LETTER III.
Lawson Hospital, St. Louis,
January 29.
Dear Mother,—I have a few minutes to give to
you. I am well except a head cold. Yesterday the
wounded arrived from the battle of Arkansas Post, and
some other fight. Thirty-one men were brought into
my ward on stretchers, one more in the arms of the
men; not one can leave his bed. I was in the ward to
receive them. They seemed so glad to see me. As I
was giving one a glass of water, another bent over and
said, "It is real cheery now, to have a woman come
round one, it seems like home." The hard hands
clasped mine so gratefully. One poor fellow cannot
feed himself; as I was giving him his supper he
stopped to say, "God bless you!" He is so good and
patient. As I went round the first day they turned to
look at me as if they were longing to see a woman's
face. There is one man who never catches my eye
without a smile ready for me; he has lost one hand.
We expect more men.
Mr. Hasard sent me a note yesterday, I opened it;
it was my commission as nurse in the Western Sanitary
Commission on board the steamship "City of Alton."
I felt fairly caught. The head surgeon here could not
quite understand my coming out here (I don't myself).
He told Dr. Eliot, "These Yankees did astonish him
every day"; he contemplated me with a sort of mild
surprise. . . .
Oh, the water here! you cannot see through a
tumbler of it; the Father of Waters is muddy in proportion
to his celebrity.
Catch me thinking there is any place like home!
I must go and look after my men now, so good-night.
