The Union. [volume] (Georgetown, Del.) 1863-1866, 1864-01-08

from this frightful channel, and heard
close to where stood the words: mother,
dear old mother, God help you now 7 re-
peated in hoarse tremulous accents. L
bent and crawled toward the spot from
whence came the sound. dared not walk
straight and boldly, for there we're the ar
gus eyes Of those, who not yet satiatea
with blood and death, watching to add an
other and another soul to the many that
had been ushered into eternity that day.
| found stalwart form stretched upon the
crimson sward, with rock for dying
pillow. | asked if change Of position
would ease him; he turned slightly, and
faint smile fitted over his palld coun-
tenance as he recognized friendly uni
form. Water friend, to quench this thirst
that is consuming fast my life i dare
not leave my post so far; you know the
penalty if L do Yes, but I'm burning,
burning! hell has not fire more hot than
this burning! Get me to that tree and
prop ME up, will hold your gun while
you go for water. On, for an oceanl l
wish could drownp | drew the suffer-
er to the tree, leaned him against it in a
sitting position, placed my rifle in his
hands, and crawled down the slope in a
dangerous search for water. Over the
dead and round the dying l went, now
haltlng tor "a moment to place canteen in
reach Of some poor sufferer, now turning
aside to avoid a pool OF clotted blood. /
minded filling my canteen, that day, from
IA brook running at the base Of hill some
distance away, toward that l moved eau
tiously and tediously along; and reached
1t to tind its sides lined, with the dead ly-
nag in every conceivable position, many
lying with their faces in the water, died
evidently trying to quench that death
burning, caused by the loss OF blood. The
brook kissed their ghastly faces and went
murmuring merrily on, as though its wa
ters had not, that day, been purple gore /;
and was now ripping against the rocks OF
its pebbled shore, instead Of the cold faces
Of the brave dead.
II thought the sad groans of the dying
and the merry murmer OF that brook would
make sad harmony with the wall OF strlck-
ened mothers, wives and sisters, and tie
exul:ations Of victory among the distant
northern hillsides / filled my canteen,
and made my way back to the dying man
beyond; | had not gone far before the
crack OF rifle told that some unfortunate
had exposed himself to the deadly aim of
sharpshooter, whether friend or foe /
knew not. l reached the tree and found
it was the comrade for whom [ brought
the water. The enemy opposite, had so
manouvered as to get his position exposed,
had sped the fatal bullet, and the dying
man was beyond thirst, and done with the
tormenting thought of loved ones at home.
II stood there with the dead, till night
folded up one by one her weary hours, and
morn once more bloomed in beauty. With
the first rays of the sun came parties Of
men to inter the dead As it happened,
the comrades of my dead companion came
that way in search of their fallen. Meath
that old oak we scooped out rude grave,
and there placed the corpse to lay in re. t,
while the lone oak spreads its strong
branches over the sleeping yet sleepless
dead whose ears would never more drink
in the war blast of the bugle, and whose
pulses would never more thrill at the
charging cry of brave comrades. From
one of his comrades learned his history.
He was the last of four sons, the On
ly children of aged parents. Two fell
at Malvern Hill, one at the second Bull
Run, now the fourth and last was gone.
Their lives, with thousands Of others, laid
us gifts Of precious gems upon the ale Of
the r country-their Dlood poured out to
make yet redder the dripping gore from
the hand Of treason. The stricken hearts
of the aged and lonely, al Low c, m, letely
blasted another rhine addid o the black
heap OF those on " hose heads rests all this
sorrow and woe The tottering tree can
not stand alone after its only prop is rude
ly snatched away, and ere this the old ones
have stopped their earth y pilgrimage a.
the grave, while their spir.ts have passed
on to the world bcyond-which the mist
that hangs ovor the valley and shadow Of
death reens from our ew-to join their
darling boys lone just before. The old
homestead upon the hillside-with its lawn,
where gained the children in boyish sports,
with its hearthstone where they gathered
around many an evening of happy day,
to learn their lessons of love to God and
parents, thus learning to love country ];
and grew up to lovely manhood to step
between their country and her foes, and
la d their lives ons upon the other, to hight
en- and make firm the pyramid of freedom
now stands lonely and deserted. The
SHOWS of winter falls there to meet no mer-
ry greeting. The ROBIN in the spring
time sings its merry song, and bushes to
listen for some answering human sound /;
but naught but sad silence whispers in the
old orchard"
Washington, d. c., Dec, 1868.