The Regimental Colors

1904

At the bombardment of Fredericksburg, Virginia, during the Civil War, a Confederate soldier was taking sight for a shot at an enemy across the street. Just as his fingers trembled on the trigger a little three-year-old, fair-haired baby girl toddled out of an alley, accompanied by a big Newfoundland dog, and gave chase to a shell that was rolling lazily along the pavement. Major Stiles tells the story in "Four Years Under Marse Robert":

Burke's hand dropped from the trigger. There was the baby, amid the torrent of shot and shell, and on came the enemy. A moment, and he had grounded his gun, dashed out into the storm, swept his right arm round the child, gained cover again, and with the baby clasped to his breast and the musket trailed in his left hand, was trotting after the boys up to Marye's Heights.

Behind that historic stone wall all those hours and days of terror that baby was tenderly cared for. They scoured the countryside for milk, and conjured up their best skill to prepare dainty viands for her little ladyship.

When the struggle was over and the enemy had withdrawn, the Twenty-first Mississippi, having held the post of danger in the rear, was assigned to the place of honor in the van, and led the column. There was a long halt, the brigade and regimental staff hurrying to and fro. The regimental colors could not be found.

Buck Denman stood about the middle of the regiment, baby in arms. Suddenly he sprang to the front, swung her aloft above his head, her little garments fluttering like the folds of a banner, and shouted, "Forward, Twenty-first, here are your colors!" And without further order off started the brigade toward the town. Buck himself describes the last scene in the drama:

"I was holding the baby high, adjutant, with both arms, when above all the racket I heard a woman's scream. The next thing I knew I was covered with calico, and the woman fainted on my breast. I caught her before she fell, and laying her down gently, put the baby in her arms."

Farmer Charges Cat Sucked Breath From Children

1908

Gladstone, Michigan — Two children of Clarence Stearns, a farmer living near this village, are dying and three others are seriously ill, due to a cat having "sucked their breath" when they lay asleep in bed.

The father, in the dim light, saw the family cat sitting on the child's breast, its nose close to the babe's lips. The cat's claws scratched the child's breast as the father drew it away.

Going to the bed of the other children he found, he says, that the cat had sucked the breath of all and that two were so ill it was necessary for him to hitch up his horses and drive to the village for a doctor.


Goat and Man in Duel

Kansas City, Missouri — Bruised and battered on all four sides and with all of his corners knocked off, Frank Schleich lies on a cot in the emergency hospital as the result of a battle in the dark between him and a goat. The goat invaded Schleich's room in the barn and, as the man was unarmed, the goat might have killed him had it not been for the arrival of another barn man, who subdued the horned and whiskered beast by throwing a horse blanket over its head.


Baby Born with Brand

Peoria, Illinois — A letter "H" as distinct as though branded with an iron shows on the forehead of the two-months-old daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Hartman of Alton.

Neighbors gather daily at the Hartman home to view the unusual birthmark, which is exactly in the middle of the forehead and which has become more plainly visible within the last few weeks.

Physicians say the birthmark will disappear within two or three years.

The Lullaby Song Mother Used To Sing

1911

The Lullaby Song

Some time ago a western contemporary gave utterance to this practical, prosaic and unemotional declaration: "Another very pretty sentiment that should be exploded is the lullaby song. Did your mother rock you to sleep and sing while doing it, and you recall the song? As a rule, a woman has so many children they are hustled off to bed without being rocked, and what mother ever knew a lullaby from start to finish?"

There are some things that are too sacred for alleged humor or wit and the above is an instance in point, as there are many who will not accept it as either, for as observed by an exchange there are those whose years have exiled them to dreamland, who can call up tender recollections of childhood and remember the songs that mother used to sing.

There are plenty of old men living who had mothers who could sing in low, tender, though uncultivated, tones the lullaby song, and its melody is still enshrined in the heart and thrills in memory. The old man of German stock especially can remember the simple folk song of the Fatherland that his mother sang above his cradle. Long ago its music came from over the sea, and at last has incorporated in the runic rhymes the old colored nurse crooned or warbled to woo sleep to infantile eyelids.

It may be that in later years we have been privileged to hear the great voices of the day. But all their grand arias never so touched our hearts as when in an encore they gave us a melody that had been dedicated to babyland and which thousands of mothers had sung to the cradle's rocker beating time.

