 | CHAPTER III.
A DAY. Hospital sketches |  |
3. CHAPTER III.
A DAY.
“They've come! they've come! hurry up, ladies—you're
wanted.”
“Who have come? the rebels?”
This sudden summons in the gray dawn was somewhat
startling to a three days' nurse like myself, and, as the thundering
knock came at our door, I sprang up in my bed, prepared
And on the ramparts die,”
she began a rapid toilet, answered my bewildered question,—
“Bless you, no child; it's the wounded from Fredericksburg;
forty ambulances are at the door, and we shall have
our hands full in fifteen minutes.”
“What shall we have to do?”
“Wash, dress, feed, warm and nurse them for the next
three months, I dare say. Eighty beds are ready, and we
were getting impatient for the men to come. Now you will
find time to sit down all day, and may think yourself fortunate
if you get to bed by midnight. Come to me in the ball-room
when you are ready; the worst cases are always carried there,
and I shall need your help.”
So saying, the energetic little woman twirled her hair into a
button at the back of her head, in a “cleared for action” sort
of style, and vanished, wrestling her way into a feminine kind
of pea-jacket as she went.
I am free to confess that I had a realizing sense of the fact
that my hospital bed was not a bed of roses just then, or the
prospect before me one of unmingled rapture. My three
days' experiences had begun with a death, and, owing to the
defalcation of another nurse, a somewhat abrupt plunge into
the superintendence of a ward containing forty beds, where I
spent my shining hours washing faces, serving rations, giving
medicine, and sitting in a very hard chair, with pneumonia on
one side, diptheria on the other, five typhoids on the opposite,
and a dozen dilapidated patriots, hopping, lying, and lounging
about, all staring more or less at the new “nuss,” who suffered
untold agonies, but concealed them under as matronly an
aspect as a spinster could assume, and blundered through her
trying labors with a Spartan firmness, which I hope they appreciated,
but am afraid they didn't. Having a taste for
“ghastliness,” I had rather longed for the wounded to arrive,
for rheumatism wasn't heroic, neither was liver complaint, or
measles; even fever had lost its charms since “bathing burning
brows” had been used up in romances, real and ideal;
but when I peeped into the dusky street lined with what I at
first had innocently called market carts, now unloading their
sad freight at our door, I recalled sundry reminiscences I had
heard from nurses of longer standing, my ardor experienced a
was safe at home again, with a quiet day before me, and no
necessity for being hustled up, as if I were a hen and had
only to hop off my roost, give my plumage a peck, and be
ready for action. A second bang at the door sent this recreant
desire to the right about, as a little woolly head popped in,
and Joey, (a six years' old contraband,) announced—
“Miss Blank is jes' wild fer ye, and says fly round right
away. They's comin' in, I tell yer, lieaps on 'em—one was
took out dead, and I see him,—ky! warn't he a goner!”
With which cheerful intelligence the imp scuttled away,
singing like a blackbird, and I followed, feeling that Richard
was not himself again, and wouldn't be for a long time to
come.
The first thing I met was a regiment of the vilest odors
that ever assaulted the human nose, and took it by storm.
Cologne, with its seven and seventy evil savors, was a posybed
to it; and the worst of this affliction was, every one had
assured me that it was a chronic weakness of all hospitals, and
I must bear it. I did, armed with lavender water, with which
I so besprinkled myself and premises, that, like my friend,
Sairy, I was soon known among my patients as “the nurse
with the bottle.” Having been run over by three excited
surgeons, bumped against by migratory coal-hods, water-pails,
and small boys; nearly sealded by an avalanche of newly-filled
tea-pots, and hopelessly entangled in a knot of colored
sisters coming to wash, I progressed by slow stages up stairs
and down, till the main hall was reached, and I paused to
take breath and a survey. There they were! “our brave
boys,” as the papers justly call them, for cowards could hardly
have been so riddled with shot and shell, so torn and shattered,
nor have borne suffering for which we have no name,
cherish each as a brother. In they came, some on stretchers,
some in men's arms, some feebly staggering along propped on
rude crutches, and one lay stark and still with covered face,
as a comrade gave his name to be recorded before they carried
him away to the dead house. All was hurry and confusion;
the hall was full of these wrecks of humanity, for the most
exhausted could not reach a bed till duly ticketed and registered;
the wall were lined with rows of such as could sit,
the floor covered with the more disabled, the steps and doorways
filled with helpers and lookers on; the sound of many
feet and voices made that usually quiet hour as noisy as noon;
and, in the midst of it all, the matron's motherly face brought
more comfort to many a poor soul, than the cordial draughts
she administered, or the cheery words that welcomed all, making
of the hospital a home.
