The battle was always on. Night and day the thunder of the guns and the bursting of shells made night hideous and the day a terror. Every nerve had been for weeks on the rack—in the battle, and yet unable to lift a hand for defence. Almost every hospital had been riddled with shells, and any moment the end might come to any one of them. But now all was quiet. As I passed through the various hospitals distributing supplies, I noticed a boy looking wistfully toward me. I went directly to him. As I took his hand in my own, and looked into his fair frank face, I felt that any mother might be proud of such a boy.
“Have you a mother?” I asked. Instantly his great brown eyes filled with tears, as he answered,
“Yes, madam, I have the best mother in the world.”
His answer pleased me greatly, there was so much of heart and earnestness in it.
“Where does your mother live?”
He mentioned the name of the village near Mobile, Alabama.
“Are you sure she is living there now?”
“Yes, she owns a place in the country near the village. There is nowhere else for her to live.”
“Would you like to have me write a letter to her about you?”
“You couldn’t do it—it wouldn’t get through the lines.”