“I don’t think I’m very ill—they said so to-day; but I think I’ll come round soon.”
The next moment he was on the field, and evidently going over the fatal “Fair Oaks” fight.
His friend Harry told us that it had been his most earnest desire and longing to see his father; and that he had urged him, some days ago, if he should be worse, to let them know at home. I therefore wrote the telegram on his table, and we drove to the office on our return to the city, that no time might be lost.
I was detained at home for the two succeeding days; but some of our ladies went out to see him each day, as he was a general favorite; one lady going in a pouring rain, although she knew that she would have nearly a mile to walk after leaving the cars; their report of the case was most unfavorable. On the third day, the Rev. Mr. ——, who had been a most constant and faithful friend to Robinson, in our hospital, went out with me. When we arrived, we found him in a terrible state of excitement; he had been talking, and was now almost shrieking, and dashing himself from side to side.
“It’s no use speaking to him, to-day,” said the wardmaster; “he don’t know anybody.”
But once again I tried it, and once again he extended his hand, and repeated my name, and then said, “And Mr. ——, how very kind in him to come!”
I sat down by him, and tried to soothe and calm that dreadful restlessness; his mind was too much gone for words, I only gently stroked his brow and fanned him. “I am out on the water; out on the water!” was his one cry, from a low tone, ascending till it amounted almost to a scream. Truly he was “out on the water,” and where was compass or chart for the final voyage? Those words, with the constant repetition of his brother’s name, were the last I ever heard him utter. The only moment of calmness I noticed, was when Mr. —— knelt at his bedside and repeated those soul-soothing Prayers, from the “Visitation of the Sick.” He attempted no conversation, for we well knew Robinson was in no state to bear it. We had felt from the first, that Prayer for him, was all that we could offer; not with him, as his intervals of consciousness were merely momentary. His father had not yet arrived, and there appeared little hope that he could now do so, in time, as he was very much lower than on my last visit, and evidently sinking. As our presence could give him no comfort, we left him with heavy hearts.
When I reached there the next day, I found that an order had been given prohibiting all admittance for visitors to his ward, as the surgeon thought that Robinson had been excited by those he had seen the day before, but that his father had come, and that we could see him; he had arrived that morning.