The above despatch has the appearance of the genuine article—but I am inclined to think it a clever counterfeit. While McClellan’s requests were cheerfully complied with, as far as promises were concerned, little was done to strengthen his weakened forces in view of the coming struggle with an overwhelming force in front, and the flooded Chickahominy in the rear. By unreliable promises he was filled with delusive hopes, and lead on to more certain destruction—to disaster and failure, at least.
CHAPTER XV.
LEAVE OF ABSENCE—VISIT TO THE WILLIAMSBURG HOSPITALS—EFFECTIVE PREACHING—YORKTOWN REVISITED—LONGINGS—WHITE HOUSE LANDING—TIRED OF IDLENESS—PREPARATIONS TO RETURN TO DUTY—STUART’S CAVALRY RAID—A TRAIN FIRED INTO—FAIR OAKS GROVE—THE STRENGTH OF THE ENEMY—TRYING TIMES ON THE PENINSULA—THE ENDURANCE OF OUR SOLDIERS—LABORS OF MR. ALVORD.
While preparations were going on for the great battle in front of Richmond, I obtained leave of absence for a week, and recruited my shattered health, lame side and arm. Mr. and Mrs. B. were both gone home on furlough, and Nellie was at the Williamsburg Hospital. I thought I should like to visit the different hospitals, while I was thus riding round from place to place in search of something of interest. I visited Williamsburg Hospitals, both Union and rebel, and found many things amusing and interesting.
Nellie was delighted to see me, and told me much of her experience since the battle of Williamsburg. Her hand was still in a sling, which reminded me of my first shot at a rebel female. She was a most faithful nurse, and had endeared herself to all the boys by her kindness and patience toward them. She introduced me to several of her favorites, calling each by some pet name, to which they seemed to answer as a matter of course. I spent a day and a night there, and attended a meeting in the evening, which was held by a minister from the Christian Commission for the benefit of the wounded soldiers. Oh, what a sermon was that! The tender mercies of the Father, the love of the Son of God, were described; the wailings of the lost and the raptures of the redeemed were portrayed in the most powerful and touching manner. I have never heard the sinner invited to the cross in more persuasive strains than flowed from his lips.
His countenance was pleasing, his manners courteous, and his deportment unassuming. He did not preach one of those high-toned, intellectual discourses which we so often hear, and which almost invariably fail to reach the heart. But he preached Christ with such winning simplicity, such forgetfulness of self, and with such an eager yearning after souls, that even the most depraved were melted to tears. How soul-refreshing is this simple mode of preaching! I seem to see him standing before me now, with uplifted hands, glowing cheeks and streaming eyes—and though I have forgotten much of the discourse, yet I can distinctly remember the impression which it made upon me then. It was good, humbling, purifying. He was evidently not a highly educated man, yet he proclaimed the unsearchable riches of Christ in such a way as to make the proudest eloquence and the most profound philosophy, seem in comparison, “like sounding brass or tinkling cymbal.”
Often, when hearing a certain class of ministers preach, I am reminded of the saying of a good Baptist clergyman with regard to A. and B., two ministers of his own denomination: “When I hear Brother A. preach, I am in love with the man; but when I hear Brother B. preach, I am in love with Jesus.” This is the kind of preaching we want—that which makes us fall in love with Jesus, instead of the preacher. Oh, that there were more of Christ, and less of self, preached.
After leaving Williamsburg, I kept on down the Peninsula until I came to Yorktown. After visiting the hospitals there, I then went to the old camp where I had spent so many weeks. There were the dear old familiar places, but all that gave them interest were gone now. The old saw-mill, too, was gone, and all that remained was a heap of ruins, to tell where it once stood. But there was a spot undisturbed, away in the corner of the peach orchard, under an isolated pear tree, a heaped up mound, underneath which rested the noble form of Lieutenant V. It was sweet to me to visit this spot once more. I knew that in all probability it would be the last time; at least for a long period, perhaps forever.