near and a stream of water was nearby. I brought it; poured some in his mouth; washed his face and behold it was Frank Cogdell—not my husband. He soon revived and could speak, and as I washed the wound in his head he said: 'It is not that; it is that hole in my leg that is killing me.' I took his knife, cut away his trousers and stocking and found that the blood came from a shot-hole through and through the fleshy part of his leg. I looked about and could see nothing that looked as if it would do for dressing wounds but heart-leaves, so I gathered a handful and bound them tight to the holes, and the bleeding stopped. I then went to the others and dressed the wounds of many a brave fellow who did good fighting long after that day. When the General appeared, he seemed very much surprised and was with his hat in his hand about to pay me some compliment when I interrupted him by asking: 'Where is my husband?' 'Where he ought to be, madam, in pursuit of the enemy. But pray,’ said he, 'How came you here?'
"'Oh, I thought,' replied I, 'you would need nurses as well as soldiers. See! I have already dressed many of these good fellows, and there is one'—going to Frank Cogdell and lifting him up with my arm under his head so that he could drink some more water—'who would have died before any of you men could have helped him.'
"'I believe you,' said Frank. Just then I looked up and, my husband as bloody as a butcher and as muddy as a ditcher, stood before me.
"'Why Mary,' he exclaimed. 'What are you doing there ? Hugging Frank Cogdell, the greatest reprobate in the army?'
"'I don't care,' I cried. 'Frank is a brave fellow, a good soldier and a true friend to Congress.'
"'True, true, every word of it,' said the General with the lowest kind of a bow.
"I would not tell my husband of my dream that had brought me; I was so happy, and so were all. It was a glorious victory. I knew my husband was surprised but I could see he was not displeased with me. It was night again before our excitement had at all subsided. But in the middle of the night I again mounted my mare and started for home. The General and my husband wanted me to stay until the next morning and they would send a party with me; but no, I wanted to see my child and I told them they could send no party that could keep up with me! What a happy ride I had back. And with what joy did I embrace my child as he ran to meet me."
In these days of railroads and steam, it can scarcely be credited that a woman actually rode alone in the night through a wild, unsettled country, a distance—going and coming—of a hundred and twenty-five miles; and in less than forty hours and without any interval of rest. Yet such was the feat of Mary Slocumb, and such was the altogether natural manner of relating her heroic deed, that it is as a modern woman might speak of having attended a social function of a somewhat exciting nature.
Of course, there are various explanations to be offered for the vision that produced an impression so powerful as to determine this resolute wife upon her nocturnal expedition to the battlefield, but the idea of danger to her husband, which banished sleep, was sufficient to call up the illusion to her excited imagination.
