P. Vojta Nosal,
Parson, Nechanice.
Travelling through regions occupied by the Prussian army was neither easy nor pleasant; still, I decided at once to leave for Nechanice. I wrote a note to my friend’s father, and enclosing the parson’s letter, sent it by a messenger; then, without waiting for a reply, I took a train for Kolin, and thence proceeded to Nechanice in a coach. I arrived at two o’clock in the morning. Prussian guards stopped the coach before the town. I told them where I was going, and a soldier was ordered to accompany me to the parsonage. In a few minutes the coach stopped before the parson’s house; I rang the bell, a man opened the gate, heard the reason for my coming, and went to announce me to the parson just come back from tending a Saxon officer, who lay dying in the church with other wounded soldiers. The parson welcomed me politely, and rejecting as politely my excuse for disturbing him so late, he led me to the upper floor, where he had his drawing-room and several other rooms arranged to receive the wounded. “His name has not yet been ascertained,” the parson said, as he opened the door; “but I hope you will recognize him.”
We entered. The room was half dark; along the walls there lay about twenty soldiers on improvised beds on the floor; several bedsteads bearing those severely wounded stood near the windows. The parson led me to one of these, and silently raised the light. The head of the wounded man was surrounded with ice. I looked into his pale face, and at once recognized my friend. He was still
