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

“ [136] shadow of his wing!” With a deeper emphasis than we had employed, he repeated-

Cover my defenceless head
With the shadow of thy wing.

It was the crowning triumph. The noble boy, weaker, sank back on his pillow. We said, “You had better now rest.” “No,” said he, “let me talk. I have but a little while to live; let me talk. I wish one thing could be.” “What,” asked we, “do you wish?” “I would like,” he replied, “that my dear mother could come and sit down right here on the bed by me, and I could kiss her once; then I would lie down and die, and they would carry me away to Georgia, and bury me by the side of my sweet little sister-nurse, you knew my sister; she was a good child-and then-ah! then I would go up to heaven, and wait till the rest all came. Oh! would not that be grand! I hoped to live long enough to see father. He will be here to-morrow morning. But never mind, God knows best — it is all right. Adjutant, you know --, of my company? Well, give my love to him. In the battle, as he was marching by my side, “Whitetield,” said he, “I'll stand by you to the death.” Noble fellow! Tell him I'll think of him in eternity.”

The dying soldier grew weaker, his bright eyes closed, and the morning sun threw his golden splendors upon the brow of the sleeping hero. His father arrived by the early train, but too late to see his son alive. We told him the story of his son's death, and recounted more fully than in these pages the touching scene of that memorable night. The old man smiled through his tears, and grew happy with hope in the midst of his grief. “I am satisfied,” said he. “Whitefield died as I would have him die-died for his country; died honorably; and, above all, died in the faith of the gospel. It will comfort his mother. I shall return to my home and praise God for his goodness in the midst of our sorrows.”