“’T is all right,—all just as it should be,” murmured Peek. “God knew best. Bless him always for this meeting, Sterling. Hold the napkin closer to the wound. There! I knew she would be true! So! Take the belt from under my vest. Easy! It contains a hundred dollars. ’T is yours. Take the watch from the pocket. So! A handsome gold one, you see. ’T was given me by Mr. Vance. The name’s engraved on it. Can you write? Good. Your mother taught you. Write by the next mail to William C. Vance, Washington, D. C. Tell him what has happened. Tell him how your mother died. He’ll be your friend. You fought bravely, my son. What sweetness God puts into this moment! Take no trouble about the body I leave behind. Any trench will do for it. Fight on for freedom and the right. Slavery must die. All wrong must die. You can’t wrong even a worm without wronging yourself more than it. Remember that. Holy living makes holy believing. Charity first. Think to shut out others from heaven, and the danger is great you’ll shut yourself out. Don’t strike for revenge. Slay because ’t is God’s cause on earth you defend; and don’t fight unless you see and believe that much, let who may command. Love life. ’T is God’s gift and opportunity. The more you suffer, the more, my dear boy, you can show you prize life, not for the world’s goods, but for that love of God, which is heaven,—Christ’s heaven. Think. Not to think is to be a brute. Learn something every day. Love all that’s good and fair. Love music. Love flowers. Don’t be so childish as to suppose that because you don’t hear or see spirits, they don’t hear and see you. Remember that your mother and I can watch you,—can know your every thought. You’ll grieve us if you do wrong. You’ll make us very happy if you do right. Ah! The napkin has slipped. No matter. There! Let the blood ooze. See! Sterling! Look! There! Do you not see? They come. The angels! Your mother—my mother—and beyond there, high up there—one—Ah, God! Tell Mr. Vance—tell him—his—his—”
Peek stood up erect, lifted his clasped hands above his head, looked beyond them as if watching some beatific vision, then dropped his mortal body dead upon the earth.
CHAPTER XLIX.
EYES TO THE BLIND.
“Farewell! The passion of long years I pour
Into that word!”—Mrs. Hemans.
“Heureux l’homme qu’un doux hymen unira avec elle! il n’aura à craindre que de la perdre et de lui survivre.”—Fenelon.
It was that Fourth of July, 1863, when every sincere friend of the Great Republic felt his heart beat high with mingled hope and apprehension. Tremendous issues, which must affect the people of the American continent through all coming time, were in the balance of Fate, and the capricious chances of war might turn the scale on either side. Gettysburg, Vicksburg, Port Hudson, Helena! The great struggles that were to make these places memorable had reached their culminating and critical point, but were as yet undecided.
Lee’s Rebel army of invasion, highly disciplined, and numbering nearly a hundred thousand men, was marching into Pennsylvania. General Lee assured his friends he should remain North just as long as he wished; that there was no earthly power strong enough to drive him back across the Potomac. He expected “to march on Baltimore and occupy it; then to march on Washington and dictate terms of peace.”
Such was Lee’s plan. Its success depended on his defeating the Union army; and of that he felt certain.
The loyal North was unusually reticent and grave; “troubled on every side, yet not distressed; perplexed, but not in despair.” A change of commanders in the army of the Potomac, when just on the eve of the decisive contest, added to the general seriousness.