fifes, and swords and guns carved on it.
Mrs. Raymond said that, as there was no more war where her good soldier had gone, some emblem of peace would be better.
Sally then turned her attention to the doves and lambs she saw on head-stones, but, after some effort, the ladies diverted her from these; and soon they all agreed on a beautiful white marble scroll.
The price of this was thirty-five dollars; but when the owner heard the story of Sally's soldier, he said he would sell it for thirty.
If ever you should visit Sally 's town, you would see a well-kept grave in the church-yard, with a scroll at its head, on which is carved in bold relief:
A Native of Sweden,
Aged 28 Years"
And beneath this a grateful acknowledgement of the sacrifice the young stranger had made for union, justice and liberty among us.
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