Our Village in War-time

by S. T. Martyn

In the evening of the day on which the news reached us, I went to the parsonage, and found our good clergyman preparing to start for Maryland to look after our wounded, and to bring home the body of Lieut. Wiley. Poor Mabel had been overwhelmed by the sad intelligence, and as her mother was wholly occupied with the heart-broken girl, there was no one to assist Mr. Ryder; but Miss Letty came in soon after me, and she was a host in herself. She was very pale, but cheerful and efficient as ever, thinking of everybody and every thing, and bringing order out of confusion by the magic of her touch. When I expressed the hope that she would remain at the parsonage with Mrs. Ryder and Mabel, she answered,

“Bless you, dear, you don’t suppose I could stay here, and little Willie lying with an arm cut off at Hagerstown; do you? There is nobody can do for him as I can, who am like a mother to him; and if they could, I shouldn’t be willing to have them. No, no, I am going to start to-night with Mr. Ryder, and I shall count the minutes till we get there.”

“But have you no preparations to make for yourself for such a journey?” I inquired.

“Oh, my preparations were all made hours ago, as soon as I heard the news. I have put up every thing I shall be likely to want for my boy; and as for myself, I am always ready, you know. There is nothing to be done but to fix up Mr. Ryder and be off. Miss Lilian and poor Fanny Lester are going with us, to see the captain, if he’s alive; and who knows but their going may save his life, if he isn’t dead when they get there. Some folks will blame Miss Lilian for going; but Fanny can’t go without her, and she wont care much for talk when she thinks she’s doing right.”

I saw the little company off a few hours later, and a sorrowful parting it was, though Miss Letty and Lilian tried hard to assume a courage they did not feel, to comfort Fanny Lester, whose grief was terrible to witness; and how I loved and admired Lilian, when I saw her so forgetful of self, soothing and sustaining the weeping sister, while her own heart was bleeding silently. This young girl was not one to proclaim her sorrow on the house-tops, or to make noisy demands for sympathy. When the iron entered her soul, she would turn away quietly from observation, and pursuing her daily round of duty, pour the tale of her suffering into the ear of Infinite pity alone.

It may be that I am about to betray Miss Letty’s confidence; but her letters from Hagerstown were such faithful transcripts of her heart and character, that I cannot resist the temptation to give a few extracts from them to my readers.

“... I wish I could give you some idea of the hospitals here, but I can’t begin to describe them. The rooms look airy and clean enough; but, Oh dear, those long rows of beds, with poor suffering, maimed, dying heroes lying on them, some with faces paler than the sheets, some burning up with fever, and all having such a tired, anxious look, as if they wanted somebody to comfort them; and, poor fellows, they do need it bad enough, I can tell you. I should have been glad to stop and say a kind word to every one of them, but a nurse hurried me on to a little room beyond the large one, with three or four beds in it, and there, on a cot, I found my boy, looking as white and weak as could be, but just as pleasant as ever.

“He was asleep, and I didn’t want to wake him, so I took a chair very softly, and sat down close by the dear little fellow till his nap was out. The first I knew, the tears were dripping, dripping into my lap just like rain. I’m sure I’d no thought of crying in that place, but there were tears in my heart when I saw that dear little face all drawn up with pain in his sleep, and when I thought about that arm that had been round my neck so often, and never would be any more. By and by he waked up, and when he saw me sitting there, he gave one shout, and if the sun had been shining right into his eyes, they couldn’t have been any brighter. That one look would have paid me for all the journey, if I hadn’t done a single thing for him.

“‘Oh, aunty,’ says he, ‘I was just dreaming that you had come, and it seemed so good to have you over me once more, and now here you are. I don’t know what to say, our Father is so good to me.’

“It was as much as I could do to speak, but I made out to tell him I had come to stay and take care of him till he could go home with me.