Incidents of the War: Humorous, Pathetic, and DescriptiveBurnett, Alfred
History
Incidents of the War: Humorous, Pathetic, and Descriptive
Burnett, Alfred
United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Anecdotes
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 firm and
grave, 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 eyes 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 smile of
serenity, as if, in that brief eclipse, he had acknowledged the
existence of some hard futurity, and, asking nothing, yet hoping all
things, left the issue in God's hand, with that submission which is
true piety.
At night, as I went my rounds with the surgeon, I happened to ask
which man in the room probably suffered the 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 is 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."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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