Before reaching Vicksburg I visited several hospitals where the wounded had been brought from those terrible battles preceding the siege of Vicksburg, where thousands lay, with all conceivable sorts of wounds.

Several I saw without either arms or legs, having been torn and mangled by sh.e.l.l so that it was impossible to save even a single limb--and yet they lived, and would probably recover.

One handsome young man lay on one of the hospital boats who had lost both arms--a most n.o.ble specimen of the patient, cheerful, suffering soldier.

Of this young man the Rev. Mr. Savage writes: "There he lay upon his cot, armless, and knowing that this must be his condition through life; but yet with a cheerful, happy countenance, and not a single word of complaint. I ministered to his wants, and as I cut up fruit in mouthfuls, and put them in his mouth, he would say, 'Well, now, how good that is! How kind of you!

The Lord will bless you for it. I don't see why you are so kind to me. As if any one could be too kind to a man who had suffered such a loss in defense of his country. His soul seemed to be resting peacefully upon Jesus amid all his great sufferings. One thing touched me exceedingly: As I spoke of his feelings, the tears coursed down his cheeks and lay upon them. He had no hands with which even to wipe away the tears from his own face; and as I took a handkerchief and tenderly performed this office, that beautiful pa.s.sage of scripture occurred to me with a force it never did before: 'and G.o.d shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.'"

Near by lay another young man, an officer, mortally wounded--fast breathing his life away--he seemed unconscious of his dying state. I asked the nurse, in a low whisper, if he knew he was dying, but before the nurse could reply, he looked up with a smile, and said: "Yes, yes, I know it.

Praise G.o.d! there is not a cloud between my soul and Jesus. I am waiting--I--waiting--." These were his last words. A few moments more and his tongue was silent in death.

But he's gone to rest in heaven above, To sing his Saviour's praise.

One of the military agents at Nashville relates a most thrilling incident, which he witnessed in a hospital at that place. He says:

"Last evening, when pa.s.sing by the post hospital, my attention was arrested by the singing, in rather a loud voice, of 'Rally round the flag, boys,' by one of the patients inside. While listening to the beautiful music of that popular song, I observed to a nurse standing in the door-way, that the person singing must be in a very merry mood, and could not be very sick. 'You are mistaken, sir,' said he; 'the poor fellow engaged in singing that good old song is now grappling with death--has been dying all day. I am his nurse,' he continued, 'and the scene so affected me that I was obliged to leave the room. He is just about breathing his last.'

"I stepped into the ward, and true enough, the brave man was near his end.

His eyes were already fixed in death. He was struggling with all his remaining strength against the grim monster, while at the same time there gushed forth from his patriotic soul incoherently the words: 'Rally round the flag, boys,' which had so often cheered him through his weary march, and braced him up when entering the field of blood in defense of his country. Finally he sank away into his death-slumber, and joined his Maker's command, that is marching onward to that far-off, better land. The last audible sound that escaped his lips was, 'Rally boys, rally once again!' As his eyes were closing, some dozen of his comrades joined in a solemn, yet beautiful hymn, appropriate to the occasion. Take it altogether, this was one of the most affecting scenes I have ever witnessed in a hospital. It drew tears copiously from near one hundred of us. It occurred in the large ward which occupies the entire body of the church on Cherry street. The deceased was an Illinoisan, and had been wounded in one of the recent skirmishes."

I noticed in the Western department that the chaplains were much more faithful to their trust, and attentive to the sick and wounded, than the chaplains in the Army of the Potomac--taking them as a cla.s.s.

One man in speaking of his chaplain, said: "He is one of the best men in the world; he has a temperance meeting once a week, a prayer meeting twice a week, and other meetings as he is able to hold them; and then he labors personally among the men. He also comforts the sick and dying. I saw him with one of our comrades before he died, watching and praying with him; and when he died, he closed his eyes and prepared him for the grave with his own hands."

