Soldiers' record, 1870-05-21

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ONE FLAG, ONE LAND, ONE HEART, ONE HAND, ONE NATION, EVERMORE 1
YOL. II. HARTEORD, COOT., SATURDAY, MAY 21, 1870. 46.
ioiirs at §mt
DECORATION HYMN.
IJT 8AMUJSL BURNHXM.
They rest from the conflict, their labor IH ended,
Their battles are fought and their victories gain-ed
;
Their spirits heroic, to God have ascended,
Their memory is left us with honor unstained.
Beneath the green sod their bodies are sleeping,
Above them in beauty the dewy grass waves ;
While comrades this day are sacredly keeping.
And strewing with llowers their glorious graves.
We know that our flowers will wither and per-ish,
Onr flags, too, will droop in the still summer air,
But deep in our hearts their memory we'll cher-ish.
With love that the passing years ne'er will im-pair.
To mo is the weeping, while theirs' is the glory ;
From danger and duty, they ne'er turned aside ;
Heroic their deeds and immortal their story.
They fought for their country, and conquering
died.
No longer they list to the tramp of the legions
That steadily marched to the field of the dead.
From East and from West, and from far distant
regions.
Resistless in numbers and firm ia their tread.
No angel of death, o'er the battle field bending,
With skeleton fijigers is pointing his prey ;
Our God heard the prayers of a nation ascending,
And turned our dark midnight of horror to day.
0, God of our fathers, the God of our nation.
Their faith was unwavering, their trust was in
Thee;
Thou gav'st them the victory, to our land gave
salvation,
And smiled once again on the home of the free.
Yes, honor and glory for them are eternal,
The nation they ransomed their memory will
keep;
Fame's flowers immortal will bloom over vernal
O'er the graves where our heroes in glory now
sleep.
I rode hard that day, both because of
my orders, and for the purpose of put-ting
that devil of a horse through : but
there were many obstructions in the road
—marching columns, aitillery, army wag-ons,
and above all, hosts of contrabands,
who were always scrambling to get out of
your way, just into your way ; so that it
was noon before I had made half of ray
distance. It was a hot sultry and dusty
day. I had exhausted my canteen, and
was panting, almost lolling like a dog.
Just as my thirst was becoming quite un-bearable,
I came upon a group of soldiers,
lounging by a wayside spring, drinking,
and filling their canteens. At first,!
thought I would dismount, as my horse
seemed pretty well subdued and blowed ;
but no sooner did he guess my intention,
than he began again his diabolical frisk-ing
and plungirig, at which the stragglers
about the spring set up a provoking laugh,
which brought my already hot blood up
to the boiling point. Still, I didn't burst
out at once. 1 swung off my canteen, and
said to one of the men, the only fellow
that hadn't laughed at my bout with the
horse : "Here, comrade, just you fill
this for me."
He was a tall, dark, heavy-browed,
surly-looking chap, but for all that, 1
didn't look for such an answer to be
growled out:
"Fill your own canteen, and be to
vou I "
A CUP OF COLD WATER.
BY GRACE GREENWOOD.
Shortly after the close of the war, 1
traveled on the railway for some hours of
a bright June day, seated beside a young
soldier, a cavalryman from Wisconsin,
who was on his way home, with an hon-orable
discharge, after a service of four
years. My fellow traveler proved to be
quite intelligent, and sociably inclined ;
and beguiled the way by relating many
incidents of the battle-field, and of camp
and hospital life. One of the simplest of
his stories, told with an appearance of the
utmost good faith, I have never forgot-ten—
remembering distinctly every detail,
while some of his more marvellous and
tragical narrations have quite faded from
my mind.
"Our regiment," ho said, "was under
Banks, in the spring of 1862, when he
made such good time in getting down the
Shenandoah Valley. It was an awful,
driving, confused, exhausting, hurry-skur
ry change of base, but it's curious that I
chiefly remember it by a little incident,
which perhaps you will think was hardly
worth laying up, and is hardly worth tell-ing
of."
I signified my desire to hear his little
story, and he went on :
" I was one morning dispatched, in hot
haste, to the extreme rear, with a very
important order. As ill luck would have
it, I had to ride a strange horse, as my
own had fallen lame. The one provided
for me proved just the most ill-natured,
vicious brute I ever mounted, I had hard
work to mount him at all, for his furious
rearing and plunging, and when at last !
reached the saddle, he was so enraged
there was no getting him on for at least
five minutes. With his ugly hoad down,
and his ears back, he would whirl rouncl
and round, pivoting on his fore feet, and
lashing out with his hind legs, till I fancy
they must have looked like the spokes of
a big wheel. When ho found that I was
master of the situation, that my hand was
firm, and my spurs were sharp, he gave
in—till the next time ; but I knew that
he was continually watching for a chance
to fling me over his head, and trample
the mastership out of me.
