But our emotions overcame us, and in spite of all we could do, the tears would come. But we checked them as soon as possible and again repeated our question. Opening his eyes with his breath coming in convulsive gasps, he said:
"Bob—write—to—my—mother,—tell her,—that I died—doing my duty."
Oh! if we could have had at that moment a heart of stone, so that we could have talked to him, but it was too much: however we managed to whisper to him a hope that he might get well, but no, he knew better, he knew that his life was fast drawing to a close, and moving his head slowly, he replied:
"No, Bob, I am dying."
We could not stand it and gently stooping over him, we kissed him on the forehead, and turned to the next man lying beside him, who proved to be orderly sergeant Benjamin F. Bonebrake. Ben presented a terrible appearance, he had been wounded in the head, and the blood had streamed down over his face and whiskers and over his once white shirt bosom, and dried there, giving him a ghastly appearance.
"Do you want anything, Ben?"
"Yes, I would like to have my face washed."
Oh! how quiet and gentle these poor boys were, no complaining, no harsh words, but there they lay, bearing their pain with true heroism. "All right," we reply, glad to be able to get outside for a moment, and away we went to the brigade hospital steward, with whom we were acquainted, for what we needed. We found him and on the strength of acquaintanceship, procured from him a hospital bucket with some warm water and a sponge, and before we left him we had coaxed him to give us a clean shirt for Ben out of the sanitary supplies he had on hand. Rejoicing at our success, we hastened back, and proceeded to make Ben more comfortable; we washed his face, combed his hair and whiskers, and helped him on with the clean shirt. With a grateful acknowledgement he lay back in his place. Next to him was sergeant Wash. Cunningham, good natured, free hearted Wash.; a man of large and powerful frame, he had received a rifle ball through the left arm; poor fellow he had gotten down in such a shape, that his wound was paining him, and in reply to our question as to what we could do for him, he said: "Nothing, only if you could help me to raise up a little." We looked at his massive form and felt afraid to touch him, for fear of giving him pain; we told him so, and he replied: "All right, Rob, I can stand it." We wanted to get away, we were feeling sick and were afraid to stay longer, but there was one more boy whom we must find before we went, and this was Patrick Sullivan of Co. "G." We searched and searched and at length we found him, lying on his back, on his rubber blanket without a stitch of clothing on him; he was lying in a pool of his own blood, with his eyes closed, and his face pale and bloodless; we thought at first he was dead, but kneeling down by him, we spoke his name. The heavy eyelids opened, and with a smile on his countenance, he reached us his hand, we grasped it and put the question:
"Can we do any thing for you, Patsey?" For a second there was no reply, and then his lips opened and he said:
"Oh! Rob, if I could only sleep; I want to sleep but can't, the doctor won't pay any attention to me, and there is such a noise."