The Marietta journal. [volume] (Marietta, Ga.) 1866-1909, 1895-05-09
THE WISH OF A DYING MAN.
A short Story of the Civil War Told by a
Old Soldier.


an old soldier, nothing very heroic
about it nor anything very trernen-
dous except that men were getting
killed and wounded all the time.
Patches of woods with open spaces
intervening, the line stretched along
the edge of the woods and across the
open spaces. Along in front an open
space and on the other side of that
| the COnfederateS, in woods like our
selves, where there were woods, but
in light earthworks and rifle pits be-
tween. That was their position, and
we had advanced toward it as a part
of some general movement, and our
business was to stay there and keep
the troops in front engaged.
Veteran troops ours were, except
| for such recruits as were scattered
among us and except for a few en-
thusiastic men that liked to shout,
using ammunition sparingly and not
shooting much unless they thought
they had some sort of chance for hit
ting something. Thoughtless, some
times, about themselves, but pretty
careful generally, and protecting
themselves as much as they could.
But even with that and with the
fighting slow we managed in the
course of the day to lose a pretty
good lot of men.
Here, now, was man in my reg
iment shot through the body. He
crawled away toward the rear. 1
don't know why he wasn't picked up
by the hospital men, but he wasn't.
Just back of that part of the line
where our regiment was stationed
was a farmhouse. In front of this
house was sort of open yard or
space, in which there was one tree.
It wasn't very big tree, and I don't
remember what kind of tree it
was, butI remember that two of it's
roots ran away from the trunk lit
tie above the ground for four or five
feet, and between these roots there
was little hollow, just little sort
of q depression in the ground. The
front yard was maybe eight or ten
rods back from the line-that is, it
might have been that much back to
the tree The man crawled along
slowly until he came to the tree, and
he crept partly into that little de-
preston. l suppose it looked sort of
inviting; it was place; it WASH t
just out doors, but was q kind of
place by itself, and the tree gave it
kind of companionship too. He
crept partly into the little hollow
and then stopped and raised himself
up SO that he was half sitting up,
propped up on one arm and hand,
and he atup in that way and looked
at the brigade commander, who was
standing in the yard. The brigade
commander had been the colonel OF
the wounded mans regiment, and he
knew every man in it. He knew this
man, and of course every man in the
regiment knew the colonel-the gen
eral, he was now-and from knowing
him so long and so we'll the men had
all come to rely on him and to look
to him.
Red was creeping out around the
wounded man and staining the little
hollow as he sat there, propped up
on his arm looking at the general.
There was a sort of wistful look on
his face, as though he thought the
general could help him, and the gen.
eral looked down ON him very sober
ly-in fact, with very great pity.
Just few feet away, more or less,
men were being killed and wounded
all the time, but that was going on
in an orderly, business fashion. This
man was just dying, just simply dy-
ing by himself, and you could see his
life fade as you looked at him, and
you could see the red stain spreading
in the little hollow and making seal
lops here and there where it ran up
into little shallow CULTS and bays
making off from the main depression.
HE was getting weaker and weak
er and was going fast, but all the
time looking up at the general with
that look on his face.
eff I could only have one more
shotp he said. You see, he wasn't
thinking of home or friends He
was thinking of the battle. His last
wish was for ono more shot, and a
second later he collapsed and fell
dead. Chicago Tribune.