The rout of wagons had gone by I could now hear the heavy tramp of thousands passing me, the shrill voices of terror. I worked to a sitting posture somehow - the effort nearly smothered me. A mass of cavalry was bearing down upon me. They were coming so thick I saw they would trample me into jelly. In a flash I thought of what Uncle Eb had told me once. I took my hat and covered my face quiddy, and then uncovered it as they came near. They sheared away as I felt the foam of their nostrils. I had split them as a rock may split the torrent. The last of them went over me - their tails whipping my face. I shall not soon forget the look of their bellies or the smell of their wet flanks. They had no sooner passed than I fell back and rolled half over like a log. I could feel a warm flow of blood trickling down my left arm. A shell, shot at the retreating army, passed high above me, whining as it flew. Then my mind went free of its trouble. The rain brought me to as it came pelting down upon the side of my face. I wondered what it might be, for I knew not where I had come. I lifted my head and looked to see a new dawn - possibly the city of God itself. It was dark - so dark I felt as if I had no eyes. Away in the distance I could hear the beating of a drum. It rang in a great silence - I have never known the like of it. I could hear the fall and trickle of the rain, but it seemed only to deepen the silence. I felt the wet grass under my face and hands. Then I knew it was night and the battlefield where I had fallen. I was alive and might see another day - thank God! I felt something move under my feet I heard a whisper at my shoulder.
'Thought you were dead long ago,'it said.
'No, no,'I answered, 'I m alive - I know I m alive - this is the battlefield.
''Fraid I ain't goin't'live,'he said. 'Got a terrible wound. Wish it was morning.
'Dark long?'I asked.
'For hours,'he answered. 'Dunno how many.
He began to groan and utter short prayers.
'O, my soul waiteth for the Lord more than they that watch for the morning,'I heard him cry in a loud, despairing voice.
Then there was a bit of silence, in which I could hear him whispering of his home and people.
Presently he began to sing:
'Guide me, O thou great Jehovah! Pilgrim through this barren land I am weak but thou art mighty'
Ills voice broke and trembled and sank into silence.
I had business of my own to look after - perhaps I had no time to lose - and I went about it calmly. I had no strength to move and began to feel the nearing of my time. The rain was falling faster. It chilled me to the marrow as I felt it trickling over my back. I called to the man who lay beside me - again and again I called to him - but got no answer. Then I knew that he was dead and I alone.
Long after that in the far distance I heard a voice calling. It rang like a trumpet in the still air. It grew plainer as I listened. My own name! William Brower? It was certainly calling to me, and I answered with a feeble cry. In a moment I could hear the tramp of someone coming. He was sitting beside me presently, whoever it might be. I could not see him for the dark. His tongue went clucking as if he pitied me.
'Who are you?'I remember asking, but got no answer.
At first I was glad, then I began to feel a mighty horror of him.
In a moment he had picked me up and was making off. The jolt of his step seemed to be breaking my arms at the shoulder. As I groaned he ran. I could see nothing in the darkness, but he went ahead, never stopping, save for a moment, now and then, to rest I wondered where he was taking me and what it all meant. I called again, 'Who are you? but he seemed not to hear me. 'My God!'I whispered to myself, 'this is no man - this is Death severing the soul from the body. The voice was that of the good God.'Then I heard a man hailing near by.
'Help, Help!'I shouted faintly.
'Where are you?'caine the answer, now further away. 'Can't see you.'My mysterious bearer was now running. My heels were dragging upon the ground; my hands were brushing the grass tops.
I groaned with pain.
'Halt! Who comes there?'a picket called. Then I could hear voices.
'Did you hear that noise?'said one. 'Somebody passed me. So dark can't see my hand before me.
'Darker than hell!'said another voice.
It must be a giant, I thought, who can pick me up and carry me as if I were no bigger than a house cat. That was what I was thinking when I swooned.
From then till I came to myself in the little church at Centreville I remember nothing. Groaning men lay all about me; others stood between them with lanterns. A woman was bending over me. I felt the gentle touch of her hand upon my face and heard her speak to me so tenderly I cannot think of it, even now, without thanking God for good women. I clung to her hand, clung with the energy of one drowning, while I suffered the merciful torture of the probe, the knife and the needle. And when it was all over and the lantern lights grew pale in the dawn I fell asleep.
But enough of blood and horror. War is no holiday, my merry people, who know not the mighty blessing of peace. Counting the cost, let us have war, if necessary, but peace, peace if possible.
