|
Martin L. Roof , at 80
|
The following article has been submitted by Skip Barker, the G-G-Grandson of Martin L. Roof, Co. A., 114th O.V.I.
A Night on the Battlefield.
Editor National Tribune: I have slept in many strange places during my three years of Army life. I have slept in the canebreaks and cottonfields of Louisiana; I have slept in orange orchards and under fig trees; I have slept under the beautiful magnolia trees on the hills in the rear of Vicksburg, and in the shade of the palmetto tree, on the coast of Florida; I have slept on the upper decks of steamboats as they piled their way up and down the Mississippi River and its tributary streams; I have slept down in the dark, damp, and gloomy hulls of the steamships as they plowed their way through the tossing and tempestuous waves of the Gulf of Mexico; but, alas; the night that left the most lasting impression on my mind was a night on the battlefield. After the battle was over and the darkness had spread over the face of the earth, exhausted, on account of the mental as well as the physical strain, I spread my blanket down upon the ground and with my knapsack for a pillow I lay down to rest, and while my nostrils were being filled with the stench from off the field my ears were greeted with the cries of the wounded and the groans of the dying round about me. To the right of me lay the husband and father mortally wounded, and as he lay there weltering in his own blood I heard him praying for the wife who would soon be a widow and for the children who would soon be fatherless. On the left lay a young man, the pride of his mother, whose head had been pierced by a bullet, and as he pushed the blood stained locks back from his once-fair brow I heard him cry out in great agony; "My mother; God have mercy on me." Then when I heard the sullen roar of the enemy's guns as they were retreating in the distance I thanked God that the harvest of death for that day at least, was over. My thoughts then turned to home and friends in the far North. I breathed a silent prayer for the aged father, brother, sisters and friends and for my own dear little girl scarcely four years old, whose mother was then sleeping in the silent grave. I was about to close my eyes in sleep when suddenly I saw a glimmer of light in the east; I looked for a moment; it was the pale-faced moon just pushing up her modest face above the horizon. Presently a gentle breeze from the west wafted the clouds of smoke from off the field. I looked again at the moon through those clouds of smoke; her face was a crimson, which made me think that even pale Luna was made to blush when she looked down upon a field of blood and carnage like that.
M. L. Roof,
Co. A., 114th Ohio, Ashville, O.
|