Imagini ale paginilor
PDF
ePub

from the battle-field, wearing their soiled, torn and bloody garments of army blue. Millions of flies buzzed around.

The Surgeons in charge were kind-hearted and attentive. They used all means in their power to make the patients comfortable. This was the place where the sick were to regain health, or from which they were to be removed to the General Hospital. They were far from home and friends. There was nothing to cheer them— nothing to stimulate. Hope was dying out, and despondency setting in, with memory summoning the dear old times, and revealing by contrast a dark and gloomy future.

It was the Sabbath day, and there were many among the suffering hundreds who had reverenced the day at home. It was a day of rest -of cessation from toil and care. Its return recalled their former Sabbaths-the still hours, the pealing of church bells, the grand and solemn music of the organ, or the hum of children's voices in the Sabbath-school. Is it a wonder that they had longings for home, or that the future was gloomy?

The day was wearing away. There was no cloud curtain in the sky to shut out the sun, but the brazen dome glowed with steady heat. The Christian Commission tent had been besieged all day by parched and fevered soldiers, who wanted onions, pickles, lemons, oranges-anything sour-anything to tempt the taste. There was a box of oranges which had been brought from City Point the night before. It was suggested that they be distributed at once to the sick and wounded. 'Certainly, by all means," was the unanimous voice of the Commission. I volunteered to be the distributor.

66

Go with me through the tents where the sufferers are. Some are lying down, with closed eyes, with pale faces and sunken cheeks. The paleness underlies the bronze which the sun has cast upon them. They breathe languidly. Some are half reclined, leaning on their elbows, bolstered by their knapsacks, looking into vacancy-seeing, perhaps, the old home, and wondering if they will ever again cross its threshold. Some are reading the papers which the Delegates of the Commission have distributed. There are some who have but one leg. There is the stump of a thigh, or an arm, with the lightest possible dressing to keep down the fever. Yesterday those men stood in the trenches confronting the enemy, in the full tide of life. Now

they are wrecks, floating out into the unknown future, with wife and children, or parents dependent on them.

As we enter the tent they catch a sight of the golden fruit. There is a commotion. Those half asleep rub their eyes. Those half reclining sit up straight. Those lying with their backs towards us turn over to see what is going on. Those so feeble that

Oranges. they cannot turn ask what is the matter. They gaze at the apples of Paradise. How their eyes gleam! Not one of them asks for an orange! They wait. Through military discipline. through unparalleled suffering, they have learned to be patient-to wait to endure to remain in suspense to stand still and be torn to pieces! They are heroes!

[blocks in formation]

It is all he can say. He is lying upon his back. A minie bullet has passed through his body, and he cannot be moved. He has a noble brow—a manly countenance. Tears moisten his eyes and roll down his sunken cheeks, as he takes the orange from my hand:

It is a gift of the Christian Commission, and I accept your thanks for those who made the contribution."

66

Bully for the Christian Commission!" shouted a wide-awake, jolly soldier near by, with an ugly wound in his left arm.

"Thank you," "God bless the Commission," "I say, Bill, arn't they bully?" are the expressions which I hear behind me.

In one of the wards I came upon a soldier who had lost his leg the day before. He was lying upon his side. He was robust, healthy, strong and brave. The hours dragged heavily. He did not see me till I stood before him-and not even then. He was stabbing his knife into a chip with a nervous energy, as if he was in imagination bayoneting a Rebel-trying to forget the pain-trying to bridge over the lonely hours and shut the gloom out of the future. I touched his elbow. He looked up:

66 Would you like an orange?"

"By jingo! that is worth a hundred dollars!"

He grasped it as a drowning man clutches a chip, as if to lose a thousandth part of a second he would miss the prize.

"Where did this come from?"

"The Christian Commission had a box arrive last night."

[graphic][subsumed][merged small][merged small]
[blocks in formation]

"The Christian Commission? My wife belongs to that. She wrote to me about it last week, that they met to make shirts for it." 66 Then you have a wife?"

"Yes, sir, and three children."

His voice faltered. Ah! the soldier never forgets his home. He dashed away a tear, took in a long breath, and was strong again. "Where do you hail from, soldier ?”

"From old Massachusetts. I had a snug little home upon the banks of the Connecticut, but I told my wife that I didn't feel just right to stay there when I was needed out here, and so I came, and here I am. I shall write home and tell Mary about the Christian Commission. I have been wishing all day that I had an orange; I knew it was no use to wish. I didn't suppose there was one in camp; besides, here I am, not able to move a peg. I thank you, sir, for bringing it. I shall tell my wife all about it."

It was worth a hundred dollars to see him suck the juice-every drop, as if it was as precious as life itself. But enough. It was one of the happiest hours of my life—that passed in the distribution of those oranges-not that I was the almoner, but because of the exhibition of spontaneous, unmixed, heartfelt gratitude, not towards me, but to the friends far away.

Another narrative, from the pen of Delegate C. H. Richards,1 continues the story of the same work:

We pass by regiments and batteries, by sentinels who look curiously at us, by the headquarters of officers of all grades and ranks, through field and grove, till we come to the covered wagon-road leading to the outer lines. Through this passage-way,

Getting to the

which was channeled out that ammunition and sup- Fort. plies might be safely taken to the batteries in front, we may pass without risk of life or limb. Following the devious windings, we find ourselves suddenly in a fort or earthwork, made of gabions and fascines, strengthened and cemented by an abundance of the "sacred soil," while numerous sand-bags crown the parapet. you will look out through this embrasure you will see that we have

If

1 Of Andover Theological Seminary, Mass. The narrative is from letters published in the Sunday School Times.

« ÎnapoiContinuă »