I pitied her with all my heart.What could I say or do?Words always seem impertinent at such times;I did not know the man;the woman was neither interesting in herself nor graceful in her grief;yet,having known a sister's sorrow myself,I could have not leave her alone with her trouble in that strange place,without a word.So,feeling heart-sick,home-sick,and not knowing what else to do,I just put my arms about her,and began to cry in a very helpless but hearty way;for,as I seldom indulge in this moist luxury,I like to enjoy it with all my might,when I do.
It so happened I could not have done a better thing;for,though not a word was spoken,each felt the other's sympathy;and,in the silence,our handkerchiefs were more eloquent than words.She soon sobbed herself quiet;and leaving her on my bed,I went back to work,feeling much refreshed by the shower,though I'd forgotten to rest,and had washed my face instead of my hands.I mention this successful experience as a receipt proved and approved,for the use of any nurse who may find herself called upon to minister to these wounds of the heart.They will find it more efficacious than cups of tea,smelling-bottles,psalms,or sermons;for a friendly touch and a companionable cry ,unite the consolations of all the rest for womankind;and,if genuine,will be found a sovereign cure for the first sharp pang so many suffer in these heavy times.
I am gratified to find that my little Sergeant has found favor in several quarters,and gladly respond to sundry calls for news of him,though my personal knowledge ended five months ago.Next to my good John-I hope the grass is green above him,far away there in Virginia!-I placed the Sergeant on my list of worthy boys;and many jovial chat have I enjoyed with the merry-hearted lad,who had a fancy for fun,when his poor arm was dressed.While Dr.P.poked and strapped,I brushed the remains of the Sergeant's brown mane-shorn sorely against his will-and gossiped with all my might,the boy making odd faces,exclamations,and appeals,when nerves got the better of nonsense,as they sometimes did:
"I'd rather laugh than cry,when I must sing out anyhow,so just say that bit from Dickens again,please,and I'll stand it like a man."He did;for "Mrs.Cluppins,""Chadband,"and "Sam Weller,"always helped him through;thereby causing me to lay another offering of love and admiration on the shrine of the god of my idolatry,though he does wear too much jewelry and talk slang.
The Sergeant also originated,I believe,the fashion of calling his neighbors by their afflictions instead of their names;and I was rather taken aback by hearing them bandy remarks of this sort,with perfect good humor and much enjoyment of the new game.
"Hallo,old Fits is off again!""How are you,Rheumatiz?""Will you trade apples,Ribs?""I say,Miss P.may I give Typus a drink of this?""Look here,No Toes,lend us a stamp,there's a good feller,"etc.He himself was christened "Baby B.,"because he tended his arm on a little pillow,and called it his infant.
Very fussy about his grub was Sergeant B.,and much trotting of attendants was necessary when he partook of nourishment.Anything more irresistibly wheedlesome I never saw,and constantly found myself indulging him,like the most weak-minded parent,merely for the pleasure of seeing his blue eyes twinkle,his merry mouth break into a smile,and his one hand execute a jaunty little salute that was entirely captivating.I am afraid that Nurse P.damaged her dignity,frolicking with this persuasive young gentleman,though done for his well being.But "boys will be boys,"is perfectly applicable to the case;for,in spite of years,sex and the "prunes-and-prisms"doctrine laid down for our use,I have a fellow feeling for lads,and always owed Fate a grudge because I wasn't a lord of creation instead of a lady.
Since I left,I have heard,from a reliable source,that my Sergeant has gone home;therefore,the small romance that budded the first day Isaw him,has blossomed into its second chapter,and I now imagine "dearest Jane"filling my place,tending the wounds I tended,brushing the curly jungle I brushed,loving the excellent little youth I loved,and eventually walking altarward,with the Sergeant stumping gallantly at her side.If she doesn't do all this,and no end more,I'll never forgive her;and sincerely pray to the guardian saint of lovers,that "Baby B."may prosper in his wooing,and his name be long in the land.
One of the lively episodes of hospital life,is the frequent marching away of such as are well enough to rejoin their regiments,or betake themselves to some convalescent camp.The ward master comes to the door of each room that is to be thinned,reads off a list of names,bids their owners look sharp and be ready when called for;and,as he vanishes,the rooms fall into an indescribable state of topsy-turvyness,as the boys begin to black their boots,brighten spurs,if they have them,overhaul knapsacks,make presents;are fitted out with needfuls,and-well,why not?-kissed sometimes,as they say,good by ;for in all human probability we shall never meet again,and a woman's heart yearns over anything that has clung to her for help and comfort.I never liked these breakings-up of my little household:though my short stay showed me but three.I was immensely gratified by the hand shakes I got,for their somewhat painful cordiality assured me that I had not tried in vain.The big Prussian rumbled out his unintelligible adieux,with a grateful face and a premonitory smooth of his yellow mustache,but got no farther,for some one else stepped up,with a large brown hand extended,and this recommendation of our very faulty establishment:
"We're off,ma'am,and I'm powerful sorry,for I'd no idea a 'orspittle was such a jolly place.Hope I'll git another ball somewheres easy,so I'll come back,and be took care on again.
Mean,ain't it?"