The sight of several stretchers, each with its legless, armless,
or desperately wounded occupant, entering my ward,
admonished me that I was there to work, not to wonder or
weep; so I corked up my feelings, and returned to the path
of duty, which was rather “a hard road to travel” just then.
The house had been a hotel before hospitals were needed, and
many of the doors still bore their old names; some not so
inappropriate as might be imagined, for my ward was in truth
a ball-room, if gun-shot wounds could christen it. Forty beds
were prepared, many already tenanted by tired men who fell
down anywhere, and drowsed till the smell of food roused
them. Round the great stove was gathered the dreariest
group I ever saw—ragged, gaunt and pale, mud to the knees,
with bloody bandages untouched since put on days before;
many bundled up in blankets, coats being lost or useless; and
all wearing that disheartened look which proclaimed defeat,
pitied them so much, I dared not speak to them, though, remembering
all they had been through since the route at Fredericksburg,
I yearned to serve the dreariest of them
all. Presently, Miss Blank tore me from my refuge behind
piles of one-sleeved shirts, odd socks, bandages and lint; put
basin, sponge, towels, and a block of brown soap into my
hands, with these appalling directions:
“Come, my dear, begin to wash as fast as you can. Tell
them to take off socks, coats and shirts, scrub them well, put
on clean shirts, and the attendants will finish them off, and
lay them in bed.”
If she had requested me to shave them all, or dance a
hornpipe on the stove funnel, I should have been less staggered;
but to scrub some dozen lords of creation at a moment's
notice, was really—really——. However, there was
no time for nonsense. and, having resolved when I came to do
everything I was bid, I drowned my scruples in my washbowl,
clutched my soap manfully, and, assuming a business-like
air, made a dab at the first dirty specimen I saw, bent on
performing my task vi et armis if necessary. I chanced to
light on a withered old Irishman, wounded in the head, which
caused that portion of his frame to be tastefully laid out like a
garden, the bandages being the walks, his hair the shrubbery.
He was so overpowered by the honor of having a lady wash
him, as he expressed it, that he did nothing but roll up his
eyes, and bless me, in an irresistible style which was too much
for my sense of the ludicrous; so we laughed together, and
when I knelt down to take off his shoes, he “flopped” also
and wouldn't hear of my touching “them dirty craters. May
your bed above be aisy darlin', for the day's work ye are doon!
—Whoosh! there ye are, and bedad, it's hard tellin' which is
been to the fore, I should have gone on pulling, under the
impression that the “fut” was a boot, for trousers, socks,
shoes and legs were a mass of mud. This comical tableau
produced a general grin, at which propitious beginning I took
heart and scrubbed away like any tidy parent on a Saturday
night. Some of them took the performance like sleepy children,
leaning their tired heads against me as I worked, others
looked grimly scandalized, and several of the roughest colored
like bashful girls. One wore a soiled little bag about his
neck, and, as I moved it, to bathe his wounded breast, I said,
“Your talisman didn't save you, did it?”
“Well, I reckon it did, marm, for that shot would a gone
a couple a inches deeper but for my old mammy's camphor
bag,” answered the cheerful philosopher.
Another, with a gun-shot would through the cheek, asked
for a looking-glass, and when I brought one, regarded his
swollen face with a dolorous expression, as he muttered—
“I vow to gosh, that's too bad! I warn't a bad looking
chap before, and now I'm done for; won't there be a thun
derin' scar? and what on earth will Josephine Skinner say?”
He looked up at me with his one eye so appealingly, that I
controlled my risibles, and assured him that if Josephine was
a girl of sense, she would admire the honorable scar, as a
lasting proof that he had faced the enemy, for all women
thought a wound the best decoration a brave soldier could
wear. I hope Miss Skinner verified the good opinion I so
rashly expressed of her, but I shall never know.
The next scrubbee was a nice looking lad, with a curly
brown mane, and a budding trace of gingerbread over the lip,
which he called his beard, and defended stoutly, when the
barber jocosely suggested its immolation. He lay on a bed,
evidently follow; yet the little Sergeant was as merry as if his
afflictions were not worth lamenting over, and when a drop or
two of salt water mingled with my suds at the sight of this
strong young body, so marred and mained, the boy looked
up, with a brave smile, though there was a little quiver of the
lips, as he said,
“Now don't you fret yourself about me, miss; I'm first
rate here, for it's nuts to lie still on this bed, after knocking
about in those confounded ambulances, that shake what there
is left of a fellow to jelly. I never was in one of these places
before, and think this cleaning up a jolly thing for us, though
I'm afraid it isn't for you ladies.”
