The majority of those about him thought he was gone

SWMODave

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While a prisoner at Johnson's Island in the spring of '65 I became much interested in one of my fellow prisoners, a Major McDaniel, of Georgia. He did not at first strike one as an impressive man. Indeed, if I recollect rightly, he had somewhat of an impediment in his speech and was not inclined to talk much; but there was a peculiar pith and point and weight in what he did say, and those who knew him best seemed to regard him as a man of mark and to treat him with the greatest respect. The impression he made upon me was of simplicity and directness, good sense and good character, dignity, gravity, decorum. They told me this surprising story of him:

He was seriously wounded at Gettysburg, and, of course, in the hospital. His friends who had been captured and were about to be marched off to prison came in to bid him good-by ; but he declared he would not be left behind, that he could and would go with them. Both his comrades and the Federal surgeons and nurses, who were kind and attentive, protested that this was absolutely out of the question - that he would die on the road.

"Very good," said McDaniel, " I'll die then. I am certainly going, and if you don't bring a litter and put me on it and carry me, then I will simply get up and walk till I drop."

Finally the surgeons yielded, saying that in his condition it would be as fatal to confine him forcibly in bed as to lift him out and attempt to transport him; that either course was certain death. So the litter was brought, he was placed upon it, his friends sadly took hold of the bearing poles and started, feeling that the marching column of prisoners was really McDaniel's funeral procession.

The journey would have been trying enough even for a sound, strong man, but for one in McDaniel's condition it was simply fearful. Why he did not die they could not see, yet he did seem to grow weaker and weaker, until at last, as the column halted in a little Pennsylvania town and his bearers put the litter gently down in the shade, his eyes were closed, his face deadly pale, and the majority of those about him thought he was gone. The whole population was in the streets to see the Rebel prisoners go by, and some stared with gaping curiosity at the dead man on the stretcher.

His intimate friend, Colonel Nesbit, stood nearest, keeping a sort of guard over him, and just as he made up his mind to examine and see if it were indeed all over, McDaniel opened his eyes and beckoned feebly for Nesbit to come close to him. As he reached his side and bent over him McDaniel took hold upon the lapel of Nesbit's coat and drew him yet closer down, until their faces well-nigh touched, and then, with a great effort and in a voice scarcely audible, McDaniel whispered his name -" Nesbit!"

Nesbit says he confidently expected some last message for his family or some tender farewell to his friends, when with extreme difficulty his supposed-to-be-dying friend, pointing with trembling finger, uttered just these words:

"Nesbit, old fellow! Did you ever see such an ungodly pair of ankles as that Dutch woman standing over there on that porch has got?"

Of course such a man could not be killed and would not die; and it was not a matter of surprise to me when, a few years later, he was elected Governor of Georgia by a hundred thousand majority.

from Four Years With Marsh Robert - highly recommended - download and read for free from (here). This book will bring tears to your eyes one moment, and a laugh the next.
 
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