AT VALENTANO, 1867.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume IV, Issue 201, 9 February 1877, Page 6

AT VALENTANO, 1867.

(From the ' London Month' for December.) Another stcry yet, Adoodat ? What shall it be, I wonder ? Something true, You say, and something I have seen myself. Why, child, my life has been a quiet one, Not much worth telling in it — only just When I was fighting for the Santo Padre. So, that is what you like the best of all, What you would like to do yourself, to fight And die for Pio Nono ? So he said, Our brave young Captain, and your namesake too, And truly I believe that he was given By God to be a blessing to us all. So brave, so modest, reckless of his life, Something too much, they said j but ever mindful Of all besides ; to do and dare, The last to speak, so that perhaps his words, When they did come, were all the more remembered; And those who knew him best had heard him say It was his wish, if God so pleased, to die, "While young, a soldier's death — he had his wish. We had fought hard that day at Valentano, And all of us, the Captain at our head, Had washed away our sins in Jesu's Blood, And, strengthened by His Body, gone to battle, One had hung back a little, a poor boy Of eighteen summers, from the Captain's country, Franche Comte : " Why you see, mon Capitaine, It is not long since I confessed, and this Will not be much of an afEair, I hope To follow you in many a harder fight Than this will be." '.' No matter about that — Follow me noiv," said our Adeodat, " Both you and I shall fight the better, Leon ; And think, would not your mother tell you so ?" It was enough — the Captain had his way. The work was sharper than young Leon thought, And many a one Avno fell thanked God, I know, That he had made his peace with Him. I saw The Captain raise his arm, and with his sabre He signed the Cross, shouted " In Nomine." No more : the Garibaldians rushed upon us. From where they lay in ambush, and he fell, Pierced by their bayonets. The hospital Was nearly dark that evening when I went For a last look, perhaps for a last word, From our Adeodat. The floor was wet And slippery with blood, the flickering lamp Showed fanes — some such young ones ! — all convulsed With the last agony, and some were calm And fixed for ever in the peace of death, And there were stifled cries of pain, and names Of far-off loved ones, broken words of prayer — Thank God, no curses ; and the white cornette, So dear a sight to dying soldier's eyes. And the priest speaking the absolving words, And bidding the brave Christian soul depart In Jesu's Name. At last I saw the face I sought for. It was very calm and white, And tne dark moustache made it whiter still : LeBS grave by far than when in life. I wished His mother could have seen the smile it wore. « • . • • Once more I passed between the ghastly rows Of dead and dying. I had reached the door Just as a man, wounded to death, was brought Upon a litter. " Lay him down," they said, " He has not many minutes more to live, And he knows no one — let him die in peace." "Leon I mon garcon," but his ears and eyes Were closed to sights and sounds of earth. I knelt And prayed beside him waiting for the end. Then, suddenly, he lifted up his hands, And all his face flashed into light and life, And in a clear loud voice he cried : "Je vois Le Capitaine, mon Capifaine Je viens .'" " Poor lad !" they said, "he raves of Valentano, And his last charge ;" but I— l think not so. I think that he, who on that battle-eve Prayed him so earnestly to follow him TJp to the altar, had for the last time Bade his boy-comrado follow where he led. 'Lhrough the dark \ alley, to the Feet of God.