Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 14.
Reverend J. William Jones, Ed.

‘ [373] Moore's head on to his knees, wiped the blood from his forehead with the cuff of his own tattered shirt sleeve, and kissed the pale face again and again, but very quietly. Moore was evidently dead, and none of us cared to disturb the child. Presently he rose—quiet still, tearless still—gazed down on his dead brother, then around at us, and breathing the saddest sigh I ever heard, said just these words: “Well, I am alone in the world.” The preacher captain instantly sprang forward, and placing his hand on the poor boy's shoulder, said solemnly but cheerfully, ‘No, my child, you are not alone, for the Bible says, ‘when my father and mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up,’ and Allan was both father and mother to you: besides, I'm going take you up, too; you shall sleep under my blanket to-night.’ There was not a dry eye in the group; and when, months afterwards, the whole battalion gathered on a quiet Sabbath evening, on the banks of the Appomattox, to witness a baptism, and C. at the water's edge tenderly handed this child to the officiating minister, and receiving him again when the ceremony was over, threw a blanket about the little shivering form, carried him into the bushes, changed his clothing, and then reappeared carrying the bundle of wet clothes, and he and the child walked away hand in hand to camp—then there were more tears, manly, noble, purifying tears; and I heard the sergeant say, “Faith! the Captain has fulfilled his pledge to that boy.” “My friends, hear the plea of the orphan: ” I am alone in the world. “ How will you answer it? What will you do with it? Will you pass my noble Georgian's pledge to ” take him up? “ Will you keep it as he kept it?” ’

We were blessed with a comparatively quiet Sabbath at Cold Harbor in June, 1864, and the chaplains generally availed themselves of the opportunity to hold frequent services. I preached four times that day to very large and deeply solemn congregations. The service at sundown was especially impressive. It was held on the very ground over which the grand charge of the Confederates was made on the memorable 27th of June, 1862, and was attended by an immense crowd. It was a beautiful Sabbath eve, and all nature seemed to invite to peace and repose. But the firing of the pickets in front, the long rows of stacked muskets, the tattered battle-flags which rippled in the evening breeze, and the very countenances of those stern veterans of an hundred battles, who now gathered to hear the Gospel of Peace on the very ground where, two years before, they had joyfully obeyed the order of their iron chief to ‘sweep the field with the bayonet’—all