It is strange what a hold these simple melodies of childhood retain in a life, however long, however filled with changes and vicissitude. There is something in their joys though they be ever so fleeting, that remains indelible. Every now and then, in quiet hours, the heart will hark back over the intervening years and remember it with reverence. And who will say that we are not better men and women for such moments of reflection, even though they do bring back the sound of voices that have long been silent, and the touch of hands that are dust?

And can you recall the song? Of course! You hear the familiar notes again in the midst of other surroundings, and instantly the scene is changed about you. You are a child again, just for a moment, and you look up, as you did in days gone by, into a face you love — oh, it may be aged and wrinkled and homely now, but it's still to you the sweetest face in the world.

You look again into eyes that are eloquent with a mother's unspeakable love — the purest, sweetest, holiest feeling the human heart may know. You feel again the comforting presence of her who guided your first uncertain footsteps, who heard you lisp your first little words, and whose tender solicitude for you has never ceased in all these years.

Can you recall the song? A generation may have passed since you heard it. Perhaps, in the corner of some quiet churchyard the singer lies asleep. Years and experience may have come upon you since you heard it last from her dear lips. Scenes may have changed, and your feet have wandered far since then; but never, never have you forgotten.

Life has brought you discords, but they can't erase it. After it may have come the other songs of other days. but the echo of those earlier ones is with you always. Childhood can never die.

No, do not tell us that the lullabies have gone out of fashion, after all these ages in which they have been sung over cradle and couch, in hovel and palace, and been remembered by millions in whose hearts remained an echo and a light of other days. The childhood that never heard a mother's lullaby is not apt to have a manhood of wholesome sentiment or that reverence for womankind which ennobles the heart and uplifts the soul.

—The Mansfield News, Mansfield, Ohio, Feb. 28, 1911, p. 6.

Naming a Girl Baby

1895

The most popular name to bestow on a baby girl at this time is Dorothy evidently, for out of 178 girls' names in the catalogues of the babies whose portraits were shown at a recent baby display 14 bore Dorothy. Next in favor was Marjorie, spelled even Marjourie. Ruth, which is generally supposed to be the favorite, owing to its connection with the White House, wasn't in the race for popularity, as only three infants were so named in the returns. Helen or Helene came next in favor, Kate or Katherine holding its own, and Mary and Marie were well ahead along with Gladys and Elizabeth. Such names as Beatrice, Josephine, Anita, Eleanor, Jessica, Alice, Madeline, Florence and Rachel were twice represented, but aside from that the widest variety figured.

It is evident that much greater independence is shown now than formerly in christening the feminine portion of the population. When two or more children in a family were represented in the catalogue it looked as if there had been an attempt to select names in harmony. In one family there were Mauriel, Dorothy, Marion and Marjorie, a happy combination. The most distinctive trio possibly were Honor, Gillian and Rufus Barr. If that family doesn't turn out well then there is nothing in the effect of a name. Drenna was one of the oddest names; Serane another. There were two Bettys, one dear Peggy, a Mollie, three Virginias, one Lorna Doone and a Yolande. — New York Commercial.

Steals Ring From Baby

New York, 1914

Burglar Cleans Out House and Then Plunders Infant

The meanest man in the world, new 1914 spring and summer model, broke into Herman J. Boecklin's house, in Kent, Westchester county yesterday.

He stole two watches, a diamond ring, silverware, bric-a-brac, and $18 which he found under a mattress. He also took the family revolver. But to show what he was capable of he proceeded as follows:

He took a piece of soap and greased 14-month-old Helen Boecklin's finger slipping off her little gold ring.

He cut a gold chain and locket from her neck.

He smashed her toy bank and took $4.63.

Lest Helen should cry, he took her out of her crib while he stole her jewelry. Then he went away leaving her on the floor. Her cries brought neighbors who discovered the burglary. — The New York Herald.

Mother Love (poetry)

1888

Mother Love

Ah, babe, with feet so soft and pink,
How oft does mother sadly think
That you will walk, perchance may fall
On life's rough path, and to your call
Among the crowd — but mother's hand
Will raise you, soothe and help you stand.

