A POSTSCRIPT.
My Dear S.:--As inquiries like your own have come to me from various
friendly readers of the Sketches, I will answer them en masse and in
printed form, as a sort of postscript to what has gone before. One of
these questions was, "Are there no services by hospital death-beds, or
on Sundays?"
In most Hospitals I hope there are; in ours, the men died, and were
carried away, with as little ceremony as on a battle-field. The first
event of this kind which I witnessed was so very brief, and bare of
anything like reverence, sorrow, or pious consolation, that I heartily
agreed with the bluntly expressed opinion of a Maine man lying next his
comrade, who died with no visible help near him, but a compassionate
woman and a tender-hearted Irishman, who dropped upon his knees, and
told his beads, with Catholic fervor, for the good of his Protestant
brother's parting soul:
"If, after gettin' all the hard knocks, we are left to die this way,
with nothing but a Paddy's prayers to help us, I guess Christians are
rather scarce round Washington."
I thought so too; but though Miss Blank, one of my mates, anxious that
souls should be ministered to, as well as bodies, spoke more than once
to the Chaplain, nothing ever came of it. Unlike another Shepherd,
whose earnest piety weekly purified the Senate Chamber, this man did
not feed as well as fold his flock, nor make himself a human symbol of
the Divine Samaritan, who never passes by on the other side.
I have since learned that our non-committal Chaplain had been a
Professor, in some Southern College; and, though he maintained that he
had no secesh proclivities, I can testify that he seceded from his
ministerial duties, I may say, skedaddled; for, being one of his own
words, it is as appropriate as inelegant. He read Emerson, quoted
Carlyle, and tried to be a Chaplain; but judging from his success, I am
afraid he still hankered after the hominy pots of Rebeldom.
Occasionally, on a Sunday afternoon, such of the nurses, officers,
attendants, and patients as could avail themselves of it, were gathered
in the Ball Room, for an hour's service, of which the singing was the
better part. To me it seemed that if ever strong, wise, and loving
words were needed, it was then; if ever mortal man had living texts
before his eyes to illustrate and illuminate his thought, it was there;
and if ever hearts were prompted to devoutest self-abnegation, it was
in the work which brought us to anything but a Chapel of Ease. But some
spiritual paralysis seemed to have befallen our pastor; for, though
many faces turned toward him, full of the dumb hunger that often comes
to men when suffering or danger brings then nearer to the heart of
things, they were offered the chaff of divinity, and its wheat was left
for less needy gleaners, who knew where to look. Even the fine old
Bible stories, which may be made as lifelike as any history of our day,
by a vivid fancy and pictorial diction, were robbed of all their charms
by dry explanations and literal applications, instead of being useful
and pleasant lessons to those men, whom weakness had rendered as docile
as children in a father's hands.
I watched the listless countenances all about me, while a mild Daniel
was moralizing in a den of utterly uninteresting lions; while Shadrach,
Meshech, and Abednego were leisurely passing through the fiery furnace,
where, I sadly feared, some of us sincerely wished they had remained as
permanencies; while the Temple of Solomon was laboriously erected, with
minute descriptions of the process, and any quantity of bells and
pomegranates on the raiment of the priests. Listless they were at the
beginning, and listless at the end; but the instant some stirring old
hymn was given out, sleepy eyes brightened, lounging figures sat erect,
and many a poor lad rose up in his bed, or stretch an eager hand for
the book, while all broke out with a heartiness that proved that
somewhere at the core of even the most abandoned, there still glowed
some remnant of the native piety that flows in music from the heart of
every little child. Even the big rebel joined, and boomed away in a
thunderous bass, singing--
"Salvation! let the echoes fly,"
as energetically as if he felt the need of a speedy execution of the
command.
