LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume I, Issue 83, 5 September 1874, Page 4

LITERATURE.

WEDDED IN DEATH. A TALE OP THE LATE AMERICAN WAR. [From Belgravia."] {Continued.') I passed along, as I had been directed, to the furthermost cot, in which I perceived the worn gaunt form of a man half-sitting up and leaning back upon the pillows of his bed. He was gazing anxiously around until his eye caught mine, and I for the first time saw his face. Could it be possible that that gaunt figure was James Burke, whom I had last seen in New York in the pride of health, strength, and youth ? His luxuriant culling brown hair, of which he had been so proud, was cropped close to his head, his once fresh complexion was turned to sallowness, his cheeks were sunken, leaving the cheekbones prominent, and his dark hazel eyes looked unnaturally large and bright with the fever that was consuming him. His nostrils were pinched, and his colorless lips, occasionally drawn aside with a spasm of pain, displayed his still white teeth, and added to the ghastliness of his visage. His breath came short and quick with a gurgliug noise in his throat, and he kept one thin transparent hand pressed upon his breast, as if he were trying to force back the pain that every breath caused. The other hand he freely extended towards mc, and, as I seized the burning fingers in my grasp, and gazed earnestly into his face, I recognised amidst all this wreck the once handsome features of my friend James Burke. ' My poor fellow !' I said. ' Indeed, I am sorry to see you thus.' For some moments he made no reply. He seemed to be collecting his strength to speak. At length he said, with a wan forced smile, every word that he uttered appearing to give him pain : < it—was—kind of you—to come, Marshall, f or —you know—we are foes —now. I—am —a poor prisoner—in an enemy's—country.' ' You knew I would come, Jem,' I replied. 'As to foes or friends, it is but from the mere force of circumstances that I am as I am. And now I am anxiously looking forward to my return home from this unnatural strife, in which I feel no especial interest.' ' I—know —I knew you would come. I was jesting - (jesting in his condition!)—'and—l wish, with all my heart—that—l was—looking forward—to home—for—for Ellen's sake —poor thing.' But why should I feebly endeavor to convey an idea of the forced spasmodic manner of my poor friend's speech, which at the best can only be painful to my readers? What few words he subsequently spoke I will render naturally, leaving the reader to imagine the real style of his utterance. ' You will live to see home yet, my dear fellow,' said I, striving to speak hopefully, though my heart misgave me. ' We shall spend many a happy day together on the dear old soil, talking over old times, when this will be mere matter of perhaps, after all, not altogether painful remembrance.' ' Never, Marshall. No home on earth for me,' he replied. ' I could have wished it, but it is otherwise decreed ; and this—this,' and he pointed feebly to the long row of cots—' this is glory ! The glory I have talked of and dreamed of—to be shot to death like a mangy cur, and be forgotten !' 1 him to be calm and to speak as little as possible, and only of such matters as concerned himself in his present condition. For it was of no use to attempt to disguise the truth from myself. I saw at once that, unless by a miracle, he could never again rise from the cot on which he lay. 'You are right, Marshall,' he gasped forth. ' What matters, after all ? This world is but a fleeting show, you know ; and my days, perhaps my very hours, are numbered. 1 feel it here,' and he pressed his hand tighter to his breast. ' Don't try to deceive me,' he went on. ' I can see in your face the doom that I feel in my heart; I have much to do and to say, and there is little time left to me.' ' How long have you been here, Jem V I inquired. ' Three weeks—three long weeks,' he gasped. ' I was shot in the breast three weeks ago yesterday, and was taken prisoner at Antietam.' t Why did not you send for me before.' ' Only the day before yesterday I heard by chance that you were in Richmond. But don't speak of such matters. I have only time to speak of one thing. It is of Ellen. Ellen will explain all when I am gone.' He had previously mentioned the name of Ellen, and now a sudden thought struck me. I had thought when I first saw the fair face of the young volunteer nurse who appeared to take so much interest in my poor friend that I had seen the face somewhere before. I was now certain that she was the original of the miniature portrait in the locket that James Burke constantly wore in his bosom. I intimated this. ' Right,' he replied. ' But I have no time nor strength to explain now. When I am gone she will tell you all. She knows that I am dying, but she doesn't know nor thiuk that I shall die so soon as I feel that I shall. Listen : Ellen is going to wed me before I am taken away from her, and we must be married quickly—to-morrow or never. 'Twas her wish. 1 tried to dissuade her at first, but she would not hearken to me, and now I am as anxious she. I live only for that. I believe, unless that hope had supported me, I should have been dead —released from pain ere now.' ' What can I do in the matter?' I asked, horrified at the idea of a young lady, such as she whom I had seen and admired, wedding herself, in the fulness of her youth and freshness and beauty, to one who, however fondly she loved him, would be a corpse, at the furthest, within a few days, and would leave her a widow ere yet she was a wife. 'This—this,' he gasped. "All is known. The doctor —the minister. All is arranged,

