ring words
precious to parting souls. Unshrinkingly he performed his mission to
those who yet lived, then, passing among the dead, lovingly composed
and prepared for decent burial the mutilated bodies. One
burial-service served for all; this was as tenderly rendered as if
each unfortunate had been dear to himself.

This young clergyman was Rev. ---- Green, of Columbia, S.C., a near
relative of the eminent divine and inspired patriot, Dr. B.M. Palmer,
now of New Orleans.

Few patients were sent to Fort Valley. Upon recovering from the
effects of the railroad accident, my husband again left for his
command. Growing dissatisfied, I applied to Dr. Stout for a position
nearer the front. Not receiving a satisfactory reply, went to Macon,
where for a few weeks I remained at one of the hospitals, but still
felt that I was losing time, and doing very little good. In November I
was offered a position in a tent-hospital near the front, which I
eagerly accepted, little dreaming (God help me!) of the hardship and
disappointment which awaited me.

CHAPTER VI.

OMEGA.

The detention of the railroad-train belated us, and when we (I and my
servant) were left at a small station in Mississippi, night had
fallen. The light from a little fire of pine knots, built on the
ground outside, while illuminating the rough depot and platform, left
the country beyond in deeper darkness. It was bitterly cold. The
driver of the ambulance informed me, we had "quite a piece to ride
yet." A moment later, Dr. Beatty rode up on horseback, welcomed me
pleasantly, waiting to see me safely stowed away in the ambulance. The
ride to camp was dismal. I continued to shiver with cold; my heart
grew heavy as lead, and yearned sadly for a sight of the pleasant
faces, the sound of the kindly voices, to which I had been so long
accustomed. At last a turn in the road brought us in sight of the
numberless fires of a large camp. It was a bright scene, though, far
from gay. The few men who crouched by the fires were not roistering,
rollicking soldiers, but pale shadows, holding their thin hands over
the blaze which scorched their faces, while their thinly-covered backs
were exposed to a cold so intense that it congealed the sap in the
farthest end of the log on which they sat. Driving in among these, up
an "avenue" bordered on either side by rows of white tents, the
ambulance drew up at last before the door of my "quarters,"--a rough
cabin built of logs. Th