Muscatine weekly journal. [volume] (Muscatine, Iowa) 185?-1890, 1863-05-22
Wounded i'm Battle.

that frosty October night, and the pearly cres-
cent of new moon hung family over the
horizon as the genial faced old surgeon push
ed aside the army blanket that formed the
door of rudely constructed hut of evergreens
among the pine forests Of Maryland, and en-
tered.
A fire of pine cones was burning in the
coarse impromptu chimney of mud and stone
burning with an aromatic fragrance that
pervaded every corner of the cabin and by its
red, resinous light, the old man saw figure
stretched on single mattress, and second
person sitting thoughtfu!ly by the broad stone
that served tor hearth.
"Better, doctor, think" was the reply of
this latter parsonage, throwing handful of
cones on the embers, that they might blaze
up more cheerfully. "He has wandered
good deal in his mind this afternoon, but
seems very quiet now. have dressed the
wounds as you directed, and"
He stopped short, for the expression on the
| Doctors face checked the half spoken words
upon his lips.
doctor, you do not think"
"Covington,' y said the old man, quietly,
she's going fast Don't bore him with any
more draug hts or lotions. He may last until
morning. but rather think he will drift out
with the turn of the night You need not
look so appealingly at me, my boy-I can do
nothing more. I'm sorry, for he was brave
fellow and good officer but there is no use
in my remaining here to waste time, when |
am wanted in forty places at once. By the
way-Id almost forgotten-the mail came in
while l was at headquarters, and here is q
letter for Dacre; poor fellow, he'll never
| read it p
He tossed the square bit ofpaper upon the
coveriet, close to the motlonless hand that
| never stirred to receive it, and was gone.
Covington rose, and leaned sorrowfu|ly
over the face Of the dying man. 1t was a
face chiseled in the most perfect form of manly
beauty-straight features, dark blue eyes,
| Swallowed by white, languid lids, and curls
of silky black hair, pushed away from the
forehead by the impatient hand of fever
The CHASTITY wounds in his side were covered
by the bedclothes, and while he lay there, one
might almost have fanced him asleep.
As schoolboys-as youths-as men, they
had been firm friends, those two comrades;
side by side they had charged, on the MUIR
derous day of Antietam, and now Hugh Gov
ington was watching the dying bed of Charles
Dacre in the lonely wilderness, scarce stones
throw from the battle ground where Dacre
had been smitten down.
As Hugh leaned forward to smoothed the
rough pillow, his eye fell upon the superscrip-
ton of the letter left by the old surgeon He
took it up, growing almost as pale as the
white face below.
"Marian's writing-the letter is from Mar
ian y he gasped 1.-THE love I would have
given worlds to win! Of what use will it be
to the man who lies here dying?
He held the folded slip of paper moment
in silence-then bent once more over the
PROSTATE form of his companion.
"Charley-Charley Dacre Rouse up a
minute, my boy !" he said I'M low clear voice.
The dark blue eyes Enclosed, and stared
vaguely up into his own; but there was no
light, no expression in their gaze.
"They have brought you letter, Charley
"A letter from Marian! % urged Covington.
"See |"
"Marian-Marian," repeated the dying
man, and then the heavy lids fell again, 1t
was but meaningless name in his dull ears,
now, poor fellow!
But an hour afterward, as Covingtoa sat
gazing into the fire, his thoughts hundreds of
miles away, the name was pronounced with a
distlnctness that made him start.
"Marian who was talking of Marian ?"
demanded Dacre, who had raised himself on
his elbow, and was gazing wildly around the
tent as that you Hugh? And they said
should drift out with the turn of the night !
The hour is at hand-and there is something
must say to Hugh Covington first !'
II am here, Charley close by you-What
is it old friend?. What shall say to Marian
for you"
The head dropped low on Covington's shoul
der. and his strong arm received the sinking
form.
"There is letter in my breast pocket" he
gasped. 20, Hugh, have wronged you
sorely; but you will forgive me now Marian's
LITTER" "s.-..-'
They were the last words he ever spoke
aud When Covington laid the heavy head back
among the pillows, he knew that Charley
Dacre's soul had gone upon its long, long
journey, through tho solemn hush Of mid.
night
Mechanically he rendered the few LAST off,
ces to the dead, and then sought as mechan-
ically in the breast pocket indicated by Dacre's
last words, with an indistinct sense of some
unfuflled mission on his mind. 1t was not
a vain search, for he drew forth letter, fold
ed in a piece of blank paper.
But the letter was in his own hand writing,
sealed and directed to Marian Howard-the
very letter which, more than a year ago, he
had entrusted to Charles Dacre, to place in
Marian's hands-the letter avowing his own
love She had never, then, received it, and
Dacre had wooed and won the lovely prize
with this stain of treachery on his soul
For moment the blood surged hotly to his
face-for q moment bitter sense of resent
ment cut keenlY to his heart but, even IN
the same breath, he knelt down beside
Charles Dacre's dead face, and murmured
half aloud:
"Charley-my earliest friend, may God
forgive me, in my hour of sorest need, as
truly as forgive your" -
For he felt that neither anger nor resent
ment were meet in the awful presence of the
death angel. 7s, I'D g.5,..,a. 5.aJgsc 9,
The red autumn leaves lay in heaps above
Charles Dacre's grave in the village church.
ward. and the same level sunset that giided
the edges of the marble tombstone smiled in
through the muslin draperies of Marian how.
ards little boudoir. She was slender sweet,
faced young girl, with violet eyes, long, soft
auhurn curls, and cheek ordinarily pale
But lust now it wore deep flushed, for Hugh
Covington sat beside her, talking in . low,
earnest voice. -t4sot9to'gEf
mo, I have told you my, life long love,
dearest-is the recital all in vain !? Nay, Od0
not endeavor to spare my feeling; if your
heart is indeed buried in yonder grave. I will
bear the disappointment like man Pr ~
Hugh" said she softly, 81 have always
loved you. The time was once when fan
cied I liked Charles Dacre. buzz 's'a 70,
She took from her work stand the sealed