A NIGHT.
Being fond of the night side of nature, I was soon promoted to the post
of night nurse, with every facility for indulging in my favorite
pastime of "owling." My colleague, a black-eyed widow, relieved me at
dawn, we two taking care of the ward, between us, like the immortal
Sairy and Betsey, "turn and turn about." I usually found my boys in the
jolliest state of mind their condition allowed; for it was a known fact
that Nurse Periwinkle objected to blue devils, and entertained a belief
that he who laughed most was surest of recovery. At the beginning of my
reign, dumps and dismals prevailed; the nurses looked anxious and
tired, the men gloomy or sad; and a general
"Hark!-from-the-tombs-a-doleful-sound" style of conversation seemed to
be the fashion: a state of things which caused one coming from a merry,
social New England town, to feel as if she had got into an exhausted
receiver; and the instinct of self-preservation, to say nothing of a
philanthropic desire to serve the race, caused a speedy change in Ward
No. 1.
More flattering than the most gracefully turned compliment, more
grateful than the most admiring glance, was the sight of those rows of
faces, all strange to me a little while ago, now lighting up, with
smiles of welcome, as I came among them, enjoying that moment heartily,
with a womanly pride in their regard, a motherly affection for them
all. The evenings were spent in reading aloud, writing letters, waiting
on and amusing the men, going the rounds with Dr. P., as he made his
second daily survey, dressing my dozen wounds afresh, giving last
doses, and making them cozy for the long hours to come, till the nine
o'clock bell rang, the gas was turned down, the day nurses went off
duty, the night watch came on, and my nocturnal adventure began.
My ward was now divided into three rooms; and, under favor of the
matron, I had managed to sort out the patients in such a way that I had
what I called, "my duty room," my "pleasure room," and my "pathetic
room," and worked for each in a different way. One, I visited, armed
with a dressing tray, full of rollers, plasters, and pins; another,
with books, flowers, games, and gossip; a third, with teapots,
lullabies, consolation, and sometimes, a shroud.
Wherever the sickest or most helpless man chanced to be, there I held
my watch, often visiting the other rooms, to see that the general
watchman of the ward did his duty by the fires and the wounds, the
latter needing constant wetting. Not only on this account did I
meander, but also to get fresher air than the close rooms afforded;
for, owing to the stupidity of that mysterious "somebody" who does all
the damage in the world, the windows had been carefully nailed down
above, and the lower sashes could only be raised in the mildest
weather, for the men lay just below. I had suggested a summary smashing
of a few panes here and there, when frequent appeals to headquarters
had proved unavailing, and daily orders to lazy attendants had come to
nothing. No one seconded the motion, however, and the nails were far
beyond my reach; for, though belonging to the sisterhood of
"ministering angels," I had no wings, and might as well have asked for
Jacob's ladder, as a pair of steps, in that charitable chaos.
One of the harmless ghosts who bore me company during the haunted
hours, was Dan, the watchman, whom I regarded with a certain awe; for,
though so much together, I never fairly saw his face, and, but for his
legs, should never have recognized him, as we seldom met by day. These
legs were remarkable, as was his whole figure, for his body was short,
rotund, and done up in a big jacket, and muffler; his beard hid the
lower part of his face, his hat-brim the upper; and all I ever
discovered was a pair of sleepy eyes, and a very mild voice. But the
legs!--very long, very thin, very crooked and feeble, looking like grey
sausages in their tight coverings, without a ray of pegtopishness about
them, and finished off with a pair of expansive, green cloth shoes,
very like Chinese junks, with the sails down. This figure, gliding
noiselessly about the dimly lighted rooms, was strongly suggestive of
the spirit of a beer barrel mounted on cork-screws, haunting the old
hotel in search of its lost mates, emptied and staved in long ago.
Another goblin who frequently appeared to me, was the attendant of the
pathetic room, who, being a faithful soul, was often up to tend two or
three men, weak and wandering as babies, after the fever had gone. The
amiable creature beguiled the watches of the night by brewing jorums of
a fearful beverage, which he called coffee, and insisted on sharing
with me; coming in with a great bowl of something like mud soup,
scalding hot, guiltless of cream, rich in an all-pervading flavor of
molasses, scorch and tin pot. Such an amount of good will and
neighborly kindness also went into the mess, that I never could find
the heart to refuse, but always received it with thanks, sipped it with
hypocritical relish while he remained, and whipped it into the slop-jar
the instant he departed, thereby gratifying him, securing one rousing
laugh in the doziest hour of the night, and no one was the worse for
the transaction but the pigs. Whether they were "cut off untimely in
their sins," or not, I carefully abstained from inquiring.
