Part 21 (1/2)

When they found he was gone, they started in pursuit, but were not able to overtake him. He made his way to the woods, and finally reached the Union army.

When General Lewis Wallace's division entered the town of Purdy, Hurst accompanied it. He asked General Wallace for a guard, to make an important arrest. His request was granted. He went to the jail, found the jailer, and demanded his keys. The jailer gave them up. Hurst unlocked the cage, and there he found a half-starved slave, who had been put in for no crime, but to keep him from running away to the Union army.

He released the slave and told him to go where he pleased. The colored man could hardly stand, he was so cramped and exhausted by his long confinement and want of food.

”Step in there!” said Hurst to the jailer. The jailer shrunk back.

”Step in there, you scoundrel!” said Hurst, more determinedly.

”You don't mean to put me in there, Hurst!” said the jailer, almost whining.

”Step in, I say, or I'll let daylight through you!” He seized a gun from one of the soldiers and p.r.i.c.ked the jailer a little with the bayonet, to let him know that he was in earnest. The other soldiers fenced him round with a glittering line of sharp steel points. They chuckled, and thought it capital fun.

The jailer stepped in, whining and begging, and saying that he never meant to harm Hurst. Having got him inside, Hurst locked the door, put the key in his pocket, dismissed the soldiers, and went away. He was gone two days, and when he returned, _had lost the key_!

The cage was built of oak logs, and bolted so firmly with iron that it took half a day, with axes, to get the jailer out. He never troubled Hurst again, who joined the Union army as a scout, and did excellent service, for he was well acquainted with the country.

While operations were going on at Island No. 10, I went up the river one day, and visited the hospitals at Mound City and Paducah. In one of the wards a surgeon was dressing the arm of a brave young Irishman, who was very jolly. His arm had been torn by a piece of sh.e.l.l, but he did not mind it much. The surgeon was performing an operation which was painful.

”Does it hurt, Patrick?” he asked.

”Ah! Doctor, ye nadent ask such a question as that; but if ye'll just give me a good drink of whiskey, ye may squeeze it all day long.”

He made up such a comical face that the sick and wounded all around him laughed. It did them good, and Patrick knew it, and so, in the kindness of his heart, he kept on making up faces, and never uttered a word of complaint.

”He is a first-rate patient,” said the surgeon as we pa.s.sed along. ”He keeps up good spirits all the time, and that helps all the rest.”

In another part of the hospital was one of Birges's sharpshooters, who did such excellent service, you remember, at Fort Donelson. He was a brave and n.o.ble boy. There were several kind ladies taking care of the sick. Their presence was like suns.h.i.+ne. Wherever they walked the eyes of the sufferers followed them. One of these ladies thus speaks of little Frankie Bragg:--

”Many will remember him; the boy of fifteen, who fought valiantly at Donelson,--one of the bravest of Birges's sharpshooters, and whose answer to my questioning in regard to joining the army was so well worthy of record.

”'_I joined, because I was so young and strong, and because life would be worth nothing to me unless I offered it for my country!_'”[26]

[Footnote 26: Hospital Incidents, New York Post, October 22, 1863.]

How n.o.ble! There are many strong men who have done nothing for their country, and there are some who enjoy all the blessings of a good government, who are willing to see it destroyed rather than lift a finger to save it. Their names shall go out in oblivion, but little Frankie Bragg shall live forever! His body lies in the hospital ground at Paducah, but the pure patriotism which animated him, and the words he uttered, will never die!

The good lady who took care of him writes:--

”I saw him die. I can never forget the pleading gaze of his violet eyes, the brow from which ringlets of light-brown hair were swept by strange fingers bathed in the death-dew, the desire for some one to care for him, some one to love him in his last hours. I came to his side, and he clasped my hand in his own, fast growing cold and stiff.

”'O, I am going to die, and there is no one to love me,' he said. 'I did not think I was going to die till now; but it can't last long. If my sisters were only here; but I have no friends near me now, and it is so hard!'

”'Frankie,' I said, 'I know it is hard to be away from your relatives, but you are not friendless; I am your friend. Mrs.

S---- and the kind Doctor are your friends, and we will all take care of you. More than this, G.o.d is your friend, and he is nearer to you now than either of us can get. Trust him, my boy. He will help you.'

”A faint smile pa.s.sed over the pale sufferer's features.

”'O, do you think he will?' he asked.