The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 20, No. 119, September, 1867: A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and PoliticsVarious
General
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 20, No. 119, September, 1867: A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
That month of December, with its cold, leaden sky, and bleak, wintry
winds, will never be forgotten. On going down one dreary morning, in the
obscurity of early dawn, I found that a tent in which five men
dangerously ill had been left the night before was not to be seen; at
first I distrusted my senses,--it was surely the place where the tent
had stood, but the only vestige left was the plank floor. On inquiry, I
found that in the middle of the night the tent had blown over, and men,
furniture, and all had been moved in a furious storm.
Sixty men were buried at one time, and several times over forty were
borne in a long train of ambulances to the cemetery. The martial dirge,
with the sound of its muffled drum, was daily mingled with the groans of
the dying. Many a man who did not shrink from death still desired to
live long enough to hear from his home once more, and died piteously
lamenting his lot. Others, though dying, would cling to the hope of
going home; and when told that the doctor feared they could not live an
hour, and asked if they had any messages to leave, with their last gasp
would say, "O, I shall live! I am going home to see my mother."
In contrast with such cases were others of calm fortitude. These lines
were dictated at midnight by a man who had hoped to live, but whose
strength suddenly failed:--
"DEAR WIFE:--I am on my death-bed. Get N---- E---- to settle
our affairs, draw my pay, &c. If our daughter is still
living, I want her to have a share of three hundred dollars.
I die under the protecting folds of the starry banner of
freedom. You must take good care of the little one. Trust in
God, and meet me in heaven. I bid a last farewell to all my
friends. I die happy. God bless you.
"Your husband,
"H. W. VARNEY."
The friends of many came as soon as they heard of their arrival and
illness, but often failed to recognize them. One woman, on being taken
into the ward where her husband was asleep, persisted in saying that she
had never seen that man before; and on being shown his name and regiment
on the card, she refused to be convinced, feeling sure that there must
be some mistake, till he opened his eyes and greeted her by name.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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