LETTER XXXI.
Benton Barracks Hospital,
July 19.
My Dear Mother,—I suppose you are sitting down
to dinner just now; I wonder what you have got. I
am busy as ever, and with a prospect of more to do.
We expect many more from down the river. I am
so glad it is opened; there is such rejoicing over it;
you have no idea at the East what the Mississippi is
to the the West; it is the ocean, the great highway of
commerce, as well as a great thoroughfare.
I wonder what I shall do with myself when the war
is over; I never can sit down and do nothing. I expect
seven more nurses this week. We have about
sixteen or seventeen hundred men here, many of whom
are to be sent off, either home or on discharge, or back
to the regiment or to convalescent camps.
You would be very much interested in some of the
men here; I read to some of them as I go round, and
they listen so attentively, making such thoughtful,
good remarks that it is very pleasant.
Afternoon. It is very hot this afternoon—sultry
and close. Mr. Yeatman has received forty bottles of
choice brandy from Boston. Shall I ever see the dear
old crooked town again? I like the West,—its large,
free life, its magnificent river, and generous-hearted
people, opening hearts and doors to you. 1 should
like to have you see it.
I never expect to live at home again, I shall always
be working somewhere or other, I hope. Work is my
life, I cannot be happy doing nothing. I must go out
to the wards now.
Evening. I have come from rny night round. I
have visited many, read to a few, talked to others.
I wish you could see the hands stretched out to mine
when I go round. The other day a man showed me
the ambrotype of his wife, and told me he had lived
with her twenty-four years, and had the first cross
word to hear from her yet; I thought that was a wife
worth having. Yesterday, as I was passing through a
ward, a woman came in very quickly, ran up to a bed
on which one of the patients was sitting, and flung her
arms round him; it was his wife. I wish you could
have seen the meeting. I did not see her face, only
her husband saw that. The color all went out of his
face, and she, woman-like, immediately began fanning
him, doing something for him at once; that is our
women's proper way; we were sent into the world to
do good. One of our best nurses is going to Vicksburg.
Mr. Yeatman applied to me for her, and I felt obliged
to let her go. I went in town with her to make all
necessary arrangements for her. This is a queer life,
in all its phases. I had a supper of ice-cream to-night,
in town; I hope I was not extravagant, but I did want
something besides rations; it was
real good, as the
children say.
