"Stand up for Jesus," said Dudley Tyng, in his last hours: words which have warmed and moved thousands of Christian hearts.
"Let me die with my face to the enemy," was the last request of General Rice, Christian, soldier, and patriot, at Spottsylvania; but equally worthy of remembrance are the words of Edward M. Schneider,-boy, student, youthful leader of the desperate charge at Petersburg. They are the essence of all that Wolfe and Tyng and Rice uttered in their last moments. His grave is near the roadside, marked by a rude paling. The summer breeze sweeps through the sighing pines above the heaved-up mound. Mournful, yet sweet, the music of the wind-harp;-mournful, in that one so young, so full of life and hope and promise, should go so soon; sweet, in that he did his work so n.o.bly. Had he lived a century he could not have completed it more thoroughly or faithfully. His was a short soldier"s life, extending only from the peaceful shades of Andover to the intrenchments of Petersburg; but O, how full!
Will the tree of Liberty prematurely decay, if nourished by such life-giving blood? It is costly, but the fruit is precious. For pain and anguish, waste and desolation, we have such rich recompense as this,-such examples of patriotic ardor, heroic daring, and Christian fort.i.tude, that make men n.o.bler, nations greater, and the world better by their contemplation.
I have stood by the honored dust of those whose names are great in history, whose deeds and virtues are commemorated in bra.s.s and marble, who were venerated while living and mourned when dead; but never have I felt a profounder reverence for departed worth than for this young Christian soldier, uncoffined, unshrouded, wrapped only in his blanket, and sleeping serenely beneath the evergreen pines.
His last words-the messages to his comrades, to his father, and his brother-are worthy to live so long as the flag of our country shall wave or the cross of Christ endure.
"Stand up for the dear old flag and cling to the cross of Christ!" They are the emblems of all our hopes for time and eternity. Short, full, rounded, complete his life. Triumphant, glorious his death!
Petersburg July 30th 1864.
Grant determined to a.s.sault all along the line on the morning of the 18th, as nearly the entire army had arrived. Lee, however, fell back during the night to a new position nearer the city.
But the attack was made. The Eighteenth, Second, and Sixth Corps gained no advantage; but the Ninth and Fifth drove the Rebels across the Norfolk Railroad, and reached the Jerusalem plank-road. The position of the besieging army is shown by the accompanying diagram.
On the 21st of June Grant attempted to take the Weldon Railroad with the Second and Sixth Corps, but was opposed by the Rebels on Davis"s farm, beyond the Jerusalem road, and a battle ensued.
Army corps chapel near Petersburg.
The engagement was renewed the next day. There was a gap in the lines, of which A. P. Hill took advantage, and attacked Barlow"s division in flank. A severe struggle followed, in which Gibbon"s division lost four guns. The battle was continued on the 23d, but no farther progress was made. The troops had been fighting, marching, or building breastworks for forty-seven days, without interruption. Daily and nightly, from the Rapidan to the Weldon road, they had been in constant action. The troops were exhausted. Grant had lost seventy thousand. The reinforcements which had reached him were inexperienced. Men when physically prostrated are indifferent to commands. Discipline becomes lax. Hundreds of efficient officers had fallen during the campaign. Brigades were commanded by majors, regiments by captains, companies by corporals. The army needed thorough reorganization. The right of the line was sufficiently near to Petersburg to commence siege operations. Intrenchments were accordingly thrown up and guns mounted, and the army enjoyed comparative rest. But it was a rest under fire, day and night, the Ninth and Eighteenth Corps especially being constantly hara.s.sed by the enemy, who were bitterly opposed to the employment of colored troops. It was systematic hostility,-ingrained, revengeful, relentless. They would not recognize or treat them as prisoners of war. Slavery long before had proclaimed that black men had no rights which white men were bound to respect. For them was no mercy; only the fate of their compatriots at Fort Pillow awaited them, if taken in arms against their former masters, though wearing the uniform of the republic which had given them freedom and sent them to battle.
There was a tacit understanding between the soldiers of the Fifth and the enemy in front of them that there should be no picket-firing. They filled their canteens at the same spring and had friendly conversations. But not so in front of the Ninth, in which thirty were wounded or killed every twenty-four hours. Such was the unnecessary sacrifice of life to this Moloch of our generation! There were those in the army, as well as out of it, who were not willing that the colored soldier should be recognized as a man.
