And the good smack _Emily_ idly lay
Off Staten Island, in Raritan Bay,
With her canvas loosely flapping,
The sunshine slept on the briny deep,
Nor wave nor zephyr could vigils keep,
The oysterman lay on the deck asleep,
And even the cap'n was napping.
The smack went drifting down the tide,--
The waters gurgling along her side,--
Down where the bay glows vast and wide,--
A beautiful sheet of water;
With scarce a ripple about her prow,
The oyster-smack floated, silent and slow,
With Keyport far on her starboard bow,
And South Amboy on her quarter.
But, all at once, a grating sound
Made the cap'n awake and glance around;
"Hold hard!" cried he, "we've run aground,
As sure as all tarnation!"
The men jumped up, and grumbled and swore;
They also looked, and plainly saw
That the _Emily_ lay two miles from shore,
At the smallest calculation.
Then, gazing over the side, to see
What kind of a bottom this shoal might be,
They saw, in the shadow that lay to the lee,
A sight that filled them with horror!
The water was clear, and beneath it, there,
An oyster lay in its slimy lair,
So big, that to tell its dimensions fair
Would take from now till to-morrow.
And this it was made the grating sound;
On this the _Emily_ ran aground;
And this was the shoal the cap'n found,--
Alack! the more is the pity.
For straight an idea entered his head:
He'd drag it out of its watery bed,
And give it a resting-place, instead,
In some saloon in the city.
So, with crow, and lever, and gaff, and sling,
And tongs, and tackle, and roller, and ring,
They made a mighty effort to bring
This hermit out of his cloister.
They labored earnestly, day and night,
Working by torch and lantern light,
Till they had to acknowledge that, do what they might,
They never could budge the oyster!
The cap'n fretted, and fumed, and fussed,--
He swore he'd "have that 'yster, or bust!"
But, for all his oaths, he was quite nonplussed;
So by way of variation,
He sat him quietly down, for a while,
To cool his anger and settle his bile,
And to give himself up, in his usual style,
To a season of meditation.
Now, the cap'n was quite a wonderful man;
He could do almost anything any man can,
And a good deal more, when he once began
To act from a clear deduction.
But his wonderful power,--his greatest pride,--
The feat that shadowed all else beside,--
The talent on which he most relied,--
Was his awful power of suction!
At suction he never had known defeat!
The stoutest suckers had given in, beat,
When he sucked up a quart of apple-jack, neat,
By touching his lips to the measure!
He'd suck an oyster out of its shell,
Suck shrimps or lobsters equally well;
Suck cider till inward the barrel-heads fell,--
And seemed to find it a pleasure.
Well, after thinking a day or two,
This doughty sucker imagined he knew
About the best thing he could possibly do,
To secure the bivalvular hermit.
"I'll bore through his shell, as they bore for coal,
With an auger fixed on the end of a pole,
And then, through a tube, I'll suck him out whole,--
A neat little swallow, I term it!"
The very next day, he returned to the place
Where his failure had thrown him into disgrace;
And there, with a ghastly grin on his face,
Began his submarine boring.
He worked for a week, for the shell was tough,
But reached the interior soon enough
For the oyster, who found such surgery rough,--
Such grating, and scraping, and scoring!
The shell-fish started, the water flew,
The cap'n turned decidedly blue,
But thrust his auger still further through,
To quiet the wounded creature.
Alas! I fear my tale grows sad,
The oyster naturally felt quite bad
In spite of its peaceful nature.
It arose, and, turning itself on edge,
Exposed a ponderous shelly wedge,
All covered with slime, and sea-weed, and sedge,--
A conchological wonder!
This wedge flew open, as quick as a flash,
Into two great jaws, with a mighty splash
One scraunching, crunching, crackling crash,--
And the smack was gone to thunder.
A PRECIOUS PICKLE.
(FOR FEMALE CHARACTERS ONLY.)
CHARACTERS.
MISS REBECCA PEASE.
MRS. GABBLE.
JENNY FROST, } City girls on a vacation
BESSY SNOW, } in the country.
SADIE BEAN, }
SISSY GABBLE.
JUNO, Miss Pease's coloured help.
