Surrey was never too busy by reason of his duties, or among his
own sick and wounded men, to find time for a chat, or a scrap of
reading, or to write a letter for the prostrate and helpless fellow, who
suffered without complaining, as, indeed, they did all about him, only
relieving himself now and then by a suppressed growl.
And so, with occasional episodes of individual interest, with marches
and fightings, with extremes of heat and cold, of triumph and defeat,
the long months wore away. These men were soldiers, each in his place in
the great war with the record of which all the world is familiar, a tale
written in blood, and flame, and tears,--terrible, yet heroic; ghastly,
yet sublime. As soldiers in such a conflict, they did their duty and
noble endeavor,--Jim, a nameless private in the ranks,--Surrey, not
braver perchance, but so conspicuous with all the elements which fit for
splendid command, so fortunate in opportunities for their display, so
eminent in seizing them and using them to their fullest extent,
regardless of danger and death, as to make his name known and honored by
all who watched the progress of the fight, read its record with
interest, and knew its heroes and leaders with pride and love.
In the winter of '63 Jim's regiment was ordered away to South Carolina;
and he who at parting looked with keen regret on the face of the man who
had been so faithful and well tried a friend, would have looked upon it
with something deeper and sadder, could he at the same time have gazed a
little way into the future, and seen what it held in store for him.
Pages:
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106