"The negroes ought not to be allowed to fight," said a Ma.s.sachusetts captain to me.
"Why not, sir?"
"Because the Rebels hate us for making them soldiers," was the reply; and adding, dubiously, "I don"t know but that the negroes have souls; but I look upon them as a lower order of beings than ourselves."
The old prejudice remained. We were not willing to deal fairly. We asked the negro to help fight our battles, but we were willing to pay him only half a soldier"s wages, as if we feared this simple act of justice might be construed as an acknowledgment of his social as well as civil equality.
Through all the weary months of fighting and exposure the wants of the soldiers were greatly relieved by the Sanitary and Christian Commissions. The warm-hearted people in the North never ceased their contributions. The machinery of both those excellent organizations was so perfect that the soldiers had quick relief.
The power of any force-moral and religious as well as mechanical-is in proportion to the directness of its application. I recall, in this connection, a hot, dry, sultry day. The sun shone from a brazen sky. The gra.s.s and shrubs were scorched, withered, and powdered with dust, which rose in clouds behind every pa.s.sing wagon. Even the aspens were motionless, and there was not air enough to stir the long, lithe needles of the pines. The birds of the forest sought the deepest shade, and hushed even their twitter. It was difficult for men in robust health to breathe, and they picked out the coolest places and gave themselves up to the languor of the hour. It required an earnest effort to do anything. Yet through this blazing day men crouched in the trenches from morning till night, or lay in their shallow rifle-pits, watching the enemy,-parched, broiled, burned, not daring to raise their heads or lift their hands. To do so was to suffer death or wounds.
The hospital tents, though pitched in the woods, were like ovens, absorbing and holding the heat of the sun, whose rays the branches of the trees but partially excluded. Upon the ground lay the sick and wounded, fevered and sore, with energies exhausted, perspiration oozing from their faces, nerves quivering and trembling, pulses faint and feeble, and life ebbing away. Their beds were pine boughs. They lay as they came from the battle-field, wearing their soiled, torn, and b.l.o.o.d.y garments, and tantalized by myriads of flies.
The surgeons in charge were kind-hearted and attentive. They used all means in their power to make their patients comfortable. Was this the place where the sick were to regain their health, far from home and friends! With nothing to cheer them, hope was dying out, and despondency setting in; and memory, ever busy, was picturing the dear old home scenes, so painfully in contrast with their dismal present.
It was the Sabbath, and there were many among the suffering thousands who had been accustomed to observe the day as one of worship and rest from toil and care. In imagination they heard the pealing of church-bells, the grand and solemn music of the organ, or the hum of children"s voices in the Sabbath school.
There were no clouds to shut out the sun, but the brazen dome of the sky glowed with steady heat. The Christian Commission tent had been besieged all day by soldiers, who wanted onions, pickles, lemons, oranges,-anything sour, anything to tempt the taste. A box of oranges had been brought from City Point the night before. It was suggested that they be distributed at once to the sick and wounded. "Certainly, by all means," was the unanimous voice of the Commission. I volunteered to be the distributor.
Go with me through the tents of the sufferers. Some are lying down, with eyes closed, faces pale, and cheeks sunken. The paleness underlies the bronze which the sun has burned upon them. Some are half reclining on their elbows, bolstered by knapsacks, and looking into vacancy,-thinking, perhaps, of home and kin, and wondering if they will ever see them again. Others are reading papers which delegates of the Commission have distributed. Some of the poor fellows have but one leg; others but the stump of a thigh or an arm, with the lightest possible dressing to keep down the fever. Yesterday those men, in the full tide of life, stood in the trenches confronting the enemy. Now they are shattered wrecks, having, perhaps, wife and children or parents dependent upon them; with no certainty of support for themselves even but the small bounty of government, which they have earned at such fearful sacrifice. But their future will be brightened with the proud consciousness of duty done and country saved,-the surviving soldier"s chief recompense for all the toil and suffering and privation of the camp and field.