Another said: "Over at Frederickstown, as our lines were beginning to give way, and many thought the day was lost, our chaplain stepped right out from the ranks, between us and the enemy's lines, knelt down upon the ground, and lifted up his voice in most earnest prayer to G.o.d for divine help in that hour of need. I never felt so in all my life as I did at that moment. An inspiration, as from G.o.d, seemed to seize us all; we rallied, charged, drove the enemy before us, and gained the important victory at Frederickstown, which perhaps has saved to us the State of Mississippi."

And yet another soldier gave testimony like the following, with regard to a chaplain who had followed his regiment through every battle in which it had partic.i.p.ated. Said he: "He was with us day after day, and as soon as a man fell wounded, he would take him up in his arms and carry him out where the surgeon could take care of him; and the last day I saw him, his clothes, from head to foot, were literally dripping with the blood of dead and wounded men that he had carried from the battle-field."

This n.o.ble chaplain reminds me of a brave soldier in the Army of the Potomac, who was in the hottest of the battle at Antietam, where the bullets were sweeping like death-hail through the ranks. The line wavered; there were strong symptoms of falling back on the part of his regiment.

This man rushed toward the color-bearer, who stood hesitating, seized the standard and advanced with firm and rapid step several paces in front of the foremost man; then thrusting down the flag-staff into the ground he looked up at the banner, then at the wavering line, and said--"There, boys, come up to that!"

CHAPTER XXVI.

A UNIONIST FROM THE REBEL ARMY--HIS TESTIMONY--SOUTHERN HOSPITALS--PATRIOTISM--FEMALE RECRUITING--CRINOLINE--"SWEET LITTLE MAN"--CONFEDERATE SYSTEM--NORTH AND SOUTH CONTRASTED--REBEL IMPRESSMENT--BROTHERS' CRUELTY--DYING FOR THE UNION--FATE OF A TENNESSEE PATRIOT--ON THE MISSISSIPPI--INVISIBLE ATTRACTION--AN IMPORTANT QUESTION--MORAL SUBLIMITY--CONTRABAND'S JUBILEE.

At one of the hospitals near Vicksburg I met a man who had served a year in the Confederate army, having been conscripted by the rebels, and remained that length of time before he found an opportunity to escape.

He was an educated, and highly intelligent young man, and it was deeply interesting to listen to his account of the Southern side of this rebellion. He told me that the Southern people, and especially the ladies, were much more patriotic than the people of the North.

After a battle, the citizens, both men and women, come with one accord to a.s.sist in taking care of the wounded; bringing with them, gratuitously, every article of comfort and convenience that their means will admit, and their patriotism suggest.

Farmers come to the hospitals with loads of provisions, and the women come with fruits, wines, jellies, etc., and cheerfully submit to the hardships and fatigue of hospital labor without the slightest remuneration. Said he: "The women down South are the best recruiting officers--for they absolutely refuse to tolerate, or admit to their society, any young man who refuses to enlist; and very often send their lovers, who have not enlisted, skirts and crinoline, with a note attached, suggesting the appropriateness of such a costume unless they donned the Confederate uniform at once."

I have often thought of this trait of the Southern ladies' character, and contrasted it with the flattering receptions so lavishly bestowed upon our able-bodied "home guards," by the New-England fair ones who profess to love the old flag and despise its enemies. And I have wondered if an extensive donation of "crinoline" would not be more effectual in filling up our ranks, than graceful bows and bewitching smiles. And I would mildly suggest that each package of crinoline be accompanied by the following appropriate lines:

Now, while our soldiers are fighting our battles, Each at his post to do all that he can, Down among rebels and contraband chattels, What are _you_ doing, my sweet little man?

All the brave boys under canvas are sleeping, All of them pressing to march with the van, Far from their homes where their sweethearts are weeping; What are _you_ waiting for, sweet little man?

You, with the terrible warlike mustaches, Fit for a colonel or chief of a clan, You with the waist made for sword-belts and sashes, Where are your shoulder-straps, sweet little man?

We send you the b.u.t.tonless garments of woman!

Cover your face lest it freckle or tan; Muster the ap.r.o.n-string guards on the common-- That is the corps for the sweet little man.

