Then the old
gentleman spoke and said, "Your blood will blot out your
disgrace;" and turning the leaf, he pointed to the "Deaths," and
I read, "On the 28th of September, 1862, Harry Clay Mason, aged
21;" and then I woke up. This is the 20th; I think I shall live
until that day. Now I bid you go carry mother to somewhere North,
to Paul's friends; they will be kind to her and try to comfort
her, and go you and devote yourself to the suffering soldiers,
and find Paul, if possible; he will live, I know; tell him how I
loved him, yet, and honored him, although I thought him wrong.
Tell him good-by. And to mother, try to soften this blow as much
as possible. Tell her I am happy now. I think God will pardon me
for my sins, for His Son's sake. There is a boy from my regiment
expecting to be parolled, and he has promised to deliver this to
you. Good-by. God bless you, darling. Lovingly,
HARRY.
Fairfax, Va.
I was much affected. After a few moments I said: "How long did he
live?"
"He lived, seemingly growing much better, until the afternoon of the
twenty-eighth. He was then taken with hemorrhage and so passed away.
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