As we enter the tent they catch a sight of the golden fruit. There is a commotion. Those half asleep rub their eyes, those partially reclining sit up, those lying with their backs toward us turn over to see what is going on, those so feeble that they cannot move ask what is the matter. They gaze wistfully at our luscious burden. Their eyes gleam, but not one of them asks for an orange. They wait. Through the stern discipline of war they have learned to be patient, to endure, to remain in suspense, to stand still and be torn to pieces. They are true heroes!
"Would you like an orange, sir?"
"Thank you."
It is all he can say. He is lying upon his back. A minnie bullet has pa.s.sed through his body, and he cannot be moved. He has a n.o.ble brow, a manly countenance. Tears moisten his eyes and roll down his sunken cheeks as he takes it from my hand.
"It is a gift of the Christian Commission, and I accept your thanks for those who made the contribution."
"Bully for the Christian Commission," shouts a wide-awake, jolly soldier, near by, with an ugly wound in his left arm.
"Thank you," "G.o.d bless the Commission," "I say, Bill, aren"t they bully?" are the expressions I hear behind me.
In one of the wards I came upon a soldier who had lost his leg the day before. He was lying upon his side; he was robust, healthy, strong, and brave. The hours dragged heavily. I stood before him, and yet he did not see me. He was stabbing his knife into a chip, with nervous energy, trying to forget the pain, to bridge over the lonely hours, and shut the gloom out of the future. I touched his elbow; he looked up.
"Would you like an orange?"
"By jingo! that is worth a hundred dollars!"
He grasped it as a drowning man clutches a chip.
"Where did this come from?"
"The Christian Commission had a box arrive last night."
"The Christian Commission? My wife belongs to that. She wrote to me about it last week,-that they met to make shirts for the Commission."
"Then you have a wife?"
"Yes, sir, and three children."
His voice faltered. Ah! the soldier never forgets home. He dashed away a tear, took in a long breath, and was strong again.
"Where do you hail from, soldier?"
"From old Ma.s.sachusetts. I had a snug little home upon the banks of the Connecticut; but I told my wife that I didn"t feel just right to stay there, when I was needed out here, and so I came, and here I am. I shall write home, and tell Mary about the Christian Commission. I have been wishing all day that I had an orange; I knew it was no use to wish. I didn"t suppose there was one in camp; besides, here I am, not able to move a peg. I thank you, sir, for bringing it. I shall tell my wife all about it."
These expressions of grat.i.tude were not indifferent utterances of courtesy, but came from full hearts. Those sun-burned sufferers recognized the religion of Jesus in the gift. The Christian religion, thus exemplified, was not a cold abstraction, but a reality, providing for the health of the body as well as the soul. It was easy to converse with those men concerning their eternal well-being. They could not oppose a Christianity that manifested such regard for their bodily comfort. Such a religion commended itself to their hearts and understandings. Thus the Commission became a great missionary enterprise. Farina, oranges, lemons, onions, pickles, comfort-bags, shirts, towels, given and distributed in the name of Jesus, though designed for the body, gave strength to the soul. To the quickened senses of a wounded soldier parched with fever, far from home and friends, an onion was a stronger argument for the religion which bestowed it than the subtle reasoning of Renan, and a pickle sharper than the keenest logic of Colenso!
Visiting Washington one day, I pa.s.sed through several of the hospitals, and was present when the delegates came to the head-quarters of the Commission and narrated their experiences of the day. About fifty were present. Their work was washing and dressing wounds, aiding the sick and wounded in every way possible, distributing reading matter, writing letters for those unable to write, with religious exercises and conversation. No delegate was allowed to give jellies or wines as food, or to hold meetings in any ward, without permission of the surgeon in charge, which usually was granted. It was a rule of the Commission, and not of the Medical Department. The design was to do everything possible for the good of the men, and nothing for their hurt. One delegate said that he found fully one third of the men in his wards professing Christians. They were glad to see him, and rejoiced to obtain religious reading. A few days before he had given an old man a book ent.i.tled the "Blood of Jesus."
"I have found Jesus, and O, he is so precious!" said the old soldier.
Another delegate said: "I found among the patients a minister who enlisted as a private. He has been in the hospital sixteen months, and has maintained his Christian character through all the trials of camp and hospital life. I found some convalescents playing cards.
""My boys, you don"t play cards on Sunday, do you?"
""It isn"t Sunday, is it? Why, hang it all, chaplain, we can"t keep track of the days in the army."