“Well, Jane, there’s no use waiting; come along; I heard there was one at the —— hospital; let’s go there and try.” Discomfited party depart abruptly.
I am glad that you should see this for yourself; otherwise I think you would hardly credit my statement, that this has not happened only once or twice, but literally every day this week, with different parties, and variations in the modes of trying to gain admittance. It is indeed difficult to account for this morbid curiosity with regard to the Southern prisoners. I have sometimes thought that it might be an unconscious tribute to loyalty, and that the crime of rebellion was looked upon as such a fearful one, that it must of necessity affect even the external appearance of all engaged in it; be that as it may, I do most sincerely believe that were Du Chaillu himself to hold an exhibition here of one of his Gorillas, it would attract less attention than the presence of this one poor misguided rebel. There! while I have been moralizing upon rebels and the rebellion, don’t you think I have given that shelf rather a neater appearance, and that the table is beginning to look a little less loaded; but oh, dear! look at this box at the door; what more is coming? Oh! I see what it is. I know well that box by the flag painted on the top. Kind friends from the country send us that; we have a duplicate key; empty and return it to have it filled and sent to us next week. The contents are most acceptable, but as you see, it must be attended to at once, and as exactly this work will go on till night, I think you have had quite enough of it, and had better say goodbye to us and our room. This day, just as you have seen it, is a counterpart of every day, not only of this week, but of the last three months. It will not, of course, continue; but, although we would be the last to check the generosity of warm-hearted friends, it makes our duties here a little arduous just at present.
And now let me go with you to the door, and say goodbye. If you find that you are not too much wearied, I shall hope for another visit, in some future week, when I may have time to take you through the wards, and I can show you some of our interesting cases; but I think what you have seen to-day, will furnish the best answer I could give to your question, “What can the ladies find to do there, all day?”
A MORNING AT THE HOSPITAL.
“God’s finger touched him, and he slept.”
A steady, pouring rain. The fog, which in the early morning hesitated whether to roll off and give us one of those beautiful, bright autumn days, the more precious because we feel they are gliding so rapidly from us, or to come down in rain, seems to have decided at last, and a dreary, drenching rain is the result. As we[1] enter the hospital, a glance is sufficient to tell that some depressing influence is at work; instead of the bright, happy laugh which so often astonishes us on our entrance, we see the men hanging listlessly and languidly round; some grouped in a corner of the dining-room round a piano, which a few generous hearts have supplied for their amusement; some trying a game of cards or back-gammon; others lying on benches, “chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancies,” the latter class having the ascendancy, to judge from the countenance. Nor is the scene brighter in the wards; the damp air has driven those suffering from rheumatism and fever to their beds once more; and after the first bright smile of welcome, which never fails to greet us, the words, “Poor William there, is dying!” are sufficient to account for the depression, without waiting for what follows, “and I expect I shall go next.”
It is often asserted that the sight of such constant suffering and death, so hardens and accustoms the men to the fact, that they do not appear to feel it in the slightest degree. My own observation has led to a directly opposite conclusion. It is only natural, that a death here, where every trace of it is necessarily so speedily removed, may and must be as speedily forgotten; but, at the time, I have always noticed a far greater effect from it than I could have looked for; greater respect and sympathy for the feelings of any relations present; greater solemnity in witnessing the awful change; greater tenderness in the subsequent care of the body. As an illustration, it was but yesterday, that one of the wardmasters, coming for a shirt to lay out one of our poor fellows, just dead, said, “Give me any one, one of the worst will do,” and then, as though the words struck a chord, he added instantly; “One of the worst! Oh! how sorry I am, I said that; poor fellow! poor fellow! he wouldn’t have said that for me;” and as I turned, I saw the rough arm in its red flannel shirt, brushing away a tear, of which he surely need not have been ashamed.