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Updated: May 6, 2025
Hagerstown had been right in the whirl of the battle-storm which had been raging in Maryland. Both armies had passed through its streets and bivouacked in its environs. More than once the opposing forces had contended for possession of the town. Twice the union cavalry had charged in and driven the confederates out, and once had been forced, themselves, to vacate in a hurry.
In a short space Rustem observed that he wished to consult his father Zál; and being allowed to depart, he, on his return home, described in strong terms of admiration the personal appearance and mental qualities of Isfendiyár. "In wisdom ripe, and with a form Of brass to meet the battle-storm, Thou wouldst confess his every boon, Had been derived from Feridún."
The Battery was several times in a dangerous position, and once was nearly surrounded by the enemy, and subjected to a severe cross fire. The men heroically stood at their posts, and fought like veterans, while the air was hissing with shot and shell. None wavered from their duty, and all are deserving of the highest praise. But, alas! some laid down their lives in that fearful battle-storm.
Within the last few weeks scarcely a day had passed but had witnessed the return of some mighty ironclad or splendid cruiser, which had set out a miracle of offensive and defensive strength, little better than a floating ruin, wrecked and shattered almost beyond recognition by the awful battle-storm through which she had passed.
All through life I have been at thy side, in sunshine and frost, feast and battle-storm, and soon I hope to follow thee home!" At last the flames died down and left but the blackened remnants of the ship and the ashes of its royal captain.
All along the shore from East Wear Bay to the South Foreland lay the shattered, shell-riddled hulks of what twelve hours before had been the finest battleships and cruisers afloat, run ashore in despair to save the lives of the few who had come alive through that awful battle-storm.
Approaching, each a prayer addrest To Heaven, and thundering forward prest; Thick showers of arrows gloomed the sky, The battle-storm raged long and high; Above, black clouds their darkness spread, Below, the earth with blood was red. Ardshír, the son of Lohurásp, and descended from Kai-káús, was one of the first to engage; he killed many, and was at last killed himself.
I have a sort of feeling it ought to be marked off somehow, a permanent memorial. The same emotion as that which speaks in this letter so far, at least, as it can be shared by those who had no part in the grim scene itself held us, the first women-pilgrims to tread these roads and trampled slopes since the battle-storm of last autumn passed over them.
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