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[380]

Chapter 23: summer of 1864.

The boast of General Grant while the movements described in the preceding chapter were going on, was, that he would “fight it out on that line if it took all summer;” but after the bloody repulses in the Wilderness and at Spottsylvania Courthouse, he thought better of the matter, and edged his way down towards Richmond until he found himself in the position formerly occupied by Gen. McClellan. This position he might have taken without the loss of a man by simply moving his army by water from the Rappahannock to the James or the York, and making his base of operations on either of those rivers. But with a strange pertinacity he fought his way down, losing, it is estimated, not less than 75,000 men.

On Friday, the 3d of June, Grant appeared on the Chickahominy and attempted to cross that stream at the Grape Vine bridge. General Lee drew up his army to oppose him, and here was fought one of the bloodiest battles of the war. The attack began at daybreak. The Federals came on in columns of ten deep, and threw themselves recklessly upon the Confederate works only to be slaughtered in heaps. Standing behind their breastworks, the Confederate soldiers received each assault with the utmost coolness, and suffered but little loss.

At one o'clock the attack ceased and the Federals withdrew, leaving on the field thousands of dead and wounded men. It is asserted that here, as on the 12th of May, many of the Federal soldiers tumbled drunk over the breastworks and were made prisoners, while others, after firing their guns, were too much intoxicated to reload them. General Lee, in riding over the field, [381] declared that the slaughter exceeded that of the 12th of May. The loss of the Confederates was only a few hundreds.

The number of Christian men who freely offered their lives in the battles in all parts of the South can never be fully known until the last day. Before the writer now lies a letter in which are the names of seven ministers of the different Churches, who fell killed or wounded in the battles in Georgia on the line of General Johnston's movement from Dalton to Atlanta. The writer of this letter, Rev. S. M. Cherry, says in reference to the mortality among the ministers who fought in our armies:

A very large proportion of our ministers who have gone into the army as officers or soldiers have been killed or wounded. Is it merely accidental or an intimation that the proper sphere of the preacher is to minister to the spiritual wants of the soldiers, and not voluntarily to shed human blood? Jesus said to a disciple who wielded a sword for the defence of his Saviour. ‘All they that take the sword shall perish with the sword.’ Should not the minister of peace be ‘ pure from the blood of all men,’ and not simply of the soul but also of the body?

Among the most eminent men who buckled on the sword was Bishop Polk, of the Protestant Episcopal Church. He had received a military training at West Point, and felt it to be his duty to offer his services to the cause of the South. Hie commanded a corps in the Army of Tennessee. On the 14th of June he fell instantly killed by a cannon-ball on Pine Mountain, near Marietta, Ga. In company with General Johnston and several other Generals, he rode out to reconnoitre the Federal lines. Reaching the top of the mountain about eleven o'clock

the party dismounted, and all their horses were left below the crown of the knoll. Some one had suggested that so large a group of officers at so exposed a point might attract the fire of the enemy. The suggestion [382] had scarcely been offered before a shell from one of the enemy's batteries, recently planted, about nine hundred yards distant, passed very near them. The group then began to disperse in different directions. General Johnston and Lieutenant-General Polk moved off a few paces together and separated — the former selecting a path lower down the hill, and General Polk proceeded along the cone of the knoll. General Johnston had scarcely parted from General Polk before a second shell from the same battery struck the latter in the chest, and he fell without a groan.

Colonel Gale, of his staff, who observed his fall, ran immediately back to the spot, but before he had reached it the great soul of his loved General had sped beyond the clouds. There was a slight tremor of the lower jaw, but the eyes. were fixed and the pulse had ceased. A three-inch rifle-ball or shell had taken effect in the left arm, above the elbow, crushing it and passing through the body, and also through the right arm just below the shoulder-joint, leaving it in the same mutilated condition as the left, portions of the integuments serving to secure the arms still to the frame. The opening through the chest was indeed a frightful one and, in all probability, from the direction of the missile, involved the heart and lungs in its course. The position of the General, on the slope of Pine Mountain, at the moment of the sad occurrence, accounts for the upward tendency of the shot, as indicated in the course traced on his person.

