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
My boast that I could make a pretty good conjecture what State a man came
from by looking at him, did not avail me here. I was utterly at fault.
His fair, Saxon face, so far as I could judge of it as he lay sobbing on
his pillow, had something feminine--almost childlike--in the innocence
and gentleness of its expression; and my first thought was one which
has constantly recurred on closer acquaintance, “How utterly unfit for
a soldier!” He wanted the quick, nervous energy of the New Englander,
who, even when badly wounded, rarely fails to betray his origin; he had
none of the rough off-hand dash of our Western brothers, and could never
have had it, even in health; nor yet the stolidity of our Pennsylvania
Germans. No! it was clear that I must wait till he chose to enlighten
me as to his home. After a few minutes’ study, I was convinced that his
tears were not from the pain of his wound; there was no contraction of
the brow, no tension of the muscles, no quivering of the frame; he seemed
simply very weary, very languid, like a tired child, and I resolved to
act accordingly.
“I have been so busy with our defenders, this afternoon,” said I, “that I
have had no time to come and thank you.”
He started, raised his tear-stained face, and said, with a wondering air,
“To thank me? For what?”
“For what?” said I; “haven’t you been keeping the rebels away from us?
Don’t you know that if it hadn’t been for you and many like you, we might
at this moment have been flying from our homes, and General Lee and his
men occupying our city? You don’t seem to know how grateful we are to
you--we feel as though we could never do enough for our brave Gettysburg
men to return what they have done for us.”
This seemed quite a novel idea, and the tears were stopped to muse upon
it.
“We tried to do our duty, ma’am, I know that.”
“I know it too, and I think I could make a pretty good guess what corps
you belong to. Suppose I try. Wasn’t it the Second Corps? You look to
me like one of General Hancock’s men; you know they were praised in the
papers for their bravery. Am I right?”
The poor tired face brightened instantly. The random shot had hit the
mark.
“Yes, Second Corps. Did you know by my cap?”
“Your cap? You don’t wear your cap in bed, do you? I haven’t seen your
cap; I guessed by that wound--it must have been made where there was
pretty hard fighting, and I knew the Second Corps had done their share of
that.”
But this was dangerous ground, as I felt the moment the allusion to his
wound was made; the sympathy was too direct, and his eyes filled at once.
Seeing my mistake, I plunged off rapidly on another tack.
“Did you notice my assistant orderly who came in with me just now? He had
been over to see you before, for he came and told me you wanted me.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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