I tell you I was mad ; the other fellows
laughed again, and then I was madder,
and 1 just says to him—"You mean devil !
1 hope to God I shall yet hear you beg-ging
for a drink of water ! If ever T do,
I'll see you die, ai.d go where you belong,
before I'll give it to you."
Then I galloped on, though some of the
men called to me to come back, sayiug
they'd fill my canteen. I didn't stop till
I reached a house, a mile or two further
on, where a little black boy watered both
me and my horse, and filled my canteen,
with a smile that the handful of newpen-nies
1 gave him couldn't begin to pay for.
When I compared the conduct of this
poor little chip of ebony, who said he
"never had no fatiicr nor mother, nor no
name but Pete," with the treatment I had
received from a white fellow soldier, I
found that that drink of cold water hadn't
cooled down my anger much. And lor
months and months after, whenever 1
thought of the afiair, the old mad feeling
would come boiling up. The fellow's
tace always came out as clear before me,
as my own brother's, only it seemed to be
more sharply cut into my memory. I
don't know why I resented this offence so
bitterly. I have let bigger things of the
sort pass, and soon forgotten them ; but
this stuck by me. I am not u revengeful
I fellow naturally, but I never gave up the
! hope of seeing that man again, and
' somehv.iw paying him back for his brutal
! insolence. There wasn't a camp or review
! I was in for the next two years, but 1
looked for him right and loft. I never
went over a field after a battle, but that I
searched for him among the flying—God
forgive me ! At last my opportunity came
I had been wounded, and was in one of
the Washington Hobpitals—almost well
' yet still not quite fit for duty in the saddle.
II hate, above all things, to be idle, so I
• begged for light employment as a hospital
nurse, and they gave it to me.
' I never felt for our poor, bravo fellows
as I did there. I had been very fortunate,
and until that summer had never be en in
the hospital. Now I saw such suffering,
and such heroism as I had never seen on
the battlefield. Companionship helped
to keep up the spirits of those we could
not save, to the last. Then it seemed
hard that each bravo boy must make his
march down the dark valley, alone. But
they all went off gallantly. I would
rather have galloped forward on a forlorn
charge, any day, than have followed any
one of them over to the 'Soldier's Rest,'
though it is a pretty place to camp down
in. In fact, my heart grew so soft here,
80 Christianized as it were, that 1 forgot
to look for my old enemy ; for so, you
see, I still regarded the surly straggler
who refused me water at the roadside
spring.
After the battle of the Wilderness, a
great multitude of the wounded were
poured in upon us ; all our wards were
filled to overflowing. It was hot, close
weather ; most of the patients were fev-ered
by their wounds and exposure to
the sun, and up and down the long,
ghastly lines of white beds, the great cry
was for water. I took a large pitcher of
ice-water and a tumbler, and started on
the round of my ward, as eager to give
as the poor fellows were to receive. The
ice rattled and rang in the pitcher, in a
most inviting way, and many heavy eyes
opened at the sound, and many a hot
hand was stretched out, when all at once,
on one of the two farthest beds of the
ward, I saw a man start up, with his face
flaming with fever, and his eyes gleam-ing,
as he almost screamed out:—'Wa-ter
I give me water, for God's sake 1'
Then, madam, I could see no other
face in all the ward, for it was he !
I made a few steps toward him, and
saw he knew me as well as I knew him,
for he fell back on his pillow, and just
turned his face toward the wall. Then
the devil tightened his grip on me, till
it seemed he had me fast and sure, and
he seemed to whisper into my ear : ' tiat-tle
the ice in the pitcher, and aggravate
him ! Go up and down, giving water to
all the others ; and not a drop to him !'
Then sometfmig else whispered, a little
nearer, though notiu such a sharp, his-sing
way—conscience, I suppose it was ;
good Methodists mighi call it the Holy
Spirit ; other religious j)eople might say
it was the spirit of ray mother ; and per-haps
we would all mean about the same
thing—anyhow, it seemed to say : 'Now,
my boy, is your chance to return good
for evil. Go to him, give him to drink
first of all.' And that something walked
me right up to his bedside, made me slide
my hand under his shoulder, and raise
him up, and pat the tumbler to his lips.
How he drank I never can forget—in
deep, long draughts, almost a tumbler-full
at a swallow, looking at me so wistfully
all the time. When he was satisfied, he
fell back, and again turned his face to the
wall, without a word. But somehow
knew that fellow's • heart was touched,
as no chaplain's sermon or tract had ever
touched it.
I asked the surgeon to let me have the
solo caro o''the patient, and he consented,
though he said the man had a bad gun-shot
wound in the knee, and would have
to submit to an amputation, if he could
stand it, and if not, would probably make
me a great deal of trouble while he lasted.
