L. P. Brockett, The camp, the battlefield, and the hospital: or, lights and shadows of the great rebellion

As he said this, he looked down on his clean, unworn suit of coarse gray with ineffable contempt.

“ And how could you manage to live with such a hole there?” I asked, pointing to the bullet rent in his coat.

“Oh! I warn't inside of 'em just then, though I warrant me he war a likely feller thet war. I ortent ter a done hit-but I hed ter. This war he;” and taking from his side pocket a small miniature, he handed it to me.

It was a plain circlet of gold, attached to a piece of blue ribbon. One side of the rim was slightly clipped, as if it had been grazed by the passing ball, and the upper portion of the ivory was darkly stained with blood; but enough of it was unobscured to show me the features of a young man, with dark, flowing hair, and a full, frank, manly face. With a feeling akin to horror I was handing the picture back to the scout, when, in lmv, stammering tones, he said to me:

“'Tother side, sir! Luk at 'tother side.”

I turned it over, and saw the portrait of a young woman, scarcely more than seventeen. She had a clear, transparent skin, regular, oval features, full, swimming, black eyes, and what must have been dark, wavy, brown hair, but changed then to a deep auburn by the Ped stains that tinged the upper part of the picture. With intense loathing, I turned almost fiercely on the scout, and exclaimed: “And you killed that man?”

“ Yes, sir, God forgiv me — I done hit. But I couldn't holp hit. He hed me down-he'd cut me thar,” turning up his sleeve, and displaying a deep wound on his arm;