As we entered each ward, every soldier who was able to bear his weight sprang to his feet, and stood by his cot during our stay in the ward. I saw at once that it was in pursuance of an order. I had made it a point to shake hands with every soldier that was awake and conscious, but the surgeon hurried through without giving an opportunity to speak to a half-dozen in the whole hospital. One poor skeleton of a man sat bolstered on his cot, eating his dinner, and had on his plate a spoonful of cooked onion.
"Where did you get that onion?" cried the surgeon.
"I paid my own money for it, doctor."
"Who said you might have it?"'
"Dr. Spears."
"Very well, then;" and passed on.
Here my disgust filled up to the brim. I cared but little for his attempt to browbeat me; but when he treated a helpless soldier like this I could hardly keep my indignation from boiling over. The first words spoken to me after entering the hospital were:
"Do you want to go into the kitchen?"
"I would like to pass through your kitchen," was my reply.
"Very unfavorable time, madam—very unfavorable; about dinner-time."