A TRIBUTE TO A SOUTHERN GIRL
Miss Lou entered upon her duties as hospital nurse at once.
Untrammelled even by the knowledge of conventionalities, and with the
directness and fearlessness of a brave child, she went from one to
another, her diffidence quickly banished by her profound sympathy. The
enlisted men on the piazzas received her chief attentions, nor was she
long in discovering the Federal wounded, crowding the outbuildings and
offices.
With the exception of a rearguard and hospital attendants, the
Confederate forces had marched in pursuit of the Union column. The dead
were buried during the morning and the ghastlier evidences of strife
removed. Along the edge of the grove tents were pitched, some designed
for the soldiers, others for the better accommodation and isolation of
certain critical cases. The negroes performed most of the labor, Uncle
Lusthah counselling patience and quiet acceptance of their lot for the
present. The prisoners were sent South. Confederate surgeon Ackley was
in charge of the hospital, while upon Whately was conferred the
military command. His partial disablement would not prevent him from
attending to the light duties of the position, the surgeon being
practically the superior officer. Order was quickly restored, guards
set at important points, and the strangely assorted little community
passed speedily under a simple yet rigorous military government.
Curiosity, desire of gain, as well as sympathy, led people to flock to
the plantation from far and near. One of Surgeon Ackley's first steps
was to impress upon all the need of provisions, for Mr. Baron's larder,
ample as it had been, was speedily exhausted. During the day began the
transfer of the slightly wounded to the nearest railroad town, where
supplies could be obtained with more certainty, and it was evident that
the policy of abandoning the remote plantation as soon as possible had
been adopted.
Miss Lou knew nothing of this, and simply became absorbed in successive
tasks for the time being.
"Miss Baron," said Surgeon Ackley, "a number of the men are so disabled
that they cannot feed themselves. Proper food at the right time usually
means life."
These words suggested what became one of her principal duties. At
first, rough men were surprised and grateful indeed to find fair young
girl kneeling beside them with a bowl of hot soup; then they began to
look for her and welcome her as one who evoked their best and most
chivalrous feelings. It had soon been evident to her that the wounded
officers in the house would receive the most careful attention from the
regularly appointed attendants and also from Mrs. Whately. With the
exception of the old colonel, she gradually began to devote the most of
her time to the enlisted men, finding among them much less
embarrassment in her labors. With the latter class among the
Confederates, there was not on either side a consciousness of social
equality or an effort to maintain its amenities. The relation was the
simple one of kindness bestowed and received.
The girl made the acquaintance of the Union wounded with feelings in
which doubt, curiosity and sympathy were strangely blended. Her regard
for Scoville added to her peculiar interest in his compatriots. They
were the enemies of whom she had heard so much, having been represented
as more alien and foreign than if they had come across the seas and
spoke a different tongue. How they would receive her had been an
anxious query from the first, but she quickly learned that her touch of
kindness made them kin--that they welcomed her in the same spirit as
did her own people, while they also were animated by like curiosity and
wondering interest in regard to herself. A woman's presence in a field
hospital was in itself strange and unexpected. That this woman should
be a Southern girl, whose lovely features were gentle in commiseration,
instead of rigid from an imperious sense of duty to foes, was a truth
scarcely accepted at first. Its fuller comprehension began to evoke a
homage which troubled the girl. She was too simple and honest to accept
such return for what seemed the natural offices of humanity; yet, while
her manner and words checked its expression, they only deepened the
feeling.
At first she could scarcely distinguish among the bronzed, begrimed
faces, but before the day passed there were those whose needs and
personal traits enlisted her special regard. This was true of one
middle-aged Union captain, to whom at first she had no call to speak,
for apparently he was not very seriously wounded. Even before his face
was cleansed from the smoke and dust of battle his large, dark eyes and
magnificent black beard caught her attention. Later on, when feeding a
helpless man near him, he spoke to her and held out a photograph. She
took it and saw the features of a blond young girl scarcely as old as
herself.
"My little girl," said the officer simply. "See how she resembles her
mother. That's one reason why I so idolize her," and he handed Miss Lou
another picture, that of a sweet, motherly face, to which the former
likeness bore the resemblance of bud to blossom.
"We must try to get you well soon, so that you may go back to them,"
said Miss Lou cordially. "You are not seriously hurt, I hope?"