It was a strange life--asleep half the day, exploring Washington the
other half, and all night hovering, like a massive cherubim, in a red
rigolette, over the slumbering sons of man. I liked it, and found many
things to amuse, instruct, and interest me. The snores alone were quite
a study, varying from the mild sniff to the stentorian snort, which
startled the echoes and hoisted the performer erect to accuse his
neighbor of the deed, magnanimously forgive him, and wrapping the
drapery of his couch about him, lie down to vocal slumber. After
listening for a week to this band of wind instruments, I indulged in
the belief that I could recognize each by the snore alone, and was
tempted to join the chorus by breaking out with John Brown's favorite
hymn:
"Blow ye the trumpet, blow!"
I would have given much to have possessed the art of sketching, for
many of the faces became wonderfully interesting when unconscious. Some
grew stern and grim, the men evidently dreaming of war, as they gave
orders, groaned over their wounds, or damned the rebels vigorously;
some grew sad and infinitely pathetic, as if the pain borne silently
all day, revenged itself by now betraying what the man's pride had
concealed so well. Often the roughest grew young and pleasant when
sleep smoothed the hard lines away, letting the real nature assert
itself; many almost seemed to speak, and I learned to know these men
better by night than through any intercourse by day. Sometimes they
disappointed me, for faces that looked merry and good in the light,
grew bad and sly when the shadows came; and though they made no
confidences in words, I read their lives, leaving them to wonder at the
change of manner this midnight magic wrought in their nurse. A few
talked busily; one drummer boy sang sweetly, though no persuasions
could win a note from him by day; and several depended on being told
what they had talked of in the morning. Even my constitutionals in the
chilly halls, possessed a certain charm, for the house was never still.
Sentinels tramped round it all night long, their muskets glittering in
the wintry moonlight as they walked, or stood before the doors,
straight and silent, as figures of stone, causing one to conjure up
romantic visions of guarded forts, sudden surprises, and daring deeds;
for in these war times the hum drum life of Yankeedom had vanished, and
the most prosaic feel some thrill of that excitement which stirs the
nation's heart, and makes its capital a camp of hospitals. Wandering up
and down these lower halls, I often heard cries from above, steps
hurrying to and fro, saw surgeons passing up, or men coming down
carrying a stretcher, where lay a long white figure, whose face was
shrouded and whose fight was done. Sometimes I stopped to watch the
passers in the street, the moonlight shining on the spire opposite, or
the gleam of some vessel floating, like a white-winged sea-gull, down
the broad Potomac, whose fullest flow can never wash away the red stain
of the land.
The night whose events I have a fancy to record, opened with a little
comedy, and closed with a great tragedy; for a virtuous and useful life
untimely ended is always tragical to those who see not as God sees. My
headquarters were beside the bed of a New Jersey boy, crazed by the
horrors of that dreadful Saturday. A slight wound in the knee brought
him there; but his mind had suffered more than his body; some string of
that delicate machine was over strained, and, for days, he had been
reliving, in imagination, the scenes he could not forget, till his
distress broke out in incoherent ravings, pitiful to hear. As I sat by
him, endeavoring to soothe his poor distracted brain by the constant
touch of wet hands over his hot forehead, he lay cheering his comrades
on, hurrying them back, then counting them as they fell around him,
often clutching my arm, to drag me from the vicinity of a bursting
shell, or covering up his head to screen himself from a shower of shot;
his face brilliant with fever; his eyes restless; his head never still;
every muscle strained and rigid; while an incessant stream of defiant
shouts, whispered warnings, and broken laments, poured from his lips
with that forceful bewilderment which makes such wanderings so hard to
overhear.
