The house had been a hotel before hospitals were needed,and many of the doors still bore their old names;some not so inappropriate as might be imagined,for my ward was in truth a ball-room ,if gun-shot wounds could christen it.Forty beds were prepared,many already tenanted by tired men who fell down anywhere,and drowsed till the smell of food roused them.
Round the great stove was gathered the dreariest group I ever sawragged,gaunt and pale,mud to the knees,with bloody bandages untouched since put on days before;many bundled up in blankets,coats being lost or useless;and all wearing that disheartened look which proclaimed defeat,more plainly than any telegram of the Burnside blunder.Ipitied them so much,I dared not speak to them,though,remembering all they had been through since the route at Fredericksburg,I yearned to serve the dreariest of them all.Presently,Miss Blank tore me from my refuge behind piles of one-sleeved shirts,odd socks,bandages and lint;put basin,sponge,towels,and a block of brown soap into my hands,with these appalling directions:
"Come,my dear,begin to wash as fast as you can.Tell them to take off socks,coats and shirts,scrub them well,put on clean shirts,and the attendants will finish them off,and lay them in bed."If she had requested me to shave them all,or dance a hornpipe on the stove funnel,I should have been less staggered;but to scrub some dozen lords of creation at a moment's notice,was reallyreally.However,there was no time for nonsense,and,having resolved when I came to do everything I was bid,I drowned my scruples in my wash-bowl,clutched my soap manfully,and,assuming a business-like air,made a dab at the first dirty specimen I saw,bent on performing my task vi et armis if necessary.I chanced to light on a withered old Irishman,wounded in the head,which caused that portion of his frame to be tastefully laid out like a garden,the bandages being the walks,his hair the shrubbery.He was so overpowered by the honor of having a lady wash him,as he expressed it,that he did nothing but roll up his eyes,and bless me,in an irresistible style which was too much for my sense of the ludicrous;so we laughed together,and when I knelt down to take off his shoes,he "flopped"also,and wouldn't hear of my touching "them dirty craters.May your bed above be aisy darlin',for the day's work ye ar doon!Whoosh!there ye are,and bedad,it's hard tellin'which is the dirtiest,the fut or the shoe."It was;and if he hadn't been to the fore,I should have gone on pulling,under the impression that the "fut"was a boot,for trousers,socks,shoes and legs were a mass of mud.This comical tableau produced a general grin,at which propitious beginning I took heart and scrubbed away like any tidy parent on a Saturday night.Some of them took the performance like sleepy children,leaning their tired heads against me as I worked,others looked grimly scandalized,and several of the roughest colored like bashful girls.One wore a soiled little bag about his neck,and,as I moved it,to bathe his wounded breast,I said,"Your talisman didn't save you,did it?""Well,I reckon it did,marm,for that shot would a gone a couple a inches deeper but for my old mammy's camphor bag,"answered the cheerful philosopher.
Another,with a gun-shot wound through the cheek,asked for a looking-glass,and when I brought one,regarded his swollen face with a dolorous expression,as he muttered"I vow to gosh,that's too bad!I warn't a bad looking chap before,and now I'm done for;won't there be a thunderin'scar?and what on earth will Josephine Skinner say?"He looked up at me with his one eye so appealingly,that I controlled my risibles,and assured him that if Josephine was a girl of sense,she would admire the honorable scar,as a lasting proof that he had faced the enemy,for all women thought a wound the best decoration a brave soldier could wear.I hope Miss Skinner verified the good opinion I so rashly expressed of her,but I shall never know.
The next scrubbee was a nice looking lad,with a curly brown mane,and a budding trace of gingerbread over the lip,which he called his beard,and defended stoutly,when the barber jocosely suggested its immolation.
He lay on a bed,with one leg gone,and the right arm so shattered that it must evidently follow:
yet the little Sergeant was as merry as if his afflictions were not worth lamenting over;and when a drop or two of salt water mingled with my suds at the sight of this strong young body,so marred and maimed,the boy looked up,with a brave smile,though there was a little quiver of the lips,as he said,"Now don't you fret yourself about me,miss;I'm first rate here,for it's nuts to lie still on this bed,after knocking about in those confounded ambulances,that shake what there is left of a fellow to jelly.I never was in one of these places before,and think this cleaning up a jolly thing for us,though I'm afraid it isn't for you ladies.""Is this your first battle,Sergeant?"
"No,miss;I've been in six scrimmages,and never got a scratch till this last one;but it's done the business pretty thoroughly for me,I should say.Lord!what a scramble there'll be for arms and legs,when we old boys come out of our graves,on the Judgment Day:wonder if we shall get our own again?If we do,my leg will have to tramp from Fredericksburg,my arm from here,I suppose,and meet my body,wherever it may be."The fancy seemed to tickle him mightily,for he laughed blithely,and so did I;which,no doubt,caused the new nurse to be regarded as a light-minded sinner by the Chaplain,who roamed vaguely about,informing the men that they were all worms,corrupt of heart,with perishable bodies,and souls only to be saved by a diligent perusal of certain tracts,and other equally cheering bits of spiritual consolation,when spirituous ditto would have been preferred.
