A lesson sad, but fraught with good—
A tearful one, but strengthening food—
Thou givest me;
We learn that “dust returns to dust,”
Anew in God we put our trust,
And bow the knee.
CHAPTER XII.
AM I A STOIC?—SOMEONE’S DARLING—COMPLETING MY DISGUISE—ANOTHER START FOR THE REBEL LINES—PEPPERING MY EYES—CHALLENGED BY A PICKET—A COCKNEY SENTINEL—GETTING INFORMATION—PLENTY OF BEEF, BUT NO SALT—RICE AND CORN MEAL BREAD—PREPARING TO VISIT HEADQUARTERS—INTERVIEW WITH MAJOR MCKEE—THE MAJOR’S MISPLACED CONFIDENCE—RETURN FOR THE BODY OF THE REBEL CAPTAIN—MY LOOK-OUT FOR YANKEES—NEW ORDERS.
Perhaps some of my readers will pronounce me a stoic, entirely devoid of feeling, when I tell them that two hours after I wrapped the unconscious form of my late patient in his winding-sheet, I enveloped myself in my patchwork quilt, and laid me down not far from the corpse, and slept soundly until six o’clock in the morning. Feeling much refreshed I arose, and after spending a few moments by the side of my silent companion, contemplating the changes which the King of Terrors had wrought, I cut a lock of hair from his temple, took the watch and a small package of letters from his pocket, replaced the blanket reverently, and bade him farewell.
Kiss him once for somebody’s sake
Murmur a prayer soft and low;
One bright curl from its dark mates take,
They were somebody’s pride, you know:
Somebody’s hand hath rested there—
Was it a mother’s, soft and white?
And have the lips of a sister fair
Been baptized in their waves of light?
God knows best! He was somebody’s love;
Somebody’s heart enshrined him there;
Somebody wafted his name above,
Night and morn, on the wings of prayer.
Somebody wept when he marched away,
Looking so handsome, brave and grand;
Somebody’s kiss on his forehead lay,
Somebody clung to his parting hand.
Somebody’s waiting and watching for him,
Yearning to hold him again to her heart;
And there he lies with his dark eyes dim,
And the smiling, childlike lips apart.
Tenderly bury the fair young dead,
Pausing to drop in his grave a tear;
Carve on the wooden slab at his head
“Somebody’s darling slumbers here.”
After hastily partaking of a slight repast, which I could scarcely term breakfast, I commenced immediate preparations to leave the house. Upon examining the basket in which I had found the tea on my arrival, I found a number of articles which assisted me much in assuming a more perfect disguise. There was mustard, pepper, an old pair of green spectacles, and a bottle of red ink. Of the mustard I made a strong plaster about the size of a dollar, and tied it on one side of my face until it blistered it thoroughly. I then cut off the blister and put on a large patch of black court-plaster; with the ink I painted a red line around my eyes, and after giving my pale complexion a deep tinge with some ochre which I found in a closet, I put on my green glasses and my Irish hood, which came over my face about six inches.
I then made the tour of the house from garret to cellar, to find all the household fixings which an Irishwoman would be supposed to carry with her in such an emergency—for I expected to be searched before I was admitted through the lines. I packed both my baskets, for I had two now, and was ready for another start. But before leaving I thought best to bury my pistol and every article in my possession which could in any way induce suspicion. Then taking a farewell look at the beautiful features of the dead, I left the house, going directly the nearest road to the rebel picket line. I felt perfectly safe in doing so, for the rebel soldier’s watch was a sufficient passport in daylight, and a message for Major McKee would insure me civility at least.
I followed the Richmond road about five miles before meeting or seeing any one. At length I saw a sentinel in the distance, but before he observed me I sat down to rest and prepare my mind for the coming interview. While thus waiting to have my courage reinforced, I took from my basket the black pepper and sprinkled a little of it on my pocket handkerchief, which I applied to my eyes. The effect was all I could have desired, for taking a view of my prepossessing countenance in the small mirror which I always carried with me, I perceived that my eyes had a fine tender expression, which added very much to the beauty of their red borders. I was reminded of poor Leah of old who failed to secure the affection of her husband in consequence of a similar blemish, and thought myself safe from the slightest approach to admiration on the part of the chivalry.