A Slight Glimpse.
— It is Sunday afternoon, middle of summer, hot and oppressive, and
very silent through the Ward. I am taking care of a critical case, now lying in a half lethargy.
Near
where I sit is a suffering rebel, from the Eighth Louisiana; his name is Irving. He has been here a
long time, badly wounded, and lately had his leg amputated. It is not doing very well. Right
opposite me is a sick soldier-boy, laid down with his clothes on, sleeping, looking much wasted,
his pallid face on his arm. I see by the yellow trimming on his jacket that he is a cavalry boy. He
looks so handsome as he sleeps, one must needs go nearer to him. I step softly over and find by
his card that he is named William Cone, of the First Maine Cavalry, and his folks live in
Skowhegan.