SCENE.--MISS PEASE'S _best room. Table_, C., _back. Chairs_, R. _and_
L. _Rocking-chair_, C. _Chair directly in front of the table._
_Enter_, L., JUNO; _costume, calico dress, handkerchief about her head
in shape of a turban, broom in her hand._
_Juno._ Bress my soul! Nebber see, in de whole co'se ob my life, sich
a galloping set as dem are city gals--nebber! For all de worl', jes
like a flock ob sheep. Shoo! away dey go, from de cellar to de top
ob de house--pell-mell inter de barn. Skipterty shoo, ober de fields;
skersplash into de brook; don't keer for nuffin nor nobody. Can't keep
de chairs straight, nor de flo' clean nor nuffin. (_Looks off_, R.)
Now, now, now, jes look a dar! jes look a dar! See 'em scootin' round,
chasin' dat are poor orphanless calf, what ain't got no mudder. Never
did see nuffin like it, nebber. (_Sweeps violently._)
_Jenny._ (_Outside_, R.) Ha, ha, ha! If you don't stop, girls, I shall
die.
_Bessie._ (_Outside_, R.) Ha, ha, ha! O, dear, there goes my hat!
_Sadie._ (_Outside_, R.) Ha, ha, ha! Do see him jump! [_All three
enter_, R, _laughing._
_Jenny._ O, isn't this splendid! A country life for me.
_Bessie._ It's glorious! I could live here forever.
_Sadie._ So could I. No more city life for me.
_Juno._ Bress my soul! Goin' fur to stay here forebber! I'll jes' pack
up my jewelry, and slope, for sartin'.
_Jenny._ Ah, there's Juno. O, Juno, isn't it most dinner-time? I'm so
hungry!
_Bessie._ So am I--ravenous.
_Sadie._ I'm starving; slowly, but surely, starving.
_Juno._ Dinner! Why, bress my soul! yer hain't got yer breakfast
digesticated yet. Well, I nebber, in de whole co'se ob my life,
seed sich eaters--nebber. Six biscuit, four b'iled eggs apiece, and
chicken; chicken by de dozen for dar breakfast; and now want dar
dinner! Bress my soul! Doesn't yer git nuffin to eat in de city?
_Sadie._ O, yes, plenty; but not such biscuits as Juno makes.
_Jenny and Bessie._ Never, never!
_Jenny._ And eggs, girls! None cooked as Juno cooks them.
_Bessie and Sadie._ Never, never!
_Bessie._ And chickens! never so nice as those broiled by Juno.
_Jenny and Sadie._ Never, never!
_Juno._ Doesn't yers, honies? (_Grinning._) Dat's mean; dat's raal
mean. Well, poor dears, I s'pose yers is hungry. Now you jes' wait and
see what Juno can find for a lunch. [_Exit_, L.
_Jenny._ "A little _flattery_, now and then, is relished by the wisest
men."
_Bessie._ And the darkest of our sex, Jenny.
_Sadie._ Yes; and "a _soft_ answer turneth away wrath." O, ain't we
having a splendid time, girls?
_Jenny._ How kind of our parents, after eight months' hard study, to
send us to this delightful place!
_Sadie._ O, it's splendid. We want nothing here.
_Bessie._ No, indeed. There's nothing left in that dry, hot city to be
regretted.
_Jenny._ Stop. There is one thing I _should_ like.
_Sadie and Bessie._ What is that?
_Jenny._ One of mother's pickles.
_Sadie and Bessie._ What! a pickle?
_Jenny._ Yes. I'm dying for one of mother's sour, peppery pickles.
_Sadie._ O, don't, Jenny. Do you want to make me homesick?
_Bessie._ My mouth puckers at the thought. I want to go home.
_Enter_, R., SISSY GABBLE, _a very small girl, with a very large cape
bonnet on her head, and a tin pail in her hand._
_Sissy._ If yer pleath, Mith Peath, if, if--Mith Peath, if you
pleath--
_Jenny._ Why, who in the world is this?
_Sadie._ What do you want, little girl?
_Sissy._ Mith Peath, if you pleath, if, if--Mith Peath, to home, my
mother thed--my mother thed. What did my mother thed? O, my mother
thed, if Mith Peath is to home, to give Mith Peath her com--her
com--to give Mith Peath her com--
_Jenny._ Her compliments?
_Sissy._ Yith ma'am, I geth tho; and tell Mith Peath, the thent her
thome of her pickleth.
_Sadie and Bessie._ Pickles! O, you dear little thing!
_Jenny._ O, isn't she a darling! (_They all crowd round_ SISSY, _take
off her bonnet, kiss and hug her._) Isn't she splendid?
_Bessie._ I'll take the pail, little girl.
