Soldiers' record, 1868-12-05

              D o v o t c r t t o t U o I n t c i - c s t s ) o l ' t l i o j ^ o l c l i o i v s a i i c l S a l l o i ' H o f t l i e I n t o W a i * .
VOL 1. I I A R T F O l l I ) , DECEMliER 5, 1868. NO. 22
lorfrji.
LOOKING OUT INTO THE NIGHT.
BY .TOHX G. SAXE.
Looking out into the night,
I beheld in space afar
Yonder beaming blazing star:
And I mai'vol at the might
Of the Giver of the rays,
And I worship aa I gaze,
Looking out into the night.
Looking out into the night,
I espy two lovers near,
And their happy words I hear,
While their solemn troth they plight.
And I bless the loving twain.
Half in pleasure, half in pain,—
Looking out into the night.
Looking out into the night,
Lo! a woman passing by,
Qlanoing 'round with anxious eye.
Tearful—f(5arlul of the light;
And I think what miglit have been
But for treachery and sin,—
Looking out into the night.
Looking out into the night,
I behold a distant sail
Koughly beaten by tlie gale,
'Till it vanishes from sight;
And I ponder on the strife
Of our lleeting human life,—
Looking out into the night.
Looking out into the night,
I bethink rae of the rest
And the rapture of the blest
In the laud Avherp all is light;
Sitting on the heavenly shore.
Weeping never—never more
"Looking out into the night.
§mB at iome.
Watchman and Retlector.
"HOSPITAL DAYS."
Of making many hospital books tliere
promises to be no end ; and when a little,
unpretending,anonymous pamphlet, "prin-ted
for private use," was brought by enthu-siastic
friends to our attention, wo confess
that we did not "see it" at a bird's eye
view. Smiling politely, sighing inward-ly,
we turned the fair, thick leaves, and
at the opening sentence reflected. The
celebrated story of the Hartford divine :
" Young men !—Paws! "—shot at the
awakened conscience.
The words were simple enough :
" On a blue-and-gold day in the edge of
November,"—but the stnif that good
writing is made of was in them, and the
promise wrapped in their pretty fancy Far
more than fuliiHed itself
This book has already attracted too
much attention i\ot to attract a little more.
"The superintendent,"—a lady whose
name, did she allow its publication, would
insure her '-little srory" readers where-over
the fame of the American hospital
system has gone—went down brave, and
determined, and young, (and pretty, wo
suspect,) to take, in answer to earnest
summons, the entire responsibility—sub-ject
only to the surgeon in charge—of a
large and important hospital not a conti-nent's
width from Washington.
There, a conquering horo, she worked
till slie had woriccd the u a r out, and this
is the record of her labors.
"Them dear lambs," said old Mrs. B. ,
when slie with her friend iirst took i)0sses-sion.
" What I wiis afraid of was Caps
She tells us, dividing her story with a
systenuitic attention to the point, which
is not always expected " ol' a woman,"
about " First Days,"" Si)ccial Diet,"
"Huperiiiteudoiit'ri'Day," " Women Nur-ses,"
" Gifts to Soldiers," " Chaplain's
Day,"" llolitUiys," '' In the store-room,"
" ]u the Wards," " xMuil Days" and" Last
Days." From tiie" blue-and-gold day" to
the lastd rive tlown theihighway to the city,
when " the camp was silent an . desolate,
the store-room empty ami bare ;" when
" behind us the tower stood black against
gray trailliiig ch)uds, before us the
great dome showed spectral iu the vapoj's
of a sunrise that struggled and did not
siiine," there confronts us the talent of an
author wlu) ought to belong to the people,
and tlie greainess of a iu;art which beat
nobly with the people all through their
battle-days-
Severe on sentimentality, cheery in her
work, quick to sec the funny side of
gloomy things, the superintendent yet
knows how to make us feel the unspeaka-ble
scenes. But it is impertinence to com-ment
on such a book when it can speak
for itself.
Listen to this : " Captain came to
us direct from his imprisonment. He was
a young officer of refined education and
habits, and had 'suffered many things' of
the enemy. Such little preparation as we
could command was made to do him honor.
A bath, fresh linen, a delicate handker-chief,
cologne and toilet apparatus were
set out in his little room. A modest nose-gay
was folded in his napkin at dinner.
At table he scarcely ate or spoke. He
could not handle knife and fork. He
seemed bcnuml)ed—body and soul. He
clumsily singled out a flower to put in
his coat. Some one offered a pin to fast-en
it. He tried in vain to pick it up and
stretching out his poor shrunken and stif-fened
fingers, pleaded, ' E.s:cusc me ; it is
so very small.' "
After awhile he looked about cloudily,
and said : " You are like angels. These
—are the courts of heaven."
And this : (from a loyal Tenncssean
who made his way to the army.)
