Heaven is very kind in its way of putting questions to mortals.  We are not abruptly asked to give up all that we most care for, in view of the momentous issues before us.  Perhaps we shall never be asked to give up all, but we have already been called upon to part with much that is dear to us, and should be ready to yield the rest as it is called for.  The time may come when even the cheap public print shall be a burden our means cannot support, and we can only listen in the square that was once the marketplace to the voices of those who proclaim defeat or victory.  Then there will be only our daily food left.  When we have nothing to read and nothing to eat, it will be a favorable moment to offer a compromise.  At present we have all that nature absolutely demands,—­we can live on bread and the newspaper.

MY HUNT AFTER “THE CAPTAIN.”

In the dead of the night which closed upon the bloody field of Antietam, my household was startled from its slumbers by the loud summons of a telegraphic messenger.  The air had been heavy all day with rumors of battle, and thousands and tens of thousands had walked the streets with throbbing hearts, in dread anticipation of the tidings any hour might bring.

We rose hastily, and presently the messenger was admitted.  I took the envelope from his hand, opened it, and read: 

Hagerstown 17th

To__________ H ______

Capt H______ wounded shot through the neck thought not mortal at
Keedysville
William G. Leduc

Through the neck,—­no bullet left in wound.  Windpipe, food-pipe, carotid, jugular, half a dozen smaller, but still formidable vessels, a great braid of nerves, each as big as a lamp-wick, spinal cord,—­ought to kill at once, if at all.  Thought not mortal, or not thought mortal,—­which was it?  The first; that is better than the second would be.—­“Keedysville, a post-office, Washington Co., Maryland.”  Leduc?  Leduc?  Don’t remember that name.  The boy is waiting for his money.  A dollar and thirteen cents.  Has nobody got thirteen cents?  Don’t keep that boy waiting,—­how do we know what messages he has got to carry?

The boy had another message to carry.  It was to the father of Lieutenant-Colonel Wilder Dwight, informing him that his son was grievously wounded in the same battle, and was lying at Boonsborough, a town a few miles this side of Keedysville.  This I learned the next morning from the civil and attentive officials at the Central Telegraph Office.

Calling upon this gentleman, I found that he meant to leave in the quarter past two o’clock train, taking with him Dr. George H. Gay, an accomplished and energetic surgeon, equal to any difficult question or pressing emergency.  I agreed to accompany them, and we met in the cars.  I felt myself peculiarly fortunate in having companions whose society would be a pleasure, whose feelings would harmonize with my own, and whose assistance I might, in case of need, be glad to claim.