The Story of a Message

1900

Among stories of war, few are more thrilling than those of dispatches carried through an enemy's country. An instance given by the author of "East Tennessee and the Civil War" offers a striking picture of the almost infinite dangers which often attend upon such a service.

During the siege of Knoxville, it was imperative for Grant, at Chattanooga, to communicate with General Burnside. He sent five couriers with dispatches, by as many different routes. One of the messengers was never heard of again. Three were taken prisoners, and the fifth, arriving at Kingston, after a ride of eighty miles, was too thoroughly exhausted to proceed farther.

It was still forty miles to Knoxville, as the crow flies. Burnside must have the dispatch. A few men, to whom the courier applied, shook their heads. Longstreet's forces held the country, the weather was cold, and the roads were execrable. Then it was that a delicate young woman, Mary Love, said she would go. Her services were accepted.

Mounted on a fleet horse, she sped on, now on the highway, now along by-paths, now through the forest, how over the open hills. Suddenly she came upon a Confederate picket, and was taken to the provost marshal. With perfect composure she told him that she was the sister of Doctor Love, a Confederate surgeon at Knoxville, and that she was riding his horse. The provost marshal knew Doctor Love and knew his horse. The girl was allowed to proceed.

Once more she dashed on. After a long and circuitous ride she reached the river opposite Louisville, her native town, crossed the wide stream, and hastened to the house of her brother-in-law. She had travelled thirty-five miles in a few hours by night, but her exhaustion was complete. She fell to the ground, and had barely strength to say that the dispatches must go on.

Mary Love had come in circles, and there were still fifteen miles to go. The men of the household had gone to the war. After a hasty consultation, a boy of thirteen, John T. Brown, offered to complete the journey, and his mother bade him Godspeed.

Wheeler's Confederate cavalry held the town, and pickets were stationed on all the roads. At nightfall, Mrs. Brown and her boy slipped down to the river's edge and scrambled through the dense undergrowth along its bank for two miles. They had passed the picket lines. Here the mother turned back.

The night was bitter cold, but the boy travelled on, picking his way through the darkness and forests. At length he reached Little River, a distance of eight miles. The stream was swollen and he could not cross. He doubled back on his trail for some distance, and made his way to the house of an old friend of his father. The gentleman received him kindly, and early in the morning he proceeded on his way. By daylight he was able to cross the river, and at length reached the Federal pickets. Then, under the charge of a sergeant, he was sent to General Burnside's headquarters, still several miles away.

The general read the dispatch, and learned that Sherman's army was at hand. In a few minutes bands of music struck up, and batteries pealed the news that relief was coming. Little Johnny sat wondering what it all meant. Suddenly soldiers gathered round him, and one of them, catching him up, set him on his shoulders, and with cheers and shouts he was carried down the street. Then, for the first time, Johnny understood all he had done. — Youth's Companion.

Commas and Inflection Make a Difference

1895

Commas and Inflection

A Good Deal Depends on Them Sometimes

We published recently an account of a suit for heavy damages arising from lack of punctuation in a telegram. A man sent the message: "Don't come. Too late." But the doctor received it, "Don't come too late," and immediately engaged a special train to convey him a long distance.

Mr. Story, the sculptor, who began life as a lawyer, tells a good anecdote which illustrates the fact that the emphasis which punctuates has as much to do with determining the sense of a sentence as the meaning of the words. Once, when he was called upon to defend a woman accused of murdering her husband, he adduced as one of the proofs of her innocence the fact of her having attended him on his deathbed, and saying to him, when he was dying, "Goodbye, George!" The counsel for the prosecution declared that that ought rather to be taken as a proof of her guilt, and that the words she had used were "Good! by George!"

A well known clergyman of New York used to make a strong point by reading the verse, "God said, Let there be light, and there was light," with the emphasis on the word light, not on was, as usually rendered.

An elocutionist of considerable note has questioned the method of the great Mrs. Siddons, who in answer to Macbeth's suggestion of possible failure was wont to reply, "Fail!" with a emphatic drop of the voice that implied, "Well, then, fail, that's all there is to it." "Lady Macbeth would never have got him in the world," said this critic, "had she addressed him in that manner. She undoubtedly said, 'Fail,' in a tone of utter contempt for a man who could imagine such an outcome to his villainy. The word should be given in a deep tone, with a falling inflection and then an upward tendency." — Brooklyn Eagle.