 | CHAPTER V.
OFF DUTY. Hospital sketches |  |
5. CHAPTER V.
OFF DUTY.
“My dear girl, we shall have you sick in your bed, unless
you keep yourself warm and quiet for a few days. Widow
Wadman can take care of the ward alone, now the men are so
comfortable, and have her vacation when you are about again.
Now do be prudent in time, and don't let me have to add a
Periwinkle to my bouquet of patients.”
This advice was delivered, in a paternal manner, by the
youngest surgeon in the hospital, a kind-hearted little gentleman,
who seemed to consider me a frail young blossom, that
needed much cherishing, instead of a tough old spinster, who
had been knocking about the world for thirty years. At the
time I write of, he discovered me sitting on the stairs, with a
nice cloud of unwholesome steam rising from the washroom;
a party of January breezes disporting themselves in the halls;
and perfumes, by no means from “Araby the blest,” keeping
them company; while I enjoyed a fit of coughing, which
caused my head to spin in a way that made the application of
a cool banister both necessary and agreeable, as I waited for
myself, meantime, with a secret conviction that pneumonia
was waiting for me round the corner. This piece of advice
had been offered by several persons for a week, and refused
by me with the obstinacy with which my sex is so richly gifted.
But the last few hours had developed several surprising internal
and external phenomena, which impressed upon me the fact
that if I didn't make a masterly retreat very soon, I should
tumble down somewhere, and have to be borne ignominiously
from the field. My head felt like a cannon ball; my feet had
a tendency to cleave to the floor; the walls at times undulated
in a most disagreeable manner; people looked unnaturally
big; and the “very bottles on the mankle shelf” appeared to
dance derisively before my eyes. Taking these things into
consideration, while blinking stupidly at Dr. Z., I resolved to
retire gracefully, if I must; so, with a valedictory to my boys,
a private lecture to Mrs. Wadman, and a fervent wish that I
could take off my body and work in my soul, I mournfully
ascended to my apartment, and Nurse P. was reported off
duty.
For the benefit of any ardent damsel whose patriotic fancy
may have surrounded hospital life with a halo of charms, I
will briefly describe the bower to which I retired, in a somewhat
ruinous condition. It was well ventilated, for five panes of
glass had suffered compound fractures, which all the surgeons
and nurses had failed to heal; the two windows were draped
with sheets, the church hospital opposite being a brick and
mortar Argus, and the female mind cherishing a prejudice in
favor of retiracy during the night-capped periods of existence.
A bare floor supported two narrow iron beds, spread with thin
mattrasses like plasters, furnished with pillows in the last
stages of consumption. In a fire place, guiltless of shovel,
long to go on all at once; so, while the fire blazed away at one
end, I did the same at the other, as I tripped over it a dozen
times a day, and flew up to poke it a dozen times at night. A
mirror (let us be elegant!) of the dimensions of a muffin,
and about as reflective, hung over a tin basin, blue pitcher,
and a brace of yellow mugs. Two invalid tables, ditto chairs,
wandered here and there, and the closet contained a varied
collection of bonnets, bottles, bags, boots, bread and butter,
boxes and bugs. The closet was a regular Blue Beard
cupboard to me; I always opened it with fear and trembling,
owing to rats, and shut it in anguish of spirit; for time and
space were not to be had, and chaos reigned along with the
rats. Our chimney-piece was decorated with a flat-iron, a
Bible, a candle minus stick, a lavender bottle, a new tin pan,
so brilliant that it served nicely for a pier-glass, and such of
the portly black bugs as preferred a warmer climate than the
rubbish hole afforded. Two arks, commonly called trunks,
lurked behind the door, containing the worldly goods of the
twain who laughed and cried, slept and scrambled, in this
refuge; while from the white-washed walls above either bed,
looked down the pictured faces of those whose memory can
make for us—
“One little room an everywhere.”