The enemy's battery by this time began to fire with great rapidity, and the body was borne back on a litter under a heavy fire. Upon examination of the pockets of his coat were found, in that of the left side, his Book of Common Prayer for the service of the P. E. Church, and in the right pocket four copies of the Rev. Dr. Quintard's little work, entitled “ Balm for the Weary and the Wounded.” Upon the fly-leaves of each of these little volumes, indicating for whom they were intended, was [383] inscribed the names respectively of General Joseph E. Johnston, Lieutenant-General Hardee, and Lieutenant-General Hood, “with the compliments of Lieutenant-General Leonidas Polk-June 12th, 1864.” Within the fourth volume was inscribed his own name. All were saturated with the blood which flowed from the wound.

Of many Christians who fell and died on the field of battle no record of their dying testimony for Christ remains; but from others, who survived their wounds a short time, we have assurance that God can make the death of the soldier not only peaceful, but triumphant. Maj. Pickens B. Bird, of Florida, was wounded, and died in a hospital near Richmond. When ordered to Virginia he said: “I never expect to see home again.” In the first fight he engaged in after reaching the lines near Richmond he fell mortally wounded. When told that he must die, he said: “But for leaving my wife and children, I should not feel sad at the prospect of dying. There is no cloud,” he said, “between me and God now.” A little while before he died he tried to sing, “Jesus can make a dying bed,” &c., but his strength failed him. Resting a few moments, he said: “Jesus can make a dying bed feel soft as downy pillows are.”

The constant movements of the armies in all sections of the South at this period of the war greatly interfered with the work of the revival; but still the fire burned, and often on the outer lines the most delightful meetings were held in which many gave their hearts to God. A writer from the Army of Tennessee said:

There will be more Christians under the leadership of General Johnston in the next great battle than have ever faced the foe in this army.

And he adds: “Some of the happiest men I have ever seen were in the battle of Resaca.”

A devoted captain said, when advancing to meet the enemy:

“ ‘I believe God will take care of me; but should he [384] see fit to take me I am prepared.’ Another: ‘If I am killed write to my wife, I am prepared — to raise my children ’ in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, ‘ and to meet me in heaven.’ One, while suffering greatly of a wound, said: ‘I am ready to die.’ A noble Tennessean died shouting the praises of God on the gory battle-field. It is thus that many of our devoted soldiers feel and die. May the mantles of these Christian warriors fall upon their companions in arms.”

Along the lines in front of Petersburg, after General Grant had crossed the James and taken position on the south side, the meetings were resumed with great interest and success. “I held a prayer-meeting,” says Rev. G. W. Yarbrough, “in our brigade (Wofford's Georgia) the night after my arrival here, and preached to the same command last Sabbath. It affords me pleasure to report that the revival fire kindled a few months ago in our camps has burned along the march of our victorious troops. Some who shook hands with me at our last sacramental meeting, two night before the second Wilderness battle, have left the shouts of their conquering comrades to join in celebrating a grander triumph. Others remain with their armor buckled about them more tightly than ever to illustrate, amid the increasing hardships and trials of this struggle, the power of our holy religion.”

Rev. A. W. Smith, of the 25th Tennessee regiment, wrote from the lines below Richmond:

We have in progress one of the best revivals I ever saw. Twenty-four have already professed religion and joined the Church, and fifty and sixty mourners are at the altar at every hour's service, and great interest is manifested by all. Brothers Taylor, Godby, and White, of Lexington, Va, Carter's battery, have labored with with great zeal and effect.