Those baby feet, those little toes,
To tread a path that no one knows;
If mother only could — and knew,
She'd tread the path ahead of you,
And smooth it to the very end,
Till Heav'n and earth together blend.

Ah, babe, with feet now held and press'd,
To think that you have never guessed
That when your feet are aching sore,
A mother's heart is hurt much more,
And when the path's so rough to trod,
A mother knows they lead to God.

Ah, babe, with feet now soft and warm,
Full soon to meet life's calm and storm,
And 'mid the struggle not to know
That mother never'll let you go
From out her heart — until the call,
Then yields to God her child — her all.

—Alice S. Webber, in Good Housekeeping.

Babies Now Getting Lullabies by Radio, Not Mother

Baby Florence Jackson listening in on a bedtime story.

New York, 1922

NEW RADIOPHONE LULLABY SUPPLANTS OLD SONGS OF MOTHER AT TWILIGHT

The romance of your baby days will soon fade from the babe of tomorrow. For no longer need mother croon or rock her babe to sleep, or even whisper the story of the sandman. All she will do will be to "cut in" and let babe go to sleep to the tune of a radio lullaby or bedtime story. Florence Jackson now gets her twilight lullaby in New York by radio.

—The Chronicle Telegram, Elyria, Ohio, April 13, 1922, p. 8.

Miss Mulock's Romance

1881

It was "John Halifax" published after she was thirty years old, that brought her fame, and made the task of earning her daily bread a little less arduous. Seven years later she was awarded a pension of three hundred dollars a year. She was nearly forty when she was married. In 1865 Captain George Lillie Craik, an officer in the English army, who had been in the Crimea, met Miss Mulock, and although some years her junior, addressed her and succeeded in winning her hand.

They proved most congenial companions, and their married life was all they could wish, without one exception, the woman whose love for children amounted almost to a passion, who wrote 'Philip, My King,' was denied the happiness of feeling baby fingers upon her cheek or of ever hearing herself called mother. This was a severe sorrow; but even this pain has been partly assuaged.

Strangely enough, one dark rainy night, while she and her husband were speaking of children and of the joy and brightness they bring to so many dwellings, there came a loud bell ring at the and then a furious knocking. On opening the door, lying upon the sill they found a basket enclosed in heavy wrappings. When they were removed they discovered a lovely little baby only a few hours old. The child was wrapped in one roll after another of India muslin, and on its breast was pinned a note begging Mrs. Craik to be kind to the little waif thus brought to her door, and assuring her that no mean blood flowed in its veins. Tenderly she lifted the little thing in her arms, and her heart opened as warmly to take in the poor little deserted creature.

They called the child Dorothea, God-given, and she became their adopted daughter, as tenderly cherished and as passionately loved as though she had been their own.

A Baby From The "Strangest Romance" of World War I

March 1920

EMILY KNOWLES SPIKER GIVES BABY TO FATHER

Baby That Figured in strangest Romance of War is Given to Legal Father by Voluntary Act of the Mother

By Lorry A. Jacobs

New York—Emily Knowles Spiker has decided to give up her war romance baby, Albert Ray Spiker, to the father, Perley M. Spiker.

Albert, who is six months old, is to be adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Perley Spiker and in that way gain a legal name. It was the father's brother, Guy, that Emily Knowles married shortly after her arrival, with the baby, in this country.

"Emily alone must decide what is to be the fate of her baby," Perley Spiker told me when he recently recounted his side of the overseas romance. "My wife and I feel we should take the baby and allow Emily and Guy to live their early married life unhampered by the care of a youngster. But Emily must finally decide." And Emily has!

Today I received the following letter in response to my request to the Spikers that they notify me immediately when they reached a decision in regard to the baby:

"Out of gratitude we feel duty bound to give you the first story of our decision as to the adoption of Alfred Ray. We have received papers printed from coast to coast, and in these stories you have shown us consideration that not all reporters were kind enough to give."

So ends the last chapter of the "strangest romance of the war." Perley Spiker met Emily Knowles in France. They fell in love. A baby was born. Perley returned to his wife in America. Emily Knowles and the baby followed. Mrs. Perley Spiker remained loyal to her husband and offered to take Emily and the baby into their home. Guy Spiker, brother of Perley, married Emily, and gave her a home of her own.