crusts of bread we had, I was able to give every wounded man in the house a light supper. Poor fellows! they were almost starved, few having had anything since their early morning rations. I succeeded in confiscating a horse, and sent a soldier back through the mud at midnight to our office in Nashville with an order for supplies. He returned about two o'clock with stores packed in two grain-bags, and otherwise distributed about his person. At three we had coffee and

soup made, and the men had another meal.

About seven our Christian Commission wagon made its appearance, loaded down with supplies. With that wagon-load the men were fed morning, noon and night of Saturday, and morning and noon of Sunday. Not a particle of Government stores reached the hospital in answer to the Surgeon's requisition until late Sunday afternoon. When they did come, the Surgeon, with manifest feeling, said to the Assistant Medical Director who accompanied them

"If it hadn't been for the Christian Commission, these wounded men would have starved to death before this."

Our Sunday Morning Prayer Meeting.

We wanted some one to take more particular charge of our property; so on Sunday I found an able-bodied Englishman of fine personal appearance, whom I " detailed" as Hospital Steward. He did us most efficient service. In our general clearing-out on the evening of the battle, there had been only three things kept in the house,—a piano, a family portrait and a large mirror with a six-pound shot through it. After the men had been cared for on Sunday morning, we arranged to hold service. Thinking it would be pleasant to have singing, I made the remark that if we only had some one to play the piano for us, it would be everything we could want. The Surgeons were still at work in the amputating-room; they could not help us even if any of them had been able to use the instrument. To my surprise my English Steward stepped forward, and said modestly

66

Colonel, I used to play the piano a little in England; 'maybe I could draw down a tune for you."

He had on a red flannel shirt, picturesque but unfashionable, and his sleeves were rolled up above his elbows, more unfashionable still. Without stopping for any preparations, he took his seat on a crackerbox to make a preliminary trial. The practice was highly satisfac

tory, and so he accompanied us excellently, while we sung our songs of Zion, and,

"My country, 'tis of thee,"

to the melody "God save the Queen," familiar to every Englishman. And never did boys enjoy music as did our wounded in that morning meeting.

Surgeon Ford, of Nashville, already referred to as a constant and valuable friend of the Commission, furnishes the narrative of Henry Cutler, a young Illinois soldier wounded in the Nashville battles, and brought in the night to a hospital:

I examined his wound-in the right lung and liver, and gave the nurses directions about the dressing. As I was about leaving, he asked what I thought of his case.

Α
Patriot.

Martyr

"You have a very serious wound," I replied. "Do you think it is mortal? You need not be afraid to tell me the truth, for I am not afraid to die." "Such wounds," said I, “are necessarily fatal, and I fear you have not long to live."

"Well," said he, "it's all right, though it seems hard to die so young; I had high hopes, but God has so ordered it, and I am willing to go."

"Do you feel that you are a Christian, and ready to die ?"

"Well, I don't know; I have tried to be a Christian, but the army is a hard place."

'True; but if you can put your trust in Christ now, He will not forsake you."

He spoke of his mother, and asked if I thought she would have time to come to him before he died. I had to tell him that I thought it impossible, but would telegraph her if he desired. He thought a moment, and then said that perhaps it would be best not to. I asked him for any message he might have for her:

"Tell her I would like to die near her, but that I die happy. I am thankful I can die among friends, and that I did not fall into the hands of the enemy. I had a presentiment when I left home that I

should never see mother again, and when I leaped the breastworks to make the charge, I was sure I should be wounded or killed."

"Do you regret now having enlisted in the service?"

Immediately his eye brightened, and a smile of profound satisfaction overspread his face, as he answered with the greatest emphasis―

"Oh, no, by no means."

It was painful for him to speak, so I bade him good-bye. He lingered until the morning in great agony, yet without a murmur, when death eased him of his pains.1

Mr. Chas. Harris writes from Nashville in December:

A Mission Sunday-school in Peoria had sent me the means of supplying many little needed luxuries for the soldiers. Purchasing some oranges once, I handed one to a poor, sick boy in the Post Hospital. He took it with a suppressed exclamation of delight, held it up, turned it round and round, and at last broke forth

The Children's

Orange.

"My little daughter wrote me two days ago, 'Papa, I would like to send you some oranges, but I can't do it.' And now, here the Lord has sent me one; my little girl couldn't send any to me, but He puts it into some other child's heart to do it, who could."

After the benediction in our prayer meeting the other day, a Surgeon rose and said

"I have been at this meeting twice, and perhaps some of you think I am a Christian, but I am not; I have risen to ask your prayers. I want to be a Christian."

A Surgeon's Want.

We had a few moments of silent prayer on his behalf; and earnest, I am sure, were the petitions offered. The next day he rose again, and testified of the power of Jesus to save. Our

1 Surgeon Ford adds: "I regret that I had not leisure at the time to send Henry Cutler's message to his mother, and now I have lost her address. Perhaps this may meet her eye, and bring some comfort to her afflicted heart." It is worthy of record in this connection, that after the Nashville battles, during four or five days, an average of 35,000 sheets of letter paper and envelopes were distributed daily by the Commission Delegates.