Rev. L. R. Redding reported from the lines near Atlanta: “A most gracious revival is in progress in Gist's brigade. [385] We have built a bush-arbor in rear of our line of battle, where we have services twice a day. Up to the present writing (July 18th) twenty-five have joined the Church, and penitents by the score are found nightly at the altar. In other portions of the army chaplains and missionaries report sweeping revivals in progress. Thus, notwithstanding the booming of cannon and bursting of shell, the good work goes bravely on.”

Rev. J. B. McFerrin wrote from Atlanta to the Southern Christian Advocate:

The other day I rode to the line of battle to see the soldiers as they were resting in a shady wood. To my great joy, a young captain whom I had baptized in his infancy approached me and said: “I wish to join the Church, and I wish you to give me a certificate; the Lord has converted me.” I gave him the document with a glad heart. “Now,” said he, “if I fall in battle, let my mother know of this transaction. It will afford her great joy.” Oh, it was good to be there and feel that God was in that place.

Yesterday I baptized Col. T., of Tennessee. He is a lawyer and a statesman, and has been in the army from the beginning of the struggle. He became interested on the subject of religion months ago, sought Christ, found the pearl of great price, united with the Church, was baptized in the name of the Holy Trinity, and now sends home his letter to have his name recorded with his wife's on the Church Register, and I trust it is inscribed in the book of life.

Rev. Neil Gillis, writing to the same paper, from camp on the Chattahoochee, said:

I never heard or read of anything like the revival at this place. The conversions were powerful, and some of them very remarkable. One man told me that he was converted at the very hour in which his sister was writing him a letter on her knees praying that he might be saved at that moment. Another, who was a backslider, [386] said to me at the altar that his case was hopeless. I tried to encourage him; discovered hope spring up in his countenance; then commenced to repeat such promises in the Scriptures as I could remember, and while I repeated: ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved,’ he bounded to his feet and began to point others to the Cross with most remarkable success.

Not only in the army at home did our soldiers manifest the deepest interest in religion, but even in the dreary prisons of the North they prayed for and received the Divine blessing. An officer at Johnson's Island writes to the Southern Presbyterian:

This is the last quarter of a long, long twelve-months' confinement. I try to pass my time as profitably as I can. We have preaching regularly every Sabbath, prayer-meetings two or three times a week, and worship in my room every night. We also have a Young Men's Christian Association, Masonic meetings, etc. I attend all of these and fill out the rest of my time by reading the Bible. We have had some precious religious times. There have been about one hundred conversions; colonels, majors, captains, and lieutenants, being among the number.

A lieutenant writes thus: “I am glad to state that I am a better man than when you saw me last. There are about two thousand officers here, and I never have seen so great a change in the morals of any set of men as has been here in the last four months.”

The incidents of the campaign for this season are rich in spiritual fruits. In hospital and on the open field the Christian soldiers met death bravely. Said a young Kentuckian to a minister who asked him, “Do you think you will recover?” “No,” said he, “tell my brother that I died in a holy cause, and am ready to meet God.” It is now, in times of great peace, a matter of wonder how men could calmly worship under the fire of formidable batteries. “Late one afternoon,” says Rev. C. W. [387] Miller, writing of the scenes on the retreat from Dalton, “the firing along the line had lulled, and the writer called the brigade together for worship. A chapter from the Holy Book had been read, a song sung, and several fervent prayers offered. Presently, while a soldier was praying, and all were devoutly kneeling before God, a distant report as of the discharge of artillery was heard; then in an instant whirr, whirr, whirr-boom! went a 32-pound shell just above our heads, and buried its fragments in the hillside a little beyond us. But the ‘devout soldier’ prayed on. Another and another shell shrieked above us, but the prayer was regularly finished, the preacher pronounced the benediction, and the men went to their casemates, as they called their holes in the ground. I have related this incident to show you how indifferent men become to danger under the indurating influence of war.”

It is a pleasing fact to remember that the Federal prisoners were not neglected by our faithful ministers.