That was the pleasantest moment of the hour, for then it seemed a
homelike and happy spot; the groups of men looking over one another's
shoulders as they sang; the few silent figures in the beds; here and
there a woman noiselessly performing some necessary duty, and singing
as she worked; while in the arm chair standing in the midst, I placed,
for my own satisfaction, the imaginary likeness of a certain faithful
pastor, who took all outcasts by the hand, smote the devil in whatever
guise he came, and comforted the indigent in spirit with the best
wisdom of a great and tender heart, which still speaks to us from its
Italian grave. With that addition, my picture was complete; and I often
longed to take a veritable sketch of a Hospital Sunday, for, despite
its drawbacks, consisting of continued labor, the want of proper books,
the barren preaching that bore no fruit, this day was never like the
other six.
True to their home training, our New England boys did their best to
make it what it should be. With many, there was much reading of
Testaments, humming over of favorite hymns, and looking at such books
as I could cull from a miscellaneous library. Some lay idle, slept, or
gossiped; yet, when I came to them for a quiet evening chat, they often
talked freely and well of themselves; would blunder out some timid hope
that their troubles might "do 'em good, and keep 'em stiddy;" would
choke a little, as they said good night, and turned their faces to the
wall to think of mother, wife, or home, these human ties seeming to be
the most vital religion which they yet knew. I observed that some of
them did not wear their caps on this day, though at other times they
clung to them like Quakers; wearing them in bed, putting them on to
read the paper, eat an apple, or write a letter, as if, like a new sort
of Samson, their strength lay, not in their hair, but in their hats.
Many read no novels, swore less, were more silent, orderly, and
cheerful, as if the Lord were an invisible Ward-master, who went his
rounds but once a week, and must find all things at their best. I liked
all this in the poor, rough boys, and could have found it in my heart
to put down sponge and tea-pot, and preach a little sermon then and
there, while homesickness and pain had made these natures soft, that
some good seed might be cast therein, to blossom and bear fruit here or
hereafter.
Regarding the admission of friends to nurse their sick, I can only say,
it was not allowed at Hurly-burly House; though one indomitable parent
took my ward by storm, and held her position, in spite of doctors,
matron, and Nurse Periwinkle. Though it was against the rules, though
the culprit was an acid, frost-bitten female, though the young man
would have done quite as well without her anxious fussiness, and the
whole room-full been much more comfortable, there was something so
irresistible in this persistent devotion, that no one had the heart to
oust her from her post. She slept on the floor, without uttering a
complaint; bore jokes somewhat of the rudest; fared scantily, though
her basket was daily filled with luxuries for her boy; and tended that
petulant personage with a never-failing patience beautiful to see.
I feel a glow of moral rectitude in saying this of her; for, though a
perfect pelican to her young, she pecked and cackled (I don't know that
pelicans usually express their emotions in that manner,) most
obstreperously, when others invaded her premises; and led me a weary
life, with "George's tea-rusks," "George's foot-bath," "George's
measles," and "George's mother;" till after a sharp passage of arms and
tongues with the matron, she wrathfully packed up her rusks, her son,
and herself, and departed, in an ambulance, scolding to the very last.
This is the comic side of the matter. The serious one is harder to
describe; for the presence, however brief, of relations and friends by
the bedside of the dead or dying, is always a trial to the bystanders.
They are not near enough to know how best to comfort, yet too near to
turn their backs upon the sorrow that finds its only solace in
listening to recitals of last words, breathed into nurse's ears, or
receiving the tender legacies of love and longing bequeathed through
them.
To me, the saddest sight I saw in that sad place, was the spectacle of
a grey-haired father, sitting hour after hour by his son, dying from
the poison of his wound. The old father, hale and hearty; the young
son, past all help, though one could scarcely believe it; for the
subtle fever, burning his strength away, flushed his cheeks with color,
filled his eyes with lustre, and lent a mournful mockery of health to
face and figure, making the poor lad comelier in death than in life.
His bed was not in my ward; but I was often in and out, and for a day
or two, the pair were much together, saying little, but looking much.