“Is this your first battle, Sergeant?”
“No, miss; I've been in six scrimmages, and never got a
scratch till this last one; but it's done the business pretty
thoroughly for me, I should say. Lord! what a scramble
there'll be for arms and legs, when we old boys come out of
our graves, on the Judgment Day: wonder if we shall get
our own again? If we do, my leg will have to tramp from
Fredericksburg, my arm from here, I suppose, and meet my
body, wherever it may be.”
The fancy seemed to tickle him mightily, for he laughed
blithely, and so did I; which, no doubt, caused the new nurse
to be regarded as a light-minded sinner by the Chaplain, who
roamed vaguely about, informing the men that they were all
worms, corrupt of heart, with perishable bodies, and souls only
to be saved by a diligent perusal of certain tracts, and other
equally cheering bits of spiritual consolation, when spirituous
ditto would have been preferred.
“I say, Mrs.!” called a voice behind me; and, turning, I
saw a rough Michigander, with an arm blown off at the shoulder,
mentioned, as carelessly as if gentlemen were in the habit of
carrying such trifles about with them. I went to him, and,
while administering a dose of soap and water, he whispered,
irefully:
“That red-headed devil, over yonder, is a reb, damn him!
You'll agree to that, I'll bet? He's got shet of a foot, or
he'd a cut like the rest of the lot. Don't you wash him, nor
feed him, but jest let him holler till he's tired. It's a blasted
shame to fetch them fellers in here, along side of us; and so
I'll tell the chap that bosses this concern; cuss me if I don't.”
I regret to say that I did not deliver a moral sermon upon
the duty of forgiving our enemies, and the sin of profanity,
then and there; but, being a red-hot Abolitionist, stared
fixedly at the tall rebel, who was a copperhead, in every sense
of the word, and privately resolved to put soap in his eyes,
rub his nose the wrong way, and excoriate his cuticle generally,
if I had the washing of him.
My amiable intentions, however, were frustrated; for, when
I approached, with as Christian an expression as my principles
would allow, and asked the question—“Shall I try to make
you more comfortable, sir?” all I got for my pains was a
gruff—
“No; I'll do it myself.”
“Here's your Southern chivalry, with a witness,” thought
I, dumping the basin down before him, thereby quenching a
strong desire to give him a summary baptism, in return for his
ungraciousness; for my angry passions rose, at this rebuff, in
a way that would have scandalized good Dr. Watts. He was
a disappointment in all respects, (the rebel, not the blessed
Doctor,) for he was neither flendish, romantic, pathetic, or
anything interesting; but a long, fat man, with a head like a
hate him without the slightest drawback, and ignored his existence
from that day forth. One redeeming trait he certainly
did possess, as the floor speedily testified; for his ablutions
were so vigorously performed, that his bed soon stood like an
isolated island, in a sea of soap-suds, and he resembled a
dripping merman, suffering from the loss of a fin. If cleanliness
is a near neighbor to godliness, then was the big rebel
the godliest man in my ward that day.
Having done up our human wash, and laid it out to dry, the
second syllable of our version of the word war-fare was enacted
with much success. Great trays of bread, meat, soup and
coffee appeared; and both nurses and attendants turned
waiters, serving bountiful rations to all who could eat. I can
call my pinafore to testify to my good will in the work, for in
ten minutes it was reduced to a perambulating bill of fare, presenting
samples of all the refreshments going or gone. It was
a lively scene; the long room lined with rows of beds, each
filled by an occupant, whom water, shears, and clean raiment,
had transformed from a dismal ragamuffin into a recumbent
hero, with a cropped head. To and fro rushed matrons, maids,
and convalescent “boys,” skirmishing with knives and forks;
retreating with empty plates; marching and counter-marching,
with unvaried success, while the clash of busy spoons made
most inspiring music for the charge of our Light Brigade:
Beds to the right of them,
Beds to the left of them,
Nobody blundered.
Beamed at by hungry souls,
Screamed at with brimming bowls,
Steamed at by army rolls,
Buttered and sundered.
With coffee not cannon plied,
Each must be satisfied,
Whether they lived or died;
All the men wondered.”
