ll could bring any relief. As death
drew on, his mind wandered. He was fighting his battles over again. He
was not the poor, crushed mortality that lay here. His spirit was over
yonder, where the cannon's sullen roar and the awful din of musketry,
the cheers of the struggling combatants, told of a deadly strife.
Sometimes he was distressed and troubled, sometimes exultant. Anon his
face would light up with the strange fire of battle, and he would raise
his arm and cheer. Once he said quite distinctly: "Here is a chance for
a brave man." Later he became calm, and quietly fell asleep, to wake no
more on earth till the great day of God.

"Soldier, sleep, thy warfare o'er,
Sleep the sleep that knows no waking,
Dream of battle-fields no more."

One of the Bucktail Regiment lay on the ground in front of the tent,
shot through the chest. He was, perhaps, twenty-five years of age,
large and well-formed, his face stamped with the marks of intelligence.
While engaged near him, I saw another of that band of heroes coming
toward him with great strides, an expression of anguish on his face
which I can not forget. He threw himself on his knees by the wounded
man, kissed him, then covered his face with his hands, and his great
manly form shook with convulsive sobbings. Tears trickled down the
cheeks of the other. Not a word was spoken until, after a while, the
storm of emotion had passed. Then they conversed calmly for a while, and
parted with the quiet dignity of brave men who say farewell while the
shadow of death lies dark around them.

A man was brought in shot through both thighs. I did not know his name,
but had heard his voice among the worshipers in the church-tent at
Bristoe Station, and knew that he was a man of God. After a brief
examination, the surgeon announced that amputation would be necessary.

"Very well, doctor; get around to it as quick as you can. I suffer
terribly."

Another was shot in the thigh, the bone shattered to the hip. When told
that the limb must be amputated he objected.

"But you will die if it is not done."

"I can't help that; it shall not be amputated with my consent."

Within twenty-four hours he was dead. Whether wise in his decision or
not, he met the result without flinching or complaint.

A boy with his arm torn off by a shell expressed his only complaint in
the words, "I never can fight any more."

One evening, worn out by constant labor and watching, I lay down in a