It was past eleven, and my patient was slowly wearying himself into
fitful intervals of quietude, when, in one of these pauses, a curious
sound arrested my attention. Looking over my shoulder, I saw a
one-legged phantom hopping nimbly down the room; and, going to meet it,
recognized a certain Pennsylvania gentleman, whose wound-fever had
taken a turn for the worse, and, depriving him of the few wits a
drunken campaign had left him, set him literally tripping on the light,
fantastic toe "toward home," as he blandly informed me, touching the
military cap which formed a striking contrast to the severe simplicity
of the rest of his decidedly _undress_ uniform. When sane, the least
movement produced a roar of pain or a volley of oaths; but the
departure of reason seemed to have wrought an agreeable change, both in
the man and his manners; for, balancing himself on one leg, like a
meditative stork, he plunged into an animated discussion of the war,
the President, lager beer, and Enfield rifles, regardless of any
suggestions of mine as to the propriety of returning to bed, lest he be
court-martialed for desertion.
Anything more supremely ridiculous can hardly be imagined than this
figure, scantily draped in white, its one foot covered with a big blue
sock, a dingy cap set rakingly askew on its shaven head, and placid
satisfaction beaming in its broad red face, as it flourished a mug in
one hand, an old boot in the other, calling them canteen and knapsack,
while it skipped and fluttered in the most unearthly fashion. What to
do with the creature I didn't know; Dan was absent, and if I went to
find him, the perambulator might festoon himself out of the window, set
his toga on fire, or do some of his neighbors a mischief. The attendant
of the room was sleeping like a near relative of the celebrated Seven,
and nothing short of pins would rouse him; for he had been out that
day, and whiskey asserted its supremacy in balmy whiffs. Still
declaiming, in a fine flow of eloquence, the demented gentleman hopped
on, blind and deaf to my graspings and entreaties; and I was about to
slam the door in his face, and run for help, when a second and saner
phantom, "all in white," came to the rescue, in the likeness of a big
Prussian, who spoke no English, but divined the crisis, and put an end
to it, by bundling the lively monoped into his bed, like a baby, with
an authoritative command to "stay put," which received added weight
from being delivered in an odd conglomeration of French and German,
accompanied by warning wags of a head decorated with a yellow cotton
night cap, rendered most imposing by a tassel like a bell-pull. Rather
exhausted by his excursion, the member from Pennsylvania subsided; and,
after an irrepressible laugh together, my Prussian ally and myself were
returning to our places, when the echo of a sob caused us to glance
along the beds. It came from one in the corner--such a little bed!--and
such a tearful little face looked up at us, as we stopped beside it!
The twelve years old drummer boy was not singing now, but sobbing, with
a manly effort all the while to stifle the distressful sounds that
would break out.
"What is it, Teddy?" I asked, as he rubbed the tears away, and checked
himself in the middle of a great sob to answer plaintively:
"I've got a chill, ma'am, but I ain't cryin' for that, 'cause I'm used
to it. I dreamed Kit was here, and when I waked up he wasn't, and I
couldn't help it, then."
The boy came in with the rest, and the man who was taken dead from the
ambulance was the Kit he mourned. Well he might; for, when the wounded
were brought from Fredericksburg, the child lay in one of the camps
thereabout, and this good friend, though sorely hurt himself, would not
leave him to the exposure and neglect of such a time and place; but,
wrapping him in his own blanket, carried him in his arms to the
transport, tended him during the passage, and only yielded up his
charge when Death met him at the door of the hospital which promised
care and comfort for the boy. For ten days, Teddy had shivered or
burned with fever and ague, pining the while for Kit, and refusing to
be comforted, because he had not been able to thank him for the
generous protection, which, perhaps, had cost the giver's life. The
vivid dream had wrung the childish heart with a fresh pang, and when I
tried the solace fitted for his years, the remorseful fear that haunted
him found vent in a fresh burst of tears, as he looked at the wasted
hands I was endeavoring to warm:
"Oh! if I'd only been as thin when Kit carried me as I am now, maybe he
wouldn't have died; but I was heavy, he was hurt worser than we knew,
and so it killed him; and I didn't see him, to say good bye."
This thought had troubled him in secret; and my assurances that his
friend would probably have died at all events, hardly assuaged the
bitterness of his regretful grief.