“We have seen,” says an eye witness, “a group of wounded Federal soldiers, with broken arms, shattered legs, and bleeding sides, solemnly engaged in prayer, the missionary leading their devotions; and while he invoked God's mercy the big tear would glisten in the eye or roll down the bronzed cheek. Then we exclaimed,-- ‘It is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners: and that God is no respecter of persons.’ Thank God for a gospel that offers salvation to every son of Adam.”

It is even now a source of pleasure to recall the scenes in war-days when the eager men gathered to hear the Word. A chaplain thus describes a scene in which he was the chief actor:

Under the shadow of one of those beautiful forests of oak (alas! they have all been destroyed) that surrounded the little village, in silence and solemnity the soldiers gathered together. Generally, they waited until [388] I had chosen my position; and then, without any formality, but without the slightest levity, they took their seats on their oil-cloths or blankets, against the trees, on projecting roots or rude stools, or on anything that would be a protection from the damp earth — some even taking off their coats or hats to sit on. Nor did they sit as in churches at home (for surely that was a church and a fit temple likewise), only in front of the speaker; but crowding near him and all around him, and near one another, they seemed to think that there was influence and warmth in contact, and that the words of the speaker would become cold were they at any distance. My gravity was very nearly upset, my lips twitched, when a kind-hearted brother (I hope he will excuse this) spoke quite authoritatively to his comrades, ‘ Stand back, boys, give the young man walking room; he can't shout.’ Not being one of the ‘shouting’ sort, I didn't need perhaps as much space; but I was always obliged for ‘walking room.’

Let not the skeptical reader think that the religion of such worshippers was without depth and power. Many of them were, it is true, plain, unlettered men, but in sincerity and faith they have hardly ever been surpassed. “Can I do anything for you?” said a missionary, kneeling by a dying soldier. “Yes; write to my wife,” was the feeble reply. “What shall I write?” In a whisper he replied, “Say to my dear wife it's all right.” The words were written Gown. “What more shall I write?” said the minister. “Nothing else-all's right,” and then he died. He was converted in the army.

Out in an old stable lay a number of wounded men. Among them was a man whose head was frosted with years. The minister approached him and said, “My friend, you are an old man. Do you enjoy the comforts of religion?” “O yes,” replied the poor fellow, “I have been a member of the Church for 25 years. Often in our little church at home the minister told us that religion [389] was good under all circumstances, and now I have found his words true, for even here in this old stable, with my leg amputated and surrounded by the dead and dying, I am just as happy as I can be-religion is good even here, and I want you to tell the people so when you preach to them.”

The following touching scene is described by Rev. J. A. Parker, who labored as an army chaplain. He was conveying a number of wounded soldiers by water to the hospitals at Mobile:

At two o'clock in the morning we started in a skiff for the city. The wind was high and the water rough. Poor wounded men, how they suffered the pangs of thirst, with no water save that from the bay. A young soldier, whom I had premised to convey to the city, lay senseless the most of the morning. About midday he roused up and asked, ‘How far?’ ‘In sight of the city,’ said I. After lying quiet awhile, he asked why it was so dark. I told him it was not dark — that it was light and I could see the city, and that we would soon relieve him of the rough sailing and make him comfortable. I then left him and went to the other end of the boat to use an oar, for we were drifting. He soon asked for the preacher, and I returned to him. He called for water, which I dipped in a tin-cup from the bay and gave him. After drinking, he asked to be sheltered from the sun. This we could not do, but we encouraged him by our approach to the city. ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘shut my eyes and let me go to the city. I am going home-almost there.’ He closed his eyes and died.

