Democratic Sentinel, Volume 7, Number 29, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 August 1883 — Hospitable Romances. [ARTICLE]

Hospitable Romances.

At one time we had 1,700 patients in the hospitals. A train came in late one evening with a great number of painfully-wounded men. The following morning, in my early round, I was attracted by one of the new arrivals, whose right leg had been amputated above the knee. He seemed in a profound sleep, although even in repose his face wore the impression of the suffering he had endured. His features, faultless to the finest line, Were like chiseled marble in their • bloodless pallor. I sat down by the cot ready to administer the prescribed medicine. His unbroken sleep continued and I reluctantly left him to look after the other patients in the ward. Hour after hour passed away and my interest increased as I frequently turned to his bed, hoping to find him awake. Still he slept on. Towards night I went out again and found him awake, apparently conscious and free from pain. His eyes were turned toward the setting sun, upon which he calmly looked. More slowly came the faint breath -as his strength declined with the declining sun. Just as it sank below the horizon his soul followed in the glorious pathway and he was known no more on earth. The nurse told me he had uttered no word and there was no clew to identify him. Afterward he showed me a locket which was suspended from his neck by a slender chain. It contained a plain gold ring and the picture of a lovely girl’s face. It was a repetition of the old story of a faithful woman’s heart somewhere throbbing with love and longing for the return of its idol One day when a lad from Central New York was near his death the visitor of the ward carried a bunch of sweet fresh roses and laid them on his pillow. As he inhaled the fragrance his breast heaved with emotion; the icy torper and reserve was broken and he burst into a passionate agony of tears. Then, and not till then, he told the intense and bitter longing he had for home and friends. He was too manly to complain or confess his homesickness. If he had spoken before he might have been furloughed while yet strong enough to be sent there. His father was telegraphed for and every effort made to arouse his strength, but, alas, too late. The storm of weeping bo prostrated the frail body that he never rallied from the exhaustion, and far away from his beloved ones he went down alone to the brink of the river 'whose dark tide bore him to the home eternal, where sickness and sorrow are unknown and where there are no more partings. A dramatic incident was related to me by a Chaplain from City Point. As he was moving through a long line of of sufferers he approached one severely wounded, whose march was nearly ended. Death was waiting at the goal. When asked if he was ready to go he motioned for a pencil, and with blue, cold fingers wrote: “I am prepared. My trust in Christ is perfect. Tell the boys to sing ‘ Come Rally Round the Flag.*” The minister of consolation read the message aloud. As the last word fel,l from his lips a soldier who had lost a hand sprang up on his bed, and, waving the mutilated stump, burst forth into a glorious song. A thousand voices swelled the chorus. The walls of that mournful place of suffering rocked with melody. With a wrapt smile on his glorified face the dying brave fought his last fight and conquered his last enemy.— Mrs. Judge Fisher, in the Philadelphia Times.