The old man tried to busy himself with book or pen, that his presence
might not be a burden; and once, when he sat writing, to the anxious
mother at home, doubtless, I saw the son's eyes fix upon his face, with
a look of mingled resignation and regret, as if endeavoring to teach
himself to say cheerfully the long good bye. And again, when the son
slept, the father watched him, as he had himself been watched; and
though no feature of his grave countenance changed, the rough hand,
smoothing the lock of hair upon the pillow, the bowed attitude of the
grey head, were more pathetic than the loudest lamentations. The son
died; and the father took home the pale relic of the life he gave,
offering a little money to the nurse, as the only visible return it was
in his power to make her; for though very grateful, he was poor. Of
course, she did not take it, but found a richer compensation in the old
man's earnest declaration:
"My boy couldn't have been better cared for if he'd been at home; and
God will reward you for it, though I can't."
My own experiences of this sort began when my first man died. He had
scarcely been removed, when his wife came in. Her eye went straight to
the well-known bed; it was empty; and feeling, yet not believing the
hard truth, she cried out, with a look I never shall forget:
"Why, where's Emanuel?"
I had never seen her before, did not know her relationship to the man
whom I had only nursed for a day, and was about to tell her he was
gone, when McGee, the tender-hearted Irishman before mentioned, brushed
by me with a cheerful--"It's shifted to a better bed he is, Mrs.
Connel. Come out, dear, till I show ye;" and, taking her gently by the
arm, he led her to the matron, who broke the heavy tidings to the wife,
and comforted the widow.
Another day, running up to my room for a breath of fresh air and a five
minutes' rest after a disagreeable task, I found a stout young woman
sitting on my bed, wearing the miserable look which I had learned to
know by that time. Seeing her, reminded me that I had heard of some
one's dying in the night, and his sister's arriving in the morning.
This must be she, I thought. I pitied her with all my heart. What could
I say or do? Words always seem impertinent at such times; I did not
know the man; the woman was neither interesting in herself nor graceful
in her grief; yet, having known a sister's sorrow myself, I could have
not leave her alone with her trouble in that strange place, without a
word. So, feeling heart-sick, home-sick, and not knowing what else to
do, I just put my arms about her, and began to cry in a very helpless
but hearty way; for, as I seldom indulge in this moist luxury, I like
to enjoy it with all my might, when I do.
It so happened I could not have done a better thing; for, though not a
word was spoken, each felt the other's sympathy; and, in the silence,
our handkerchiefs were more eloquent than words. She soon sobbed
herself quiet; and, leaving her on my bed, I went back to work, feeling
much refreshed by the shower, though I'd forgotten to rest, and had
washed my face instead of my hands. I mention this successful
experience as a receipt proved and approved, for the use of any nurse
who may find herself called upon to minister to these wounds of the
heart. They will find it more efficacious than cups of tea,
smelling-bottles, psalms, or sermons; for a friendly touch and a
companionable cry, unite the consolations of all the rest for
womankind; and, if genuine, will be found a sovereign cure for the
first sharp pang so many suffer in these heavy times.
I am gratified to find that my little Sergeant has found favor in
several quarters, and gladly respond to sundry calls for news of him,
though my personal knowledge ended five months ago. Next to my good
John--I hope the grass is green above him, far away there in
Virginia!--I placed the Sergeant on my list of worthy boys; and many
jovial chat have I enjoyed with the merry-hearted lad, who had a fancy
for fun, when his poor arm was dressed. While Dr. P. poked and
strapped, I brushed the remains of the Sergeant's brown mane--shorn
sorely against his will--and gossiped with all my might, the boy making
odd faces, exclamations, and appeals, when nerves got the better of
nonsense, as they sometimes did:
"I'd rather laugh than cry, when I must sing out anyhow, so just say
that bit from Dickens again, please, and I'll stand it like a man." He
did; for "Mrs. Cluppins," "Chadband," and "Sam Weller," always helped
him through; thereby causing me to lay another offering of love and
admiration on the shrine of the god of my idolatry, though he does wear
too much jewelry and talk slang.
