He was but a
youth, and had been shot through the body and mortally wounded. His
parched lips refused to speak, only the earnest eyes begged for water.
Mr. Grey at once handed him the canteen, although he felt almost as if
he would die for want of the water it contained. Eagerly the dying boy
drank. It seemed as if he must take all, there was so very little, but
after a swallow or two he resolutely handed it back, gasping, "God
bless ----. Left you some." When the moon arose, its rays fell upon
the dead young face of the boy in his gory blue, whose last words had
been a blessing upon the wounded, exhausted soldier in gray sitting
beside him.
Later came help,--old men who, starting when the first news of the
battle reached them, had ridden miles guided by the sound of the
firing. Most of them were Marylanders, who had sent forth their sons
to battle for the Confederate cause, and who now sought among the dead
and dying with dim, anxious eyes for the loved faces they yet prayed
not to find. Among them came farmer Dale, whose son was a Confederate
soldier. Eagerly he examined the faces of those who lay upon the
bloody field.
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