As soon as he was able to travel, we prepared him for the journey. His name and address, and name and address of the gentleman to whom we were sending him, were written with ink on white muslin, and sewed to his coat and jacket, and on the shawl we wrapped about him, and on the blanket we bundled him up in.
A stalwart expressman came for him, and, after giving a regular receipt for him, took him up in his arms to carry him away. Dr. Irwin and the surgeons of the hospital, and even the nurses and cooks, all came to bid Willie good-by. His farewells were very touching.
When he was carried from his little room out into the main ward, a few golden curls lay out on the folds of the coarse gray blanket, and his laughing eyes turned kindly from one to another, as they called to him: “Good-by, Willie!” “Be a good boy, Willie.” “Don’t forget me, Willie.”
As we were about to pass through the last door-way, Willie, who had said “good-by” to each one as they greeted him, called out at the top of his voice, “Good-by, everybody.” There was a chorus of good-bys in response; but an Irishman by the door was heard above them all, as he said:—
“Good luck to ye now! and may ye live a hundred years, and get into heaven afore the Divil has a chance at ye.”
We accompanied him to the train, the surgeons and myself, and saw him safely aboard with his luncheon; and we stood there together in silence as the train pulled out, for a vacancy was felt in every heart.
A telegram was received a few days later, telling us that Willie had arrived safely.
A great deal was crowded into the next few months. Battle after battle followed. Fort Henry and Fort Donelson had fallen, Nashville had surrendered, the bloody struggle at Pittsburg Landing had taken place, and the Union forces had taken possession of Corinth, Miss.; but Willie was not forgotten.
The gentleman adopted him as his own child, and his wife was greatly comforted by the presence and love of little Willie.