The Sergeant also originated, I believe, the fashion of calling his
neighbors by their afflictions instead of their names; and I was rather
taken aback by hearing them bandy remarks of this sort, with perfect
good humor and much enjoyment of the new game.
"Hallo, old Fits is off again!" "How are you, Rheumatiz?" "Will you
trade apples, Ribs?" "I say, Miss P., may I give Typus a drink of this?"
"Look here, No Toes, lend us a stamp, there's a good feller," etc. He
himself was christened "Baby B.," because he tended his arm on a little
pillow, and called it his infant.
Very fussy about his grub was Sergeant B., and much trotting of
attendants was necessary when he partook of nourishment. Anything more
irresistibly wheedlesome I never saw, and constantly found myself
indulging him, like the most weak-minded parent, merely for the
pleasure of seeing his blue eyes twinkle, his merry mouth break into a
smile, and his one hand execute a jaunty little salute that was
entirely captivating. I am afraid that Nurse P. damaged her dignity,
frolicking with this persuasive young gentleman, though done for his
well-being. But "boys will be boys," is perfectly applicable to the
case; for, in spite of years, sex, and the "prunes-and-prisms" doctrine
laid down for our use, I have a fellow feeling for lads, and always
owed Fate a grudge because I wasn't a lord of creation instead of a
lady.
Since I left, I have heard, from a reliable source, that my Sergeant
has gone home; therefore, the small romance that budded the first day I
saw him, has blossomed into its second chapter; and I now imagine
"dearest Jane" filling my place, tending the wounds I tended, brushing
the curly jungle I brushed, loving the excellent little youth I loved,
and eventually walking altarward, with the Sergeant stumping gallantly
at her side. If she doesn't do all this, and no end more, I'll never
forgive her; and sincerely pray to the guardian saint of lovers, that
"Baby B." may prosper in his wooing, and his name be long in the land.
One of the lively episodes of hospital life, is the frequent marching
away of such as are well enough to rejoin their regiments, or betake
themselves to some convalescent camp. The ward-master comes to the door
of each room that is to be thinned, reads off a list of names, bids
their owners look sharp and be ready when called for; and, as he
vanishes, the rooms fall into an indescribable state of
topsy-turvyness, as the boys begin to black their boots, brighten
spurs, if they have them, overhaul knapsacks, make presents; are fitted
out with needfuls, and--well, why not?--kissed sometimes, as they say,
good bye; for in all human probability we shall never meet again, and a
woman's heart yearns over anything that has clung to her for help and
comfort. I never liked these breakings-up of my little household;
though my short stay showed me but three. I was immensely gratified by
the hand shakes I got, for their somewhat painful cordiality assured me
that I had not tried in vain. The big Prussian rumbled out his
unintelligible adieux, with a grateful face and a premonitory smooth of
his yellow mustache, but got no farther, for some one else stepped up,
with a large brown hand extended, and this recommendation of our very
faulty establishment:
"We're off, ma'am, and I'm powerful sorry, for I'd no idea a 'orspittle
was such a jolly place. Hope I'll git another ball somewheres easy, so
I'll come back, and be took care on again. Mean, ain't it?"
I didn't think so, but the doctrine of inglorious ease was not the
right one to preach up, so I tried to look shocked, failed signally,
and consoled myself by giving him the fat pincushion he had admired as
the "cutest little machine agoin." Then they fell into line in front of
the house, looking rather wan and feeble, some of them, but trying to
step out smartly and march in good order, though half the knapsacks
were carried by the guard, and several leaned on sticks instead of
shouldering guns. All looked up and smiled, or waved their hands and
touched their caps, as they passed under our windows down the long
street, and so away, some to their homes in this world, and some to
that in the next; and, for the rest of the day, I felt like Rachel
mourning for her children, when I saw the empty beds and missed the
familiar faces.
