The army men were used to seeing each other; everybody knew everybody
in the little country town of Barlow; but when one comrade after
another appeared in what remained of his accoutrements, they felt the
day to be greater than they had planned, and the simple ceremony
proved more solemn than any one expected. They could make no use of
their every-day jokes and friendly greetings. Their old blue coats
and tarnished army caps looked faded and antiquated enough. One of
the men had nothing left but his rusty canteen and rifle; but these he
carried like sacred emblems. He had worn out all his army clothes long
ago, because he was too poor when he was discharged to buy any others.
When the door of the church opened, the veterans were not abashed by
the size and silence of the crowd. They came walking two by two down
the steps, and took their places in line as if there were nobody
looking on. Their brief evolutions were like a mystic rite. The two
lame men refused to do anything but march as best they could; but poor
Martin Tighe, more disabled than they, was brought out and lifted into
Henry Merrill's best wagon, where he sat up, straight and soldierly,
with his boy for driver. There was a little flag in the whip-socket
before him, which flapped gayly in the breeze. It was such a long time
since he had been seen out-of-doors that everybody found him a great
object of interest, and paid him much attention. Even those who were
tired of being asked to contribute to his support, who resented the
fact of his having a helpless wife and great family; who always
insisted that with his little pension and hopeless lameness, his
fingerless left hand and failing sight, he could support himself and
his household if he chose,--even those persons came forward now to
greet him handsomely and with large approval.
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