"
"Softly, softly; handle me tenderly," replied the lieutenant. "No, there
is a brave fellow still nearer than myself, and who he can be I know
not. He rushed out of our smoke, near my platoon, to make a prisoner or
some such thing, but, poor fellow, he never came back; there he lies
just over the hillock. I have spoken to him several times, but I fancy
he is past answering."
Dunwoodie went to the spot, and to his astonishment beheld the aged
stranger.
"It is the old man who knew my mother!" cried the youth. "For her sake
he shall have honorable burial; lift him, and let him be carried in; his
bones shall rest on native soil."
The men approached to obey. He was lying on his back, with his face
exposed to the glaring light of the fusee; his eyes were closed, as if
in slumber; his lips, sunken with years, were slightly moved from their
natural position, but it seemed more like a smile than a convulsion
which had caused the change. A soldier's musket lay near him; his hands
were pressed upon his breast, and one of them contained a substance that
glittered like silver. Dunwoodie stooped, and removing the limbs,
perceived the place where the bullet had found a passage to his heart.
The subject of his last care was a tin box, through which the fatal lead
had gone; and the dying moments of the old man must have passed in
drawing it from his bosom.
Pages:
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636