XIII. A CHAPEL UNDER-GROUND.

The Fourteenth Massachusetts Regiment had for a time the very honorable but laborious duty of guarding the Long Bridge, at Washington, and the approaches to it from the Virginia side. A gentleman, who visited the army in relation to their spiritual wants, asked a member of this regiment if they had any praying men among them. "Oh, yes, a great many!" was the answer.

"And do you ever meet for prayer?" he inquired. "Every day," said the soldier.

"Where do you meet?"

"Just come here," said he, leading the way as he spoke. They stood in a new fort which the regiment had been building.

"I can see no place for prayer," said the stranger.

"Just down there," said the soldier, lifting up a rude trap-door at their feet.

"What is down there?" asked the other, who could see nothing but a dark hole before them.

"That is the bomb-proof, and down there is the place where we hold the daily prayer-meeting. Down there,” continued the soldier, "the men go every day to lift up their hearts to God in prayer." It was not yet furnished with the implements of death, and these praying men, sixty in number, were accustomed to go down twelve feet underground, in the dark, to hold communion with God.

The same person said to a soldier whom he met in the camp,

"Are you prepared to fight in this cause?"

"What makes you say you are prepared to fight? What do you mean by it?"

THE COMMODORE IN THE PULPIT.

35

"I mean this, sir," answered the soldier. "I have made my peace with God, through faith in our Lord Jesus Christ. I have the friendship of Christ, and so I am prepared for anything,— life or death."

“Do you mean that you can have the friendship of Christ, and fight?"

"Exactly so,” said the brave man. "I mean just that. I could not fight without a consciousness of my interest in the love of Christ."

XIV. THE COMMODORE IN THE PULPIT.

It has been mentioned as characteristic of Commodore Foote, that he prayed as if everything depended on God, and fought as if everything depended on man. On a certain occasion, says the correspondent of a St. Louis paper,1 the commodore was present at a meeting on the Sabbath, shortly after one of his signal victories, when the minister of the church failed to appear, and the audience was kept waiting for the opening of the service. It seemed as if the opportunity for instruction and worship would be lost. The elder of the church was unwilling to officiate. Under these circumstances, Commodore Foote, on the impulse of the moment, went up to the pulpit, read a chapter in the Bible, prayed, and delivered a short discourse from the text, "Let not your heart be troubled. Ye believe in God,

believe also in me." (John xiv. 1.)

It was unexpected to the people; nor was their wonder less when they saw his self-possession, his readiness, and the pertinence of his remarks. He seemed to be as much. at home in the pulpit as he was on the deck of the Cincinnati during the bombardment of Fort Henry. The audi

1 I have combined two reports of this occurrence.

tors were much affected at hearing the voice from which so lately rang out the word of command,

"In worst extreme, and on the perilous edge
Of battle, when it raged,"

come.

lifted up in humble acknowledgment to Heaven for the recent victory, and in earnest supplication for protection and success in days to Some of his own soldiers were among the hearers. They were expecting to be called to go into battle again at any moment. They could have heard nothing from any one better fitted to tranquillize their minds, and nerve them for the conflict.

On coming down from the pulpit, the minister, who had arrived just after the prayer, approached and tendered his thanks; but the commodore rebuked him for his tardiness, and also for his neglect to take the pulpit immediately on his arrival.

XV. THEY ASK GOD'S BLESSING.

A lieutenant of the New York Seventh tells a story to which no one can listen without emotion and a glow of pride in our New England soldiers. He says: "While encamped in Maryland, I wandered off one day, and came to a farmhouse, where I saw a party of soldiers, who I supposed were Massachusetts boys, but who proved to be (though it is all the same) Rhode Islanders, who were talking with a woman who was greatly frightened. They tried in vain to quiet her apprehensions. They asked for food, and she cried, 'Oh, take all I have, take everything, but spare my sick husband.' 'Oh,' said one of the men, we are not going to hurt you; we are nearly famished and want something to eat.'

6

"But the woman persisted in being frightened in spite

THE INDIANA HERO BOY.

37

of all efforts to reassure her, and hurried whatever food she had on the table. But when she saw this company stand about the table with bowed heads, and a tall, gaunt man raise his hand and invoke God's blessing on the bounties spread before them, the poor woman broke down with a fit of sobbing and crying. She had no longer any fears, but bade them wait, and in a few moments had coffee and other needed refreshments ready for them. She then emptied their canteens of the muddy water they contained, and filled them with coffee. Her astonishment increased when they insisted upon paying her. Their asking a blessing," said the officer, "took me by surprise; and when I saw that, I said, 'Our country is safe, when such men go forth in the fear of God to fight for her.""

XVI. THE INDIANA HERO BOY.

The narrative which follows appeared in the Cincinnati "Gazette." Some verbal changes only have been made in the language.

On the cars running from Evansville to Indianapolis, (says the writer,) I fell into conversation with a soldier, who, though young in years, carried, as I found, the heart of a man and a hero in his bosom. He was returning home on a discharge furlough. Having found others destitute, I inquired into his condition. He had started without breakfast, had neither food nor money to go to Elkhart, on the Southern Michigan road, a distance of over three hundred miles, and with the probability before him of being over two days on the way. His voice was gone, and he was obliged to talk in a whisper. On seeing what the prospect before him was, he said to me, with childish simplicity, "I shall be nearly starved when I reach home,

shall I not?" I inquired for his haversack, in order to supply him with something to eat, when we stopped. He replied that "it had been stolen from him." Yet he was indifferent about the haversack; it was the Bible contained in it that he felt to be the great loss to him. His parents were religious, as I learned, and had brought him up to habits of rectitude, and in the fear of God.

He had an impression that he should not live long; and I remarked to him, "Death is no calamity to a good boy.' His countenance brightened as I said that to him, and he answered with much earnestness, "No, sir; and I am not afraid to die. I made up my mind that it was my duty to go and fight for my country, and my parents consented. Through exposure, I lost my health early in the winter; and on the Sunday morning of the battle of Shiloh, I was in my tent sick, and the physician ordered me to remain there. I had been unfit for duty for two months. The physician was very kind to me. The news kept coming back to us near the river that our army was giving way everywhere, and I thought it my duty to take my gun and go to their assistance. I went to the front, and during four hours loaded and fired as fast as I could. But the exertion was too much for me; my lungs took to bleeding, and I came near dying before the bleeding could be stopped. But I was glad I did what I could. I have never spoken since above a whisper, and I fear I never shall. But it is all right; our country must be saved at any sacrifice." At the first eating-station, the boy was seated at the table, and his dinner paid for by a stranger; and his thanks were so cordial and heartfelt, that tears filled the stranger's eyes as he turned away, receiving, as he did it, the sick boy's "God bless you, stranger!"

Time for supper would bring him to Indianapolis. What would he do there? Who would befriend him