J. WILKES BOOTH
With a vague desire to express in some way their grief, men came and begged for a bit of black to fasten over their tents, and if any were so luckless as to have a black suit they saw it speedily reduced to shreds and flying from the entrances of the wards or tents. But other men still begged so earnestly for some black emblem, that I at last gave to them a full train black skirt that I could illy spare. This soon became floating ribbons over many a tent, to the great satisfaction of the loyal boys, having so little by which they could express their sorrow. In a few days some of us were so fortunate as to receive from home or from Washington, mourning badges of suitable designs, which we wore as a mark of respect to our dead President.
In making the rounds among my scattered patients I stopped to speak to Major Prentiss, of a New York regiment, who had captured his wayward young brother—a Captain in the Sixth Maryland Confederate Infantry—now lying in the same ward quite near, having lost a leg. The Captain, a handsome, cheerful youth, whose happy jokes and stories kept his neighbours quite diverted from the tedium of convalescence, was recovering slowly; but the Major had been shot through the lung, and one could hear the air passing through the unhealed wound. He looked so longingly at the badge I was wearing, that another brother, who had come South to take the patients home if possible, said: “He would be so happy if he could have a badge.” It was impossible to ignore the wish of a dying soldier, so I took off the one I was wearing and pinned it over his heart. He could not speak his thanks, but a rare smile of intense satisfaction spread over the sufferer’s countenance.
As in most great catastrophes, it seemed for a time as if the world must stand still; but many patients still needed care, and we were obliged to go on with our work till all the sick were sent home or to Northern hospitals, and each resumed his daily duty, while the spirit of sadness hovered over the hospital campus.
Lincoln was not a type,
No ancestors, no fellows, no successors.
Ingersoll.
O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,