We have lately had a little fight on the Blackwater. The
Yankees intended to take General Pryor by surprise, but he was wide awake, and
ready to receive and repulse them handsomely. The late democratic majorities at
the North seem to have given the people courage; denunciations are heard
against the despotism of the Government. Gold has gone up to 160, causing a ferment.
Oh that they would “bite and devour one another!” Since I have been so occupied
in nursing B. I have not had as much time for the hospital, but go when I can.
A few days ago, on going there in the morning, I found Miss T. deeply
interested about a soldier who had been brought in the evening before. The
gentleman who accompanied him had found him in the pouring rain, wandering
about the streets, shivering with cold, and utterly unable to tell his own
story. The attendants quickly replaced his wet clothes by dry ones, and put him
into a warm bed; rubbing and warm applications were resorted to, and a surgeon
administered restoratives. Physical reaction took place, but no clearing of the
mind. When soothingly asked about his name, his home, and his regiment, he
would look up and speak incoherently, but no light was thrown on the questions.
He was watched and nursed during the night. His pulse gradually weakened, and
by the break of day he was no more. That morning I found the nameless, homeless
boy on the couch which I had so often seen similarly occupied. The wind had
raised one corner of the sheet, and as I approached to replace it a face was
revealed which riveted me to the spot. It was young, almost boyish, and though
disease and death had made sad ravages, they could not conceal
delicately-carved features, a high, fair forehead, and light hair, which had
been well cared for. He looked like one of gentle blood. All seemed so
mysterious, my heart yearned over him, and my tears fell fast. Father, mother,
sisters, brothers — where are they? The morning papers represented the case,
and called for information. He may have escaped in delirium from one of the
hospitals! That evening, kind, gentle hands placed him in his soldier's coffin,
and he had Christian burial at “Hollywood,” with the lonely word “Stranger”
carved upon the headboard. We trust that the sad story in the papers may meet
some eye of which he had once been the light, for he was surely “Somebody's
Darling.” Sweet lines have been written, of which this sad case reminds me:—
Into a ward of
the whitewashed walls,
Where the dead and dying lay—
Wounded by
bayonets, shells, and balls—
Somebody's darling was borne one day:—
Somebody's
darling I so young and brave,
Wearing yet on his sweet, pale face—
Soon to be hid in
the dust of the grave—
The lingering light of his boyhood's
grace.
Matted and damp
are the curls of gold,
Kissing the snow of that fair young brow;
Pale are the lips
of delicate mould—
Somebody's darling is dying now.
Back from the
beautiful, blue-veined brow,
Brush his wandering waves of gold;
Cross his hand on
his bosom now—
Somebody's darling is still and cold.
Kiss him once for
somebody's sake;
Murmur a prayer soft and low;
One bright curl
from its fair mates take,—
They were somebody's pride, you know
Somebody's hand
hath rested there;
Was it a mother's, soft and white?
Or have the lips
of a sister fair
Been baptized in their waves of light?
God knows best!
He has somebody's love .
Somebody's heart enshrined him there;
Somebody wafted
his name above,
Night and morn, on wings of prayer.
Somebody wept
when he marched away,
Looking so handsome, brave, and grand
Somebody's kiss
on his forehead lay;
Somebody clung to his parting hand.
Somebody's
watching and waiting for him,
Yearning to hold him again to her heart;
And there he lies
with his blue eyes dim,
And the smiling, childlike lips apart.
Tenderly bury the
fair young dead,
Pausing to drop on his grave a tear;
Carve on a wooden
slab o'er his head—
“Somebody's darling slumbers here!”
SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern
Refugee, During the War, p. 188-91