_Sissy._ (_Putting pail behind her._) Yith marm; I geth not. My mother
thed I muthn't give it to nobody but Mith Peath.
_Bessie._ Well, take off the cover, little girl. The pickles will
spoil.
_Sissy._ I geth not. _My_ mother's pickleth _never_ thpoil.
_Jenny._ The little plague! Say, Sissy; do you like candy?
_Sissy._ Candy? Merlatheth candy?
_Jenny._ Yes.
_Sissy._ Ith it pulled?
_Jenny._ Yes, indeed; pulled white as snow. Give me the pail, and I'll
find you a long stick of it.
_Sissy._ You ain't Mith Peath; and I don't like merlatheth candy white
ath thnow. Where ith Mith Peath?
_Sadie._ Little girl, don't you want some red and white peppermints?
_Sissy._ No, I don't. I want Mith Peath.
_Bessie._ Or some splendid gum drops?
_Sissy._ No. I want Mith Peath.
_Enter_ MISS PEASE, L.
_Miss P._ And here she is, Sissy Gabble. What have you for me? (_The
girls fall back in confusion, and whisper together._)
_Sissy._ Thome pickleth, Mith Peath, my mother thent you, with her
com--her com--her com--
_Miss P._ Her compliments, Sissy. I understand. I'm very much obliged
to her for sending them, and to you, Sissy, for bringing them so
carefully. Here, Juno!
_Enter_, JUNO, L.
_Juno._ Yes, missis. Why, bress my soul! if dar ain't Sissy Gabble!
Come right here, yer dear chile.
_Miss P._ Take her to the kitchen, Juno. Perhaps you can find a cake
for her.
_Juno._ Guess I can, missis, sure for sartin. Come, Sissy Gabble, come
right along wid Juno.
_Sissy._ Thay, Juno, who ith them? (_Pointing to girls._)
_Juno._ Why, bress yer soul, dem ar's de young ladies from de city, on
dar vex--vex--on dar vexation. O, Sissy, dar drefful sweet.
_Sissy._ Thweet, Juno? I thpothe tho; they've got thuch loth of candy.
But they didn't git my pail, tho!
_Juno._ Come along to de kitchen. Come.
[_Exeunt_ JUNO _and_ SISSY, L. _The girls gather about_ MISS PEASE.
_Jenny._ O, Miss Pease, I'm so glad Mrs. Gabble sent you those
pickles, I'm so fond of them!
_Bessie._ Yes, Miss Pease; they're so nice!
_Sadie._ O, they're splendid! Do give us a taste.
_Miss P._ Stop, stop young ladies. While I cannot but be grateful to
Mrs. Gabble for her kindness, I wish it had taken some other shape. I
have long been of the opinion that pickles are unwholesome, and have
never allowed them to be placed upon my table. And I am sure I should
be disobeying the instructions I received from your parents--to
provide you only wholesome food--did I permit you to taste them. For
the present, I shall leave them here. (_Places pail on the table._)
If you believe I have your interest at heart, you will not touch that
which I have condemned. I know I can trust you. _Exit_, L.
_Bessie._ Well, I declare! The mean old thing!
_Jenny._ It's too bad! Nothing but blasted hopes in this world!
_Sadie._ Well, I don't care, I'm a going to have one of those pickles,
if I die for it.
_Jenny._ Why, Sadie Bean, you don't mean it!
_Sadie._ Yes, I do. I know they _are_ wholesome, and my mother always
allows me to eat them.
_Bessie._ I wouldn't touch one for the world. How impolite it would
be, after Miss Pease has forbidden it!
_Sadie._ No; she didn't forbid it. She said, if we thought she had our
interest at heart, we wouldn't touch the pail. Now I don't believe she
has, when she wants to deprive us of such a luxury. I'm determined to
have a pickle.
_Jenny._ You are wrong, Sadie, to think of such a thing. A Precious
Pickle you'll make. (_Sits on sofa._)
_Bessie._ Nothing would tempt me. (_Sits on sofa._) How can you,
Sadie?
_Sadie._ Pooh! Cowards! It's just as easy as croquet, when you make up
your mind. (_Lifts cover, and takes out pickle._) A Precious Pickle.
I'll taste, Jenny. Ain't they beauties?
_Jenny._ Quick, quick, Sadie; somebody's coming!
_Sadie._ Dear me! (_Claps on cover, runs and sits on sofa between_
JENNY _and_ BESSIE.)