"No, I think not. I wanted you to see them so you can imagine how they
will look when I tell them about you. I don't need to be reminded of my
little Sadie, but I almost see her when you come among us, and I think
her blue eyes would have much the same expression as yours. God bless
you, for you are blessing those whom you regard as your enemies. We
don't look very hostile though, do we?"
"It seems a terrible mistake that you should be here at all as
enemies," she replied. "I have been taught to dread your coming more
than if you were Indians. I never can understand why men who carry such
pictures as these next their heart can fight against us."
"Well, Miss Baron, you must try to believe that we would not have left
the dear originals of such pictures unless we had felt we must, and
there let the question rest. Our lives are sweet to us, although we
risk them, chiefly because so dear to those at home. Let the thought
cheer you in your work that you are keeping tears from eyes as good and
kind as your own. That's another reason why I showed you the
likenesses."
"It will be but another motive," she said. "A suffering man, whether
friend or enemy, is enough."
She smiled as she spoke, then picked her way across the wide barn floor
and disappeared. Every eye followed her, pain all forgotten for the
moment.
"By G--d!" exclaimed a rough fellow, drawing his sleeve across his
eyes, "I'm hard hit, but I'll crawl to and choke the first man who says
a word she oughtn't to hear when she's around."
"If you can keep your own tongue civil, Yarry, you'll have your hands
full," said a comrade.
"Well, I be blankety blank-blanked if that girl doesn't rout the devil
out of a fellow, hoof and horns."
"You're right, my man," said the Union captain, "and your feelings do
you credit. Now I have a suggestion to make. Not one of us is capable
of using a word before her that she shouldn't hear, if not out of our
heads. We can pay her a better tribute than that. Let us decide to
speak in her absence as if she were present. That's about all we can do
in return for her kindness. She won't know the cost to us in breaking
habits, but we will, and that's better. We all feel that we'd like to
spill some more of our blood for the girl who fed Phillips yonder as if
he were a baby. Well, let us do the only thing we can--speak as if our
mothers heard us all the time, for this girl's sake."
"I be blanked if I don't agree, and may the devil fly away with the man
who doesn't," cried Yarry.
"Ah, Yarry," said the captain, laughing, "you'll have the hardest row
of any of us to hoe. We'll have to let you off for some slips."
Then began among the majority a harder fight than that for life--a
fight with inveterate habit, an effort to change vernacular, almost as
difficult as the learning of a new language. For some time Miss Lou did
not know nor understand. Word had been passed to other and smaller
groups of the Union wounded in other buildings. The pledge was soon
known as "A Northern Tribute to a Southern Girl." It was entered into
with enthusiasm and kept with a pathetic effort which many will not
understand. Yarry positively began to fail under the restraint he
imposed upon himself. His wound caused him agony, and profanity would
have been his natural expression of even slight annoyance. All day long
grisly oaths rose to his lips. Now and then an excruciating twinge
would cause a half-uttered expletive to burst forth like a projectile.
A deep groan would follow, as the man became rigid in his struggle for
self-control.
"Yarry," cried Captain Hanfield, who had suggested the pledge, "let
yourself go, for God's sake. You have shown more heroism to-day than I
in all my life. We will make you an exception and put you on parole to
hold in only while Miss Baron is here."
"I be--oh, blank it! This is going to be the death of me, boys. The
Rebs gave me hell with this wound. But for God's sake don't let her
know. Just let her think I'm civil like the rest of you. Wouldn't she
open them blue eyes if she knew a man was dyin', just holdin' in
cussin' on her account. Ha, ha, ha! She'd think I was a sort of a
Yankee devil, worse than the Injins she expected. Don't let her know.
I'll be quiet enough before long. Then like enough she'd look at me and
say, 'Poor fellow! he won't make any more trouble.'"
Whately had a busy day and felt that he had a reputation to regain. He
therefore bravely endured much physical pain in his arm and gave very
close attention to duty. Captain Maynard, on the contrary, had nothing
to do, and his wound was only severe enough to make him restless. The
young girl whom he had met at breakfast at once became by far the most
interesting subject for thought and object of observation. He was a
young fellow of the ordinary romantic type, hasty, susceptible, as
ready to fight as to eat, and possessed of the idea that the way to win
a girl was to appear her smitten, abject slave. The passing hours were
ages to him in contrast to his previous activity, and as he watched
Miss Lou going about on her errands of mercy he quickly passed from one
stage to another of admiration and idealization. Remembering the look
that Whately had given him in the morning, he maintained a distant
attitude at first, thinking his brother officer had claims which he
must respect. As he wandered uneasily around, however, he discovered
virtually how matters stood, and learned of the attempt which Whately
had made to marry his cousin, nolens volens. This fact piqued his
interest deeply and satisfied him that the way was clear for a suit on
his part were he so inclined. Fair rivalry would give only additional
zest, and he promptly yielded to his inclination to become at least
much better acquainted with the girl. At dinner he and Whately vied in
their gallantries, but she was too sad and weary to pay much attention
to either of them.
