WOUNDED OFFICERS.
In Washington, I had done nothing for any wounded officer, except a
captain who was brought to our ward when all the others were taken away,
and in Fredericksburg I began on that principle. I found twenty in the
Old Theater, and had them removed to private houses, to make room for
the men, and that they might be better cared for. Officers could be
quartered in private houses, and have beds, most of those taken out of
the theater were put into houses between it and our quarters, so that I
could see them on my way to and from meals. Among them was the blind
man, who still craved to hear me speak and feel my hand, and I kept his
face in a wet compress until a surgeon was dressing it and found the
inflammation so gone that he drew the lid of one back, and the man cried
out in delight: "I can see! I can see! now let me see mother." I stood
in his range of vision, until the surgeon closed the lids, when he said:
"Now, mother, I shall always remember just how you look."
I found in my visit to those men that some orderlies needed some one to
keep them in order, and that a helpless man is not always sure his
servant will serve him. Often the orderlies themselves were powerless,
and those men would have suffered if I had not cared for them. More than
once some of them said: "I wish, mother, we were back with you in the
Old Theater?"
There was a captain whose stump I must fix every night before he could
sleep, and when his wife came I tried to teach her, but she was so much
afraid of hurting him she could do nothing. I learned in time that
officers quartered in private houses, even with the greater comforts
they had, often suffered more than the men in all their privations. Mrs.
Barlow came for me to see one given up to die, and I found him in a
large handsome room, on the first floor of an elegant residence,
absolutely hopeless, but for years have not been able to recall the
trouble in his case.
It must have been easy to set right, for he began at once to recover,
and I felt that people had been very stupid, and that there was an
unreasonable amount of wonder and gratitude over whatever it was I did.
It was often so easy to save a life, where there were the means of
living, that a little courage or common sense seemed like a miraculous
gift to people whose mental powers had been turned in other directions.
But I found another side to looking after officers in private quarters.
One evening after dark, Georgia called to tell me of a dreadful case of
suffering which a surgeon wished her to see. He was there to accompany
her, but she declined going without me, and I went along, walking close
behind them, as the pavement was narrow. He did not seem to notice that
I was there, was troubled with the weight of his diploma and
shoulderstraps, and talked very patronizingly to the lady at his side,
until she turned, and said to me:
"Do you hear that?"
"Oh, yes," I replied, "and feel very grateful to the young man for his
permission to do the work he is paid for doing, but if he had reserved
his patronage until some one had asked for it, it would have had more
weight."
"Your friend is sarcastic," was his reply to her; and I said no more
until we reached the case of great distress, which was on the second
floor of a vacant house, and proved to be a colonel in uniform, seated
in an easy chair, smoking, while his orderly sat in another chair, oil
the other side of the room.
Georgie stood looking from one man to the other in speechless surprise;
but I spoke to the man in the chair, saying:
"How is it, sir, that you, an officer, in need of nothing, have
trespassed upon our time and strength, when you know that men are dying
by hundreds for want of care?"
He began to apologize and explain, but I said to Georgie:
"Come, Miss Willets, we are not needed here."
As we passed from the room, the surgeon took his cap to accompany us,
when I stopped, made a gesture, and said:
"Young man! stay where you are! Your friend must be too ill to do
without you. I will see the young lady to her quarters. The vidette is
on the corner, and we do not need you!"
We came away filled with wonder, but we did not for some time realize
the danger. We came to know that Miss Dix's caution was not altogether
unwise; that women had been led into traps of this kind, when it would
have been well for them had they died there, and when duty to themselves
and the public required them to get one or more doctors ready for
dissection. After that lesson, however, I did not fear to leave Georgie,
who remained with the army, doing grand work, until Richmond fell, but
laying the foundation of that consumption, of which she died.
Of all the lives which the Rebellion cost us, none was more pure, more
noble, than that of this beautiful, refined, strong, gentle girl.