John Smith's Funny Adventures on a Crutch: Or The Remarkable Peregrinations of a One-legged Soldier after the WarHill, A. F. (Ashbel Fairchild)
History
John Smith's Funny Adventures on a Crutch: Or The Remarkable Peregrinations of a One-legged Soldier after the War
Hill, A. F. (Ashbel Fairchild)
Disabled veterans -- United States -- Fiction; United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Veterans -- Fiction
“Probably,” said I, to the deserted woman, as I stepped in and gently
picked up her bundles for her, “Philip has taken a little too much, and
forgotten you. You had better return to the steamer.”
“Is he in there?” asked my English companion at the door.
“Who?—Briggs?”
“Yes.”
“No, _he_ is not: but here is a lady whom you have seen on the steamer,
and who has lost sight of her husband. Had she not better return with
us?”
“I suppose so.”
“Well, madam,” said I, “we are going back to the steamer now; will you
come with us? Phil will be all right. No doubt he is there by this
time.”
“Och, Mr. Smith, ye won’t desart me, will ye!” she exclaimed, letting
two more bundles fall.
Mr. Smith! she actually called me by name! That she knew my name I was
not aware. How she had learned it was a mystery to me; but it was more
marvelous still that, having learned so strange and rare a name, she
remembered it!
“No, madam,” said I, “you shall go with us to the ship. Come.” And I
gallantly picked up her two bundles and restored them to her fulsome
arms.
By this time Monsieur Figaro was looking over Mr. Hawes’s shoulder at
the door, and I fancied I saw him smile. It may have been imagination.
“Come, madam,” said I. “we are going down to hire a boat immediately.
Will you go with us?”
“Och! Indade I wull!”
She now rose—being very little taller standing than when
sitting—dropping all her bundles but one.
I picked up all but one.
“Come, let us go.”
It was now fully dark.
Somewhat to my chagrin, this charming and confiding creature grasped my
gallant arm, as a support; and we all started for the beach.
With the care of two hundred and ten unsteady pounds on my arm, and I
walking on a frail crutch, I confess that I experienced a difficulty in
traveling to the beach which I did not acknowledge at the time.
On the way to the boat, my voluptuous companion dropped all her bundles,
one by one, and they were promptly picked up, taken care of, and carried
after us, by a little native with nothing but a hat on—whose attention
and fidelity I generously rewarded with a silver half-dollar on arriving
at the water’s edge.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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