McAllister rode off through the snow,
returning after nightfall to report that Father ---- had been called
in another direction, and would not return home until the next day.
Finding the poor fellow, though almost too far gone to articulate,
constantly murmuring words of prayer, I took his prayer-book and read
aloud the "Recommendation of a soul departing," also some of the
preceding prayers of the "Litany for the dying." He faintly responded,
and seemed to die comforted and satisfied. Afterwards I never
hesitated to use the same service in like cases.
The Arkansian was a devoted soldier and a pronounced "rebel." He had
preserved through all vicissitudes a small Confederate flag, made for
him by his little daughter "Annie," now alas torn and shattered. When
he came into the church on that terrible night, although almost
destitute of clothing, he bore the flag safely pinned inside of his
ragged flannel shirt. A few days afterwards I found the poor,
emaciated frame propped up in bed, with a crumpled sheet of paper
spread upon a piece of pine board before him, while, with unaccustomed
hand and unaccustomed brain, he toiled over some verses of poetry
addressed to "Annie.
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