there in place.
It was nearly morning.
Darkness was struggling with dawn for mastery.
The battle had ceased.
The Confederate moaned and talked to ‘mother,’ and ‘father,’ and ‘little sister,’ and ‘dear old mammy.’
In his delirium he repeated the line of Horace: ‘Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.’
‘When did you read Horace?’
asked the Federal
Rising to a sitting posture, he answered: ‘When I was first a Phi Gam
‘I am a Phi Gam
,’ said the Federal
, with choking voice.
Reaching his trembling hand up to the face of the Federal
, the dying soldier tenderly stroked it for a moment, and then fell back, while his soul went up to God.
The rays of the early morning sun of September 2, 1862, caressing the manful, white face of that dead Confederate, clothed it with beauty not easy to describe.
Wrapping the dead soldier in the gum-blanket, which had protected him, the Federal
scooped out a grave, kissed the forehead and the hair of his brother Phi Gam
, lowered his body into the grave, and tenderly covered it with the soil of Virginia
On November 24, 1863, as Hooker
's men charged and captured Lookout Mountain
, with its beetling crags, the right of the changing line passed over many wounded men lying on the rocky mountain side.
One of these, a fair-haired
-eyed Confederate, looking up into the face of a Federal officer charging by him, said: ‘Please, sir, my left leg is shot and broken, and I need some water.
I am so thirsty, sir; can you give me some water?’
The Federal tore his canteen from his side, handed it to the Confederate
, said to him, ‘Drink, Johnnie, drink,’ at the same time putting a knapsack beneath the Confederate
's head, and moved on with his men.
Immediately after the mountain had been captured, the Federal
went back to the wounded Confederate, found him sleeping, gently wakened him and gave him another canteen of water, which he eagerly and quickly drank, lifted him in his arms, bore him down the side of the mountain, and laid him on the bank of Lookout creek
, at the foot of the mountain.
Calling his brigade surgeon to him, he earnestly requested him to care for, and immediately treat the wounded Confederate.
This the surgeon did. He frankly told the Confederate
that his leg must come off. Looking up into the Federal
officer's face, he said, with tears running down his cheeks, ‘Must I lose my leg, sir?
It is hard; very hard, to lose my leg.’
The Federal, with choked utterance, could only say, ‘Yes.’
The surgeon's lantern (it was evening and somewhat dark) was just then