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10 THE GRAY AND THE BLUE I earnestly invite the assistance of the surviving chaplains and soldiers of both armies to furnish The Golden Age with incidents and other informa tion through -which the people of our country may learn that the religious life of the men who offered up themselves in battle was not neglected. The subject, by its very nature, is exhaustible. Within a year the story can be told. Soldiers who were witnesses are passing away. I beg that this call fcr assistance may be heeded in the spirit in which it is given. Clement A. Evans. * Rev. George G. Smith, D.D. Confederate Army Officer. Not enough has been written in the story of “Out War,” concerning the heroic lives of the brave and true chaplains of the armies. They served with fidelity where glory was truly won, but not by “he roic charging to the cannon’s mouth.” General Or ders applicable to them commonly suggested that the chaplain’s place in battle was not in the charge with gun or sabre, but although on the firing-line where men were falling, it was with the litters and am bulances -which bore away the wounded; or in the hospitals where the sick, the wounded, and the dy ing, needed the ministrations of religion. Thus the chaplains saw at close range the horrors of battle without having the exhilarating influence of con flicts between armies of brave men for mastery of the field. A stort story of one chaplain’s career will illustrate. Rev. George G. Smith, now •well known especially in the South as minister and author, was merely beginning his ministry when the war between the sections commenced. Os course he was young, for he, still lives, and certainly he was patriotic to fer vency when he went to war. His congregations felt as he did. His young men enlisted at once and their fathers and mothers believe that a religious coun sellor was as important as a fighting captain. So we find him in 1861, chaplain of Phillip’s Legion hurry ing to join General Floyd under General Robert E. Lee at Big Sewell Mountain, in West Virginia. Every soldier, whether Confederate or Union, who braved the hardships of the West Virginia winter campaign in 1861-’62, knows by his own experience, that this young Georgia minister soon found that his “lines had not fallen in pleasant places.” Imme diately after the arrival of the regiment on the field of war the September rains came down inces santly, the roads soon forbade the soldiers to run with patience the race set before them either in ad vance or in retreat; the snows fell thick, fast, and sometimes in furious blast; the tents were few or none; the fighting was mainly of that trying skirm ish kind where men are wounded without warning, or captured unawares in thickets, mountains, or down by the river side—or sometimes killed, to be buried where they fell. After this manner it was that the boys in gray and the boys in blue helped the wintry weather to make each other wholly uncom fortable, and rendered thickets, mountains and river sides very unsafe places for any American with a gun. Chaplain Smith was with the hoys of his side and sort in all these trying circumstances which rudely hazed the young military novitiate. No officer or soldier was busier than this earnest religious minister. The men who were made sick must be cared for by the surgeon, and the chaplain was the surgeon’s mate. Men died and he was offi cer-in-chief at the burial. There could be now and then a soldier’s religious service, and he was glad to lead. On Sundays he always preached whenever he could. Along the march and at the bivonac he had opportunity to cheer, to console and counsel. There were anxious mothers, wives and fathers yearning for letters from the front, and he helped in sending the news homeward. Sometimes the infor mation was of that ever-feared kind, which came IN PRAYER AND SONG By General Clement A. Evans. The Golden Age for March 8, 1906. at length and threw families and friends into the sorrow which war always brings to human hearts. One incident will serve to portray multitudes of the same sort. At Culpepper the regiment was in line in the woods subjected to a shelling, when Chaplan Smith was called to pray with a dying soldier. On going to the spot he found private Mc- Afee—both legs torn away by a shell. Upon the bloody ground where the gallant soldier was soon to die, and amidst the sights and sounds of bat tle strife, the Chaplain knelt beside his comrade and there together they prayed to God. “What shall I write to your wife?” the Chaplain said. The soldier’s last thought was first of wife and home, and then of God and Heaven. “Tell her to meet me in Heaven,” was his reply. In a little while he died, and the tidings went to the young wife at home. This is one event in the simple annals of the private soldier occurring over and over through four years of war and recorded alone in the loving memory of a stricken people. History delights to preserve certain grand dying words of heroes, and so, indeed, should they be told. But was there a grander death than that of Private McAfee? Was there any last word more glorious than his? There cannot be a. more affecting scene than this, where in a Chaplain prays and a brave young patriot dies on the battle field with God, home, wife and Heaven filling all his thoughts and heart! Chaplain Smith returned to Georgia twice on missions of importance. During the severe cam paign in West Virginia, he saw the increasing need of medical supplies and