“Certainly! Don’t think of getting discouraged.”
As I now look back on that dismal scene, and remember the sinking heart that throbbed so feebly within me, and the wasted trembling limbs with which I attempted to flee from my prison-like bed, I cannot help smiling;—now, when I can skate as fast as any one, on my solitary foot, swim as well as I ever could, climb like a squirrel, jump on a saddled horse and ride at any pace I please, place a hand on a fence as high as my head and spring over in a quarter of a second, or walk twenty-five or thirty miles a day—all this with one good leg, a crutch and a cane!
When the spring came, and I could walk about with some ease, I went from my country home to Philadelphia, to get one of Palmer’s artificial legs, supposing that I could wear one advantageously. While on the subject, I will simply say that I got one, but never used it much, because there was too little of the thigh left to attach it to firmly. Not that I would be understood to detract from the reputation of Palmer’s patent limb; for we all liked the Doctor, and were most favorably impressed with his handiwork; and my subsequent observations have left no doubt in my mind that his are the most nearly perfect of any artificial limbs manufactured.
Major King, Assistant Surgeon-General of Philadelphia, sent me to Haddington Hospital, to wait till the proposed new limb should be ready for me; and it was there that I, John Smith, fairly began my somewhat eventful career—“On a Crutch.”
The hospital, located near the beautiful suburban village of Haddington, was set apart for such “heroes,” as had lost arms or legs, and desired to replace them with substantial wooden ones. It was not unusual at that time to see fifty or sixty one-legged men strolling about the grounds, in fine weather; or squads of fifteen or twenty, supplied with passes for the day, clambering upon a street car and going into the city for a bit of a spree.
A person once asked me if it was not a rather sad sight, and if the boys in this condition were not rather morose and gloomy. The very thought is amusing. I never, anywhere, or under any circumstances, saw a livelier crowd of fellows than the maimed and crippled soldiers at Haddington Hospital! They were nearly all young men, from seventeen to twenty-two, and a happier, noisier, more frolicsome set of boys I never saw! It was no unusual thing for some of them, in a merry mood, to carry on till they got put into the guard-house, by the impatient surgeons—sometimes when they scarcely deserved it; but of that, I will say more hereafter.
CHAPTER II.
John’s Adventures with a Crazy Man.
HADDINGTON Hospital had its “characters,” as every place has. I formed ties and associations during the spring of my stay there, which can never be forgotten. Nearly all who were there at the time, I remember with pleasure. There was “Chris.” Miller, whose leg was amputated below the knee, and who walked splendidly on his “Palmer leg,” when he got it. If there was one of the boys there whom I liked better than any other, it was “Chris.” He was a jovial fellow, humorous and witty, and the boys were never at a loss for a laugh when he was about. When he got his artificial leg on tight he got tight himself on the strength of it, and made so much noise that the Doctors came to the melancholy conclusion that it was necessary to put him into the guard-house—which was Room No. 41, fourth story. There he made more noise than ever, sat in the open window with his feet dangling out—one a wooden one, you know—and threatened to jump down upon the roof of the piazza, a distance of twenty-five or thirty feet; so, the Doctors got scared, lest he should do so, and thus sprain the ankle of his new leg, and they had him brought down and locked up in the cellar, where there was not such a broad field for exercise.
Nor shall I ever forget Young, a reckless boy of the New York Fire Zouaves, whose leg was amputated five times. One evening when I was just about to retire, he came home from the city, more than tight, fell, as he came blundering up the steps, and bursted his unfortunate “stump” open, so that half-an-inch more of the bone had to be sawed off. He begged the privilege of keeping this fragment of himself, and when he got into a convalescent state again, he worked whole days at it with a pocket knife, and carved it into a very handsome ring, which he ever afterwards wore on his middle finger, both at the table and elsewhere.
There, too, was Mr. Becker, (a citizen,) the clerk of the hospital. He was a handsome fellow, with black curling hair; and he made love, pro tempore, to one of the village girls.