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Henry P. Rauton was born July 24, 1843, near Rocky Creek in Edgefield County, S. C. His father, W. S. Rauton, served in the Seminole War and died in 1855. No wonder his son Henry made such a loyal and true Confederate soldier, born with a patriotic spirit that was manifested on every occasion. In June 1920, he fell from a railroad trestle and fractured his hip, from which he lingered in great pain until January 31, 1921, when he answered the roll call up yonder in his home in Sumter, surrounded by his wife, daughter Gertrude, and three sons, Henry, of Sumter, Edward, of Beaufort, and George, of Camden, N. J. A few months longer of life would have brought him to his seventy-eighth year. His body was clad in the Confederate gray uniform that he loved so much to wear, and on his breast was pinned the bronze cross, so dear to his heart, given him by the Mary Ann Buie Chapter, South Carolina Division of the United Daughters of the Confederacy, at Johnston, S. C., his former home town, for service he rendered the Confederate States in Company A, 22nd S. C. V., of Evan's brigade.

He was not only a good soldier of the army, but a faithful soldier of the cross, having been baptized when a young man by that much beloved Baptist preacher of ye olden times, Uncle Jimmie Peterson.

On June 17, 1864, he was wounded in a moonlight charge and was carried from the battle field by two Northern soldiers. He was captured at Appomattox six days before the surrender and kept at Point Lookout until June, 1865.

His body was brought to Johnston, accompanied, by his family and laid to rest in Mount of Olives Cemetery, beside his little son, Mackey, who died several years ago. From his bier floated the red and white streamers on the laurel wreath placed by the local Chapter, U. D. C. He rests serene among forty of his comrades who lie buried in God's sacred acre, and above his grave is seent the Maltese iron cross in red and white with C. S. A., showing that

"He was a rebel in the fight

Because he thought it just and right.

The South he loved, her flag was his,

Her fields, and hills, and skies divine.

He loved her as best he could;

Was not her cause born of his blood?

Against a storm of shot and shell

He fought for the South he loved so well."

"So sleep, soldier! still in honor rest,

Your truth and valor wearing;

The bravest wre the tenderest,

The loving are the daring."

[Mrs. James H. White, Registrar, M. A. B. Chapter, U. D. C.]