hide Matching Documents

The documents where this entity occurs most often are shown below. Click on a document to open it.

Document Max. Freq Min. Freq
C. Edwards Lester, Life and public services of Charles Sumner: Born Jan. 6, 1811. Died March 11, 1874. 4 0 Browse Search
View all matching documents...

Browsing named entities in C. Edwards Lester, Life and public services of Charles Sumner: Born Jan. 6, 1811. Died March 11, 1874.. You can also browse the collection for C. P. Dunster or search for C. P. Dunster in all documents.

Your search returned 2 results in 2 document sections:

C. Edwards Lester, Life and public services of Charles Sumner: Born Jan. 6, 1811. Died March 11, 1874., Section Eighth: the war of the Rebellion. (search)
s if trying to remember. After a low, sardonic laugh, he continued: I plead with him; I told him they'd be lonely at the old home in Illinois. A wife and child are pleasanter than a tomb, I said. He laughed at that. We had to leave him; and what a sight it was! The rottenness of the grave, and the vitality of a strong man, joined in a terrific grapple on a hospital bed. Life, with the full pulse of five-and-twenty years, had marshalled all its forces, and been defeated. His name was C. P. Dunster, of Illinois. A noble young fellow in the Douglass Hospital had been injured by the passage of a shell near his head. Shortly after, a solid shot carried away his left arm. He was well treated on the field, and sent to Washington for recovery. Here, the effect of the concussion of that screaming shell, began to show itself on the brain. He became delirious. Watching by him one night, I took down some of his strange ravings:—No! I won't go home till the Union is safe. I'd rather
s if trying to remember. After a low, sardonic laugh, he continued: I plead with him; I told him they'd be lonely at the old home in Illinois. A wife and child are pleasanter than a tomb, I said. He laughed at that. We had to leave him; and what a sight it was! The rottenness of the grave, and the vitality of a strong man, joined in a terrific grapple on a hospital bed. Life, with the full pulse of five-and-twenty years, had marshalled all its forces, and been defeated. His name was C. P. Dunster, of Illinois. A noble young fellow in the Douglass Hospital had been injured by the passage of a shell near his head. Shortly after, a solid shot carried away his left arm. He was well treated on the field, and sent to Washington for recovery. Here, the effect of the concussion of that screaming shell, began to show itself on the brain. He became delirious. Watching by him one night, I took down some of his strange ravings:—No! I won't go home till the Union is safe. I'd rather