At this juncture, the delirious man began to shout; the one-legged rose
up in his bed, as if preparing for another dart; Teddy bewailed himself
more piteously than before: and if ever a woman was at her wit's end,
that distracted female was Nurse Periwinkle, during the space of two or
three minutes, as she vibrated between the three beds, like an agitated
pendulum. Like a most opportune reinforcement, Dan, the bandy,
appeared, and devoted himself to the lively party, leaving me free to
return to my post; for the Prussian, with a nod and a smile, took the
lad away to his own bed, and lulled him to sleep with a soothing
murmur, like a mammoth humble bee. I liked that in Fritz, and if he
ever wondered afterward at the dainties which sometimes found their way
into his rations, or the extra comforts of his bed, he might have found
a solution of the mystery in sundry persons' knowledge of the fatherly
action of that night.
Hardly was I settled again, when the inevitable bowl appeared, and its
bearer delivered a message I had expected, yet dreaded to receive:
"John is going, ma'am, and wants to see you, if you can come."
"The moment this boy is asleep; tell him so, and let me know if I am in
danger of being too late."
My Ganymede departed, and while I quieted poor Shaw, I thought of John.
He came in a day or two after the others; and, one evening, when I
entered my "pathetic room," I found a lately emptied bed occupied by a
large, fair man, with a fine face, and the serenest eyes I ever met.
One of the earlier comers had often spoken of a friend, who had
remained behind, that those apparently worse wounded than himself might
reach a shelter first. It seemed a David and Jonathan sort of
friendship. The man fretted for his mate, and was never tired of
praising John--his courage, sobriety, self-denial, and unfailing
kindliness of heart; always winding up with: "He's an out an' out fine
feller, ma'am; you see if he aint."
I had some curiosity to behold this piece of excellence, and when he
came, watched him for a night or two, before I made friends with him;
for, to tell the truth, I was a little afraid of the stately looking
man, whose bed had to be lengthened to accommodate his commanding
stature; who seldom spoke, uttered no complaint, asked no sympathy, but
tranquilly observed what went on about him; and, as he lay high upon
his pillows, no picture of dying statesman or warrior was ever fuller of
real dignity than this Virginia blacksmith. A most attractive face he
had, framed in brown hair and beard, comely featured and full of vigor,
as yet unsubdued by pain; thoughtful and often beautifully mild while
watching the afflictions of others, as if entirely forgetful of his
own. His mouth was grave and firm, with plenty of will and courage in
its lines, but a smile could make it as sweet as any woman's; and his
eyes were child's eyes, looking one fairly in the face, with a clear,
straightforward glance, which promised well for such as placed their
faith in him. He seemed to cling to life, as if it were rich in duties
and delights, and he had learned the secret of content. The only time I
saw his composure disturbed, was when my surgeon brought another to
examine John, who scrutinized their faces with an anxious look, asking
of the elder: "Do you think I shall pull through, sir?" "I hope so, my
man." And, as the two passed on, John's eye still followed them, with
an intentness which would have won a clearer answer from them, had they
seen it. A momentary shadow flitted over his face; then came the usual
serenity, as if, in that brief eclipse, he had acknowledged the
existence of some hard possibility, and, asking nothing yet hoping all
things, left the issue in God's hands, with that submission which is
true piety.
The next night, as I went my rounds with Dr. P., I happened to ask
which man in the room probably suffered most; and, to my great
surprise, he glanced at John:
"Every breath he draws is like a stab; for the ball pierced the left
lung, broke a rib, and did no end of damage here and there; so the poor
lad can find neither forgetfulness nor ease, because he must lie on his
wounded back or suffocate. It will be a hard struggle, and a long one,
for he possesses great vitality; but even his temperate life can't save
him; I wish it could."
"You don't mean he must die, Doctor?"
"Bless you, there's not the slightest hope for him; and you'd better
tell him so before long; women have a way of doing such things
comfortably, so I leave it to you. He won't last more than a day or
two, at furthest."
