SOLDIERS OF THE CROSS

New Zealand Tablet, Volume 31, Issue 44, 31 October 1907, Page 5

SOLDIERS OF THE CROSS

On the fifteenth of October, 1863, writes M. B. G^ in an exchange, I received instructions to proceed" at once to Kichmoad. I .was furnished with the proper credentials to o-Wtain from President Davis the necessary passport to the headquarters of General Bragg, then camped near Chattanooga. I was attached to a London daily, and was hastening to furnish my paper with .the news of the capture of Rosecrans and Burnside. When I reached my destination, Bragg was .in possession of the Missionary Ridge and Lookout Mountain. The Union forces were intrenched in Chattanooga Valley, but practically hemmed in by Bragg's forces. General Bragg remarked that 1 would have very little fighting to report, because the army of the Cumberland was defeated and was then actually starving— in a sta"te of siege— and that its capitulation" was but • a matter of a few days' delay. After a few days we learned that General Grant had arrived in Chattanooga, and had assumed command of the entire force. But Bragg heard . the news with indifference", believing that reinforcements would hasten the capitulation, and by the strangest coincidence Grant shared the same opinion. I soon learned that Bra~gg was a great soldier, but that campaign fua-nished proof that was both a great soldier and a great commander. This was my first experience as correspondent within the Confederate lines, and I took advantage of Bragg's inactivity to study the character of his army. I was attached to Colonel John J. Sullivan's regiment, and, strange to say, though the blood of O'Sullivan Beare flowed through his veins, he was not a Catholic. And I may remark Here that in the Southern army I met hundreds with purely Irish names, but they had all forsaken their failh. This is" unaccountable. I met n-iy countrymen in every condition in. the North, in large' cities, . in the fastnesses of the pine forests, in the plains of Montana, in the depths of the mines,, in the sunny slopes of the Pacific, in danger, ' in temptation, remote from the friendly counsel of co-religionists, away from Ihe help and guidance of their priesthood, an<l yet in all, and through all, they clung with unshaken tenacity to the faith. Why have they become recreant in the Southland ? The camp fires of the Confederate army, as a rule, had no social quality. Perhaps the "determination of the Southern army was too grim to permit them to be sociahle •; they wore always quiet and cheerless when they* were grouped togcWier to rest, while from, the canup lires of the northern "soldiers the night breeze would b,ear the notes of sentimental songs about the 'absent lovers, homes^nd mothers ;■ the weird and passionate tones of ' Kathleen Mavoumeen,' or the defiance ■breathed in . the i ' .Star Spangled Banner.' On November 21, the Colonel informed me that the Catholic chaplain had just arrived, and desired to see me at his tent; that an esteemed friend of my father's was his guest. The chaplain's orderly was in waiting to escort me.' We soon arrived at the tent. Two men were seated inside on a rough bench. One was tall and gaunt, with classical features, and penetrating, -deep blue eyes, and his brown hair fell in profusion over his shoulders. , .He arose to greet me, and I grasped the hand' of fhe poet-priest of the South— Father Ryan. His companion also arose ; he was strong of