Very welcome seemed the generous meal, after a week of
suffering, exposure, and short commons; soon the brown faces
began to smile, as food, warmth, and rest, did their pleasant
work; and the grateful `Thankee's” were followed by more
graphic accounts of the battle and retreat, than any paid
reporter could have given us. Curious contrasts of the tragic
and comic met one everywhere; and some touching as well as
ludicrous episodes, might have been recorded that day. A
six foot New Hampshire man, with a leg broken and perforated
by a piece of shell, so large that, had I not seen the wound, I
should have regarded the story as a Munchausenism, beckoned
me to come and help him, as he could not sit up, and both his
bed and beard were getting plentifully anointed with soup.
As I fed my big nestling with corresponding mouthfuls, I
asked him how he felt during the battle.
“Well, 'twas my fust, you see, so I aint ashamed to say I
was a trifle flustered in the beginnin', there was such an allfired
racket; for ef there's anything I do spleen agin, it's noise.
But when my mate, Eph Sylvester, caved, with a bullet through
his head, I got mad, and pitched in, licketty cut. Our part
of the fight didn't last long; so a lot of us larked round
Fredericksburg, and give some of them houses a pretty consid'able
of a rummage, till we was ordered out of the mess.
Some of our fellows cut like time; but I warn't a goin to run
for nobody; and, fust thing I knew, a shell bust, right in
front of us, and I keeled over, feelin' as if I was blowed
higher'n a kite. I sung out, and the boys come back for me,
double quick; but the way they chucked me over them fences
was a caution, I tell you. Next day I was most as black as
that darkey yonder, lickin' plates on the sly. This is bully
coffee, ain't it? Give us another pull at it, and I'll be obleeged
to you.”
I did; and, as the last gulp subsided, he said, with a rub
of his old handkerchief over eyes as well as mouth:
“Look a here; I've got a pair a earbobs and a handkercher
pin I'm a goin' to give you, if you'll have them; for you're
the very moral o' Lizy Sylvester, poor Eph's wife: that's why
I signalled you to come over here. They aint much, I guess,
but they'll do to memorize the rebs by.”
Burrowing under his pillow, he produced a little bundle of
what he called “truck,” and gallantly presented me with a
pair of earrings, each representing a cluster of corpulent
grapes, and the pin a basket of astonishing fruit, the whole
large-and coppery enough for a small warming-pan. Feeling
delicate about depriving him of such valuable relies, I accepted
the earrings alone, and was obliged to depart, somewhat
abruptly, when my friend stuck the warming-pan in the bosom
of his night-gown, viewing it with much complacency, and,
perhaps, some tender memory, in that rough heart of his, for
the comrade he had lost.
Observing that the man next him had left his meal untouched,
I offered the same service I had performed for his neighbor,
but he shook his head.
“Thank you, ma'am; I don't think I'll ever eat again, for
I'm shot in the stomach. But I'd like a drink of water, if
you aint too busy.”
I rushed away, but the water-pails were gone to be refilled,
and it was some time before they reappeared. I did not forget
my patient patient, meanwhile, and, with the first mugful,
hurried back to him. He seemed asleep; but something in
the tired white face caused me to listen at his lips for a breath.
None came. I touched his forehead; it was cold: and then I
knew that, while he waited, a better nurse than I had given
him a cooler draught, and healed him with a touch. I laid
disturb; and, half an hour later, the bed was empty. It
seemed a poor requital for all he had sacrificed and suffered,
—that hospital bed, lonely even in a crowd; for there was no
familiar face for him to look his last upon; no friendly voice
to say, Good bye; no hand to lead him gently down into the
Valley of the Shadow; and he vanished, like a drop in that
red sea upon whose shores so many women stand lamenting.
For a moment I felt bitterly indignant at this seeming care
lessness of the value of life, the sanctity of death; then consoled
myself with the thought that, when the great muster
roll was called, these nameless men might be promoted above
many whose tall monuments record the barren honors they
have won.
All having eaten, drank, and rested, the surgeons began
their rounds; and I took my first lesson in the art of dressing
wounds. It wasn't a festive scene, by any means; for Dr.
P., whose Aid I constituted myself, fell to work with a vigor
which soon convinced me that I was a weaker vessel, though
nothing would have induced me to confess it then. He had
served in the Crimea, and seemed to regard a dilapidated body
very much as I should have regarded a damaged garment;
and turning up his cuffs, whipped out a very unpleasant looking
housewife, cutting, sawing, patching and piecing, with the
enthusiasm of an accomplished surgical seamstress; explaining
the process, in scientific terms, to the patient, meantime;
which, of course, was immensely cheering and comfortable
There was an uncanny sort of fascination in watching him, as
he peered and probed into the mechanism of those wonderful
bodies, whose mysteries he understood so well. The more
intricate the wound, the better he liked it. A poor private,
with both legs off, and shot through the lungs, possessed more
some “masterly retreat;” and had any one appeared in small
pieces, requesting to be put together again, he would have
considered it a special dispensation.