For a day or two I managed to appear at meals; for the
human grub must eat till the butterfly is ready to break loose,
and no one had time to come up two flights while it was
possible for me to come down. Far be it from me to add
another affliction or reproach to that enduring man, the steward;
for, compared with his predecessor, he was a horn of
plenty; but — I put it to any candid mind — is not the
plunging the nation madly into debt? The three meals were
“pretty much of a muchness,” and consisted of beef, evidently
put down for the men of '76; pork, just in from the street;
army bread, composed of saw-dust and saleratus; butter, salt
as if churned by Lot's wife; stewed blackberries, so much
like preserved cockroaches, that only those devoid of imagination
could partake thereof with relish; coffee, mild and
muddy; tea, three dried huckleberry leaves to a quart of
water — flavored with lime — also animated and unconscious of
any approach to clearness. Variety being the spice of life, a
small pinch of the article would have been appreciated by the
hungry, hard-working sisterhood, one of whom, though accustomed
to plain fare, soon found herself reduced to bread and
water; having an inborn repugnance to the fat of the land,
and the salt of the earth.
Another peculiarity of these hospital meals was the rapidity
with which the edibles vanished, and the impossibility of getting
a drop or crumb after the usual time. At the first ring of the
bell, a general stampede took place; some twenty hungry
souls rushed to the dining-room, swept over the table like a
swarm of locusts, and left no fragment for any tardy creature
who arrived fifteen minutes late. Thinking it of more importance
that the patients should be well and comfortably fed, I
took my time about my own meals for the first day or two
after I came, but was speedily enlightened by Isaac, the black
waiter, who bore with me a few times, and then informed me,
looking as stern as fate:
“I say, mam, ef you comes so late you can't have no
vittles, — 'cause I'm 'bleeged fer ter git things ready fer de
doctors 'mazin' spry arter you nusses and folks is done. De
gen'lemen don't kere fer ter wait, no more does I; so you
nowheres.”
It was a new sensation to stand looking at a full table,
painfully conscious of one of the vacuums which Nature
abhors, and receive orders to right about face, without
partaking of the nourishment which your inner woman clamorously
demanded. The doctors always fared better than we;
and for a moment a desperate impulse prompted me to give
them a hint, by walking off with the mutton, or confiscating
the pie. But Ike's eye was on me, and, to my shame be it
spoken, I walked meekly away; went dinnerless that day,
and that evening went to market, laying in a small stock of
crackers, cheese and apples, that my boys might not be
neglected, nor myself obliged to bolt solid and liquid dyspep-sias,
or starve. This plan would have succeeded admirably
had not the evil star under which I was born, been in the
ascendant during that month, and cast its malign influences
even into my “'umble” larder; for the rats had their dessert
off my cheese, the bugs set up housekeeping in my crackerbag,
and the apples like all wordly riches, took to themselves
wings and flew away; whither no man could tell, though
certain black imps might have thrown light upon the matter,
had not the plaintiff in the case been loth to add another to
the many trials of long-suffering Africa. After this failure I
resigned myself to fate, and, remembering that bread was called
the staff of life, leaned pretty exclusively upon it; but it
proved a broken reed, and I came to the ground after a few
weeks of prison fare, varied by an occasional potato or surreptitious
sip of milk.
Very soon after leaving the care of my ward, I discovered
that I had no appetite, and cut the bread and butter interests
almost entirely, trying the exercise and sun cure instead.
that was to be seen, so far as a lone lorn female could venture
in a city, one-half of whose male population seemed to be
taking the other half to the guard-house, — every morning I
took a brisk run in one direction or another; for the January
days were as mild as Spring. A rollicking north wind and
occasional snow storm would have been more to my taste, for
the one would have braced and refreshed tired body and soul,
the other have purified the air, and spread a clean coverlid
over the bed, wherein the capital of these United States
appeared to be dozing pretty soundly just then.
One of these trips was to the Armory Hospital, the neatness,
comfort, and convenience of which makes it an honor to its
presiding genius, and arouses all the covetous propensities of
such nurses as came from other hospitals to visit it.
The long, clean, warm, and airy wards, built barrack-fashion,
with the nurse's room at the end, were fully appreciated by
Nurse Periwinkle, whose ward and private bower were cold,
dirty, inconvenient, up stairs and down stairs, and in everybody's
chamber. At the Armory, in ward K, I found a
cheery, bright-eyed, white-aproned little lady, reading at her
post near the stove; matting under her feet; a draft of fresh
air flowing in above her head; a table full of trays, glasses,
and such matters, on one side, a large, well-stocked medicine
chest on the other; and all her duty seemed to be going about
now and then to give doses, issue orders, which well-trained
attendants executed, and pet, advise, or comfort Tom, Dick,
or Harry, as she found best. As I watched the proceedings,
I recalled my own tribulations, and contrasted the two hospitals
in a way that would have caused my summary dismissal, could
it have been reported at headquarters. Here, order, method,
common sense and liberality reigned and ruled, in a style
disorder, discomfort, bad management, and no visible head,
reduced things to a condition which I despair of describing.
