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[344] campaign. The army was fated to return to the old camp, though, alas! many a familiar face would be wanting. All went forth with brave hearts. In Temple's journal, on the second day of the march, it is written: ‘I am glad that our campaigning has commenced again. I am tired of camp, and like knocking about the country.’ Three or four days of rapid marching followed. The rest is a painful story, and yet a proud one. It is the story of Temple's death. The night before he was killed, just as the day's weary labor closed, General Hooker congratulated, in orders, the Fifth, Eleventh, and Twelfth corps upon the achievements of the last three days. The enemy must now leave his intrenchments, and fight in the open field, where certain destruction awaited him. As the troops bivouacked for the night, it was whispered that Lee was already on the road, and that to-morrow would bring the long-looked — for battle,— the glorious battle that was to end the war. Sykes's division lay in the advance, upon the straight road between Chancellorsville and Fredericksburg, and every man who wore the white Maltese cross upon his breast lay down to sleep with the thought that he was to be soonest in the strife. No heart beat lighter than Temple's. The bravest in the combat are at such times often silent. Thoughts rush upon the mind that carry the soldier far away. The dread uncertainty of to-morrow, the homesickness that comes upon men, the thought that they never again may meet those whom they fondly love, will make men shrink before a battle, who, in it, are lions. Not so Temple. He did not forget the unutterable suspense with which those who loved him were looking for news, and those at home were dearer to him than all the world besides; but he was a soldier, and his thoughts were chiefly of the day to come,—of the proud triumph the commanding general had promised,—the glories and honors to be won. This was the vein in which he talked to a comrade with whom he shared his blankets, after they had wrapped themselves up together for the night. The day broke. ‘Friday, May 1,—a fine day, the sun a ’
Sever and Francis, 1866.
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