A Lamb On The Battle-Field.


IN the battle-field at Pittsburgh Landing was a

  flock of sheep. During the battle the flock 

became scattered, most of them being either

killed, or lost in the surrounding woods,

among them was a little lamb, not many weeks old, whose mother was among the lost and missing after the battle. It was the only one of the flock seen by our army on the ground where the two armies had fought. The old sheep, frightened by the noise of the battle, the firing of musketry and cannon, ran away. But this little lamb, when it had lost its mother, returned to the pasture where the flock had been folded and fed by its owner.

It was on a field where many had fallen in battle,

and where they now lie buried in a soldier's grave, each with only a small board at the head, containing he name, age, regiment, and company, of the dead, with the time of death. Here this little lost lamb was seen wandering around from day to day all alone, and crying for its mother, but no mother answered its cry. When night came, it would try to find some warm place to lie down in till morning;

perhaps on the lee side, as the sailors say, of a

fence, or stump, or clump of bushes, where the wind did not blow.

During a hard rainstorm it came to the door of

my tent, and, bleating very mournfully, asked, as

well as it could, if it might come in and stay through the storm. Such a request could not be refused, and the little, cold, shivering lamb was provided with a warm place in the corner of the tent. But it seemed uneasy. It was in a strange place and among strangers, and so I prepared for it a shelter outside the tent, under some canvass, in a place by itself.  Here it remained until after the storm, and then went away to get something to eat.

After this, the lamb found shelter under the eaves of a corn-crib, where it came for awhile to lie down at night. This was its home. It was in a small field or lot, where there was plenty of fresh green grass, on which it fed during the day. Here, after the lamb became tame, I used to visit the little lost creature, carrying some nice green spring oats to it for its dinner, breakfast, or supper. After a few days this lamb began to gain strength. When first seen it was very weak, but now it began to grow strong, and run, and jump, and frisk about in play.

Near by this green pasture is a clear, never-failing spring, where this little lamb used to drink when thirsty, and then return to feed or lie down again in the fresh grass. The last time I saw the creature, he was lying down on the sunny side of a large stump, after his morning meal, quietly chewing his cud, and seeming happy and contented with his new home. Fortunate lamb, thought I, war made you suffer but for a moment. It makes man a mourner for a life parents for their sons, wives for

their husbands. 

From a letter of a Chaplain of an

Illinois Regiment.