A writer in the Christian Sun gives a touching scene in which a Christian soldier met his death:

On the lines near Petersburg, Va., on a beautiful morning in the last days of summer, a young soldier, connected with a Georgia regiment, might have been seen seated in a ravine, and at the mouth of a bomb-proof, which had been made in the side of the hill, reading [390] carefully the word of God. This young man had come to be regarded the model man of the regiment for morality and devout piety. He entered the army at the commencement of the war a Christian, and maintained his reputation untarnished through all the immoralities of camp-life, daily becoming more devout and more Christ-like in his spirit and conversation. He was, in person, well formed, yet not very robust, his hair rather dark, and his eyes a deep blue, with a very light beard. In manners he was as gentle as a woman, yet his comrades assured me that in battle he was as bold as a lion and as brave as the bravest. The Bible from which he was reading on the morning referred to was the gift of a pious mother on entering the service. He had carefully preserved it through all the weary marches and hard-fought battles in which his regiment had participated, and a mother's prayers had followed with it wherever he went. While intently reading, and so absorbed as not even to hear for the moment the bursting mortar-shells around him, a comrade came running to tell him that a special friend of his own company had been killed in the trenches by the bursting of a shell among them. He closed his Bible, and clenching it in his hand, ran to the place where his friend lay dead. Just as he arrived at the spot, and his eyes rested on the mangled form, a parrot-shell came whizzing, and exploding in the immediate vicinity, he was struck on the head and instantly killed. He fell on the body of his lifeless comrade, still clasping his Bible, even in death holding on to the Word of Life.

The amazing labor of the armies in Virginia and Georgia, the two most important points of military operations at this period, did not abate the religious ardor of the soldiers. In a letter from the lines in front of Atlanta the Rev. S. Ai. Clerry gives an account of the scenes he witnessed on a Sabbath day:

At 9 A. M. I reached the Missouri brigade of Gen. [391] French's division, and found the soldiers gathering for prayer-meeting. At 11 o'clock brother Bounds was to preach the funeral sermon of Rev. Mr. Manning, a pious young minister of the Cumberland Presbyterian Church, recently appointed chaplain of a Missouri regiment, but before he received his commission he was killed in battle while in the discharge of his duties as an officer of the line. As I approached Sears' Mississippi brigade I saw a group of soldiers, with uncovered heads, bowing beside a row of new-made graves, two of which contained the forms of comrades now being consigned to the cold clay. Chaplain Lattimore was engaged in prayer. I joined in the solemn burial services of the soldiers slain in the strife of Saturday.

Next he came to the brigades of Ector, McNair, and Gholson:

I looked around for a suitable place for preaching. A central point to the three commands was selected, but not a single tree or shrub was to be found to screen us from the intense heat of an August sun. Soon the singing collected a large congregation of attentive soldiers. A caisson served for a pulpit, white the cannon, open-mouthed, stood in front of the foe. We were in full range and in open view of the enemy, but not a single shell or minnie-ball was heard hissing or hurtling near during the hour's service. The soldiers sat on the ground, beneath the burning sun, listening seriously to the words of life. At the close of the sermon they crowded up to get Testaments and papers. I regretted much that I could only furnish five of the former to a regiment.

“On Friday an intellectual young officer came forward and joined the Church. The day following he was killed in a skirmish with the enemy. During the service in Sears' brigade there was a sharp skirmish in the front of that command, and the pickets were so closely pressed that the officer in command of the brigade sent [392] a reinforcement to their support immediately after he returned from church. A continuous cannonade to the left did not interrupt the service. Strange to see soldiers in the line of trenches, with a sharp fire in their front, and a rapid roar of artillery on their flank, and a shower over head, yet quietly sitting or patiently standing to hear the preaching of the gospel!”

Amidst the scenes Mr. Cherry passed a wounded soldier who called him and said with joy, “I am all right, sir; I thank God for it. For two years I have not seen a dark day. I cannot doubt now. I win meet my old mother in heaven. I am mortally wounded.” “One ball had broken his arm and passed through his lungs-another had passed through his thigh-and yet he lay without uttering a groan, and talked pleasantly with his friends, and was happy in prospect of death.”

On this Sabbath, in one division, eight sermons were preached in full sight of the Federal lines, and even within range of small arms. Among the Missourians who held an exposed position the revival went on with power, and sixty joined the Church during the week.