" The iirst night we spent in the woods.
1 laid the fire before I went. I laid her a
good fire. At daylight we got to the top
of the mountain. . . . 1 sasv my little house.
The smoke was coming out of the chimney.
She had to light it herself. I sat down on
a flat rock and looked down into the val-ley.
1 wanted to see if the fire burned.
Orwell, (with a long sigh) it was my
h >me ; I suppose it was as sacred to me
as ano ther man's home to him. 1 turned
my back on it, me and the others. . . .
After eight months we were taken.. .,
I made this ring iu Macou jail. You see
we had almost nothing to work with, and
when we made any tiling we put on it
Union, or Fo]-ever, or two clasped hands
to mean true till deaths or someihing like
that. 1 wish you'd take the ring."
" Let those who have one of these rings
with clasped hands to mean true till death,
keep it as a sacred relic. It is the pris-on
sign. The fashion seemed to travel
under ground. Every where the prison
sign prevailed. 1 have had it from Texas,
Columbia, IJelle Isle, Andersonville. It
is ciuiracteristic as the palm brancli of
the catacombs."
" S., a noble man full ol courage and
patience had the carotid artery tied after
a gunshot wound of the jaw and throat.
When asked if there 'is any thing he
wants, he writes on the slate,' Only to get
well and goat'em again.' "
" After l L ' s death and burial his moth-er
came to see him. She was a gentle,
sweet-faced old lady, with soft, pale
cheeks and lovely gray hair. G took
her out to the graveyard, neat and quiet,
where he lay. ' Will you plant something
on his grave V she asked ' O' yes,' said
G. What would you like?' ' 1 would
like a white rose, dear.' G. promised.
' Would you kiss me, dear?' she said;
and G. put iier arms round her neck, ami
kissed her soft old cheek with tears."
" Private friends sent us many good
things. ' Wiiy send the very old port?'
I h e i d someone remonstrate wiih her,—
W., of New York—' Woiddn't the next
licst do?' 'No.' was the a n s w e r i t 's
the l)est a man has tliat beh)ngs to God
and the army.'"
Take these, the touches of huuu)r—
right in anu)ng the death-beds, (ui tlie
same princi[)le which used to take the |
good 1 resident to the theatre— like tiiese,
the " latest" from old Mrs. B., who
scarcely ever on terms" with the other
nurses, and iinally boasted, " Me and
them (lou't speak —none of us.' i
" i chjn'ttakeno orders from a reilucvd\
corpuml," 1 inadvertently heard her an- •
swer, one day, to a miUl suggestion of the j
ward-master, wiiose military career sho j
had been looking up."
" He's a father to mo," she insisted of
the surgeon in charge, who might be thir-ty
years her junior, " he was always a
father to me." ^
And then, for the pain must outweigh
the fun ill even the briefest glance at such
a record, turn reverently T,O the letters
from home. Poor little letters ! coming
so late—and so many, but always so
brave!
" Write more." " Tell me every
thing." "What did he say of me?"
" He must have left some word about the
children." " If I could only know his
thoughts as he went away from earth."
" There are many stories that the sick
ai-e not well cared for in many places. 1
am sure that had any ono known how
^ood my son icns they could not have mis-used
him."
" DEAR MADAM,—I am glad to hear
from you that my son is better. Do you
think he is likely to be strong enougii to
rejoin liis regiment, or would it be better
for him, as he is so young, to return home I
I am anxious to know, too, what charactcr
he bears as a solider 1 cannot think iie
is strong euougli for the hardships of camp
life, but as I have his own honor at heart
more than mij desire to see him again, I
hesitate to applv for his discharge.
" JULIA M ."
" MY DKAR MISS,—When I first opened
your letter I dare not look at the com-mencement,
but glanced my eye towards
the bottom, and read,' Your dear husband
had good care during his illness.' I tried
to .think he was better, jumped up and
clapped my hands, and said, ' 0, it's news
from John.' I sat down and began to
read again until I read, ' At half past
eight God took him,' when I fell to the
floor When he wrote to me from
Philadolpliir he said, ' / / is all right.' "
It is all right; t\\G four years' "anguish
of patience," the tears, the blood, the
beautiful young lives put out, the past in-to
which we dare not look, the futnrt in-to
wiiich we dare not step—feeling about
in the dark for the hand of the Father who
surely loves us, wo can say that " It is vU
right:'
Stepping back into our distant days of
death with one of their bravest workers
we remember—and remember almost as
if we could forget—what they were to
us.
ft needs only that wo remember to
crown their work richly and forever.
THE FREIBURG ORGAN.
I must not forget to toll you about the
Freiburg organ—the sublimest piece of
musical nuichinery in the world. Thous-ands
"stop cil"" at this queer ohl towu to
hear its orgiiu. A celebrated hand was
at the keys when 1 was there. Twice a
day the doors of the ancient and august
Gatiiedral were thrown open, and the
public admitted l.»y a ticket whi(ih cost a
iranc.