All the fair maidens about him shall cl.u.s.ter, Pluck the white feathers from bonnet and fan, Make him a plume like a turkey-wing duster-- That is the crest for the sweet little man.

Give him for escort a file of young misses, Each of them armed with a deadly rattan, They shall defend him from laughter and hisses Aimed by low boys at the sweet little man.

And now, while I am contrasting the conduct of the North and South, I may as well give another testimony in favor of the confederate system.

The following testimony comes from one who has served in the rebel army in the capacity of surgeon. He says: "The confederate military authorities have complete control of the press, so that nothing is ever allowed to appear in print which can in any way give information to the North or prove a clue to Southern movements. In this it appears to me that they have an unspeakable advantage over the North, with its numberless papers and hundreds of correspondents in the loyal army. With what the correspondents tell and surmise, and what the Confederates find out through spies and informers of various kinds, they are able to see through many of the plans of the Union forces before they are put into execution.

No more common remark did I hear than this as officers were reading the Northern papers: 'See what d--d fools those Yankees are. General A---- has left B---- for C----. We will cut him off. Why the Northern generals or the Secretary of War tolerate this freedom of news we cannot imagine.'"

And he further adds: "Every daily paper I have read since I came North has contained information, either by direct statement or implication, by which the enemy can profit. If we meant to play into the hands of the rebels, we could hardly do it more successfully than our papers are doing it daily.

Sure am I that if a Southern paper contained such information of their movements as do the Northern of ours, the editor's neck would not be safe an hour. But some will say: 'We often see information quoted from the Southern papers of their movements.' Never, until the movement has been carried out. It is always safe to conclude, if you see in a Southern paper any statement with regard to the movement of troops, or that the army is about to do a certain thing, that it will not be done, but something different."

Freedom of opinion and of the press is certainly a precious boon, but when it endangers the lives of our soldiers and frustrates the plans of our Government, surely it is time to adopt measures to control it, just as much as it is necessary to arrest the spies who come within our lines.

Another relates the following touching incident of the Southern style of increasing their army, and punishing offenders: "When the rebels were raising a force in Eastern Tennessee, two brothers by the name of Rowland volunteered. A younger brother was a Union man, and refusing to enlist, was seized and forced into the army. He constantly protested against his impressment, but without avail. He then warned them that he would desert the first opportunity, as he would not fight against the cause of right and good government. They were inexorable, and he was torn from his family and hurried to the field. At the battle of Fort Donaldson, Rowland escaped from the rebels in the second day's fight, and immediately joined the loyal army. Though now to fight against his own brothers, he felt that he was in a righteous cause, and contending for a worthy end. In the battle of Pittsburg Landing he was taken prisoner by the very regiment to which he had formerly belonged. This sealed his fate. On his way to Corinth several of his old comrades, among them his two brothers, attempted to kill him, one of them nearly running him through with a bayonet. He was, however, rescued by the guard, and brought to camp. Three days after the retreating army had reached Corinth, General Hardee, in whose division was the regiment claiming this man as a deserter, gave orders to have Rowland executed. About four o'clock in the afternoon, the same day, some ten thousand Tennessee troops were drawn up in two parallel lines, facing inward, three hundred yards apart. The doomed man, surrounded by the guard, detailed from his own regiment to shoot him, marched with a firm step into the middle of the s.p.a.ce between the two lines of troops. Here his grave was already dug, and a black pine coffin lay beside it. No minister of religion offered to direct his thoughts to a gracious Saviour.

The sentence was read, and he was asked if he had anything to say why it should not be executed. He spoke in a firm, decided tone, in a voice which could be heard by many hundreds, and nearly in the following words: 'Fellow-soldiers, Tennesseeans--I was forced into Southern service against my will, and against my conscience. I told them I would desert the first opportunity I found, and I did it. I was always a Union man, and never denied it; and I joined the Union army to do all the damage I could to the Confederates. I believe the Union cause is right, and will triumph. They can kill me but once, and I am not afraid to die in a good cause. My only request is, that you let my wife and family know that I died in supporting my principles. My brothers there would shoot me if they had a chance, but I forgive them. Now shoot me through the heart, that I may die instantly.'

