The surgeons in their hurried rounds passed by on the other side, declining to waste their time on one, who in a few short hours would be beyond the reach of human aid. Despairing of any relief from them, he had tied his handkerchief around his chest to staunch the life blood that was ebbing away, and through the long, long lonely night had waited for death or help to come. On the morrow the burial corps had found him still living, and in the hospital he was nursed back to partial health again. The press had placed his name among the dead, and far away in his Southern home loving ones mourned for him until one summer's day his feeble footsteps on the walk and his pallid arms about their necks brought to their hearts a resurrection just as real as that which gladdened Mary and Martha at the tomb of Lazarus. Of his service as a soldier I know no more than I have written. My claim for him is based upon incidents that occurred when the war had ended and his record as a soldier had been made up.
At the date and in the section of which I write the tide of lawlessness that followed in the wake of war had not yet reached its ebb. During my stay a party of toughs came to the village and for a week or more terrorized the place. An effort was made to secure their arrest by civil process, but from lack of nerve in the officers, or failure to secure a posse, the effort failed and the gang was having its own sweet will without let or hindrance.
At this juncture Bob Harrison rode into the village one day from his country home. The lady, at whose boarding house these men were stopping, told him of their misdoings. He was living six miles away and had no personal grievance against them. His wounded lung had never healed and frequent hemorrhages from it had paled the color in his cheeks and weakened a body none too strong when in perfect health. But the appeal stirred the chivalry of his nature and he did not hesitate a moment. He went to them and in vigorous English denounced their conduct as ungentlemanly and dishonorable and told them it must stop.
That afternoon a challenge came to him to meet them at a designated place next morning to answer for the insult he had given. He rode in before breakfast and at the appointed hour he was promptly on hand armed with a brace of pistols and a bowie knife. For three hours he offered satisfaction in any shape they chose to take it, and with any weapon they might select, but his nerve had cowed them and the offer was declined. Then he said to their leader, "You have been making threats against my friend, Charlie P— for some fancied wrong. He has a wife and children to mourn him if he falls. I have none. I stand in his shoes today and any satisfaction you claim from him you can get from me here and now." The bully failed to press his claim. The gang soon left the village and quiet reigned again.
A short time prior to this incident a young lady had made her home in the village—a stranger, without relatives or friends. A citizen of the place taking advantage of her unprotected condition, began to circulate rumors reflecting on her character. These reports reached Bob Harrison's ears. She was bound to him by no ties of blood or special friendship, but her helplessness was claim enough. He called on the author of the slander and asked to see him privately. The man showed him into a room and Bob locked the door and put the key in his pocket. "Now, Mr —," he said, "you have circulated slanders about Miss —. She has no relative here to protect her and I have come to put a stop to it. I don't propose to take any advantage of you. I am going to lay these two pistols on this table. You will stand with your face to that wall and I will stand with my face to this. When I give the word if you can secure a pistol first you are at liberty to shoot. If I get one first, I am going to shoot. You have got to do that or you have got to sit down at this table and sign a "lie bill." The man looked into Bob's eyes a moment and said, "I'll sign the lie bill," and Miss —'s name was safe from slanderous tongues from that day on.
In neither of these cases did he have the slightest personal interest.
His conduct was prompted solely by the chivalry of the man. He impressed me as ordinarily one of the gentlest and mildest mannered of men and yet I believe he would have led a forlorn hope to certain death without a tremor.
With the close of winter I returned to my Georgia home and over the gulf of silence that has intervened since that spring day in '67, no tidings have come to me of my friend, Bob Harrison. If he still lives my heart goes out in tender greeting to him today, and if he sleeps beneath the daisies I trust this little tribute to his worth will cause the sod that lies above him to press none the less lightly over his manly heart.