Let us now for a moment leave these noble Christian soldiers, in their happy meetings under the fire of musketry and cannon, and look in upon their comrades who languished in Northern prisons. We have before us a letter, written from Fort Delaware to the Christian Observer, giving an account of a revival among the Confederate officers there confined. They had in the morning at half-past 9 an “inquirer's prayer-meeting;” at 12 M. “the professor's prayer-meeting, where the Church-members pray for each other, leading the meeting in turn.”

“It was a new business to me,” says the writer,

when my turn came, but you must know I am preparing for the work and must learn. God's help enabled me to get along tolerably well. He always fits the instrument for his work.

We get a mail daily, morning papers at noon, and [393] boxes of nic-nacks come promptly when our friends start them. All the officers here (and there are about 600) seem to be in good health and spirits. The general health of all on the Island is good, considering the number of privates (6,000) confined here. All seem to enjoy themselves; and, altogether, there are worse prisons than Fort Delaware. We have a large lot to play in. We have here in our barracks three ministers-Rev. Dr. Handy, of the Presbyterian Church of Portsmouth, Va.; and Capt. Harris of Georgia and Capt. Samford of Texas, local Methodist preachers. A revival of religion has been in progress for two weeks-17 converts, many backsliders reclaimed, and a refreshing season to old professors, numbering 150 reported names. These are among the results of the revival.

We have looked into Fort Delaware and other Northern prisons, where thousands of Confederates suffered, languished, and died. Let us look into Andersonville, where Federal prisoners felt the horrors of confinement. A writer, who had visited this prison, says:

There were, at the time I left, 28,000 to 30,000 prisoners in the stockade, and, I presume by this time, they have had many added from the front at Atlanta.

The mortality amongst them was very great. I visited the cemetery on Sunday week and they had buried thirty-five on that day, and on Friday before they buried seventy. Up to the time I left I think they had buried near 4,500-at least, so the burial party told me.

I have heard much said about the condition of the prisoners there, and much commiseration expressed for them; but, I failed to see any brutality exhibited towards them. They have the same rations that our brave troops receive; and, as for their being exposed, they are not more so than our own brave men in Northern Georgia and Virginia. The only difference is, that they are confined to a limited space and are restrained in their movements. The whole space of 24 acres is covered by huts [394] they have built — some of blankets, others of old tents, oil-cloths, pine-straw, earth, etc., and some of boards. There is also a sutler appointed by the government, who sells them vegetables, fruits, eggs, or anything else he can procure, except munitions of war and liquor.

The same writer states a remarkable fact connected with the history of this prison, which we do not remember having seen before, and the correctness of which we have no means of confirming:

The Federals,

he says, “have established in the interior of the prison a court of justice, where all criminal offences are tried. The Friday before I arrived there they hanged six of their number, who were tried, found guilty, and condemned by the court to suffer death for their crimes against their fellow-prisoners. They sent to the commandant of the prison for tools and materials to build the scaffold, and the rope to hang them with; and they then proceeded to execute the sentence of the court with all the decorum and solemnity that would have been observed by our own people.”

It is certainly strange that the officers in charge of this prison should have allowed such a court to be established by the prisoners; but in war, which is a dreadful trade, we are met on all sides by scenes that would shock us terribly in times of peace.

In the far Southwest the great revival influence, already noticed by Dr. Kavanaugh, was felt among the soldiers with great power. In two brigades there were over five hundred conversions. The scenes were much like those witnessed sixty or seventy years ago. Dr. K. says in his report

Wicked men come into the congregation, or into the outskirts of it, and are suddenly stricken down and fall to the earth, and remain for hours speechless and apparently unconscious. Some of their friends became alarmed for them and spoke of running for the doctor. But old Bro. Talbott happened to be experienced enough [395] to know something about such cases, and told the bystanders to give themselves no uneasiness, for it would all come out right in the end. Generally they would lie about two hours, and then rise shouting the praises of God their Saviour. There have been several cases of this kind.