"After Rowland had ceased to speak, he took off hat, coat and neck-tie, and laying his hand on his heart, he said, "Aim here." The sergeant of the guard advanced to tie his hands and blindfold him. He asked the privilege of standing untied, but the request was not granted. His eyes were bandaged, he knelt upon his coffin and engaged in prayer for several minutes, and then said he was ready. The lieutenant of the guard then gave the word, 'Fire!' and twenty-four muskets were discharged. When the smoke lifted, the body had fallen backward, and was still. Several bullets had pa.s.sed through his head, and some through his heart. His body was tumbled into the rough pine box, and was buried by the men who shot him."

Such was the fate of a Tennessee patriot, who was not afraid to declare his love for the Union, and his faith in its final triumph, in the very presence of some of the leading traitors, and of thousands of his rebellious countrymen, a moment, before sealing his patriotism with his blood.

On board of a transport, on the Mississippi river, as we glided toward our destination, I sat quietly listening to the variety of topics which was being discussed around me, until a peculiarly sweet voice caused me to turn and look in the direction from whence it proceeded.

Reader, has your heart ever been taken by storm, in consequence of the mere intonations of a voice--ere you beheld the individual who gave them utterance? On this occasion, I turned and saw "one of G.o.d's images cut in ebony." Time had wrinkled his face, and the frosts of four-score winters had whitened his woolly locks, palsied his limbs, and dimmed his vision.

He had been a slave all his life, and now, at the eleventh hour, when "the silver cord was almost loosed, and the golden bowl well nigh broken," he was liberated from bondage, and was rejoicing in freedom from slavery, and in that freedom wherewith Christ makes His children free.

By some invisible attraction, a large crowd gathered around this old, decrepid slave, and every eye was fixed upon his sable withered face, as he gave a brief and touching history of his slave life.

When he had finished, the soldiers eagerly began to ask questions--but suddenly the old colored man turned querist, and raising himself up, and leaning forward toward the crowd, he asked, in a voice strangely thrilling and solemn, "Are any of you soldiers of the Lord Jesus Christ?"

One looked at another with evident embarra.s.sment; but at length some one stammered out--"We don't know exactly; that is a hard question, Uncle."

"Oh no," said he, "dat is not a hard question--if you be soldiers of Christ you _know_ it, you must know it; de Lord does not do His work so poorly dat His people don't know when it's done. Now jes' let me say a word more: Dear soldiers--before eber you lebe dis boat--before eber you go into anoder battle--enlist for Jesus; become soldiers ob de blessed Redeemer, and you are safe; safe when de battle rages, safe when de chills ob death come, safe when de world's on fire."

One of the men, desirous of changing the conversation, said: "Uncle, are you blind?" He replied: "Oh no, bless de Lord, I am not blind to de tings ob de spirit. I see by an eye ob faith my blessed Saviour sitting at de right hand ob G.o.d, and I'll soon see Him more clearly, for Jesus loves dis old blind darkie, and will soon take him home."

Now, when we talk of moral sublimity we are apt to point to Alexander conquering the world, to Hannibal surmounting the Alps, to Caesar crossing the Rubicon, or to Lawrence wrapping himself in the American flag and crying "Don't give up the ship!" But in my opinion here was a specimen of moral sublimity equal to anything that ever graced the pages of history or was ever exhibited upon a battle-field--a poor old, blind, palsied slave, resting upon the "Rock of Ages," while the waves of affliction dashed like mountains at his feet; yet, looking up to heaven, and trusting in the great and precious promises, he gave glory to G.o.d, and triumphed over pain and disease, rejoicing even in tribulation.

While the old slave was talking to the soldiers a number of young darkies came forward, and when the conversation ceased they all struck up the following piece, and sang it with good effect:

Oh, praise an' tanks! De Lord he come To set de people free; An' ma.s.sa tink it day ob doom, An' we ob jubilee.