I could have sat down on the spot and cried heartily, if I had not
learned the wisdom of bottling up one's tears for leisure moments. Such
an end seemed very hard for such a man, when half a dozen worn out,
worthless bodies round him, were gathering up the remnants of wasted
lives, to linger on for years perhaps, burdens to others, daily
reproaches to themselves. The army needed men like John, earnest,
brave, and faithful; fighting for liberty and justice with both heart
and hand, true soldiers of the Lord. I could not give him up so soon,
or think with any patience of so excellent a nature robbed of its
fulfillment, and blundered into eternity by the rashness or stupidity
of those at whose hands so many lives may be required. It was an easy
thing for Dr. P. to say: "Tell him he must die," but a cruelly hard
thing to do, and by no means as "comfortable" as he politely suggested.
I had not the heart to do it then, and privately indulged the hope that
some change for the better might take place, in spite of gloomy
prophesies; so, rendering my task unnecessary. A few minutes later, as
I came in again, with fresh rollers, I saw John sitting erect, with no
one to support him, while the surgeon dressed his back. I had never
hitherto seen it done; for, having simpler wounds to attend to, and
knowing the fidelity of the attendant, I had left John to him, thinking
it might be more agreeable and safe; for both strength and experience
were needed in his case. I had forgotten that the strong man might long
for the gentle tendance of a woman's hands, the sympathetic magnetism
of a woman's presence, as well as the feebler souls about him. The
Doctor's words caused me to reproach myself with neglect, not of any
real duty perhaps, but of those little cares and kindnesses that solace
homesick spirits, and make the heavy hours pass easier. John looked
lonely and forsaken just then, as he sat with bent head, hands folded
on his knee, and no outward sign of suffering, till, looking nearer, I
saw great tears roll down and drop upon the floor. It was a new sight
there; for, though I had seen many suffer, some swore, some groaned,
most endured silently, but none wept. Yet it did not seem weak, only
very touching, and straightway my fear vanished, my heart opened wide
and took him in, as, gathering the bent head in my arms, as freely as
if he had been a little child, I said, "Let me help you bear it, John."
Never, on any human countenance, have I seen so swift and beautiful a
look of gratitude, surprise and comfort, as that which answered me more
eloquently than the whispered--
"Thank you, ma'am, this is right good! this is what I wanted!"
"Then why not ask for it before?"
"I didn't like to be a trouble; you seemed so busy, and I could manage
to get on alone."
"You shall not want it any more, John."
Nor did he; for now I understood the wistful look that sometimes
followed me, as I went out, after a brief pause beside his bed, or
merely a passing nod, while busied with those who seemed to need me
more than he, because more urgent in their demands; now I knew that to
him, as to so many, I was the poor substitute for mother, wife, or
sister, and in his eyes no stranger, but a friend who hitherto had
seemed neglectful; for, in his modesty, he had never guessed the truth.
This was changed now; and, through the tedious operation of probing,
bathing, and dressing his wounds, he leaned against me, holding my hand
fast, and, if pain wrung further tears from him, no one saw them fall
but me. When he was laid down again, I hovered about him, in a
remorseful state of mind that would not let me rest, till I had bathed
his face, brushed his "bonny brown hair," set all things smooth about
him, and laid a knot of heath and heliotrope on his clean pillow. While
doing this, he watched me with the satisfied expression I so liked to
see; and when I offered the little nosegay, held it carefully in his
great hand, smoothed a ruffled leaf or two, surveyed and smelt it with
an air of genuine delight, and lay contentedly regarding the glimmer of
the sunshine on the green. Although the manliest man among my forty, he
said, "Yes, ma'am," like a little boy; received suggestions for his
comfort with the quick smile that brightened his whole face; and now
and then, as I stood tidying the table by his bed, I felt him softly
touch my gown, as if to assure himself that I was there. Anything more
natural and frank I never saw, and found this brave John as bashful as
brave, yet full of excellencies and fine aspirations, which, having no
power to express themselves in words, seemed to have bloomed into his
character and made him what he was.
After that night, an hour of each evening that remained to him was
devoted to his ease or pleasure. He could not talk much, for breath was
precious, and he spoke in whispers; but from occasional conversations,
I gleaned scraps of private history which only added to the affection
and respect I felt for him. Once he asked me to write a letter, and as
I settled pen and paper, I said, with an irrepressible glimmer of
feminine curiosity, "Shall it be addressed to wife, or mother, John?"
"Neither, ma'am; I've got no wife, and will write to mother myself when
I get better. Did you think I was married because of this?" he asked,
touching a plain ring he wore, and often turned thoughtfully on his
finger when he lay alone.
