William W. Bennett, A narrative of the great revival which prevailed in the Southern armies during the late Civil War

One day, in making his usual visitations, Dr. McCabe called in at the Maryland hospital, Richmond, and in making his rounds, was attracted to the bed of a young and delicate boy, suffering from the effects of protracted fever. The little fellow had seen only fourteen summers, and his thin, pale face bore marks of disease and suffering. The following occurred, as reported by the chaplain:

“ How old are you, my son?” said the reverend gentleman.

“I was fourteen my last birthday.”

“Why, that is very young to be in the army?”

“Yes, sir; but I thought it my duty.”

“Where are you from?”

“Mississippi, sir.”

“What is your name?”

“ Dwight Sherwood.”

“Why, that is a Northern name.”

“ Yes, sir; my father was a Northern man, but he has lived in the South for many years, and is a good Southern man.”

“ And your mother, where is she?”

His little thin lip quivered, as he said with an effort to suppress emotion, “ She is dead.”

“ Well, my son, you are very young, and you are very sick. You are not able to endure the fatigues of a campaign, and if you get better, you had better return home, hadn't you?”

The boy turned his large, eloquent eye upon his interrogator, and firmly, but modestly, replied, as a slight flush passed over his pale, expressive face, “Not until the war is over.”

“Why, what can you do, you are so young and so delicate?”

“ I am a marker, sir, and I hope soon to be up and in the field again. I think it my duty.”

“Well, you ought to try and be a good boy, to avoid ”