“I thought I’d like camp-life, and I did.”
“You did your full share of the hard work, I am told, marching, going on picket duty, and chopping wood?”
“Yes; I was put on detail just like the others, and I never made any excuse. I was awfully afraid they would find me out, and then I’d have to go.”
“But they did not find you out?”
“No; not till I was wounded. The most I care about now is that they won’t let me go back.”
“Where did you come from? and what is your real name?”
“I don’t want to tell, and I sha’n’t tell, either.”
When she was able to sit up the question of clothing became an important one. The surgeon said, “She must have women’s clothes to put on.” We women from the North, by gift and by purchase, provided the necessary outfit for a woman’s wardrobe. To raise some funds for her we had her photograph taken, first in the uniform of a private soldier, and then dressed as a woman. She sold them to soldiers and visitors for twenty-five cents each, and raised considerable money. I have the two I purchased, which I have treasured in my war album all these years. She was stout and muscular, with heavy features, high cheek bones, and her black abundant hair was cut very close. She was perhaps twenty-six or twenty-eight years old, but when in her military rig looked like a beardless boy.
The time came at last when she must be dismissed from the hospital; and I was commissioned by the officers to find out all I could about her, and where she lived, as she had been more friendly to me than to the others. The interview was a long one. I can give only the main points. “The time has come,” I said, “when you must be sent out of the hospital. Where do you wish to go?”
“I’ll stay in Nashville,” she answered.