1975. DEATH, A Conqueror.—
When you
and I look back on the country over which
we have passed, what a field of slaughter does
it exhibit! Where are all the friends who
entered it with us, under all the inspring energies
of health and hope? As if pursued by
the havoc of war, they are strewed by the way,
some earlier, some later, and scarce a few
stragglers remain to count the numbers fallen,
and to mark yet, by their own fall, the last
footsteps of their party. Is it a desirable thing
to bear up through the heat of the action, to
witness the death of all our companions,
and merely to be the last victim? I doubt it.
We have, however, the traveller's consolation.
Every step shortens the distance we have to
go; the end of our journey is in sight, the
bed wherein we are to rest, and to rise in the
midst of the friends we have lost.—
To John Page. Washington ed. iv, 547.
(W.
1804)