_Enter_ JUNO, L.
_Juno._ Bress my soul! dars Missis Gabble a runnin up de walk like all
possessed. Speck her house afire, sure for sartin. _Exit_, R.
_Sadie._ (_Tasting pickle._) O, ain't it nice! Bessie, run and get
one.
_Bessie._ No, indeed; I shall do no such thing.
_Jenny._ O, Sadie, I wouldn't believe you could do such a thing.
_Sadie._ O, pshaw! It's all envy; you know it is.
_Enter_ R., JUNO, _followed by_ MRS. GABBLE, _who wears a calico
dress, has her sleeves rolled up, her apron thrown over her head, and
has altogether the appearance of having just left the wash-tub._
_Mrs. G._ Yes, Juno, poor Mr. Brown has shuffled off this
mortal--what's it's name? (_Looks_ _at girls._) O, how do you do? I
don't know how much he's worth, but they do say--Why, Juno, you've
got a new calico--Fine day, young ladies.--They do say--Well, there, I
oughtn't to speak of it. Got your washing out, Juno? I've been all day
at that tub; and--Where's Miss Pease? I can't stop a minute; so don't
ask me to sit down. (_Sits in rocking-chair and rocks violently._)
_Juno._ Yes, Missy Gabble, Missy Pease to home. Send her right up,
sure for sartin. Bress my soul, how that woman do go on, for sartin.
_Exit_, L.
_Mrs. G._ Ah, poor Mrs. Brown, with all them young ones. I wonder
where my Sis is.
_Jenny._ I think she's in the kitchen, Mrs. Gabble.
_Mrs. G._ You don't say so? Stuffing herself, I'm sure. And poor Mr.
Brown lying dead in the next house--and there's my washing waiting for
soap--and there's Mrs. Jones hasn't sent my ironing-board home; and
mercy knows how I'm to get along without it.
_Enter_ MISS PEASE, L. _During the dialogue between_ MISS PEASE _and_
MRS. G., SADIE _slyly eats her pickle, offering it to_ JENNY _and_
BESSIE, _who at first shake their heads, afterwards taste; the pickle
is passed among them, and devoured before the conclusion of the
conversation._
_Miss P._ Ah, Mrs. Gabble! I'm glad to see you. (_Takes chair and sits
beside her._)
_Mrs. G._ And poor Brown is gone!
_Miss P._ Mr. Brown dead? This is sad news.
_Mrs. G._ I should think it was--and there's Skillet, the butcher,
chopped off his thumb--and Miss Pearson fell down stairs and broke her
china sugar-bowl--sp'ilt the whole set. As I told my husband, these
expensive dishes never can be matched--and speaking of matches, Mrs.
Thorpe is going to get a divorce. Jest think of it! I met her going
into Carter's shop this morning. She had on that pink muslin he gave
her for a birthday present--Jenkins has got a new lot of them, only
a shilling a yard--speaking of yards, old Cooper tumbled into
that miserable well in his back yard this morning. They pulled him
out--speaking of pulling, Miss Tibbet was in to the dentist's this
morning for a new set of teeth, and--Have you seen my Sis?
_Miss P._ O, yes. She's in the kitchen with Juno. And, speaking of
Sissy, reminds me that I must thank you for sending me--
_Mrs. G._ My pickles? Yes. Well, I'm glad you got 'em. But I didn't
have a bit of good luck with 'em. And, speaking of pickles, O, Miss
Pease, that villain, Smith, the grocer, has been taken up. He's going
to be hung. Nothing can save him.
_Miss P._ Mr. Smith arrested! For what pray?
_Mrs. G._ P'isoning! Jest think of it! And he a deacon in the church,
and has such a splendid span of horses, and such an elegant beach
wagon. I declare, the last time he took us to the beach I nearly died
eating soft-shelled crabs; and my husband tumbled overboard, and
Mr. Brown got sunstruck; and now he's gone! Dear me, dear me! And my
washing ain't out yet.
_Miss P._ But tell me, Mrs. Gabble, what is it about the poisoning?
_Mrs. G._ Why, he or somebody else has been putting prussic acid in
his vinegar, just at the time, too, when everybody's making pickles;
and there's no end of the p'isoning he will have to answer for. Mrs.
Jewel's just sent for the doctor, and Mrs. Poor's been dreadful all
day, and Dr. Baldtop's flying round from house to house; and, O,
dear--there's my washing! Who'll be the next victim nobody knows, I'm
sure.