Mrs. Whately compelled her to lie down for a time during the heat of
the afternoon, but thoughts of the suffering all about her banished
power to rest. She went down and found the old colonel lying with
closed eyes, feebly trying to keep away the pestering flies.
Remembering the bunch of peacock feathers with which Zany, in old
monotonous days, had waved when waiting on the table, she obtained it
from the dining-room, and sitting down noiselessly by the officer, gave
him a respite from his tormentors. In his drowsiness he did not open
his eyes, but passed into quiet sleep. The girl maintained her watch,
putting her finger to her lips and making signals for silence to all
who came near. Other Confederate officers observed her wistfully; Mad
Whately, coming in, looked at her frowningly. His desire and purpose
toward his cousin had been that of entire self-appropriation and now
she was becoming the cynosure of many eyes. Among them he saw those of
Captain Maynard, who was already an object of hate. Little recked the
enamored captain of this fact. To his ardent fancy the girl was rapidly
becoming ideal in goodness and beauty. With the ready egotism of the
young he was inclined to believe that fate had brought about the events
which had revealed to him the woman he should marry. A bombshell
bursting among them all would not have created a greater sensation than
the knowledge that the girl's thoughts were following a Yankee, one
whom she herself, by daring stratagem, had released from captivity.
A twinge of pain awakened the colonel and he looked up, dazed and
uncomprehending. Miss Lou bent over him and said gently, "Go to sleep
again. It's all right."
"Oh, I remember now. You are Miss Baron."
"Yes, but don't try to talk; just sleep now that you can."
He smiled and yielded.
A few moments later Maynard came forward and said, "Miss Baron, your
arm must be tired. Let me take your place."
Now she rewarded him by a smile. "I will be glad if you can," she
replied softly, "not that I am very tired, but there are so many
others."
As she moved away, she saw Surgeon Ackley beckoning to her. "Miss
Baron," he said, "I am going to put one of my patients especially in
your and your aunt's charge. Young as he is, he is a hero and an
unusual character. I have had him moved to a tent, for he is in a very
critical condition. Indeed, his chances for life are few and he knows
it. I am acquainted with his family--one of the best in the South."
He led the way to a small tent beneath the shade of a wide-branched
oak. A stretcher had been extemporized into a camp bed and on it lay a
youth not older apparently than the girl herself. His face had the
blood-drained look which many will remember, yet was still fine in its
strong, boyish lines. The down on his upper lip was scarcely more
deeply defined than his straight eyebrows. A negro attendant sat near
fanning him, and Miss Lou first thought that he was asleep. As she
approached with the surgeon he opened his eyes with the dazed
expression so common when the brain is enfeebled from loss of blood. At
first they seemed almost opaque and dead in their blackness, but, as if
a light were approaching from within, they grew bright and laughing.
His smile showed his white, even teeth slightly, and her look of deep
commiseration passed into one of wonder as she saw his face growing
positively radiant with what seemed to her a strange kind of happiness,
as he glanced back and forth from her to the surgeon. Feebly he raised
his finger to his lips as if to say, "I can't speak."
"That's right, Waldo; don't try to talk yet. This is Miss Baron. She
will be one of your nurses and will feed you with the best of soup.
We'll bring you round yet."
He shook his head and smiled more genially, then tried to extend his
hand to the girl, looking his welcome and acceptance of her ministry.
So joyous was his expression that she could not help smiling in return,
but it was the questioning, doubtful smile of one who did not
understand.
"When she comes," resumed Ackley, "take what she gives you, but don't
talk until I give permission. That will do now. You must take
everything except quiet in small quantities at first."
His lips formed the words "All right," and smilingly he watched them
depart.
"I suppose he is not exactly in his right mind," said Miss Lou as she
and the surgeon returned to the house.