The circumlocution fashion prevailed, forms and fusses tormented
our souls, and unnecessary strictness in one place was
counterbalanced by unpardonable laxity in another. Here is
a sample: I am dressing Sam Dammer's shoulder; and, having
cleansed the wound, look about for some strips of adhesive
plaster to hold on the little square of wet linen which is to
cover the gunshot wound; the case is not in the tray; Frank,
the sleepy, half-sick attendant, knows nothing of it; we
rummage high and low; Sam is tired, and fumes; Frank
dawdles and yawns; the men advise and laugh at the flurry;
I feel like a boiling tea-kettle, with the lid ready to fly off and
damage somebody.
“Go and borrow some from the next ward, and spend the
rest of the day in finding ours,” I finally command. A pause;
then Frank scuffles back with the message: “Miss Peppercorn
ain't got none, and says you ain't no business to lose your own
duds and go borrowin' other folkses.” I say nothing, for fear
of saying too much, but fly to the surgery. Mr. Toddypestle
informs me that I can't have anything without an order from
the surgeon of my ward. Great heavens! where is he? and
away I rush, up and down, here and there, till at last I find
him, in a state of bliss over a complicated amputation, in the
fourth story. I make my demand; he answers: “In five
minutes,” and works away, with his head upside down, as he
ties an artery, saws a bone, or does a little needle-work, with
a visible relish and very sanguinary pair of hands. The five
minutes grow to fifteen, and Frank appears, with the remark
that, “Dammer wants to know what in thunder you are
keeping him there with his finger on a wet rag for?” Dr. P.
which I plunge downward to the surgery again, find the door
locked, and, while hammering away on it, am told that two
friends are waiting to see me in the hall. The matron being
away, her parlor is locked, and there is no where to see my
guests but in my own room, and no time to enjoy them till
the plaster is found. I settle this matter, and circulate through
the house to find Toddypestle, who has no right to leave the
surgery till night. He is discovered in the dead house, smoking
a eigar, and very much the worse for his researches among the
spirituous preparations that fill the surgery shelves. He is
inclined to be gallant, and puts the finishing blow to the fire
of my wrath; for the tea-kettle lid flies off, and driving him
before me to his post, I fling down the order, take what I
choose; and, leaving the absurd incapable kissing his hand to
me, depart, feeling as Grandma Riglesty is reported to have
done, when she vainly sought for chips, in Bimleck Jackwood's
“shifless paster.”
I find Dammer a well acted charade of his own name, and,
just as I get him done, struggling the while with a burning
desire to clap an adhesive strip across his mouth, full of
heaven-defying oaths, Frank takes up his boot to put it on,
and exclaims:
“I'm blest ef here ain't that case now! I recollect seeing
it pitch in this mornin', but forgot all about it, till my heel
went smash inter it. Here, ma'am, ketch hold on it, and give
the boys a sheet on't all round, 'gainst it tumbles inter t'other
boot next time yer want it.”
If a look could annihilate, Francis Saucebox would have
ceased to exist, but it couldn't; therefore, he yet lives, to
aggravate some unhappy woman's soul, and wax fat in some
equally congenial situation.
Now, while I'm freeing my mind, I should like to enter my
protest against employing convalescents as attendants, instead
of strong, properly trained, and cheerful men. How it may
be in other places I cannot say; but here it was a source of
constant trouble and confusion, these feeble, ignorant men
trying to sweep, scrub, lift, and wait upon their sicker comrades.
