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 relics,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 the sheet over the quiet sleeper,whom no noise could now 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 carelessness 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 attractions for him than a dozen generals,slightly scratched in 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.
