The horrors of that march were
unspeakable.'
"You said I was to tell you all--shall I go on, Elizabeth?"
She lifted her eyes, and whispered, "Go on; I must hear all, or how
can I feel all? O Antony! Antony!"
"I shall never forget his face, Elizabeth. Anger, pity, suffering,
chased each other over it, till his eyes filled and his lips quivered.
I did not speak. Every word I could think of seemed so poor and
commonplace; but I bent forward and took his hands, and he saw in my
face what I could not say, and for a minute or two he lost control
of himself, and wept like a child.
"'Not for myself, Richard;' he said, 'no, I was thinking of that awful
march across the "Dead Man's Journey," a savage, thorny desert of
ninety miles, destitute of water. We were driven through it without
food and without sleep. My companion was a young man of twenty, the
son of a wealthy Alabamian planter. I met him in Austin, so bright
and bold, so full of eager, loving life, so daring, and so hopeful;
but his strength had been failing for two days ere he came to the
desert. His feet were in a pitiable condition. He was sleeping as he
walked. Then he became delirious, and talked constantly of his father
and mother and sisters. He had been too ill to fill his canteen before
starting; his thirst soon became intolerable; I gave him all my water,
I begged from others a few spoonfuls of their store, I held him up as
long as I was able; but at last, at last, he dropped.
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