_Sadie._ (_Jumping up._) O, dear! O, dear! Send for the doctor, quick!
I'm dying, I know I am. (_Runs across stage and sinks into chair_, R.)
_Miss P._ (_Running to her._) Bless me child, what ails you?
_Sadie._ I don't know; I can't tell. The doctor, quick!
_Mrs. G._ Deary me, she's took sudden, just for all the world like
Susan Richie.
_Jenny._ (_Jumping up._) Water, water! Give me some water! I shall die
if I don't have some water. (_Runs down and sinks into chair_, L.)
_Mrs. G._ (_Jumping up and running to her._) Gracious goodness! here's
another! It's something dreadful, depend upon it. When folks is took
sudden--
_Bessie._ (_Jumping up._) O, my throat! I'm burning up! Give me some
ipecac. Quick, quick, quick! (_Runs round stage, then sinks into
chair_, C.)
_Mrs. G._ There goes another! It's something dreadful, depend on it.
_Miss P._ What does this mean? Here, Juno, Juno! Quick!
_Enter_ JUNO, L.
_Juno._ Here I is, Missy Pease.
_Sadie._ Run for the doctor, quick, Juno!
_Juno._ (_Running_, R.) Bress my soul! I'll fetch him.
_Jenny._ No, no! Get me some water--quick!
_Juno._ (_Running_ L.) To be sure, honey; to be sure.
_Bessie._ No, no, Juno! some ipecac, or a stomach pump.
_Juno._ Pump, pump! Want de pump? I'll fetch it, I'll fetch it. Bress
my soul, I'll fetch something. _Exit_, L.
_Mrs. G._ Well, if this ain't drefful!--washing-day, too--and the
undertaker's jest as busy as he can be--there never was so much
_immortality_ in this place, never. Poor critters! poor critters!
_Miss P._ Girls, what does this mean?
_Sadie._ O, Miss Pease, such agony!
_Bessie._ O, dear, what will become of me?
_Jenny._ O, this dreadful parching in the throat!
_Mrs. G._ O, I know it, I know it. I told my husband that something
dreadful was a goin' to happen when he sold that colt yesterday.
_Miss P._ Sadie, what is the meaning of this. Your pulse is regular,
your head cool, and your tongue clear.
_Sadie._ O, Miss Pease, it's those dreadful pickles.
_Mrs. G._ Yes, indeed, it is a drefful pickle--and so sudden, jest for
all the world like poor Mr. Brown's sudden took, and these always seem
to end fatally at some time or other--Dear me, dear me, and my wash--
_Miss P._ Pickles! Have you disobeyed me?
_Sadie._ I couldn't help it, Miss Pease; they looked so tempting. But
I only took one.
_Bessie._ And I only tasted that.
_Jenny._ I only had one good bite.
_Sadie._ And we are poisoned!
_Bessie._ O, dear! poisoned!
_Jenny._ Yes, poisoned!
_Miss P._ How, poisoned?
_Sadie._ Mrs. Gabble says the vinegar was poisoned by Mr. Smith.
_Mrs. G._ Smith--vinegar--p'isoned! The land sakes! And I a good
church member--and my washing--and poor Mr. Brown, tew. Well, I never!
I'd have you to know that I bought no vinegar of Mr. Smith, I made my
own.
_Sadie._ And your pickles were not poisoned?
_Mrs. G._ No, indeed. Never did such a thing in my life.
_Sadie._ O, dear! I'm so glad! (_Jumping up._)
_Bessie._ I won't have the ipecac. (_Rises._)
_Jenny._ My throat is decidedly better. (_Rises._)
_Enter_ JUNO _with a pail of water and a dipper._
_Juno._ Bress my soul, de pump was fastened down so tight couldn't git
it up. Here's a pail of water; if dat won't do I'll git a tub.
_Miss P._ No matter, Juno. I think 'twill not be needed. Young ladies,
I am very sorry--
_Sadie._ Please, Miss Pease, do not speak of it. I alone am to blame
for transgressing your command, for such we should consider it, as
you are for the present our guardian. Forgive me, and in future I will
endeavour to control my appetite, and comply with your wishes.
_Mrs. G._ Well, I declare, I don't see the harm in eating pickles. My
girls eat their weight in 'em, and they're just as sweet-tempered as--
_Miss P._ Their mother. Mrs. Gabble, it is not a question of harm,
but of obedience, here. You see, the young ladies accept me as their
guardian, and I only forbid that which I think their parents would not
approve.