"Many would think so, I reckon," replied Ackley laconically. "He
believes in a heaven and that he's going there. That's the only queer
thing I ever discovered in Waldo. He's worth a lot of trouble, Miss
Baron."
"It would be right strange if I did not do my best for him, sir."
"I thought you'd feel so. I want very strong beef soup made for a few
such special cases, who can take but little at a time. I would like him
to have a few teaspoonfuls every two hours. I am going to trust to you
and Mrs. Whately chiefly to look after him in this respect. We can do
little more than help nature in his case."
Poor Aun' Suke was getting weary again, but she had a heart which Miss
Lou speedily touched in behalf of her patient, and a special saucepan
was soon bubbling over the fire.
The soup for the evening meal being ready, she began again her task of
feeding the helpless soldiers, visiting, among others, Phillips, who
lay in a half-stupor on the great barn-floor. As she stepped in among
the Federal wounded, she was again impressed by the prevailing quiet
and by the friendly glances turned toward her on every side. The Union
surgeon in charge lifted his hat politely, while such of the men as
were able took off theirs and remained uncovered. The homage, although
quiet, was so marked that she was again embarrassed, and with downcast
eyes went direct to Phillips, gently roused him and gave him his
supper. While she was doing this the men around her were either silent
or spoke in low tones. The thought grew in her mind, "How these
Northern soldiers have been misrepresented to me! Even when I am
approaching and before they are aware I am near, I hear no rough talk
as I do among our men. The world is so different from uncle's idea of
it! Whether these men are right or wrong, I will never listen patiently
again when they are spoken of as the scum of the earth."
As she rose and saw the respectful attitude toward her, faltered,
"I--I--wish to thank you for your--your kindness to me."
At these words there was a general smile even on the wannest and most
pain-pinched face, for they struck the men as very droll.
"We were under the impression that the kindness was chiefly on your
side," said Captain Hanfield. "Still we are glad you find us a civil
lot of Indians."
"Please remember," she answered earnestly, "that was not my thought,
but one impressed upon me by those who did not know. Only within a very
short time have I ever seen Northern people or soldiers, and they treat
me with nothing but courtesy."
"Perhaps you are to blame for that," said the captain pleasantly.
"I can't help feeling glad that our good opinion is becoming mutual,"
she replied, smiling. "Won't you please put on your hats and let me
come and go as a matter of course? I don't like to be sort of received
every time I come. I just want to help those I can help, to get well."
"You have only to express your wishes, Miss Baron," was the hearty
reply.
"Thank you. Is there anything more that I can do for you? Is there any
one who specially needs--"
As she was glancing round her eyes fell upon Yarry. His face was so
drawn and haggard with pain that, from an impulse of pity, she went
directly to him and said gently, "I fear, sir, you are suffering very
much."
"I be--oh, hang--there, there, miss, I'll stand it a little longer. I
could stand hell-fire for your sake. I didn't mean to say that. Guess I
better keep still."
His face, now seen attentively, revealed more to her in tuition than
his words. She stooped by his side and said piteously, "Oh, you are
suffering--I FEEL that you are suffering terribly. I must do something
to relieve you."
"Oh, now, miss," he replied, forcing a ghastly sort of smile, "I'm all
right, I be--well, I am. Bless your kind heart! Don't worry about me.
I'll smoke my pipe and go to sleep pretty soon. You look tired
yourself, little one. I will feel better if you won't worry about me, I
be--well, I will. I'm just like the other fellows, you know."
"I reckon you are a brave, good-hearted man, to think of others when I
KNOW you are suffering so much. I am having very strong soup made for
one of our men, and I'll bring you some by and by," and with a
lingering, troubled look into his rugged face, she departed.
His eyes followed her until she disappeared.
"Yarry, you are rewarded," Captain Hanfield remarked.
"--my reward. Fellers, she's just wearin' herself out for us. I don't
want no reward for anything I can do for her. Well, I'm goin' to shut
up now. The only thing I can do for her is to hold my tongue till it
can't wag. I told her I'd smoke my pipe and go to sleep. I be--well, I
will. Light it for me, Tom. When she comes, like enough I'll be asleep,
a sort of DEAD sleep, yer know. Just let her think I'm dozin' after my
pipe. Don't let her try to wake me and worry about me."
"All shall be as you wish, Yarry," said Captain Hanfield. "I tell you,
men, few women ever received such a tribute as Yarry is paying this
Southern girl. For one, I'm proud of him."