“All the conversions are sound, clear, and powerful. There is no such thing as urging the mourner to believe he” has received the blessing; “but each is able to tell, for himself, what great things God has done for him. Conversions take place at all hours through the day and night. Many are converted in the woods-sometimes alone, and sometimes with a friend or two. There is no abatement in the work as yet, but our meetings are kept up to a late hour every night. Off at a little distance you can hear singing, praising, and praying, all going on at various points throughout the two brigades, very much resembling a very large camp-meeting in olden times, when there was much more zeal and power manifested than is now known in like meetings.”

At Atlanta the Confederates, now commanded by Gen. Hood, held that city against the heavy battalions of Gen. Sherman. The fights along the lines were frequent and deadly, but the religious enthusiasm of the soldiers was undiminished.

“They are not afraid of death,” writes a devoted chaplain, A. D. McVoy, “and are ready to die when God calls them.”

Among those brought in wounded from the front lines there were many Christians whose deaths were morally grand.

“I witnessed,” says Mr. McVoy,

the passing away of a Louisianian of Gibson's brigade, 4th La., the other day. Seldom have I seen a stronger Christian faith, a firmer reliance on God, and a clearer assurance of salvation in a dying hour. He was cruelly lacerated by a piece of shell that had ploughed deeply across his right [396] side, and his sufferings were intense and unremitted. Still his mind was fixed upon God. “Chaplain,” said he to me, “I am dying. I have done my duty. I wish I could be spared to see victory secured to my brave comrades, but it is the will of God, and I cheerfully submit. I am suffering a thousand deaths, but when I think upon the sufferings of my Saviour, that he endured ten thousands more than I for the salvation of my soul, my sufferings are nothing.” Then he would fervently pray, and besought me to pray with him, which I did. This comforted him greatly, so that he almost shouted for joy. “Chaplain,” said he, “I have three motherless children in Louisiana, and could I only gaze once more upon them, could I but fold them to my breast, could I but kiss them good-bye, I would die contented; but God's will be done. I commit them into the hands of my Heavenly Father. I want them instructed to know and serve God that they may meet me in heaven.”

One of his companions, who had brought him out of the trenches, was kneeling over him and weeping bitterly. “Chaplain,” said the dying soldier, “this is the best friend I have in the army; pray for him that he may meet me in heaven.”

When asked what word he desired to leave with his company, he said, “Tell them to be better boys. Some of them are reckless and wicked. Tell them to repent, serve God, be good soldiers, and meet me in heaven.”

When asked how he felt in view of death, he said, “I have no fears; all is clear. Jesus died for me; I know he will save me. Blessed be the Lord.” His Colonel passing by, came to his side and said, “Is this you, Dawson? I am sorry to find you so dreadfully wounded?”

“Yes, Colonel, I am dying, but I am going home to heaven. I have tried to do my duty. It is God's will, and I cheerfully give myself up a sacrifice on the altar of my country.”

He then committed himself to God and lingered for [397] some hours, continually praying and praising God, when he died the glorious death of a brave Christian soldier.

Writing further of the glorious work the same faithful laborer says:

Many are joining the Church. While exhorting a large group of soldiers a few nights since to come to Christ a young man rushed forward and threw his arms around my neck, crying out, “I have found Jesus, I have found Jesus! Oh, how good my Saviour is! Bless the Lord, O my soul!” This was a very affecting scene, and induced many to think seriously concerning their souls.

Thus the work of God is going on amid the cannon's roar, the fatiguing monotony of the trenches, and the heroic movements of the picket line. Religion is infusing a spirit of fortitude, endurance, and determination, into the hearts of the soldiers that no hardship, no suffering, can undermine or break down.

