Cincinnati daily press. [volume] (Cincinnati [Ohio]) 1860-1862, 1862-02-13
THE DYING SOLDIER.

hundreds of soldiers all over the coun-
try are suffering and dying in similar
manner, IL fills our hearts with anguish,
and leads us TO pray fervently for a speedy
close Of so terrible a war
The wards were full of wounded soldiers.
Oh that could bring home to your mind,
reader, the full sadness of such a scene Ii
would do you no harm, though thrill after
thrill of horror might shake your frame. 1t
is not the gaping wounds alone that would
enlist your sympathy, but the sense ofdeso-
lateness the poor sick men must feel, as thew
think Of their homes, and the dear ones thew
are destined never to behold in life. There
they lie, ranged side by side, some of them
indifferent to all that is taking place around
them, others with eyes brightly restless and
Watchful, now gloomed with apprehension,
now lightened with hope. Here is one, ath
letic, handsome, youthful, whose arm lies
shattered at his side-the good right arm
that has so often been welded in useful
deeds. 1t will never serve him more, for
amputation has become the necessity, and
death may follow. Here is another whose
faee is bandaged down to the pale outline
of his lips, and whose doom is inevitable
blindness, if his life is spared. Here lies
another whose quivering mouth and mus
cles tell the agony he has the fortitude to
conceal, but which the surgeon says will be
too much for him. What wonder that the
nurses move about with blanched cheeks,
and moistened eyes 1t is their first ex-
perience, and some of them tremble as
each body is brought in, for fear of recog-
mixing son or brother.
Quietly from bed to bed moves the chap
lain, sickened to the heart, but strengthened
for his duty by the Hand that never fails.
To some he gives few words of sympathy,
reserving their cases for another day, for
they are only slightly wounded; to others
he speaks gently of their situation, striving
to tell them with words from which all hope
has departed of their swift coming end. To
all he speaks of Jesus; bids them in the
hour of their extremity to look up to God,
who is willing to accept them if they will
but put their whole trust in Him. Poor fei-
lows rude and rough though they may
have seemed, the quivering lips, shaking
like that of child in its heaviest child sor-
row, the deep-beaved sob, that lifts the great
chest with almost convusive throes, tells
that there is a fountain in the heart that
the soft words of sympathy may stir.
The chaplain came at last to q cot set by
itself outside the wards. Here, reclining at
full length, was young man, whose face
bore but slight traces of suffering. 1t was
flushed with a hue like that of health, the
eyes were undimmed, and only the position
of the hands, which were thrown over his
head and locked in almost spasmodic tight
ness, told that he was in pain. He was un-
usually noble in countenance. His brow
was broad and fair, and the thick locks that
clustered back from the temples curled like
the ringlets Of a boy. He knew not why,
but the chaplain experienced an unusual
ard sudden sympathy for this young man,
struck down in his beauty still he felt that
there was no immediate danger in his case.
allow is he wounded y he asked of the
surgeon, as the two approached the bedside
very softly.
''In the right side, below the ribs" was
the reply.
as he in danger"
ooh! no; that is, not at present. The
case may take bad turn, to be sure; but
it looks very we'll now. Charles" he added,
addressing the sick man, familiarly, "the
chaplain is going the rounds would you like
to see him? p
"Oh certainly - exclaimed the young
man, smiling; and he held out his hand.
His voice was strong and ringing, as with
the highest health, and his clasp was vigor-
Gus.
81 am sorry to find you wounded" said
the chaplain.
"0h, only the casualty of war we must
expect it, you know"
"Do you suffer much p
"At times, sir, very severely; feel so
well, only the distress here" and he pressed
his hand to his side.
"You will be up soon, hope"
81 trust so, sir; the doctor says it is bad
wound, but will yield with care. | only
wish had my mother here. She has heard
Of it, and doubtless started before this. 1t
will be SO comfortable to see her; you don't
know how long for her"
mothers you are the first thought of
when the hardy soldier feels the pang of
pain. II is your name he calls, your form
he sees in the mists ofdelirium, your voice he
hears in every gentle word that is spoken.
He knows whose touch will be the tender
est. through the sympathy of suffering; he
knows who has borne the most for him and
on the tented field, the holy name of mother
receives fresh baptism of love and beauty.
81 can imagine how you feel" said the
chaplain; "and | have no doubt you will
see her soon. Meanwhile you know there is
friend who will be to you more than mother
VI IhtbST, olsltI Ut DIOineT.
81 realize Hat, sir said the young mani"
81 am professor Of religion, and have been
for years. When Twas shot, aye, and before,
commended my soul to Him for life or
death; but confess have much to live for.
| am not brought yet where am perfectly
willing to die
"It may be for that reason that you are
not yet called to die, replied the chaplain;
"but in life you know it is the one import
ant thing to be prepared for death"
After short prayer, the minister and
sick man parted.
"lie seems very strong and sanguine," he
said as he met the surgeon again, "and
likely to recover"
'No doubt of it, sir, no doubt" was the
hasty reply of the surgeon, as he passed
on.
The hour Of midnight had struck from the
great clock in the hall. Slowly and solemnly
1t knelled the departing moments, and its
echo rolled through the halls, vibrating on
many an ear that would never hear the
sound Of the striking hours again. The
chaplain still sat up in his own room, writ
ing letters for three or four of the wounded
soldiers, and a strange stiffness fell around
him as he closed the last sheet and sat back
with folded hands, to think. He could not tell
why, but do what and go where he would,
the face of the young volunteer with whom
he had spoken last, haunted him. He arose
to move to the window, where the breeze
was cooler when a knock WAS heard at the