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Updated: June 2, 2025
After a short skirmish, the enemy were driven into their camp at Lavergne, where they had one Brigade stationed. Our Brigade having the advance, we soon came in sight of the enemy, who were drawn up in line ready for battle. Our Battery, and one section of Konkle's Battery, under command of Lieutenant Nathan Newell, were ordered into position, and opened on the Rebels.
"He hasn't been there for two weeks. He's comin' to-night to take me to ride, an' I'll make him go the turnpike road, an' she'll be down by Pine Hollow, an' you can snap her up under her mother's nose an' she's got on her blue." Newell put out his hands and grasped her wrists. He held them tight and looked at her. She gazed back in wonder.
"After all, despite his remarkable work as a gridiron player and tutor, I like best to think of him as Newell, the man; I like best to recall those long Sunday afternoons when he walked through the woodland paths in the two big gorges, or over the fields at Ithaca in company much of the time with not the captain of the team, not the star halfback, not the great forward, but some young fellow fresh from school who was still down in the ruck of the squad.
Newell really moved too fast: her position was as perilous as that of an invading army without a base of supplies. She used up everything too quickly friends, credit, influence, forbearance. It was so easy for her to acquire all these what a pity she had never learned to keep them!
Such men as Mayor Edgar A. Newell, ex-Collector of the Port of New York Daniel Magone, Postmaster A.A. Smith, Assemblyman George R. Malby, and his predecessor, Gen.
No doubt Halsey was shocked at his wife's unbelief; perhaps by the law of telepathy, for whose existence some psychical experts vouch, his thought penetrated the mind of the sensitive upon the bed. Whatever the cause, Newell Knight sat up and pointed at Susannah, crying aloud that he saw the devil about to seize upon her.
Even the Funny Man with a fresh flask of whiskey sighed almost dismally between frequent uneasy "cat-naps." And Samson Newell, first seeing his wife comfortably settled, and his little ones safely disposed about her, strode up and down, from car to car, with a gloom of disappointment on his face that was almost ferocious. "Too bad!" he muttered, "too bad! too bad! too bad!"
All that day Dorcas bent over the pea-vines and listened to her thoughts. There were other pickers, but she had no words for them, even when they sat down together for their luncheon, nor for Newell himself, coming at night to take her home. "You're real tired, I guess," he said, as he left her at the gate. Dorcas flashed a sudden smile at him. It was all mirth and mischief.
Then a rumor ran through the train that there were a couple of barrels of chickens, ready-dressed for market, in the express-car, and a general rush in that direction followed. One of the first to hear of it, and one of the first to be on the spot, was Samson Newell. "Stand back, gentlemen," he cried to the foremost of the throng that poured eagerly into the car, "stand back a moment.
There is no hero of the past whose name has been handed down in Harvard's football traditions as that of Marshall Newell. He left many lasting impressions upon the men who came in contact with him. The men that played under his coaching idolized him, and this extended even beyond the confines of Harvard University.
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