He was carried to the hospital, with six hundred and fifty of his division comrades; but lay all night with his wound undressed, waiting his turn without a murmur. The chaplain looked at his wound.
"What do you think of it?"
Seeing that it was mortal, the chaplain was overcome with emotion. He remembered the last injunction of the young soldier's sister: "I commit him to your care."
The young hero interpreted the meaning of the tears,—that there was no hope.
"Do not weep," said he; "it is God's will. I wish you to write to my father, and tell him that I have tried to do my duty to my country and to God."
He disposed of his few effects, giving ten dollars to the Christian Commission, twenty dollars to the American Board, and trifles to his friends. Then, in the simplicity of his heart, said,—
"I have a good many friends, schoolmates, and companions. They will want to know where I am,—how I am getting on. You can let them know that I am gone, and that I die content. And, chaplain, the boys in the regiment,—I want you to tell them to stand by the dear old flag! And there is my brother in the navy,—write to him and tell him to stand by the flag and cling to the cross of Christ!"
The surgeon examined the wound.
"It is my duty to tell you that you will soon go home," said he.
"Yes, doctor, I am going home. I am not afraid to die. I don't know how the valley will be when I get to it, but it is all bright now."