Our Village in War-time

by S. T. Martyn

A few days afterwards he died in the same state of mind, declaring with his latest breath that he asked no favors at the hands of God or man.

Elinor was informed of his death, but not of the circumstances attending it; and thus she was spared the keenest pang of all—that of knowing that he whom she had once loved and trusted, died without hope.

One after another our brave boys came back to us from the hospitals, wounded and disabled, some maimed for life, yet bating no tittle of courage or faith in the ultimate triumph of the good cause. A part of the regiment had reënlisted at the expiration of their term of service, and were with us for a few days, enjoying the sweets of domestic life after their laborious campaigns.

It was during their stay that the death of little Willie occurred, and the drummer-boy was followed to his grave by many of those who knew and loved him as a son or brother in the camp. There were manly tears shed around his grave; and one man exclaimed, as the coffin was lowered from sight,

“There goes the best boy I ever knew, and I don’t believe he has left his like behind him.”

The first snows of winter had fallen on Willie’s grave before Capt. Lester came back to us, with his sister and a lady whom we had loved as Lilian Grey, but were now to know as Mrs. Lester. She was well aware that the prejudices of her uncle and cousin would be shocked by her marriage away from home and in a hospital; so she said nothing about it in her letters, believing that her husband could plead his own cause far better in person than she could do by writing. The event justified her expectations; for though at first Mr. Fenton was surprised and angry, the reasons given by Capt. Lester and the persuasions of his wife soon reconciled him, and even forced him to confess that it was probably the best thing that could have been done under the circumstances. Mrs. Fenton, however, would not consent to part with her niece; so Capt. Lester became an inmate of the family, and soon won the affection of all its members, while his health improved rapidly, though the wound in his ankle was still painful and troublesome.

Soon after Capt. Lester’s return, there came a visitor to the parsonage whose arrival was warmly welcomed by Mabel, though it caused her tears to flow afresh. This was the father of Lieut. Wiley, who had taken the journey for the purpose of becoming acquainted with the bride of his son, now doubly endeared to him by her early widowhood and sorrow.

He was a plain New England farmer, cultivating a few acres of hard soil, from which he managed by unceasing industry to gain a support for his small family; but he was rich in faith, and his benevolence would shame that of many a millionaire. His son had left home while still very young; but he was fondly remembered, and his loss lamented by the aged pair, who had only one daughter left to be the stay of their declining years.

Mr. Wiley went from house to house through the Beach Hill neighborhood, wherever a disabled soldier or a bereaved wife or mother were to be found, often accompanied by Mabel, who in her mourning garb looked so pale and shadowy that we almost expected to see her vanish from our sight. The old man loved to hear and talk of his dead son; but he loved still more to speak of Him who died for sinners, and of the heaven to which his disciples are hastening. It was impossible on such occasions for the most careless to listen unmoved; and tears were often seen to steal down the cheeks of bearded men, though all “unused to the melting mood,” as they heard from his lips the story so often told, yet ever new, of Gethsemane and Calvary.

The visit of Mr. Wiley was a blessing to many souls in Woodbury, and especially to Mabel and Lilian, both of whom made a public profession of faith in Christ the Sabbath before his departure. When he left for home, Mabel and her mother went with him, as our physician recommended a change of scene for the former, whose health was suffering from the shock she had sustained.