Bunyan’s inimitable allegory was his favorite book, and he had it almost by heart. While in camp it had been his greatest pleasure to repeat portions of it to the listening soldiers, by whom “Willie’s stories” were preferred to any other. And now on his dying-bed the pilgrim was to him a living friend who had crossed the stream just before him, and whom he was about to join in the Celestial City.
“Willie,” said Mr. Ryder, “have you no wish to live?”
“To live!” he repeated with animation; “why, don’t you know I am just going to live? Oh, if you could only see what I see, such beautiful angels with shining wings, and hear the sweet music, you would be willing to die too, so that you could go and live with them.”
The eloquence of look and tone with which this was said is indescribable. He lay quietly for a few moments with closed eyes, then suddenly turning to Miss Letty, who was weeping, he said,
“Dear aunty, you told me of Jesus, and taught me how to seek him, and now I am going to live with him for ever. Perhaps he will let me fly down to you sometimes, and whisper to you about heaven when you are sorrowful; I should love to so much. If I could only have seen the captain and Miss Lilian once more; but no matter, they’ll come, you’ll all come home by and by.”
His voice failed, and he seemed almost gone, when raising his hand, he whispered,
“They are all coming, mother; it is light, all light;” and then with one long tremulous sigh, the ransomed spirit fled, leaving the impress of its happiness.
We buried him in a quiet spot, selected by himself near his childhood’s home, and a plain marble slab, with the inscription, “Our Willie,” marks his resting-place. His drum, a beautiful and richly ornamented one given him by his regiment after the battle of Malvern Hills, and which he kept constantly near him through all his illness, was enclosed in a glass case, and placed at the head of his grave. We shall see him no more on earth, but the memory of the little drummer-boy is still cherished in the hearts of many who loved him here, and who hope to meet him in the better land where “sorrow and parting are sounds unknown.”
CHAPTER V.
HOW THE BOYS CAME HOME.
Capt. Lester was carried from the field of Antietam insensible, and on examination his wounds were pronounced mortal by the physicians, though no means were left untried to preserve a life so valuable to his country. A minié ball had passed through his shoulder to the back of the neck, and at the same time the fragment of a shell struck his ankle, inflicting a severe wound, and splintering the bone. He lay for several days in a half-unconscious state—at times, when partially roused, becoming delirious, then sinking again into a lethargy from which it was difficult to awaken him. A private house had been hastily fitted up for the reception of the wounded, and to this he was taken and made as comfortable as circumstances admitted.