_Mrs. G._ And there's my washing in the suds! Where's my Sis.
_Enter_ SISSY GABBLE, L., _with a large slice of bread, covered with
molasses._
_Sissy._ Here I ith, mother. Mith Peath thed I might have thumthin,
and I like bread, and 'latheth.
_Juno._ Bress my soul! dat are chile jest runnin' over with sweetness,
sure for sartin.
_Mrs. G._ Yes; and the 'lasses running all over the clothes! Come,
Sissy, let's go home. I'm sorry, Miss Pease, you don't like pickles;
and I'm sorry, young ladies, they disagree with you. And I'm sorry,
Miss Pease, I left my washing.
_Miss P._ Now don't be sorry at all, Mrs. Gabble. I'm always glad
to see you. Your gift was well-intended, and the young ladies have
suffered no harm, perhaps received a wholesome lesson.
_Sadie._ I think we have. I shall be very careful what I touch.
_Jenny._ O, dear! such a fright! I shall never get over it.
_Bessie._ O, Sadie, you thought it was so nice!
_Jenny._ Yes, such a Precious Pickle!
_Mrs. G._ Of course it was. My pickles are the best made in
town--precious nice, I tell you. Mrs. Doolittle always sends in for
'em when she has company; and the minister says they're awful soothing
arter sermon.
_Sadie._ O, certainly; I've no doubt of it. But I've found that
_stolen_ fruit is not the sweetest, and that mischievous fingers
make trouble when they clutch what mine sought, and _made_ a Precious
Pickle.
[_Curtain._]
MY MOTHER'S BIBLE.
MORRIS.
After once reading this sweet little poem, the student will
need no prompting to teach him that it is not possible for him
to deliver it with too much genuine emotion:
This book is all that's left me now!
Tears will unbidden start,--
With faltering lip and throbbing brow,
I press it to my heart.
For many generations past,
Here is our family tree;
My mother's hand this Bible clasped;
She, dying, gave it me.
Ah! well do I remember those
Whose names those records bear,
Who round the hearthstone used to close
After the evening prayer,
And speak of what these pages said,
In tones my heart would thrill!
Though they are with the silent dead,
Here are they living still!
My father read this holy book
To brothers, sisters dear;
How calm was my poor mother's look,
Who learned God's word to hear.
Her angel-face--I see it yet!
What thronging memories come!
Again that little group is met
Within the halls of home!
Thou truest friend man ever knew,
Thy constancy I've tried;
Where all were false I found thee true,
My counsellor and guide.
The mines of earth no treasure give
That could this volume buy:
In teaching me the way to live,
It taught me how to die.
ENLISTING AS ARMY NURSE.
LOUISA M. ALCOTT.
"I want something to do."--This remark being addressed to the world in
general, no one in particular felt it his duty to reply; so I repeated
it to the smaller world about me, received the following suggestions,
and settled the matter by answering my own inquiry, as people are apt
to do when very much in earnest.
"Write a book," quoth my father.
"Don't know enough, sir. First live, then write."
"Try teaching again," suggested my mother.
"No, thank you, ma'am; ten years of that is enough."
"Take a husband like my Darby, and fulfil your mission," said Sister
Jane, home on a visit.
"Can't afford expensive luxuries, Mrs. Coobiddy."
"Turn actress, and immortalize your name," said Sister Vashti,
striking an attitude.
"I won't."
"Go nurse the soldiers," said my young neighbor, Tom, panting for "the
tented field."
"I will!"
Arriving at this satisfactory conclusion, the meeting adjourned; and
the fact that Miss Tribulation was available as army nurse went abroad
on the wings of the wind.
In a few days a townswoman heard of my desire, approved of it, and
brought about an interview with one of the sisterhood I wished to
join, who was at home on a furlough, and able and willing to satisfy
inquiries.
A morning chat with Miss General S.--we hear no end of Mrs. Generals,
why not a Miss?--produced three results: I felt that I could do the
work, was offered a place, and accepted it; promising not to desert,
but to stand ready to march on Washington at an hour's notice.
A few days were necessary for the letter containing my request and
recommendation to reach head-quarters, and another, containing my
commission, to return; therefore no time was to be lost; and, heartily
thanking my pair of friends, I hurried home through the December
slush, as if the Rebels were after me, and, like many another recruit,
burst in upon my family with the announcement,--"I've enlisted!"