The times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1882-1897, 1888-06-08

my cheek. How cold Il Is. There Is q
dull, monotonous throbbing through my
brain as if cap were lifted and water
| gurgled in gasps from beneath it, Now
II lifts, now it closes, and the muffied
hammering goes on - on. What is
thisl can see as plainly as when
fell asleep; it Is broad day. Are they
all here yet? All-and more. I did
not dream then. Here are as many in
brown as in blue now. WHAT am
really sitting up once more, with hole
In my head. Let me assure myself-by
counting the dead. Fifteen ON my
-eighteen-nineteen on my
left. 1t is too horrible to be real. Mer-
ciful God! what is that? 1t is worse than
the poor creature without face. This
is like fallen statue. 1t is a bronze
image. And l thought it was mani
But, here are others near me with faces
like bronze, livid yellow and green, hor-
rible to contemplate. All scorched with
fire-no, here are fresh victims. But
that awful thing there, with laughing
gums, teeth snarling at heaven, and
yellow eyeballs strained upward-this
is the incarnation Of horrors. This
mockery OF once magnificent
man, superb in stature, symmetrical in
limb, lying on his back with not vestige
Of clothing upon him, skin CHASTITY green,
| gray, purple, brown and yellow-great
blotches of bronze like colors-this is
Gods hand illustrating the horrors of the
battlefield. 1t is plain he got his death
wound in the underground. See! His
right leg is drawn up in agony-'twas
when the fire licked up the grass and
leaves and heavy undergrowth-his cover
proved his funeral pyre. The sight
blisters ones eyes, l must not look that
way again.
A cannon's roar l hear a sound like
graphing again2 Then, this must be
another day. 1 have lain among the
dead all night. may lie another day
under the scorching rays. The fiery
gusts of battle may sweep over me and
my life leap out with others in the mad
surges of defeat and triumph. Strange
that soul and sinew can hold together so
long. Was that the sun glinting through
the trees? Or was it sheet of flame
vomited from a battery2 1 hear the
sound of drums. The woods are tipped
with fire again and a fleecy cloud rises
over the tree tops. The tide of battle
sweeps this way once more. My head is
bursting with these wild throbs.
Heart. brain. Ho, there! At
tention, Corporal Stoner! Take your
position. Follow the colors.
forward! home.
Hesterl
1t was nearly noon on Wednesday.
The suns rays were beating fiercely on
the dead and dying ON the battle field of
Shiloh. The Federalists had but fairly
begun the work of burying the dead on
field where thousands of men in butter
nut brown and blue were lying. An
officer whose insignia denoted he was on
generals staff was kneeling beside q
soldier wearing the Federal blue. The
officer had by main strength dragged the
seemingly lifeless body under the shade
of a tree. Two or three soldiers paused
in passing, and looked down curiously
and indifferently as the officer strove to
attract the attention of the dying man.
The dying mans left hand opened and
closed at regular intervals. There was
horrible wound on the left side of his
forehead. A considerable portion of the
brain was exposed, and q portion was
smeared in his hair. The officer clasped
the dying mans hand, and appealed to
him to return the pressure of his hand if
he heard what he said. The hand opened
and closed continuously. The officer ran
to surgeon.
'Nonsense!" said the surgeon, indiffer-
emily. THAT fellow never knew what
hurt him."
''But the hand-there is life there
yet"
''Poohl Mere muscular action. He
has been as good as dead three days at
least. Why, there's his regiment on the
flapof his cartridge box. The Fifty-third
Ohio-all that did not run got their medi-
cine early Sunday morning when Hardee
swept over the slope. A case of extraor-
binary vitality, that's all. Time is too
precious to waste ON that fellow"
The muscular action" did not cease
until late in the afternoon.
When the burial squad examined his
pockets they found we'll worn tesla
ment, locket with tress Of brown hair,
daguerreotype Of beautiful girl, and
several letters in dainty woman's hand
addressed to "Robert Stoner, Company
3, Fifty-third Ohio Volunteers. David
Lowry in Pittsburg Bulletin.