To-morrow you must must be here to give away the bride. Promise—promise, as you hope for the prayers of a dying man. Promise ! Do not fail me now. "lis the last test of friendship I shall ask of you or receive from you.' He was so eager and earnest, and so strove to impress his words upon me, that he taxed his strength beyond his feeble fast-waning powers, and the dark blood gurgled from his throat and dyed crimson his pale lips, as he sunk back exhausted upon his pillows. I thought all was over, and stood gazing upon him terrified and horror-stricken. But he recovered himself after a few painful gasps, and faintly pressing his fingers against mine, for I still held his hand, he murmured : ' You promise ?' ' I do,' I replied. •Go now. I have spoken too much,' he gasped. 'To-morrow, mind. I shall live till then. All is arranged. Go and see Ellen.' The visiting hour was at an end even as he spoke, for his utterance was so slow and so painful to him that our brief conversation had occupied a long time. I quitted the ward doubtful whether I should find my poor friend living on the morrow, and —God forgive me ! —almost hopeful, since death was so near at hand, and it was certain that no human skill could save his life, that he wouid be released from his pain and misery before the contemplated sacrifice was accomplished. Nay, I hoped that his mind had been wandering, and that his approaching marriage was but a phantasy of his imagination that would not and could not be realised. I w«s met at the door of the ward by the young lady who had been my conductor. ' You have spoken with him ? He has told you ?' she inquired timidly, her voice trembling as she spoke. ' He has talked of strange matters with me, poor fellow,' I replied. ' Your name, I presume, is Ellen — V ' Ellen McDermott, sir,' she replied. ' James has told you of—of—my wish ?' ' My friend has spoken of his approaching marriage. Poor fellow, I thought his mind was wandering.' ' Not so, indeed,' answered the young lady. ' All is arranged—everything. But when he heard that you were in Richmond he insisted that you should be sent for.' 'And you really wish this marriage to take place, Miss McDermott V I could not help putting the question. It seemed to me, as I gazed upon the beautiful girl, an outrage against common sense and propriety—a sacrifice that should be prevented. ' I wish it, sir,' she replied, as haughtily as her lover had been wont to speak in former days, when he deemed that strangers were interfering where they possessed no claim. 'lt was my suggestion, my desire in the first instance.' But proudly as she spoke, and though her bright blue eyes had flashed fire, her spirts and her heart were almost broken, and after a brief pause, in which she vainly strove to suppress her tears, she added in a broken voice : 'He thought you were his best friend. He trusted to you, and now you will forsake him?' ' No.' I replied, 'I have promised to come at this hour to-morrow.' ■Thank you. God bless you, sir!' murmured the poor girl, with a grateful look. ' I must go to him now. They are very—very kind—all of them ; and since it has been known, they permit me to attend upon him throughout the day.' She voluntarily offered me her hand, and, as I took it, the tears fell hot and fast from her eyes. Then disengaging herself, she bowed, and passed into the ward I had just quitted, while I made my way, with a sorrowful heart, out of the gloomy structure beneath the roof of which lingered so much pain and misery. In the courtyard I met the surgeon with whom I had seen the young lady conversing, and with whom I was slightly acquainted. He was a tall raw-boned man, from the back settlements of Arkansas, sufficiently skilful in his rude way, but rough in his manner and language, and uncouth in appearance. During the early period of the war the Federals and Confederates alike were so hard pressed for surgical and medical men to attend to the sick and wounded, that they were glad to accept the services of any one who offered himself ; and since then, some of these men, ignorant and unskilful enough at first have gained so much knowledge through terrible and painful experience, that they are now all that could be desired. I spoke to him of the poor patient in No 7 ward. ' Ah, the Yankee leeftenant you mean,' he replied, ' or I calculate neow he's a Britisher, or an Irishman, which comes to the same thing. Waal, his time's a'most up ; he'll be a gone coon before to-morrow night, onless thar's a mericle worked in his favor. He shouldn't ha' come here, he shouldn't; sarves a Britisher right ef he gits an awk'ard shot when he don't look fur it. What bis'ness had he jinin' the Federals ?' ' He's an old and dear friend of mine, doctor, said I ; ' and if the Britishers, as you call them, have no businees to join the Federals, they certainly have no right either to join the Confederates.' ' That's a boss of another color, stranger, replied the surgeon. ' And ef he's a friend of your'n I'm sorry for him, for Jehoshaphat couldn't save his life. I'm sorry for him, anyheow, fur the sake of that pooty gal that takes on so about him, and that insists upon marryin' on him right off before he slopes. She's anxious to be a widder, she is.' ' You know, then, of this singular arrangement between the young lady and my poor friend ?' ' Yes. I know all about it. She will have it, poor thing. But she muso look sharp, for ef she don't marry him to-morrow, to my thinkin', she won't marry him on this side o' Jordan.' The doctor stalked off as he spoke to attend to some urgent professional duty elsewhere, and I returned to my lodgings to pass the day and night in anxious thought respecting my unfortunate, unhappy friend, and indread anticipation of the awful ceremonial in which I had solemnly pledged myself to take a prominent part on the morrow. I passed the day pacing restlessly to and fro in my room, and sleep scarcely visited my eyelids during the night. When I did slumber for a few moments my dreams were horrible. May heaven pardon me if I have sinned in so doing ! But in spite of my true affection for my poor suffering friend, whose gaunt form and haggard sunken features were ever present to my imagination throughout the silent watches of the night, I could not help a secret wish that I should hear on the morrow that he had breathed his last and found relief from his suffering, and thus the sacrifice that I trembled to contemplate might be prevented. To be continued, I