stature, wiin eyes whose darkness could flash defiance, and on his lips* scorn had made permanent abode. It was John Mitchell, the Irish patriot. Father Kyan's name, was on the lips of every soldier in Bragg's army, and it was always 'coupled with a benediction. Protestant, infidel, and Jew loved this benevolent oatholic priest. They knew, though he opposed the system of human slavery, he dearly loved the Southland. Mitchell was cold and reserved. He had just offered on' the altar of the cause he espoused his- son. Dinner was announced, but our ears were stunned by the belching of heavy guns from the Federal lines. Father Ryan's orderly came running in with the news thai the Union forces, led by Sheridan, were attacking. The mists that concealed the Federal troops were lifted", and Sheridan at 'the head of his regiment could be plainly seen advancing. The orderly, whose name was Miles Driscoll, had just been intrusted with important despatches, so he hurriedly grasped our hands, and knelt for a bjessing from Father Ryan. Driscoll was not yet twenty-one. Six years before he came from the glen of Aherlow. He had earned the confidence of his colonel by his valor and his kindly nature. Sheridan's charge was irresistible. Bragg's defences melted before him. Neither the steep precipices nor the desperate courage, nor the withering fire from -the Confederate breastworks »could stop him. All the afternoon the, terrible battle raged. The thickets, the slopes, were covered with the dead and dying. At last (iod in his mercy let the curtain of night fall on this horrible scene. When the battle ceased our tent was wffchln the Federal' lines, and we narrowly escaped being captured. I learned that Colonel Sullivan was dangerously wounded. Everything was confusion. The Confederates' confusion approached paralysis. But soon they recovered from their shock Their dead and wounded were within the Federal lines Briend and foe commingTea in death and helplessness! The blood of the grey and blue blended in the crimson pencilling of the southern sward. From, an ambulance squad I learned that Father Ryan was administering to the wounded in the battlefield. I found him. What a ministering angel he washow well His labors gave testimony that the love the Southern soldiers bore for him was deserved ! I approached and grasped his hand. He did not recognize me. He appeared as if he haS lost the human, that the spiritual alone possessed him. ' Uh, Gracious G-od' ! '. *he exclaimed ; ' will not this sacrifice satisfy Thy wraith? Look with pity on 'ihy erring people.' The scene was appalling. But lo ! the strangest of all appeared. Struggling up the crimson crags was a girlish form with a small lantern in one hand. The nun's garb in which she was attired was" nigh torn to shreds and the Crucifix, which was suspended from her girdle' was wet with the blood of the wounded, while she held the sacred emblem in her trembling hands and asked forgiveness of Him whose blood was shed on Calvary for all. She hurriedly approached the priest and sand : '• Oh, Fattier Ryaai, come at once ; there is a soldier in grey dying in yonder thicket, and he is cravling to see you before he dies. Come, for mercy s sake.' The good priest beckoned me to' assist her, and we soon reached the thicket. There lay Miles Driscoll, the orderly, his life-Mood ebbing slowly. Father Ryan,' he muttered faintly, ' I was afraid you would not come. The doctor ordered the ambulance not to wait for me ; that death would claim me soon. Father, send the news to my mother. May God comfort her. Send her this scapular; I got it from my sister Eileen From the convent in Baltimore.' He ceased talking. The -good priest told me to make a note that Miles Driscoll of the glen of Aherlow was killed to-day. As he repeated the name, the nun gave a scream mm n Q r,'<f P^ nn c S fo , rward -. ai "i looked into the wounded roan s eyes and exclairred : ' Oh, Miles, my brother, is i\-7? swooned away. The dying soldier fji^j ° f n r hls , gg b f^. an(i looked with a- dazed and far-off stare at Father Ryan, and faintly said : ' What Answer me, Father Ryan, where is she ? ' The eood 53~ cT aS £°l din *i * he swooned sister in his arms? the Ihl v„£ .f + l° ng * her back t0 consciousness,' and Sf »i?m Yhe * slde ,°- f the dyin * b °y> and ' kissinG : his , pallid lips, she whispered : 'Miles, I am here.' A w ang ? Jr g + £ a - me into his e y es > and eagerly he asked her WBat,, Eileen, are you soldiering too?' The f3 rt r a T °° mu <* for Mm, and he sank *ack again SL^n d onUs ce ll e r^ hllC the t6arS «? the anguished n,,f A S ln »«f ,s, st Ire1 ren gt b to return. Reaching ?m'« f as P ed hand and said: 'Oh, Eileen, I. am to glad you are come. Kiss" me, darlihjr I see the clouds are Jailing over the Galtees. I hear the

Krds singing in " the woodland near the old home. Mother is waiting for me at the old Boreen, and little Williic,. who has, slept so many years in the old church--yand is with her, and they are beckoning for me to come. Pray for me, Eileen, kiss me, for I must go.'Resting his head on her • bosom, iiis spirit passed away. Father Ryan could not speak for a time, then, raising his hands to Heaven, he exclaimed : 'Oh Mother Ireland, How gloriously your- fame is earned -by these soKuers ol the sword and of the Crucifix '—Exchange.