[XI.]
Upon reaching Richmond I was taken to my old quarters in Franklin Street, and made much of. The Richmond Dispatch, after describing the battle in which we had been engaged and giving a list of the casualties in our battery, said: “This list proves the desperate bravery exhibited by the command in the bloody strife. We learn that Mr. Dawson, a young Englishman, who came over in the Nashville, volunteered for the engagement, and received a wound while acting most gallantly.” My old friends in the Navy (and the Navy officers are more clannish and stick together more closely than the Army officers do,) came at once to see me. First, of course, was my dear friend, Captain R. B. Pegram, who chided me for resigning from the Navy without telling him what I was going to do. Commodore Hollins, Commodore Forrest, and Captain Arthur Sinclair, were exceedingly attentive. The surgeons told me there was no danger of serious results from my wound, if severe inflammation could be prevented; and Captain W. H. Murray, of one of the Maryland regiments, rigged up an arrangement for me by which water was allowed to drip, night and day, on the bandages, to keep them moist and cool. Miss Hetty Cary rather turned the tables on me, by sending me word that she would have come down to my room with her sister to see me, but that I had criticised so sharply, before I had been hit, the conduct of ladies who had gone to the hospitals to attend to the wounded soldiers, that she would not think of doing violence to my feelings now by giving me any of her personal attention. In truth, the young ladies who did visit hospitals were disposed to be rather partial in their attentions. There were pet patients wherever the young ladies were allowed to go. A very good illustration is given in a paragraph which went the rounds of the Southern papers, as showing the experience of an interesting wounded soldier, who had dark eyes and a darling mustache, and a generally romantic aspect. A young lady said to him: “Is there not anything that I can do for you?” Wearily the soldier said: “Nothing, I thank you.” Not to be baffled, the young lady said: “Do let me do something for you. Will you let me wash your face for you?” The sad response of the soldier was: “Well, if you want to right bad, I reckon you must; but that will make seven times that my face has been washed this evening.” There were some patriotic verses on the same subject, written in all seriousness, which ended with this touching couplet:
“And every day there is a rush
To give the soldiers milk and mush.”
The doctors complained, too, that the young ladies were rather in their way; and that their prescriptions were oftentimes set at nought by surreptitious doses of pies and sweetmeats. But the motive was always good and pure, and, after I had known what it was to be hit myself and to need a woman’s attentions, I was not disposed to quarrel with any one, however fascinating, for being assiduous in attentions to a wounded Confederate.
As soon as I was able to stand up, Captain Murray offered to go with me to Petersburg, where I might remain until I recovered. Mrs. Annie T. White invited me to stay at her house, and I was there for several weeks. While there, Mr. John Dunlop, who has been one of the staunchest friends I have had, called to see me. He was a native of Petersburg, but was educated in England, and took the degree of A. M. at Wadham College, Oxford, not long before the beginning of the war. He went to New York to practice law there; but returned to Virginia as soon as the State seceded, and joined one of the Virginia regiments as a private. He was appointed aide-de-camp to General Armistead, which was the position he held at the time that I first knew him. After the second battle of Manassas he was retired on account of his failing sight, and went to England. After the war he returned to Virginia, and is now living at Richmond, where he pursues his profession with much success.
Murray returned to Richmond in a day or two. Poor fellow! I never saw him again. He was killed at Gettysburg. I have fancied that he was deeply attached to Miss Jennie Cary, who has never married.
Mr. Raines was greatly concerned at hearing that I had been wounded, and sent his carriage to Petersburg to take me down to his house in Sussex. He told me that his house must be my home. In his own simple and heartfelt language: “My dollars and cents I will divide with you; and half my bread and meat is yours.”