Bishop Lay, of the P. E. Church, in a letter to a relative in Charleston, S. C., describes a scene of the deepest interest in the same army. The Bishop was earnestly laboring as a missionary in the Georgia army. He says:

Yesterday, in Strahl's brigade, I preached and confirmed nine persons. Last night we had a very solemn service in Gen. Hood's room, some forty persons, chiefly Generals and Staff Officers, being present. I confirmed Gen. Hood and one of his Aids, Capt. Gordon of Savannah, and a young Lieutenant from Arkansas. The service was animated, the praying good. Shells exploded near by all the time. Gen. Hood, unable to kneel, supported himself on his crutch and staff, and with bowed head received the benediction. Next Sunday I am to administer the communion at headquarters. To-night ten or twelve are to be confirmed in Clayton's division. The enemy there are within two hundred and fifty yards of our line, and the firing is very constant. I fear it may be hard to get the men together. I wish that you [398] could have been present last night, and have seen that company down, all upon bended knee. The reverence was so marked that one could not fail to thank God that he has put such a spirit into the hearts of our leaders.

In the Virginia army now collected in its main strength on the long lines of defence around Richmond and Petersburg, the work of grace was not less powerful than in Georgia and beyond the Mississippi. But near the close of July the usual course of the soldier's life on these lines was broken suddenly by an event terrible even in the midst of war.

For many days the Confederates were impressed with the belief that the Federals were engaged in mining towards their works at certain points, but the exact location of the main operations could not be ascertained. All doubts on the subject were soon put to flight. On Saturday, July 30, about 4 o'clock in the morning, a dull, heavy sound was heard, followed by several others similar, and at the same moment the Federal batteries opened a furious cannonade. It was soon found that a mine had been sprung under one of the salients on our lines and not far from the centre of the defences.

Orders were sent to Gen. Mahone to cover the threatened point, and that officer moved promptly with his own Virginia brigade, and instructed Saunders' Alabama and Wright's Georgia brigades to follow. On reaching the ground twelve Federal flags were seen waving from that part of our line which had been carried in the explosion, and the whole place swarmed with Federal troops, white and black. As the Confederates formed into line, and were about to move forward, the Federals rushed out for a charge. Our men held their fire until they came quite near, and then poured in such a storm of bullets that the whole mass fell back in disorder. Then the Confederates charged in turn, and, rushing forward, drove the Federals up to and over the breastworks, from the top [399] of which they delivered a plunging fire that completed the confusion of the enemy.

But the bloody work was not done. Only a part of the lost line had been recovered. Saunders' brigade was ordered up to retake the remaining lines; and, after a splendid charge, every inch of lost ground was regained.

“The enemy,” says a writer from the scene, “made but slight resistance to this charge. The chasm caused by the enemy's explosion appears to be about 40 feet in depth, and some 200 feet in circumference, and resembles what one would imagine to have been the effects of a terrible earthquake. Immense boulders of earth were piled up rudely one above the other, and great fragments of bomb-proofs, gun-carriages, limbers, etc., were lying promiscuously in every direction. One man was caught between two boulders near the surface of the ground and literally crushed between them. He still remained in this painful position, with only his head and neck visible, our men not having had the time to extricate him. Life had long been extinct.”

The crater made by the explosion of the mine presented a ghastly spectacle. It was lined with mangled bodies that lay in every conceivable position. The sudden and terrible explosion produced a temporary confusion in the Confederate ranks, and if a heavy column had been pushed through the chasm the result might have been most disastrous; but the prompt and gallant resistance of the Confederates changed the whole aspect of the affair.

The loss of the South was heavy in this battle, and Virginia mourned the death of some of her bravest children. Petersburg sustained a severe loss, as numbers of her best young men were in Mahone's troops; and many a household mourned a hero son who nobly died for his country.

The Federals opened a heavy fire from their siege-guns on the city immediately after the explosion of the mine, [400] and for two hours the shells rained down upon the streets and houses; but in the mercy of God no one was killed. One citizen lost a finger, which was cut off by the fragment of a shell.

This day's work is known in the history of the war as “The battle of the crater.”

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