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L. P. Brockett, The camp, the battlefield, and the hospital: or, lights and shadows of the great rebellion, The death of John, the West Virginia blacksmith. (search)
ing for its brevity. Old boy, how are you? faltered the one Most through, thank heaven! whispered the other. Can I say or do any thing for you anywheres? Take my things home, and tell them that I did my best. I will! I will! Good-by, Ned. Good-by, John, good-by! They kissed each other, tenderly as women, and so parted, for poor Ned could not stay to see his comrade die. For a little while, there was no sound in the room but the drip of water from a stump or two and John's distNed could not stay to see his comrade die. For a little while, there was no sound in the room but the drip of water from a stump or two and John's distressful gasps, as he slowly breathed his life away. I thought him nearly gone, and had just laid down the fan, believing its help to be no longer needed, when suddenly he rose up in his bed, and cried out with a bitter cry that broke the silence, sharply startling every one with its agonized appeal: For God's sake, give me air! It was the only cry pain or death had wrung from him, the only boon he had asked; and none of us could grant it, for all the airs that blew were useless now. D