You ask if nurses are obliged to witness amputations and such matters,
as a part of their duty? I think not, unless they wish; for the patient
is under the effects of ether, and needs no care but such as the
surgeons can best give. Our work begins afterward, when the poor soul
comes to himself, sick, faint, and wandering; full of strange pains and
confused visions, of disagreeable sensations and sights. Then we must
sooth and sustain, tend and watch; preaching and practicing patience,
till sleep and time have restored courage and self-control.
I witnessed several operations; for the height of my ambition was to go
to the front after a battle, and feeling that the sooner I inured
myself to trying sights, the more useful I should be. Several of my
mates shrunk from such things; for though the spirit was wholly
willing, the flesh was inconveniently weak. One funereal lady came to
try her powers as a nurse; but, a brief conversation eliciting the
facts that she fainted at the sight of blood, was afraid to watch
alone, couldn't possibly take care of delirious persons, was nervous
about infections, and unable to bear much fatigue, she was mildly
dismissed. I hope she found her sphere, but fancy a comfortable bandbox
on a high shelf would best meet the requirements of her case.
Dr. Z. suggested that I should witness a dissection; but I never
accepted his invitations, thinking that my nerves belonged to the
living, not to the dead, and I had better finish my education as a
nurse before I began that of a surgeon. But I never met the little man
skipping through the hall, with oddly shaped cases in his hand, and an
absorbed expression of countenance, without being sure that a select
party of surgeons were at work in the dead house, which idea was a
rather trying one, when I knew the subject was some person whom I had
nursed and cared for.
But this must not lead any one to suppose that the surgeons were
willfully hard or cruel, though one of them remorsefully confided to me
that he feared his profession blunted his sensibilities, and perhaps,
rendered him indifferent to the sight of pain.
I am inclined to think that in some cases it does; for, though a
capital surgeon and a kindly man, Dr. P., through long acquaintance
with many of the ills flesh is heir to, had acquired a somewhat trying
habit of regarding a man and his wound as separate institutions, and
seemed rather annoyed that the former should express any opinion upon
the latter, or claim any right in it, while under his care. He had a
way of twitching off a bandage, and giving a limb a comprehensive sort
of clutch, which though no doubt entirely scientific, was rather
startling than soothing, and highly objectionable as a means of
preparing nerves for any fresh trial. He also expected the patient to
assist in small operations, as he considered them, and to restrain all
demonstrations during the process.
"Here, my man, just hold it this way, while I look into it a bit," he
said one day to Fitz G., putting a wounded arm into the keeping of a
sound one, and proceeding to poke about among bits of bone and visible
muscles, in a red and black chasm made by some infernal machine of the
shot or shell description. Poor Fitz held on like a grim Death, ashamed
to show fear before a woman, till it grew more than he could bear in
silence; and, after a few smothered groans, he looked at me
imploringly, as if he said, "I wouldn't, ma'am, if I could help it,"
and fainted quietly away.
Dr. P. looked up, gave a compassionate sort of cluck, and poked away
more busily than ever, with a nod at me and a brief--"Never mind; be so
good as to hold this till I finish."
I obeyed, cherishing the while a strong desire to insinuate a few of
his own disagreeable knives and scissors into him, and see how he liked
it. A very disrespectful and ridiculous fancy, of course; for he was
doing all that could be done, and the arm prospered finely in his
hands. But the human mind is prone to prejudice; and, though a
personable man, speaking French like a born "Parley voo," and whipping
off legs like an animated guillotine, I must confess to a sense of
relief when he was ordered elsewhere; and suspect that several of the
men would have faced a rebel battery with less trepidation than they
did Dr. P., when he came briskly in on his morning round.
