I discovered that I had not succeeded, despite many efforts, in winning Miss Deborah. I learned that she was affronted because I had not shared my offerings of jelly 89 and fruit with her, for her special patients. Whenever I ventured to ask a loan from her, of a pan or a glass of water, or the little things of which we never had enough, she would reply, “I must keep them for the nurses who understand reciprocity. Reciprocity is the rule some persons never seem to comprehend.” When this was hammered into my slow perception, I rose to the occasion. I turned over the entire contents of a basket the landlord of the Spotswood had given me to Miss Deborah, and she made my path straight before me ever afterward.
At the end of a week the matron had promoted me. Instead of carving the fat bacon, to be served with corn bread, for the hospital dinner, or standing between two rough men to keep away the flies, or fetching water, or spreading sheets on cots, I was assigned to regular duty with one patient.
The first of these proved to be a young Colonel Coppens, of my husband’s brigade. I could comfort him very little, for he was wounded past recovery. I spoke little French, and could only try to keep him, as far as possible, from annoyance. To my great relief, place was found for him in a private family. There he soon died—the gallant fellow I had admired on his horse a few months before.
Then I was placed beside the cot of Mr. (or Captain) Boyd, of Mecklenburg, and was admonished by the matron not to leave him alone. He was the most patient sufferer in the world—gentle, courteous, always considerate, never complaining.
“Are you in pain, Captain?”
“No, no,” he would say gently.
One day when I returned from my “rest,” I found the matron sitting beside him.
She motioned me to take her place, and then added, “No, no; I will not leave him.”
The captain’s eyes were closed, and he sighed wearily at intervals. Presently he whispered slowly: “There everlasting spring abides;” then sighed, and seemed to sleep for a moment.
The matron felt his pulse and raised a warning hand. The sick man’s whisper went on: “Bright fields beyond 90 the swelling flood, Stand dressed in living green;” and in a moment more the Christian soldier had crossed the river and lain down to rest under the trees.