United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
It is the old fable of the clock, whose pendulum and wheels stopped
one day, appalled by the discovery that they would have to move
and tick over three million times a year for many wearisome years,
but resumed work again when reminded that they would only have to
tick ONCE each second.
So it was with Rachel Bond.
The unendurable whole of a month's or a week's experience was endurable
when divided in detail and spread over the hours and days.
She was a woman--young and high-natured.
Being a woman she had a martyr-joy in affliction that comes in the
guise of duty. Young, she enjoyed the usefulness and importance
attached to her work in the hospital. High-natured, she felt a keen
satisfaction in triumphing over daily difficulties and obstacles,
even though these were mainly her own feelings.
Though months had gone by it seemed as if no amount of habituation
could dull the edge of the sickening disgust which continually assailed
her sense and womanly instincts. The smells were as nauseating,
the sights as repulsive, the sounds of misery as saddening as the
day when she first set foot inside the hospital.
From throbbing heart to dainty finger-tip, every fiber in her maidenly
body was in active rebellion while she ministered to the rough and
coarse men who formed the bulk of the patients, and whose afflictions
she could not help knowing were too frequently the direct result
of their own sins and willful disobedience of Nature's laws.
One day, when flushed and wearied with the peevish exactions of a
hulking fellow whose indisposition was trifling, she said to Dr.
Denslow:
“It is distressing to find out how much unmanliness there is in
apparently manly men.”
“Yes,” answered the doctor, with his customary calm philosophy;
“and it is equally gratifying to find out how much real manliness
there is in some apparently unmanly men. You have been having an
experience with some brawny subject?”
“Yes. If the fellow's spirit were equal to his bone and brawn,
he would o'ertop, Julius Caesar. Instead, he whimpers like a
school-girl.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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