"Partly that, but more from a settled sort of look you have; a look
which young men seldom get until they marry."
"I didn't know that; but I'm not so very young, ma'am, thirty in May,
and have been what you might call settled this ten years; for mother's
a widow, I'm the oldest child she has, and it wouldn't do for me to
marry until Lizzy has a home of her own, and Laurie's learned his
trade; for we're not rich, and I must be father to the children and
husband to the dear old woman, if I can."
"No doubt but you are both, John; yet how came you to go to war, if you
felt so? Wasn't enlisting as bad as marrying?"
"No, ma'am, not as I see it, for one is helping my neighbor, the other
pleasing myself. I went because I couldn't help it. I didn't want the
glory or the pay; I wanted the right thing done, and people kept saying
the men who were in earnest ought to fight. I was in earnest, the Lord
knows! but I held off as long as I could, not knowing which was my
duty; mother saw the case, gave me her ring to keep me steady, and said
'Go:' so I went."
A short story and a simple one, but the man and the mother were
portrayed better than pages of fine writing could have done it.
"Do you ever regret that you came, when you lie here suffering so much?"
"Never, ma'am; I haven't helped a great deal, but I've shown I was
willing to give my life, and perhaps I've got to; but I don't blame
anybody, and if it was to do over again, I'd do it. I'm a little sorry
I wasn't wounded in front; it looks cowardly to be hit in the back, but
I obeyed orders, and it don't matter in the end, I know."
Poor John! it did not matter now, except that a shot in the front might
have spared the long agony in store for him. He seemed to read the
thought that troubled me, as he spoke so hopefully when there was no
hope, for he suddenly added:
"This is my first battle; do they think it's going to be my last?"
"I'm afraid they do, John."
It was the hardest question I had ever been called upon to answer;
doubly hard with those clear eyes fixed on mine, forcing a truthful
answer by their own truth. He seemed a little startled at first,
pondered over the fateful fact a moment, then shook his head, with a
glance at the broad chest and muscular limbs stretched out before him:
"I'm not afraid, but it's difficult to believe all at once. I'm so
strong it don't seem possible for such a little wound to kill me."
Merry Mercutio's dying words glanced through my memory as he spoke:
"'Tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door, but 'tis
enough." And John would have said the same could he have seen the
ominous black holes between his shoulders; he never had; and, seeing
the ghastly sights about him, could not believe his own wound more
fatal than these, for all the suffering it caused him.
"Shall I write to your mother, now?" I asked, thinking that these
sudden tidings might change all plans and purposes; but they did not;
for the man received the order of the Divine Commander to march with
the same unquestioning obedience with which the soldier had received
that of the human one, doubtless remembering that the first led him to
life, and the last to death.
"No, ma'am; to Laurie just the same; he'll break it to her best, and
I'll add a line to her myself when you get done."
So I wrote the letter which he dictated, finding it better than any I
had sent; for, though here and there a little ungrammatical or
inelegant, each sentence came to me briefly worded, but most
expressive; full of excellent counsel to the boy, tenderly bequeathing
"mother and Lizzie" to his care, and bidding him good bye in words the
sadder for their simplicity. He added a few lines, with steady hand,
and, as I sealed it, said, with a patient sort of sigh, "I hope the
answer will come in time for me to see it;" then, turning away his
face, laid the flowers against his lips, as if to hide some quiver of
emotion at the thought of such a sudden sundering of all the dear home
ties.
These things had happened two days before; now John was dying, and the
letter had not come. I had been summoned to many death beds in my life,
but to none that made my heart ache as it did then, since my mother
called me to watch the departure of a spirit akin to this in its
gentleness and patient strength. As I went in, John stretched out both
hands:
"I know you'd come! I guess I'm moving on, ma'am."
He was; and so rapidly that, even while he spoke, over his face I saw
the grey veil falling that no human hand can lift. I sat down by him,
wiped the drops from his forehead, stirred the air about him with the
slow wave of a fan, and waited to help him die. He stood in sore need
of help--and I could do so little; for, as the doctor had foretold, the
strong body rebelled against death, and fought every inch of the way,
forcing him to draw each breath with a spasm, and clench his hands with
an imploring look, as if he asked, "How long must I endure this, and be
still!" For hours he suffered dumbly, without a moment's respite, or a
moment's murmuring; his limbs grew cold, his face damp, his lips white,
and, again and again, he tore the covering off his breast, as if the
lightest weight added to his agony; yet through it all, his eyes never
lost their perfect serenity, and the man's soul seemed to sit therein,
undaunted by the ills that vexed his flesh.