One, with a diseased heart, was expected to run up and down
stairs, carry heavy trays, and move helpless men; he tried it,
and grew rapidly worse than when he first came: and, when
he was ordered out to march away to the convalescent hospital,
fell, in a sort of fit, before he turned the corner, and was
brought back to die. Another, hurt by a fall from his horse,
endeavored to do his duty, but failed entirely, and the wrath
of the ward master fell upon the nurse, who must either scrub
the rooms herself, or take the lecture; for the boy looked stout
and well, and the master never happened to see him turn
white with pain, or hear him groan in his sleep when an invol
untary motion strained his poor back. Constant complaints
were being made of incompetent attendants, and some dozen
women did double duty, and then were blamed for breaking
down. If any hospital director fancies this a good and
economical arrangement, allow one used up nurse to tell him
it isn't, and beg him to spare the sisterhood, who sometimes,
in their sympathy, forget that they are mortal, and run the
risk of being made immortal, sooner than is agreeable to their
partial friends.
Another of my few rambles took me to the Senate Chamber,
hoping to hear and see if this large machine was run any
better than some small ones I knew of. I was too late, and
found the Speaker's chair occupied by a colored gentleman of
ten; while two others were “on their legs,” having a hot
debate on the cornball question, as they gathered the waste
members played leap-frog over the desks, a much wholesomer
relaxation than some of the older Senators indulge in, I fancy.
Finding the coast clear, I likewise gambolled up and down,
from gallery to gallery; sat in Summer's chair, and cudgelled
an imaginary Brooks within an inch of his life; examined
Wilson's books in the coolest possible manner; warmed my
feet at one of the national registers; read people's names on
scattered envelopes, and pocketed a castaway autograph or
two; watched the somewhat unparliamentary proceedings
going on about me, and wondered who in the world all the
sedate gentlemen were, who kept popping out of odd doors
here and there, like respectable Jacks-in-the-box. Then I
wandered over the “palatial residence” of Mrs. Columbia,
and examined its many beauties, though I can't say I thought
her a tidy housekeeper, and didn't admire her taste in pictures;
for the eye of this humble individual soon wearied of expiring
patriots, who all appeared to be quitting their earthly tabernacles
in convulsions, ruffled shirts, and a whirl of torn banners,
bomb shells, and buff and blue arms and legs. The statuary
also was massive and concrete, but rather wearying to examine;
for the colossal ladies and gentlemen, carried no cards of
introduction in face or figure; so, whether the meditative party
in a kilt, with well-developed legs, shoes like army slippers,
and a ponderous nose, was Columbus, Cato, or Cockelorum
Tibby, the tragedian, was more than I could tell. Several
robust ladies attracted me, as I felt particularly “wimbly”
myself, as old country women say; but which was America
and which Pocahontas was a mystery, for all affected much
looseness of costume, dishevelment of hair, swords, arrows,
lances, scales, and other ornaments quite passé with damsels
of our day, whose effigies should go down to posterity armed
here and there one holding pen or pencil, rolling-pin or broom.
The statue of Liberty I recognized at once, for it had no
pedestal as yet, but stood flat in the mud, with Young America
most symbollically making dirt pies, and chip forts, in its
shadow. But high above the squabbling little throng and
their petty plans, the sun shone full on Liberty's broad
forehead, and, in her hand, some summer bird had built its
nest. I accepted the good omen then, and, on the first of
January, the Emancipation Act gave the statue a nobler and
more enduring pedestal than any marble or granite ever carved
and quarried by human hands.
One trip to Georgetown Heights, where cedars sighed overhead,
dead leaves rustled underfoot, pleasant paths led up and
down, and a brook wound like a silver snake by the blackened
ruins of some French Minister's house, through the poor
gardens of the black washerwomen who congregated there,
and, passing the cemetery with a murmurous lullaby, rolled
away to pay its little tribute to the river. This breezy run
was the last I took; for, on the morrow, came rain and wind:
and confinement soon proved a powerful reinforcement to the
enemy, who was quietly preparing to spring a mine, and blow
me five hundred miles from the position I had taken in what I
called my Chickahominy Swamp.
Shut up in my room, with no voice, spirits, or books, that
week was not a hoilday, by any means. Finding meals a
humbug, I stopped away altogether, trusting that if this sparrow
was of any worth, the Lord would not let it fall to the ground.
