CHAPTER XXIX. A Soldier's Funeral.
[Image of page 367]
CHAPTER XXIX.
A Soldier's Funeral.
A Soldier's Funeral--Exhortation at the Grave.
"Dark, dark within, and drear, and still,
As was that funeral train
That slowly travell'd down the hill
To the muffled martial strain."
[Image of page 368]
[Page 368 is blank]
[Image of page 369]
CHAPTER XXIX.
IT was on a lovely afternoon that his remains were carried to the grave. An endeavour had been made to secure for pall-bearers those whose sentiments were what his had been, and who might thence be able to enter more unfeignedly into the true spirit of the occasion.
There is something peculiarly impressive in a military funeral, --that indescribably touching attitude of resting on the arms reversed, as the body is borne from the house, tells, in most pathetic eloquence, of genuine grief; then the very slow and sorrowful step, the reverence paid to the dead, by the perfection of the very smallest arrangement; the long file of two and two wound up by the officers, who guard and escort the whole; and, above all, the deep solemn strains of the "Dead March," so exquisitely poured forth by the band, now rising grandly in the air, and giving the key-note to the measured tread, anon scarcely audible, so faint has the wail become, --music and war embracing and mingling their tears over the ashes of the dead; --all these various elements combine to form a scene appealing at once to the highest and tenderest emotions.
[Image of page 370]
A crowd had collected as the procession moved slowly down Wellington Street. At one house, where a few were gathered watching the scene, an old man came out, his hair as white as snow, his form bent, his voice very gentle, and his whole manner pleasing and dignified. His wife, as old as himself, was standing by his side. "Is that an officer's funeral?" he asked, as the crowd moved by. "No--a Serjeant's," was the quiet answer. The old man turned aside to weep. He had been a soldier himself, an old Waterloo veteran, but his heart was green, as in its earliest youth; and the old lady turned aside with him to mingle her tears with his. A company of pensioners met the procession just at the bottom of the street. Immediately they drew up in rank, and at the whispered order, "Present arms," gave their last salute. Firm and erect they stood, like strong young trees, yet they had all weathered the storm that had swept him away whose burial they were honouring.
At the conclusion of the service at the grave, the officiating minister affectionately exhorted those who were gathered round, to seek an interest in that Saviour in Whom the departed had trusted. To the military he addressed a few special words, cast, perhaps, like bread upon the waters, but yet to be found after many days.
When the three volleys had been fired in the air, the solemn procession retraced its steps; some with the sure and certain hope of again meeting him who had gone before; others to return to the world, with their lesson unlearnt and their souls unawakened.
