Long rows of men lay on the floor with their knapsacks for their pillows. Among them was a Missouri soldier, severely wounded and delirious, who all the night long called piteously for his sister.
His cry, “O sister!” was so plaintive and pathetic that I would go to him every little while and ask,
“What do you want?”
“I am glad you have come—I want a drink of water.”
When the water was given he would remain quiet for a little time. The next morning, as soon as it was light, he was taken to the amputating-table, and one of his limbs sawed off above the knee. He sank very low under the operation—so low that no attempt was made to remove him from the table. The surgeon in charge said to me, “Get him to take some food or drink if you can; he is sinking very fast.” I offered him every delicacy in my possession, but he turned away in disgust. There had been some of my supplies transferred to this boat. While working with the men on the lower deck, and helping dress their wounds, I found a barrel of sauer-kraut. I allowed the attendants to open it; but afterwards, as I came up to the upper cabin, I called the surgeon’s attention to it, so as not to be blamed in the matter if the results were bad.
It happened that I met him near the amputating-table. As I passed the patient I turned to give him a sympathetic look. He beckoned to me, and I hastened to him. “I want some kraut,” he said.
I stepped over to where the surgeon was ministering to a man, and questioned as to whether it was best to grant his request. “Give him anything he wants—he can’t live anyway,” was his answer. I sent an attendant down to get the kraut; and he brought up a big tin cup full, and placed it on his breast and went his way.
Shortly afterwards, passing that way, I noticed him, feebly, ravenously trailing the kraut to his mouth; and I never saw any one eat as much kraut as he did in my life. He never stopped till he emptied the cup. No one attempted to hinder him, as it was expected he would die soon. From that hour he began to mend, and by the time we reached St. Louis his case was considered hopeful.
Months afterwards, as I was passing through one of the St. Louis hospitals, I heard the thud, thud, of crutches coming after me. I turned to see who was following me; and a merry voice greeted me, “Here’s your sauer-kraut man! Here’s your sauer-kraut man!” And there, sure enough, was my Missouri soldier, able to get around lively on crutches, and as blithe and merry as though he had never felt the keen edge of the surgeon’s knife.
The dangers and hardships of that trip can never be forgotten. There were many touching incidents. If this little story falls under the eyes of that Missouri soldier, I would like to hear from him.