Like a flock of friendly ravens, my sister nurses fed me, not
only with food for the body, but kind words for the mind;
and soon, from being half starved, I found myself so beteaed
and betoasted, petted and served, that I was quite “in the lap
of my pleura, and a realizing sense of bones in the human
frame. From the pleasant house on the hill, the home in the
heart of Washington, and the Willard caravansary, came
friends new and old, with bottles, baskets, carriages and invitations
for the invalid; and daily our Florence Nightingale
climbed the steep stairs, stealing a moment from her busy life,
to watch over the stranger, of whom she was as thoughtfully
tender as any mother. Long may she wave! Whatever others
may think or say, Nurse Periwinkle is forever grateful; and
among her relics of that Washington defeat, none is more
valued than the little book which appeared on her pillow, one
dreary day; for the D. D. written in it means to her far more
than Doctor of Divinity.
Being forbidden to meddle with fleshly arms and legs, I
solaced myself by mending cotton ones, and, as I sat sewing
at my window, watched the moving panorama that passed
below; amusing myself with taking notes of the most striking
figures in it. Long trains of army wagons kept up a perpetual
rumble from morning till night; ambulances rattled to and fro
with busy surgeons, nurses taking an airing, or convalescents
going in parties to be fitted to artificial limbs. Strings of sorry
looking horses passed, saying as plainly as dumb creatures
could, “Why, in a city full of them, is there no horsepital
for us?” Often a cart came by, with several rough coffins in
it, and no mourners following; barouches, with invalid officers,
rolled round the corner, and carriage loads of pretty children,
with black coachmen, footmen, and maids. The women who
took their walks abroad, were so extinguished in three story
bonnets, with overhanging balconies of flowers, that their
charms were obseured; and all I can say of them is, that they
dressed in the worst possible taste, and walked like ducks.
The men did the picturesque, and did it so well that Washington
looked like a mammoth masquerade. Spanish hats,
scarlet lined riding cloaks, swords and sashes, high boots and
bright spurs, beards and mustaches, which made plain faces
comely, and comely faces heroic; these vanities of the flesh
transformed our butchers, bakers, and candlestick makers into
gallant riders of gaily caparisoaed horses, much handsomer
than themselves; and dozens of such figures were constantly
prancing by, with private prickings of spurs, for the benefit
of the perambulating flower-bed. Some of these gentlemen
affected painfully tight uniforms, and little caps, kept on by
some new law of gravitation, as they covered only the bridge
of the nose, yet never fell off; the men looked like stuffed
fowls, and rode as if the safety of the nation depended on
their speed alone. The fattest, greyest officers dressed most,
and ambled statelily along, with orderlies behind, trying to
look as if they didn't know the stout party in front, and doing
much caracoling on their own account.
The mules were my especial delight; and an hour's study
of a constant succession of them introduced me to many of
their characteristics; for six of these odd little beasts drew
each army wagon, and went hopping like frogs through the
stream of mud that gently rolled along the street. The
coquettish mule had small feet, a nicely trimmed tassel of a
tail, perked up ears, and seemed much given to little tosses of
the head, affected skips and prances; and, if he wore the
bells, or were bedizzened with a bit of finery, put on as many
airs as any belle. The moral mule was a stout, hard-working
creature, always tugging with all his might; often pulling
away after the rest had stopped, laboring under the conscientious
delusion that food for the entire army depended upon his
private exertions. I respected this style of mule; and, had
with thanks for his excellent example. The historical mule
was a melo-dramatic quadruped, prone to startling humanity
by erratic leaps, and wild plunges, much shaking of his
stubborn head, and lashing out of his vicious heels; now and
then falling flat, and apparently dying a la Forrest: a gasp—
a squirm—a flop, and so on, till the street was well blocked
up, the drivers all swearing like demons in bad hats, and the
chief actor's circulation decidedly quickened by every variety
of kick, cuff, jerk and haul. When the last breath seemed to
have left his body, and “Doctors were in vain,” a sudden
resurrection took place; and if ever a mule laughed with
scornful triumph, that was the beast, as he leisurely rose, gave
a comfortable shake; and, calmly regarding the excited crowd
seemed to say—“A hit! a decided hit! for the stupidest
of animals has bamboozled a dozen men. Now, then! what
are you stopping the way for?” The pathetic mule was,
perhaps, the most interesting of all; for, though he always
seemed to be the smallest, thinnest, weakest of the six, the
postillion, with big boots, long-tailed coat, and heavy whip,
was sure to bestride this one, who struggled feebly along, head
down, coat muddy and rough, eye spiritless and sad, his very
tail a mortified stump, and the whole beast a picture of meek
misery, fit to touch a heart of stone. The jovial mule was a
roly poly, happy-go-lucky little piece of horse-flesh, taking
everything easily, from cudgeling to caressing; strolling along
with a roguish twinkle of the eye, and, if the thing were
possible, would have had his hands in his pockets, and whistled
as he went. If there ever chanced to be an apple core, a
stray turnip, or wisp of hay, in the gutter, this Mark Tapley
was sure to find it, and none of his mates seemed to begrudge
him his bite. I suspected this fellow was the peacemaker,
“Cheer-up,-old-boy,-I'll-pull-you-through” look, which was
exceedingly engaging.