The amputations were reserved till the morrow, and the
merciful magic of ether was not thought necessary that day, so
the poor souls had to bear their pains as best they might. It
is all very well to talk of the patience of woman; and far be
it from me to pluck that feather from her cap, for, heaven
knows, she isn't allowed to wear many; but the patient
endurance of these men, under trials of the flesh, was truly
wonderful; their fortitude seemed contagious, and scarcely a
cry escaped them, though I often longed to groan for them,
when pride kept their white lips shut, while great drops stood
upon their foreheads, and the bed shook with the irrepressible
tremor of their tortured bodies. One or two Irishmen anathematized
the doctors with the frankness of their nation, and
ordered the Virgin to stand by them, as if she had been the
wedded Biddy to whom they could administer the poker, if
she didn't; but, as a general thing, the work went on in
silence, broken only by some quiet request for roller, instruments,
or plaster, a sigh from the patient, or a sympathizing
murmur from the nurse.
It was long past noon before these repairs were even partially
made; and, having got the bodies of my boys into something
like order, the next task was to minister to their minds,
by writing letters to the anxious souls at home; answering
questions, reading papers, taking possession of money and
valuables; for the eighth commandmnnt was reduced to a
very fragmentary condition, both by the blacks and whites,
who ornamented our hospital with their presence. Pocket
books, purses, miniatures, and watches, were sealed up,
owners thereof were ready to depart homeward or campward
again. The letters dictated to me, and revised by me, that
afternoon, would have made an excellent chapter for some
future history of the war; for, like that which Thackeray's
“Ensign Spooney” wrote his mother just before Waterloo,
they were “full of affection, pluck, and bad spelling;” nearly
all giving lively accounts of the battle, and ending with a
somewhat sudden plunge from patriotism to provender, desiring
“Maim,” “Mary Ann,” or “Aunt Peters,” to send
along some pies, pickles, sweet stuff, and apples, “to yourn in
haste,” Joe, Sam, or Ned, as the case might be.
My little Sergeant insisted on trying to scribble something
with his left hand, and patiently accomplished some half dozen
lines of hieroglyphies, which he gave me to fold and direct,
with a boyish blush, that rendered a glimpse of “My Dearest
Jane,” unnecessary, to assure me that the heroic lad had been
more successful in the service of Commander-in-Chief Cupid
than that of Gen. Mars; and a charming little romance blossomed
instanter in Nurse Periwinkle's romantic fancy, though
no further confidences were made that day, for Sergeant fell
asleep, and, judging from his tranquil face, visited his absent
sweetheart in the pleasant land of dreams.
At five o'clock a great bell rang, and the attendants flew,
not to arms, but to their trays, to bring up supper, when a
second uproar announced that it was ready. The new comers
woke at the sound; and I presently discovered that it took a
very bad wound to incapacitate the defenders of the faith for
the consumption of their rations; the amount that some of
them sequestered was amazing; but when I suggested the
probability of a famine hereafter, to the matron, that motherly
lady cried out: “Bless their hearts, why shouldn't they eat?
not enough ready to-night, I'll lend my share to the Lord by
giving it to the boys.” And, whipping up her coffee-pot and
plate of toast, she gladdened the eyes and stomachs of two or
three dissatisfied heroes, by serving them with a liberal hand;
and I haven't the slightest doubt that, having cast her bread
upon the waters, it came back buttered, as another large-hearted
old lady was wont to say.
Then came the doctor's evening visit; the administration of
medicines; washing feverish faces; smoothing tumbled beds;
wetting wounds; singing lullabies; and preparations for the
night. By eleven, the last labor of love was done; the last
“good night” spoken; and, if any needed a reward for that
day's work, they surely received it, in the silent eloquence of
those long lines of faces, showing pale and peaceful in the
shaded rooms, as we quitted them, followed by grateful glances
that lighted us to bed, where rest, the sweetest, made our pillows
soft, while Night and Nature took our places, filling that
great house of pain with the healing miracles of Sleep, and
his diviner brother, Death.
| CHAPTER III.
A DAY. Hospital sketches | |