Notes of hospital life from November, 1861, to August, 1863Anonymous
History
Notes of hospital life from November, 1861, to August, 1863
Anonymous
United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Hospitals
And now let me go with you to the door, and say goodbye. If you find that
you are not too much wearied, I shall hope for another visit, in some
future week, when I may have time to take you through the wards, and I
can show you some of our interesting cases; but I think what you have
seen to-day, will furnish the best answer I could give to your question,
“What can the ladies find to do there, all day?”
A MORNING AT THE HOSPITAL.
“God’s finger touched him, and he slept.”
A steady, pouring rain. The fog, which in the early morning hesitated
whether to roll off and give us one of those beautiful, bright autumn
days, the more precious because we feel they are gliding so rapidly from
us, or to come down in rain, seems to have decided at last, and a dreary,
drenching rain is the result. As we[1] enter the hospital, a glance is
sufficient to tell that some depressing influence is at work; instead of
the bright, happy laugh which so often astonishes us on our entrance, we
see the men hanging listlessly and languidly round; some grouped in a
corner of the dining-room round a piano, which a few generous hearts have
supplied for their amusement; some trying a game of cards or back-gammon;
others lying on benches, “chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancies,”
the latter class having the ascendancy, to judge from the countenance.
Nor is the scene brighter in the wards; the damp air has driven those
suffering from rheumatism and fever to their beds once more; and after
the first bright smile of welcome, which never fails to greet us, the
words, “Poor William there, is dying!” are sufficient to account for the
depression, without waiting for what follows, “and I expect I shall go
next.”
[1] Let me say here, once for all, that the term “we” is not
used as the petty affectation of authorship, but is formed by
the Lady Visitor with whom I am associated,--the “M.” of these
pages--whose untiring self-sacrifice, and whole-souled devotion
to the cause, can only be appreciated by those whose pleasure
it is to be connected with her in this work.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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