Then I should say, too, about death in war,
that our feelings and imaginations make a thousand times too much of
the whole matter. Of the many I have seen die, or known of, the past
year, I have not seen or known one who met death with terror. In most
cases I should say it was a welcome relief and release. Yesterday I
spent a good part of the afternoon with a young soldier of seventeen,
Charles Cutter, of Lawrence city, Massachusetts, 1st Massachusetts
Heavy Artillery, Battery M. He was brought to one of the hospitals
mortally wounded in abdomen. Well, I thought to myself, as I sat
looking at him, it ought to be a relief to his folks if they could see
how little he really suffer'd. He lay very placid, in a half lethargy,
with his eyes closed. As it was extremely hot, and I sat a good while
silently fanning him, and wiping the sweat, at length he open'd his
eyes quite wide and clear, and look'd inquiringly around. I said,
"What is it, my boy? Do you want anything?" He answer'd quietly, with
a good-natured smile, "Oh, nothing; I was only looking around to see
who was with me." His mind was somewhat wandering, yet he lay in an
evident peacefulness that sanity and health might have envied. I had
to leave for other engagements. He died, I heard afterward, without
any special agitation, in the course of the night.
_Washington, May 26, '63_.--M., I think something of commencing a
series of lectures, readings, talks, &c., through the cities of the
North, to supply myself with funds for hospital ministrations.
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