The second time 1 heai'd the gieat or-gan
was in the early evening. Of that
time I will write. It was ail I'ar ahead
of my great expectations. It was the
highest moment of my tour—a eonsiun-mate
climax of the glorious ex[)erienceri
tlirougii which 1 had just passed.
It was twilight when we took our seats.
Slowly the shadows deepened. Wierd
and sombre looked the great arch of ceil-ing,
the huge walls, the white altar, the
indistinct outlines of tiio gorgeous i)ic-tures,
the {)rodigious crucifix, the enoi-lUDUs
eolunms. A single candle was
buriung at the altar. Anotiiei'threw iis
f)ol)le illumination over the wonderful
instrument on which wc gazed, and iu
whic-h we were wrapt. 'I ho cou)pauy,
gathered in thecentri', of the (hitiiedral,
sitting motioidess and .<il(;nt, looked like
raptives in a dungv'on. Uut the gloom-1
iness of the i)lace heightcmH! thecilVeet ofl
whal trans[)ircd tlu'rc. 1
Suddenly the blast of a thous ind trum-pets
startled me from my reverie. Such
a Niagara of music as came crashing
down upon me! I held my breath iu dis-may.
Cannon boomed, bugles blared,
sabres clashed. In the distance came the
fife and drum hurrying up the reinforce-ments.
I recalled my sitting on a fence
and listening to the battle of Antietam.
The din would subside, and then another
horrible clangor and thunder would indi-cate
the renewal of the conflict. I heard
the moan of the man who fell at my feet
wounded to death.
Gradually it all died away. Silence,
and then a dirge. The church was a
mausoleum. This was the wail of the
lost. You coldd hear sobs in the audi
ence. Such a sense of despondency nev-er
got possession of me before.
Then came a thunder-storm so ti ue to
nature as to terrify human nature. A
pair oflittle ones near me huddled up to
their mother—a peasant woman, like the
one that Michael Angelo took for the mod-o.
l of his Madonna. She had gone to
heaven for a franc. Aheavenly trust was.
in her face.
Yon saw the lightning in the sound. I
never saw sound before. The plaintive
winds sighing through the trees—0, it
was like the sigh of the orphan race go-ing
up to the Great Father. It was ir-resistable.
The French lovers that sat
by the pillar stopped their cooing and
wept The peasant woman covered her
fa -e with her hands. Tears came to the
eyes of the big gross German. I realized
the power of pathos. I m^st have sob-bed
aloud.
The dying away of that thunder-storm
-it was a marvellous master-piece of art.
It was wonderful, w^onderful. I wish I
were a child, tliat I might describe it
faithfully. The subsiding wind, rising
and falling billows of sound, the scraping
of the trees as they slowly regained their
places, the roll of the distant thunder,
the intervals of the lightning getting
longer and longer, the whistle of the wind
down the chimneys, the long, low, dismal
howl of the expbing hurricane, as it
prowled around the house and hurried
away to the woods—it was all so real to
the ear, that the eye shared in the delu-sion,
and the illusion was complete .
Wo had the Grand Mass, the Dead
March in Saul aiul Judas Maccabeus. We
had a winter storm and a sunnner calm,
a terrific tempest and a sootliing zephyr;
an earth(iuake with its tidal wave of de-vastation,
and a rain gently giving drink
to the parched flowers ; the roar of a lion,
and the piping (.tf a thrush ; the thunder
of a bark ofariillery, and the pitiful plaint
of a babe. Now it was Napolean desola-lating
Eurorewith the dogs of war, now
it was Florence Nightingale bringing
wine to the wounded,and now Jenny
Lind charming away the demon of misan-thropy
with the genius of song,
l>ut highest of all were the sti-ains of
the "vox humana." That i)ipe entranced
1 have feasted upon that ever since.
Whenever I feel my senses losing their
hold of "the hind beyond the r i v e r , "!
I'ecall the melody of celestial voices that
came to mo that evening in the Cathe-
(lr:d at Freibiii'g.
Wu k'.ancHj foward and h;ilf rose fran-tically
intent upon catching every note of
that bewitching hiirmony
It was the singing of the redeemed,
far away in the mansions prc'pared f"oi-them
There was no strain of sadness in
it all. It was the singing ol the pure in
heart, who saw fJod as thi>y sang ; the
adoration of those in whom perfect love
had cast out fear ; the thanksgiving of
those who had attaine.l tlu; |)eaco which
passiith all undcrstauiling; the song of
victory of tbosii wlu) had overcome and
recoivinl the crowu ; the rapture <jf thoso
who were to go no more out forcvci', but
wero to be lorcivei- with the Lord!
0 how I was stirred, gladdened, m id-