As if to give us the pleasures of contrast, Dr. Z. succeeded him, who,
I think, suffered more in giving pain than did his patients in enduring
it; for he often paused to ask: "Do I hurt you?" and seeing his
solicitude, the boys invariably answered: "Not much; go ahead, Doctor,"
though the lips that uttered this amiable fib might be white with pain
as they spoke. Over the dressing of some of the wounds, we used to
carry on conversations upon subjects foreign to the work in hand, that
the patient might forget himself in the charms of our discourse.
Christmas eve was spent in this way; the Doctor strapping the little
Sergeant's arm, I holding the lamp, while all three laughed and talked,
as if anywhere but in a hospital ward; except when the chat was broken
by a long-drawn "Oh!" from "Baby B.," an abrupt request from the Doctor
to "Hold the lamp a little higher, please," or an encouraging, "Most
through, Sergeant," from Nurse P.
The chief Surgeon, Dr. O., I was told, refused the higher salary,
greater honor, and less labor, of an appointment to the Officer's
Hospital, round the corner, that he might serve the poor fellows at
Hurly-burly House, or go to the front, working there day and night,
among the horrors that succeed the glories of a battle. I liked that so
much, that the quiet, brown-eyed Doctor was my especial admiration; and
when my own turn came, had more faith in him than in all the rest put
together, although he did advise me to go home, and authorize the
consumption of blue pills.
Speaking of the surgeons reminds me that, having found all manner of
fault, it becomes me to celebrate the redeeming feature of Hurly-burly
House. I had been prepared by the accounts of others, to expect much
humiliation of spirit from the surgeons, and to be treated by them like
a door-mat, a worm, or any other meek and lowly article, whose mission
it is to be put down and walked upon; nurses being considered as mere
servants, receiving the lowest pay, and, it's my private opinion, doing
the hardest work of any part of the army, except the mules. Great,
therefore, was my surprise, when I found myself treated with the utmost
courtesy and kindness. Very soon my carefully prepared meekness was
laid upon the shelf; and, going from one extreme to the other, I more
than once expressed a difference of opinion regarding sundry messes it
was my painful duty to administer.
As eight of us nurses chanced to be off duty at once, we had an
excellent opportunity of trying the virtues of these gentlemen; and I
am bound to say they stood the test admirably, as far as my personal
observation went. Dr. O.'s stethoscope was unremitting in its
attentions; Dr. S. brought his buttons into my room twice a day, with
the regularity of a medical clock; while Dr. Z. filled my table with
neat little bottles, which I never emptied, prescribed Browning,
bedewed me with Cologne, and kept my fire going, as if, like the
candles in St. Peter's, it must never be permitted to die out. Waking,
one cold night, with the certainty that my last spark had pined away
and died, and consequently hours of coughing were in store for me, I
was amazed to see a ruddy light dancing on the wall, a jolly blaze
roaring up the chimney, and, down upon his knees before it, Dr. Z.,
whittling shavings. I ought to have risen up and thanked him on the
spot; but, knowing that he was one of those who like to do good by
stealth, I only peeped at him as if he were a friendly ghost; till,
having made things as cozy as the most motherly of nurses could have
done, he crept away, leaving me to feel, as somebody says, "as if
angels were a watching of me in my sleep;" though that species of wild
fowl do not usually descend in broadcloth and glasses. I afterwards
discovered that he split the wood himself on that cool January
midnight, and went about making or mending fires for the poor old
ladies in their dismal dens; thus causing himself to be felt--a bright
and shining light in more ways than one. I never thanked him as I
ought; therefore, I publicly make a note of it, and further aggravate
that modest M.D. by saying that if this was not being the best of
doctors and the gentlest of gentlemen, I shall be happy to see any
improvement upon it.
To such as wish to know where these scenes took place, I must
respectfully decline to answer; for Hurly-burly House has ceased to
exist as a hospital; so let it rest, with all its sins upon its
head,--perhaps I should say chimney top. When the nurses felt ill, the
doctors departed, and the patients got well, I believe the concern
gently faded from existence, or was merged into some other and better
establishment, where I hope the washing of three hundred sick people is
done out of the house, the food is eatable, and mortal women are not
expected to possess an angelic exemption from all wants, and the
endurance of truck horses.
