Friday. Yesterday was unfortunately the day of Valentine the Saint. I
say "unfortunately" for this reason: I was just about to continue this
letter, when our day orderly came in, and taking advantage of my
sympathetic and credulous nature, after boldly reminding me that it was
St. Valentine's Day, told me that he had only loved once and never would
again.
In this respect he differs considerably from the majority of orderlies.
He then comfortably arranged himself on a vacant bed, and unsolicited,
with a smiling face, told me the romantic story of his blighted
affection. As it may interest you, I will give you a condensed version
of the same. Would to Heaven he had so dealt with me. But I was born to
suffer, and was I not in hospital? As a coster lad he went with a young
woman who loved him. He also loved her. Her name was Olivia. She went
upon the "styge," and loved him still. Then an old nobleman (Sir ----)
fell in love with her, followed her persistently, and wooed her through
her parents. He was rich but honest, and it was a case of December and
April, for she was all showers--of tears. At last, against her heart's
dictates, she married him and became an old man's pet--nuisance, I
should imagine, and my orderly friend became a soldier. Alas for the
trio, she could not forget her old, I mean young, love, and eventually
blew her brains out in Paris. They spattered the ceiling and ruined the
carpet--I forgot the rest, (there was a lovely account of it in the
_People_), for over-taxed nature could stand no more, and I fell asleep
dreaming of reporters wading ankle-deep in blood in a Louis Quatorze
drawing-room, taking notes of a terrible tragedy in high life, and was
horrified to hear a loud report, followed by a gurgling sound, and,
opening my eyes, beheld--Mr. Orderly holding one of my bottles of stout
upside down to his lips, and in his other hand my corkscrew with a cork
on the end of it.
Private McLaughlan, of the Inniskillings, having heard of this, informed
me that he "jined th' Army" because his father would not let him keep
five racehorses; and Private Hewitt, of the 12th M.I., gave his reason
as being his refusal to marry a _h_eiress. After this our orderly ceased
from troubling--for a time.
Amongst the many sad cases I have come across, here is one which strikes
me as being particularly pitiable. A poor fellow of the 2nd Lincolns is
the patient I am thinking about. He is deaf, deaf as a stone wall, is
sickening for enteric, cannot read, and is at times delirious. The tent
the poor fellow is in is not a very good one, and he seems quite
friendless. There he lies in his bed, never uttering a word or hearing
one, and as helpless as a child. Some mornings back I saw him eating his
porridge with his fingers, the man who had handed it to him having
forgotten to give him a spoon. His utter loneliness seems too awful. I
wonder what his poor mind thinks about. When told that he would
probably be sent home, he said he did not want to go. Surely somewhere
in God's sweet world there is somebody who cares for and thinks about
him. I cannot half express to you the sadness of his solitude.