Confederate Shop
By J. L. McLaurin, Confederate Veteran
In the battle of Gettysburg a stalwart lad from Darlington, South Carolina, was bravely advancing in the face of a hot fire when a shot tore off his first finger. An officer ordered him to go to the rear. "No sir," was his reply. "They will call me a coward if I go back for that." A moment later a piece of shell took his arm off, clear and clean above the elbow. A comrade caught him, and the poor fellow said, "I will go back now, but I would rather lose my arm than to be called a coward."
Two weeks ago there was a death in the poorhouse. The bed was hard, the walls bare, the wan face cold and still, while across the breast was pinned the armless sleeve of a pauper's coat. The heroic soul of Henry Miller had winged its flight to God, far beyond the reach of want and ingratitude.