Since the appearance of these hasty Sketches, I have heard from several
of my comrades at the Hospital; and their approval assures me that I
have not let sympathy and fancy run away with me, as that lively team
is apt to do when harnessed to a pen. As no two persons see the same
thing with the same eyes, my view of hospital life must be taken
through my glass, and held for what it is worth. Certainly, nothing was
set down in malice, and to the serious-minded party who objected to a
tone of levity in some portions of the Sketches, I can only say that it
is a part of my religion to look well after the cheerfulnesses of life,
and let the dismals shift for themselves; believing, with good Sir
Thomas More, that it is wise to "be merrie in God."
The next hospital I enter will, I hope, be one for the colored
regiments, as they seem to be proving their right to the admiration and
kind offices of their white relations, who owe them so large a debt, a
little part of which I shall be so proud to pay.
Yours,
With a firm faith
In the good time coming,
TRIBULATION PERIWINKLE.
New Publication.
Ready September 1.
Speeches, Lectures,
and
Letters:
by
Wendell Phillips.
Fourth Edition.
In One Vol., crown octavo, pp. 570; printed on clear new type, and the
best tinted linen paper; bound in the English green or maroon
vellum-cloth; with gilt tops, and illuminated title; and illustrated
with an excellent portrait of Mr. Phillips, on steel, by H. Wright
Smith, of Boston.
Price $2,50.
The first three editions of this work were sold as rapidly as they could
be bound, and demand continues unabated.
In his Prospectus, the Publisher guaranteed to produce this work in the
best style of Boston manufacture; and that he amply redeemed this
pledge, the universal testimony of the Subscribers, the Agents, and the
Trade attest. It was announced at $2, and intended to be of 500 pages.
But it is considerably larger, and more expensively gotten up than was
originally designed; and hence, and in order, by the last adornments, to
make it the very finest Book in the Boston market, its price has been
necessarily increased to $2.50.
Due notice has been given to all Agents,--all their subscribers having
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By mutual agreement, also, between the Publisher and his Agents, he is
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supply cash orders at the shortest notice.
The following is a table of the
Contents of the Volume:
I. Publisher's Advertisement, containing a letter from Mr. Phillips.
II. The Murder of Lovejoy. Mr. Phillips' first Speech in Boston,
delivered December 8, 1837, which at once established his fame as one of
the ablest of living orators.
III. Women's Rights. Speech at Worcester, October 15, 1851, with the
Resolutions, embodying the whole philosophy of the Women's Rights
Movement, prepared and presented by Mr. Phillips.
IV. Public Opinion. Delivered January 28, 1852.
V. Surrender of Sims. January 30, 1852.
VI. Sim's Anniversary. April 12, 1852.
VII. Philosophy of the Abolition Movement. January 27, 1853.
VIII. Removal of Judge Loring. February 20, 1855.
IX. The Boston Mob. October 21, 1855.
X. The Pilgrims. December 21, 1855.
XI. Letter to Judge Shaw and President Walker. August 1, 1859.
XII. Idols. October 4, 1859.
XIII. Harper's Ferry. November 1, 1859.
XIV. Burial of John Brown. Delivered at the Grave of the Martyr,
December 8, 1859.
XV. Lincoln's Election. November 7, 1860.
XVI. Mobs and Education. December 21, 1860.
XVII. Disunion. January 20, 1861.
XVIII. Progress. February 17, 1861.
XIX. Under the Flag. April 21, 1861.
XX. The War for the Union. December, 1861.
XXI. The Cabinet. August 1, 1862.
XXII. Letter to the New York Tribune. August 16, 1862.
XXIII. Toussaint L'Ouverture. December, 1861.
XXIV. A Metropolitan Police. April 25, 1863.
XXV. The State of the Country. May 11, 1863.
☞ Copies will be sent by mail on receipt of the retail price.
