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relics of the slaughter. Seven hundred men, certainly not fewer, were brought hither in this manner. Ambulances and stretchers were in constant motion between the cars and the hospitals; but it was past midnight before the sad work was completed.

The scenes of that night it is impossible for any description adequately to portray. Some of the men had lost an arm, some a leg, some both legs. The wounds were of every conceivable sort, and in every part of the body, from the crown of the head to the sole of the foot. They had been shot in the head, in the face, in the neck, in the shoulders, the arms, the legs, and the feet. They had been shot through the chest, through the lungs, through the hips and through the thighs.

Yet let no one suppose it was all gloom, lamentation, and complaint here. It was otherwise, far otherwise. Sufferers they were, but, almost without exception, patient, cheerful sufferers. They gave the highest proof of courage that men can give. "Almost any one," said a great commander, can be brave in battle under a good leader; but he is the real hero who can be brave when the battle is over." To look at some of these men might almost lead one to think that they were gathered there for some celebration or a festive scene.

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They were grateful for our assistance (says the writer of the letter), but it was wonderful to see how disposed and able they were to help themselves. Some, indeed, could do nothing in their own behalf. But many of them, frightfully maimed and mangled as they were, with a little. help from us, would descend from the cars and take their places in the ambulances, nearly as quick as if they had been well.

With such lights and shadows does the memory of that Friday night, December fourth, 1863, abide with me, and

will abide forever. What pen but that of the recording angel can write its history? The stars in their courses looked down mildly and lovingly upon us, from the sweet canopy above, as if in sympathy with our hearts and work. With a silence almost as profound as theirs, unknown to those whom we ministered to, and they unknown to us, with musings in their hearts and ours known only to Him who "knoweth what is in man," we went forward with our sad work, thankful, if such work must be done, for the privilege of doing it, in the hope that we are following, at some humble distance, "Him who went about doing good."

But more remarkable than even that night were the two following days, Saturday and Sabbath which we spent in intercourse with these men. We visited them from ward to ward in the hospitals, conversed and prayed with them, extended to them, as far as we could, the kind and tender sympathy of loved ones far away, wrote letters for them, and supplied them with copies of the Word of God in the place of those they had lost in the service. Oh, what a field for pastoral work! No minister of Christ at home, in ordinary times, has one to be compared with it for a moment. Men at home, impenitent men, cannot be approached on the subject of their salvation as these men can. To say that they are "accessible" is not enough. Their hearts are all open. They speak freely and ingenuously even when not specially interested. Many of them are tender in their feelings, the starting tear, the choked utterance reveal it. Some are anxious and seeking. They love to be conversed with and counselled. Some, with bitter regrets, confess their backsliding, and lament that they have not maintained that character in the army which they had hoped to maintain.

On the contrary, there are not a few shining examples

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of what the grace of God can do for men in a situation usually so adverse to a religious life. Having unfurled their banner at the outset, having at the very first defined their position before their comrades, as friends of Jesus and soldiers of the cross, they have been able to hold on their way and to grow stronger and stronger.

Among the maimed and wounded were three who fell into our hands from the rebel army. Two of them belonged to a Georgia regiment, the third to a North Carolina regiment. No case (says the narrator) interested me so much, or appealed for sympathy so much as that of these prisoners. I had repeated interviews with them, and heard them talk about home, and the cause in which we are fighting. They are choice young men, and I think they are Union men. One of them requested me to write my name in the Testament I gave him.

If the churches at home could hear what some of these men in the hospitals say of the services of the Christian Commission in the field, if they could know how many lives it has saved, how many hearts it has strengthened and comforted, it would be the most effective appeal ever made to them for their prayers and their charities.

XXI. DYING FOR A BENEFACTOR.

In the battle which resulted in the capture of Fort Donelson, an orderly sergeant saw a rebel pointing a rifle at the captain of his company. The aim was perfect; the distance at which he stood left no room for escape. At that instant the soldier rushed forward, threw himself before the officer, received the bullet in his own breast, and fell dead in the arms of the man he had saved.

It was ascertained, as the explanation of this singular act,

that the brave fellow had been reared and generously treated by the captain's father. He had declared when he enlisted in the army, that he would be happy to die to save the life of his benefactor's son. The affection shown to each other by Damon and Pythias did not exceed that of this nameless soldier.

It was an instance of that last degree of self-sacrifice of which the Scripture represents our imperfect nature as capable. "Scarcely for a righteous man "-one who is simply just" will one die; yet, peradventure, for a good man one truly benevolent-"some would even dare to die."1

XXII. THE LAST VICTORY.

General N. B. Sanders, so honorably known as a brave and efficient commander, was wounded in one of the East Tennessee battles, near the end of 1863. He was a Kentuckian, educated at West Point, which he left in 1856. He had been shot in a close hand-to-hand fight with the enemy. He was not aware at first how serious the injury was. On being examined by the physician, the general asked,

"Tell me, doctor, if my wound is mortal?"

The doctor replied, "Sanders, it is a fearful wound and mortal. I am very sorry to say it, my dear fellow, but the odds are against you."

The general calmly replied, "Well, I am not afraid to die. I have made up my mind upon that subject. I have done my duty, and have served my country as well as I could."

He lingered until the next day, and during that time was perfectly conscious. In the course of the morning, he

1 Romans v. 7.

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explained certain symptoms to the doctor, and asked him what they meant.

The doctor replied, "General, you are dying."

"If that be so," he said, "I would like to see a clergyman."

The Rev. Mr. Hayden, chaplain of the post, was sent for, who came; and in the presence of General Burnside, with some of his staff, Captain Harris, a classmate, and several others, the dying officer was baptized.

He remarked after this that it had always been the desire of his friends that he should be baptized. He meant that they had long ago urged him to take this step, and thought him a fit subject for the ordinance. He was too distrustful to seem to rely on his own judgment in such a matter.

The minister then commended him to God, and while the fervent prayer was offered, General Burnside and the others present were kneeling around the bed of the dying believer. He shook hands with his chief, who stood tearfully over him, as if loath to witness the flight of the brave spirit. It was a scene never to be forgotten.

After this, he was preparing to partake of the sacrament, when his strength suddenly failed, and he was gone. It was hardly possible to mark the change. As Dr. Jackson, the physician, said, "He went to sleep like an infant." In a moment, as we trust, he passed beyond the need of symbols into the heavenly rest.

Such was the end of one of the bravest and most unpretending men whom God has raised up to serve the country in this time of need.