Well, I took charge of him—I had vo
do it, somehow —but he kept up the same
silence with me for several days ; then,
one morning, just as I was leaving his
bedside, he caught hold of my coat, and
pulled me back. I bent down to ask him
what he wanted, and he said in a hoarse
whisper : 'You remember that canteen
business in the Shenandoah Valley V
'Yes, but it don't matter now, old fellow,'
1 answei-ed.
'But it does matter,' ho said, 'I don't
know what made me so surly that day,
only that an upstart young lieutenant from
our town, had just been swearing at me
for straggling ; and I wasn't to blame, for
I was sick. I came down with the fever
next day. As for what I said to you, 1
was ashamed of it before you got out of
sight; and, to tell the truth, I've been
looking for you these two years, just to
tell you so. But when I met you here,
when I was crying, almost dying for wa-ter,
it seemed so like the carrying out of
your curse, 1 was almost afraid of you "
I tell you what, madam, it gave me
strange feelings to think of him looking
for me, to make up,and 1 looking for him,
to be revenged, all this time ; and it was
such a little sin, after all. I'm not asham-ed
to confess that the tears came into my
eyes, as I said—'Now, Eastman (that was
his name ; he was a Maine man,) don't
fret about that little matter any more ;
it's all right; and you've been a better
fellow than I, all along.'
But he had taken it to his heart, and
was too weak to throw it off. It was so
'mean,' he said, 'so unsoldier-like and
bearish ;' find I was 'so good to forgive
it,' he insisted.
I stood by him while his leg was ampu-tated
; and when, after a time, the sur-geon
said even that could not save him,
that he was sinking;, I found the m-in was
like a brother to me. He took the hard
news that he must die, just as the war was
almost ended, like the brave fellow he was.
He dictated a last letter to his sister, the
onh' relative he had, gave me some di-rections
about set-ding some keep-eakef*
to her, and then asked for the chaplain.
This was a good, sensible, elderly man,
and he talked in about the right style, I
think, and made us all feel quite comfor-table
in the belief that in the Father s
House there must be a mansion for the
poor soldier, who had so often camped
out in the snow and rain ; and that for
him who had given his all for his country,
some great good must be in store.'
At last the poor fellow said to the
chapbiin, 'Isn't there is something in the
little Bible about giving a cup of cold wa-ter
? Ah, madam, I can't tell you how
that hurt me. 'Oh, Eastman !'said I,
don't, don't!' But he only smiled as the
chapl&iri repeated the verse. Then he
turned to me and said, 'You didn't think
what yon were doing for yourself when
you gave me that glass of ice water the
other day, did you, old fellow ? Can I
pass for one oiXXxQ little ones, though, with
my six feet two ?' Then he went on talk-ing
about being little, and the Kingdom
of Heaven, till we almost feared his mind
was wandering ; but perhaps it was only
finding its way home 'I do feel strange-ly
childish to-night' he said. 'I feel like
saying the prayer verse my mother taught
me when she used to put me to bed, twen-ty
five years ago. If you'll excuse me,
I'll say it, all to mysjlf, before I goto
sleep.'
So he bade us good night, turned over
on his pillow, and softly shut his eyes.
His lips moved a little while, and then,
indeed, he went to sleep."
WHAT DOfiS IT MATTER.
What does it matter that children are growing,
Up into manhood's and womanhood's prime,
While in their hearts sin is busily sowing.
A seed that shall harvest but intamous crime 1
Shame is their portion—what needs then our
thinking ?
Pass by them coldly, we're not of their caste;
Leave them their gambling, their swearing and
drinking,
Leave them their prison or scaftbld at last.
What does it nmttor ?
What does it matter ? Yet tingels are writing
Each of our deeds in the dooms book above ;
Broken with woe when a bad deed inditing.
And hailing with joy every action of love.
Why do we stand aloof—"soon the night comoth
When no man can work"—why then action dolayl
Strctch forth a hand to these, nigh danger Com-eth,
And with heaven bora charity, show them the
way.
Surely it matters!
JOHN T . FOKUEST.
A certain amount of opposition i« a
great help to a man. Kites rise against
the wind, and not vvith the wind; even a
head wind is bettor than none. No man
ever worked his passage anywhere .in a
dead calm. Lot no man wax pale, (hero-fore,
because of opposition; opposition is
what ho wants and must have, to be good
for anything. Hardship is the native soil
of manhood and self-reliance.
Seven members of the First Wisconsin
Cavalry have received $2,087, to be di-vided
among them for having taken part
in the capture of Jeft' Davis.
The Fifty-seventh Massachusetts regi-ment
held its annual reunion in Worces-ter,
on Friday.