HOW HE LIVED IN THE MEMORY OF HIS FRIENDS.
"Colonel Parker, mortally wounded and left on the field." So read the
account of the battle in the newspapers,--which told of the disaster to
the army,--how the lines were broken, how the cannon were lost, how Paul
was shot through the breast, how, had it not been for General Thomas, it
would have been a day of utter ruin. Father Surplice went up to the
little old house to break the sad tidings to Paul's mother, for he could
best give comfort and consolation in time of affliction.
"I have sad news," he said. She saw it in his face, even before he
spoke, and knew that something terrible had happened. "A great battle
has been fought, and God has seen fit that your son should die for his
country."
She made no outcry, but the tears glistened in her eyes. She wiped them
away, and calmly replied: "I gave him freely to the country and to God.
I know that he was a dutiful, affectionate son. I am not sorry that I
let him go." Then with clasped hands she looked upward, through her
blinding tears, and thanked God that Paul had been faithful, honest,
true, and good.
The neighbors came in to comfort her, but were surprised to find her so
calm, and to hear her say, "It is well."
It was a gloomy day in New Hope,--in the stores and shops, and in the
school-house, for the children affectionately remembered their old
teacher. When the sexton tolled the bell, they bowed their heads and
wept bitter tears. Mr. Chrome laid down his paint-brush and sat with
folded hands, saying, "I can't work." Colonel Dare dashed a tear from
his eye, and said, "So slavery takes our noblest and best." He walked
down to the little old house and said to Mrs. Parker, "You never shall
want while I have a cent left." Judge Adams came, and with much emotion
asked, "What can I do for you?"
"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in
green pastures, he leadeth me beside the still waters," she replied, so
calmly that the Judge felt that she was the strong one and he the weak.
When Azalia heard the news the rose-bloom faded from her cheeks and her
heart stood still. In imagination she saw Paul lying on the ground, with
blood flowing from his side, enduring dreadful agony, while waiting the
coming of death. She could hardly think of him as gone, never to return,
yet the church-bell was tolling mournfully, gone, gone, gone! She
clasped her hands upon her heart to keep it from bursting.
"Be comforted, my child. He has gone to a better world than this," said
her mother, sympathizing in her sorrow.
Daphne came in, and bathed Azalia's burning brow, kissed her tenderly,
and said, "Don't cry, dear."
Azalia was not weeping,--there were no tears in her eyes. God had not
wiped them all away, but the great and sudden affliction was like the
heat of a fiery furnace. It had dried the fountains. Though her mother
and Daphne were so kind and tender, they could not take away her
heart-ache. It was a weary day. She sat by the window and gazed upon the
wheat-fields, brown and bare, for it was almost October, and the reapers
had gathered the grain. Beyond the fields was the river, shrunk to a
narrow bed by the heats of summer. Dead leaves were floating down the
stream. Like the _Miserere_ which the choir chanted at the funeral of a
sweet young girl before Paul went to the army, was the murmuring of the
water. Beyond the river were green meadows and gardens and orchards,
where dahlias were blooming, and grapes and apples ripening in the
mellow sunshine. She thought of Paul as having passed over the river,
and as walking in the vineyard of the Lord. The summer flowers which she
had planted in her own garden were faded, the stalks were dry, and the
leaves withered. They never would bloom again. Like them, the brightness
of her life had passed away.
Night brought no relief. It seemed as if her heart would break, but she
remembered what Jesus said: "Come unto me and I will give you rest." She
told Him all her grief, asked Him to help her, inasmuch as He was able
to bear the sorrows of all the world. So confiding in Him, she
experienced indescribable peace of mind.
Then in the evening they who walked along the street stopped and
listened by the gate to hear the music which floated out through the
open window, bowing their heads, and in silence wiping away their tears.
It was the music of the "Messiah," which Handel composed. She sung it in
church one Sunday before Paul went to the army, and Father Surplice said
it set him to thinking about the music of heaven; but now to the passers
in the street it was as if Jesus called them, so sweet and tender was
the song.
It was consoling to take from her bureau the letters which Paul had
written, and read again what she had read many times,--to look upon the
laurel-leaf which he plucked in the woods at Donelson, the
locust-blossoms which he gathered at Shiloh, the moss-rose which grew in
a garden at Vicksburg,--to read his noble and manly words of his
determination to do his duty in all things.
"Life is worth nothing," read one of the letters, "unless devoted to
noble ends. I thank God that I live in this age, for there never has
been so great an opportunity to do good. The heroes of all ages, those
who have toiled and suffered to make the world better, are looking down
from the past to see if I am worthy to be of their number. I can see the
millions yet to come beckoning me to do my duty for their sake. They
will judge me. What answer can I give them if I falter?"
Thus in her sorrow Azalia found some comfort in looking at the faded
flowers, and in reflecting that he had not faltered in the hour of
trial, but had proved himself worthy to be numbered with the heroic
dead.