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Show THE DYING SOLDIER. Only One Isolated Incident of a New Historic Battlefield. . . Just below the -stone fort at Caney, sitting in the middle Of the pineapple field, I came:upon a pitiful sight a soldier sitting on the ground, holding in his lap the head of a poor fellow who was literally shot to pieces. Qne bullet had gone through his head, another an-other through his lungs and chest, tearing a horrible hole, from which the blood poured at every breath. He was almost dead, and every breath sounded like the -noise made by pouring pour-ing liquid from a bottle, and his comrade com-rade kept the flies from his face, that was clotted with blood 'arid dirt, and waited. Occasinally,. when the poor fellow would groan-a bit louder than usual,, his friend would change the dying dy-ing man's position, but he held him as still as he could. 5 ' r ..-' ; ,- , ."Don't suppose there's a surgeon about?" he Inquired as I stopped. I told-hlm-4he.re was not now, but would ,be -later-- . v , ,, "Well," he remarked, quietly, -"don't suppose they could help him. ' He's 'bout gone, T reckon." "' . - , The breathing became weaker and the gurgling fainter ahd fainter as the grayish pallor began to show through the sweat and dirt and blood, and finally, without a tremor, breathing, ceased. The soldier held his burden a moment until he saw the end had come, and then laid his handkerchief over the ghastly face and gently let slowly got up. "Know him?" I asked. "My brother." he calmly said. And then he filled his lungs with one long, deep sigh and gazed off to the hills for a moment with a far-away, thoughtful look, and I could see that he was looking look-ing into some home and wondering what mother would think. Leslie's Weekly. . |