Berry Morgan and I had ever been close friends, and we
threw down our blankets and were lying side by side, when I saw roofs of
houses, sign boards, and brickbats flying in every direction. Nearly
half of the town was blown away in the storm. While looking at the storm
without, I felt the old shed suddenly jar and tremble, and suddenly
become unroofed, and it seemed to me that ten thousand brickbats had
fallen in around us. I could hear nothing for the roaring of the storm,
and could see nothing for the blinding rain and flying dirt and bricks
and other rubbish. The storm lasted but a few minutes, but those minutes
seemed ages. When it had passed, I turned to look at "poor Berry."
Poor fellow! his head was crushed in by a brickbat, his breast crushed
in by another, and I think his arm was broken, and he was otherwise
mutilated. It was a sad sight. Many others of our regiment were wounded.
Berry was a very handsome boy. He was what everybody would call a
"pretty man." He had fair skin, blue eyes, and fine curly hair, which
made him look like an innocent child. I loved Berry. He was my friend--
as true as the needle to the pole. But God, who doeth all things well,
took his spirit in the midst of the storm to that beautiful home beyond
the skies.
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