The soldier may at one moment be in
good spirits, laughing and talking. The wing of the death angel touches
him. He knows that his time has come. It is but a question of time with
him then. He knows that his days are numbered. I cannot explain it.
God has numbered the hairs of our heads, and not a sparrow falls without
His knowledge. How much more valuable are we than many sparrows?
We had stopped at Lee & Gordon's mill, and gone into camp for the night.
Three days' rations were being issued. When Bob Stout was given his
rations he refused to take them. His face wore a serious, woe-begone
expression. He was asked if he was sick, and said "No," but added, "Boys,
my days are numbered, my time has come. In three days from today,
I will be lying right yonder on that hillside a corpse. Ah, you may
laugh; my time has come. I've got a twenty dollar gold piece in my
pocket that I've carried through the war, and a silver watch that my
father sent me through the lines. Please take them off when I am dead,
and give them to Captain Irvine, to give to my father when he gets back
home. Here are my clothing and blanket that any one who wishes them
may have. My rations I do not wish at all. My gun and cartridge-box I
expect to die with.
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