Pigs also possessed attractions for me, never having had
an opportunity of observing their graces of mind and manner,
till I came to Washington, whose porcine citizens appeared to
enjoy a larger liberty than many of its human ones. Stout,
sedate looking pigs, hurried by each morning to their places
of business, with a preoccupied air, and sonorous greeting to
their friends. Genteel pigs, with an extra curl to their tails,
promenaded in pairs, lunching here and there, like gentlemen
of leisure. Rowdy pigs pushed the passers by off the side
walk; tipsy pigs hiccoughed their version of “We wont go
home till morning,” from the gutter; and delicate young pigs
tripped daintily through the mud, as if, like “Mrs. Peerybingle,”
they plumed themselves upon their ankles, and kept
themselves particularly neat in point of stockings. Maternal
pigs, with their interesting families, strolled by in the sun;
and often the pink, baby-like squealers lay down for a nap,
with a trust in Providence worthy of human imitation.
But more interesting than officers, ladies, mules, or pigs,
were my colored brothers and sisters, because so unlike the
respectable members of society I'd known in moral Boston.
Here was the genuine article—no, not the genuine article
at all, we must go to Africa for that—but the sort of creatures
generations of slavery have made them: obsequious, trickish,
lazy and ignorant, yet kind-hearted, merry-tempered, quick to
feel and accept the least token of the brotherly love which is
slowly teaching the white hand to grasp the black, in this
great struggle for the liberty of both the races.
Having been warned not to be too rampant on the subject
of slavery, as secesh principles flourished even under the
walk discreetly, and curb my unruly member; looking about
me with all my eyes, the while, and saving up the result of
my observations for future use. I had not been there a week,
before the neglected, devil-may care expression in many of
the faces about me, seemed an urgent appeal to leave nursing
white bodies, and take some care for these black souls. Much
as the lazy boys and saucy girls tormented me, I liked them,
and found that any show of interest of friendliness brought
out the better traits which live in the most degraded and
forsaken of us all. I liked their cheerfulness, for the dreariest
old hag, who scrubbed all day in that pestilential steam,
gossipped and grinned all the way out, when night set her free
from drudgery. The girls romped with their dusky sweethearts,
or tossed their babies, with the tender pride that makes
mother-love a beautifier to the homeliest face. The men and
boys sang and whistled all day long; and often. as I held my
watch, the silence of the night was sweetly broken by some
chorus from the street, full of real melody, whether the song
was of heaven, or of hoe-cakes; and, as I listened, I felt that
we never should doubt nor despair concerning a race which,
through such griefs and wrongs, still clings to this good gift,
and seems to solace with it the patient hearts that wait and
watch and hope until the end.
I expected to have to defend myself from accusations of a
prejudice against color; but was surprised to find things just
the other way, and daily shocked some neighbor by treating
the blacks as I did the whites. The men would swear at the
“darkies,” would put two gs into negro, and scoff at the idea
of any good coming from such trash. The nurses were willing
to be served by the colored people, but seldom thanked them,
never praised, and scarcely recognized them in the street;
hot in my veins, and, at the first opportunity, proclaimed itself,
and asserted the right of free speech as doggedly as the irrepressible
Folsom herself.
Happening to catch up a funny little black baby, who was
toddling about the nurses' kitchen, one day, when I went
down to make a mess for some of my men, a Virginia woman
standing by elevated her most prominent features, with a sniff
of disapprobation, exclaiming:
“Gracious, Miss P.! how can you? I've been here six
months, and never so much as touched the little toad with a
poker.”