James Redpath, Publisher,
221 Washington Street, Boston.
Transcriber's Notes
Welcome to the Project Gutenberg presentation of Hospital Sketches.
We used the 1863 version of the book for this transcription. A scanned
copy of this book is available through Hathitrust, courtesy of Duke
University.
We tried to preserve the original spelling of words, punctuation, and
italics in the Sketches. Changes to the text are listed below, in the
Detailed Notes. The Detailed Notes includes other issues that have come
up during the transcription of the text. In addition, we have added some
notes of explanation for some references in the text that, we hope, will
help the reader.
The 1863 book was the first release of Hospital Sketches in book form.
In 1869, the Sketches were combined with nearly three hundred pages of
eight Camp and Fireside stories written by Miss Alcott.
Detailed Notes
Nurse Sarah Gamp, a character from the novel Martin Chuzzlewit by
Charles Dickens, was a stereotype of untrained and incompetent nurses of
the early Victorian era, before the reforms of Florence Nightingale.
On page 7, changed three page numbers in the Table of Contents: 10 to 9,
64 to 66, and 84 to 86.
On page 12, Change never-come to never come in "If I never-come back,
make a bonfire of them."
On page 14, being between Scylla and Charybdis is an idiom deriving from
Greek mythology, meaning "having to choose between two evils".
On page 14, the Massachusetts governor in 1862 was John Albion Andrew.
On page 16, change Milk street to Milk Street in the clause "and bore
down upon Milk street." This matches the spelling of two other
references to Milk Street in the Sketches.
Even today, the Koh-i-noor diamond mentioned on page 16 is considered
the most valuable diamond in the world.
On page 21, change Perewinkle to Periwinkle in the clause "Nurse
Perewinkle does exist."
On page 27, the Baltimore riot of April 19, 1861 was a civil conflict
between Confederate sympathizers against members of out-of-state militia
(primarily Massachusetts and some Pennsylvania men). The incident is
called "The First Bloodshed of the Civil War."
On page 34 transcribe door-ways with the hyphen, because the hyphen is
found in door-step, door-handles, and door-mat.
On page 42 add period after comfortable in the clause: "was immensely
cheering and comfortable."
On page 54, remove period after My in "My. Ganymede departed."
On page 61, add comma after moment in the sentence: 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:
On page 75, Henry Wilson was the Senator from Massachusetts from
1855-1873.
On page 75, Preston Brooks beat Massachusetts senator Charles Sumner
with a cane on March 22, 1856, in retribution for an anti-Kansas speech
by Sumner that attacked Andrew Butler, a relative of Brooks.
On page 77, Florence Nightingale ran the first group of organized female
nurses to support the British Army in the Crimean War.
On page 79, Mark Tapley was a beloved character created by Charles
Dickens in his novel The Life and Adventures of Martin Chuzzlewit.
On page 82, Aunt Chloe was a character from Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet
Beecher Stowe.
On Page 82-83, New Year's Day in 1863 was celebrated by abolitionists
because Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation took effect on that day.
On Page 83, cosy is a variant of cozy, and we preserved this as it
appeared in the original Sketches. The author did use cozy on page 47
and page 100.
On page 89, transcribe Ward-master with the hyphen. The book typically
used 'ward master.'
On page 93, three characters from the novels of Charles Dickens are
mentioned: a) Mrs. Cluppins from The Pickwick Papers, b) Chadband, a
pompous preacher from Bleak House, and c) Sam Weller from The Pickwick
Papers.
On page 95, change "good by" to "good bye."
On page 96, changed "waved hier hands" to "waved their hands."
Four times in Chapter 6, the author omitted the hyphen in Hurly-burly
House after using the hyphen with references to Hurly-burly House and
Hurly-burly Hotel in previous Chapters. Those four times occurred on
Page 90, Page 99 (twice) and Page 101. We added the hyphen to the four
items in Chapter 6.