One by one, the men woke, and round the room appeared a circle of pale
faces and watchful eyes, full of awe and pity; for, though a stranger,
John was beloved by all. Each man there had wondered at his patience,
respected his piety, admired his fortitude, and now lamented his hard
death; for the influence of an upright nature had made itself deeply
felt, even in one little week. Presently, the Jonathan who so loved
this comely David, came creeping from his bed for a last look and word.
The kind soul was full of trouble, as the choke in his voice, the grasp
of his hand, betrayed; but there were no tears, and the farewell of the
friends was the more touching for its brevity.
"Old boy, how are you?" faltered the one.
"Most through, thank heaven!" whispered the other.
"Can I say or do anything for you anywheres?"
"Take my things home, and tell them that I did my best."
"I will! I will!"
"Good bye, Ned."
"Good bye, John, good bye!"
They kissed each other, tenderly as women, and so parted, for poor Ned
could not stay to see his comrade die. For a little while, there was no
sound in the room but the drip of water, from a stump or two, and
John's distressful gasps, as he slowly breathed his life away. I
thought him nearly gone, and had just laid down the fan, believing its
help to be no longer needed, when suddenly he rose up in his bed, and
cried out with a bitter cry that broke the silence, sharply startling
every one with its agonized appeal:
"For God's sake, give me air!"
It was the only cry pain or death had wrung from him, the only boon he
had asked; and none of us could grant it, for all the airs that blew
were useless now. Dan flung up the window. The first red streak of dawn
was warming the grey east, a herald of the coming sun; John saw it, and
with the love of light which lingers in us to the end, seemed to read
in it a sign of hope of help, for, over his whole face there broke that
mysterious expression, brighter than any smile, which often comes to
eyes that look their last. He laid himself gently down; and, stretching
out his strong right arm, as if to grasp and bring the blessed air to
his lips in a fuller flow, lapsed into a merciful unconsciousness,
which assured us that for him suffering was forever past. He died then;
for, though the heavy breaths still tore their way up for a little
longer, they were but the waves of an ebbing tide that beat unfelt
against the wreck, which an immortal voyager had deserted with a smile.
He never spoke again, but to the end held my hand close, so close that
when he was asleep at last, I could not draw it away. Dan helped me,
warning me as he did so that it was unsafe for dead and living flesh to
lie so long together; but though my hand was strangely cold and stiff,
and four white marks remained across its back, even when warmth and
color had returned elsewhere, I could not but be glad that, through its
touch, the presence of human sympathy, perhaps, had lightened that hard
hour.
When they had made him ready for the grave, John lay in state for half
an hour, a thing which seldom happened in that busy place; but a
universal sentiment of reverence and affection seemed to fill the
hearts of all who had known or heard of him; and when the rumor of his
death went through the house, always astir, many came to see him, and I
felt a tender sort of pride in my lost patient; for he looked a most
heroic figure, lying there stately and still as the statue of some
young knight asleep upon his tomb. The lovely expression which so often
beautifies dead faces, soon replaced the marks of pain, and I longed
for those who loved him best to see him when half an hour's
acquaintance with Death had made them friends. As we stood looking at
him, the ward master handed me a letter, saying it had been forgotten
the night before. It was John's letter, come just an hour too late to
gladden the eyes that had longed and looked for it so eagerly: yet he
had it; for, after I had cut some brown locks for his mother, and taken
off the ring to send her, telling how well the talisman had done its
work, I kissed this good son for her sake, and laid the letter in his
hand, still folded as when I drew my own away, feeling that its place
was there, and making myself happy with the thought, that, even in his
solitary place in the "Government Lot," he would not be without some
token of the love which makes life beautiful and outlives death. Then I
left him, glad to have known so genuine a man, and carrying with me an
enduring memory of the brave Virginia blacksmith, as he lay serenely
waiting for the dawn of that long day which knows no night.