clothing, and on present ing the matter to the colonel, was sent to Georgia to visit the counties from which the soldiers had enlisted to procure these supplies. This was be fore the Georgia Relief Association had been organ ized by the legislature, and his mission being ful filled, the abundant supplies were forwarded through the Secretary of State. After several months of further service in Virginia, the regi ment was ordered to the threatened coast of South Carolina, and once more the Chaplain was fur loughed home to attend his Annual Conference and to take $5,000.00, Confederate money not yet greatly depreciated, to the families of his com rades. This money was a large part of the “pay” which the soldiers had saved, and was sent by them for their families. Chaplain 'Smith started with the treasure in his belt, and after spending the first night with a farmer near the roadside, he rode briskly on his -way toward the station, and was overtaken by Dr. Phillips, armed with a Car bine and pistols. “Chaplain,” said the doctor, “I never was so glad to see a man in my life. Last night, after you left me, one of the men deserted with his gun, stole a horse and started on your trail. He aims to murder and rob you, and the General has ordered me to overtake you and escort you to Princeton. You must go to Wytheville and not to Dublin, as you intended.” This was a timely rescue from murder and robbery, for doubtless the deserter would have committed both crimes to get the mon ey in the belt. A few months of agreeable service was spent on the coast by the regiment, after which it returned to the Army in Virginia and there the Chaplain had a “close call” at Thorough Gap, while his regiment was in the deep road cut. The federal shells were flying threateningly near, but as the aim was too high, the greater number passed over the Confederate line. Sometimes in battle these shells do extraordinary things, seemingly, as pranks. One of this kind went to pieces in the air, and a wandering fragment came whistling- down, bounding and rebounding awhile on the ground, and then dropped onto the Chaplain’s breast as harmless as if it had been laid there by a prank ish child. Now, as Dr. Smith had not yet ap- peared to be a hard-hearted man who could bear a blow from a shell, it is supposed that this stray slugger intended to show his respect for the Chap lain’s office, and at the same time remind him that the line of battle is the place of danger. After the hint received at Thorough Gap, Broth er Smith went with the Gray Legions of Lee into Maryland, and, like the other footmen, waded the Potomac. Reaching South Mountain, the fighting was soon on in earnest amongst those of the two armies who had arrived, for, as usual, “to meet was to fight.” Chaplain Smith was at his post in command of the Ambulance Corps necessarily close up to the line. Seeing a regiment making a false move and imperiling itself, he hurried to the Colonel with the information. In a few minutes the Chaplain was shot down in the line of duty. The wound was apparently mortal. That Sunday night he thought he would not see the next sunrise. But he has lived forty-two years since then in useful ness of a high order, with the honor and love of his people. Kind friends in Baltimore nursed him until he could go safely home, and as his wounds disabled him, he resigned his commission. With wonderful nerve he has borne the privation of his physical power by paralysis and the fretting of his pain, but meantime strong in active ministerial work. He has written books which people read and preserve, and though more fragile now, he does not cease from his labors. Dr. Smith, the Chaplain, deserves an honored place in The Golden Age. To a Dew Drop. Little dew-drop in the sunlight on the honeysuckle vine, Sparkle forth like orient jewels in their glory never shine! Gladden all about thee, dew-drop, on thy silver glinted leaf, From the share put out the darkness, from the heart shine out the grief. Let thy transient, frail existence Fill with glory from the distance. Living spirit, fleet sojourner in this fragile house of clay, No earth-fettered gem forever, shining here but for to-day, Fill thee, thrill thee with the sunshine, let the floods of glory roll Where the shadows hang about, —from heart to heart, from soul to soul. Let thy transient, frail existence Catch the glory from the distance. R. I. L. Tolerance. That was a suggestive remark made by little “ Sara Crewe” when she found her doll with its changeless face and painted smile an unsatisfying companion. It had no response for either her joys or griefs but that same waxen smile, but she forgave and loved it still because she thought the poor thing was “doing her sawdust best. ’ ’ The same patient charity might be wisely cultivated by many of us who mourn because we are surrounded by those who are so slow to understand or sympathize. We must take our friends as we find them, love them as they are or not at all, and not expect to remake them. Human ity has its limitations that we can not always under stand. Even when people disappoint us most they may be doing their “sawdust best,” and it is only that with any of us.—Christian Observer. <r A man is worthless unless he has in him a lofty devotion to an ideal, and he is worthless, also, un less he strives to realize this ideal by practical methods.—Roosevelt. ■ —Uli Mil , No man is good for anything who has not learned the easy, prompt, cheerful submission of his will to rightful authority.—Washington Gladden,