“More shame for you, ma'am,” responded Miss P.; and,
with the natural perversity of a Yankee, followed up the blow
by kissing “the toad,” with ardor. His face was providentially
as clean and shiny as if his mamma had just polished it
up with a corner of her apron and a drop from the tea-kettle
spout, like old Aunt Chole. This rash act, and the antislavery
lecture that followed, while one band stirred gruel for
sick America, and the other hugged baby Africa, did not
produce the cheering result which I fondly expected; for my
comrade henceforth regarded me as a dangerous fanatic, and
my protegé nearly came to his death by insisting on swarming
up stairs to my room, on all occasions, and being walked on
like a little black spider.
I waited for New Year's day with more eagerness than I
had ever known before; and, though it brought me no gift, I
felt rich in the act of justice so tardily performed toward some
of those about me. As the bells rung midnight, I electrified
my room-mate by dancing out of bed, throwing up the
window, and flapping my handkerchief, with a feeble cheer,
in answer to the shout of a group of colored men in the street
sung “Glory, Hallelujah,” and took comfort, poor souls! in
their own way. The sky was clear, the moon shone benignly,
a mild wind blew across the river, and all good omens seemed
to usher in the dawn of the day whose noontide cannot now
be long in coming. If the colored people had taken hands
and danced around the White House, with a few cheers for
the much abused gentleman who has immortalized himself by
one just act, no President could have had a finer levee, or one
to be prouder of.
While these sights and sounds were going on without,
curious scenes were passing within, and I was learning that
one of the best methods of fitting oneself to be a nurse in a
hospital, is to be a patient there; for then only can one wholly
realize what the men suffer and sigh for; how acts of kindness
touch and win; how much or little we are to those about us;
and for the first time really see that in coming there we have
taken our lives in our hands, and may have to pay dearly for
a brief experience. Every one was very kind; the attendants
of my ward often came up to report progress, to fill my wood-box,
or bring messages and presents from my boys. The
nurses took many steps with those tired feet of theirs, and
several came each evening, to chat over my fire and make
things cosy for the night. The doctors paid daily visits,
tapped at my lungs to see if pneumonia was within, left doses
without names, and went away, leaving mo as ignorant, and
much more uncomfortable than when they came. Hours
began to get confused; people looked odd; queer faces haunted
the room, and the nights were one long fight with weariness
and pain. Letters from home grew anxious; the doctors
lifted their eyebrows, and nodded ominously; friends said
“Don't stay,” and an internal rebellion seconded the advice;
up so soon was proclaiming a defeat before I was fairly routed;
so to all “Don't stays” I opposed “I wills,” till, one fine
morning, a grey-headed gentlemen rose like a welcome ghost
on my hearth; and, at the sight of him, my resolution melted
away, my heart turned traitor to my boys, and, when he said,
“Come home,” I answered, “Yes, father;” and so ended
my career as an army nurse.
I never shall regret the going, though a sharp tussle with
typhoid, ten dollars, and a wig, are all the visible results of
the experiment; for one may live and learn much in a month.
A good fit of illness proves the value of health; real danger
tries one's mettle; and self-sacrifice sweetens character. Let
no one who sincerely desires to help the work on in this way,
delay going through any fear; for the worth of life lies in the
experiences that fill it, and this is one which cannot be forgotten.
All that is best and bravest in the hearts of men and women,
comes out in scenes like these; and, though a hospital is a
rough school, its lessons are both stern and salutary; and the
humblest of pupils there, in proportion to his faithfulness,
learns a deeper faith in God and in himself. I, for one,
would return tomorrow, on the “up-again,-and-take-another”
principle, if I could; for the amount of pleasure and profit I
got out of that month compensates for all after pangs; and,
though a sadly womanish feeling, I take some satisfaction in
the thought that, if I could not lay my head on the altar of
my country, I have my hair; and that is more than handsome
Helen did for her dead husband, when she sacrificed only the
ends of her ringlets on his urn. Therefore, I close this little
chapter of hospital experiences, with the regret that they were
no better worth recording; and add the poetical gem with
Periwinkle:”
With a marble stone to cover it;
And carve thereon a gruel spoon,
To show a “nuss” has died too soon.
| CHAPTER V.
OFF DUTY. Hospital sketches | |