"I say,Mrs.!"called a voice behind me;and,turning,I saw a rough Michigander,with an arm blown off at the shoul-der,and two or three bullets still in himas he afterwards mentioned,as carelessly as if gentlemen were in the habit of carrying such trifles about with them.I went to him,and,while administering a dose of soap and water,he whispered,irefully:
"That red-headed devil,over yonder,is a reb,damn him!You'll agree to that,I'll bet?He's got shet of a foot,or he'd a cut like the rest of the lot.Don't you wash him,nor feed him,but jest let him holler till he's tired.It's a blasted shame to fetch them fellers in here,along side of us;and so I'll tell the chap that bosses this concern;cuss me if Idon't."
I regret to say that I did not deliver a moral sermon upon the duty of forgiving our enemies,and the sin of profanity,then and there;but,being a red-hot Abolitionist,stared fixedly at the tall rebel,who was a copperhead,in every sense of the word,and privately resolved to put soap in his eyes,rub his nose the wrong way,and excoriate his cuticle generally,if I had the washing of him.
My amiable intentions,however,were frustrated;for,when I approached,with as Christian an expression as my principles would allow,and asked the question"Shall I try to make you more comfortable,sir?"all Igot for my pains was a gruff
"No;I'll do it myself."
"Here's your Southern chivalry,with a witness,"thought I,dumping the basin down before him,thereby quenching a strong desire to give him a summary baptism,in return for his ungraciousness;for my angry passions rose,at this rebuff,in a way that would have scandalized good Dr.Watts.
He was a disappointment in all respects,(the rebel,not the blessed Doctor,)for he was neither fiendish,romantic,pathetic,or anything interesting;but a long,fat man,with a head like a burning bush,and a perfectly expressionless face:so I could dislike him without the slightest drawback,and ignored his existence from that day forth.One redeeming trait he certainly did possess,as the floor speedily testified;for his ablutions were so vigorously performed,that his bed soon stood like an isolated island,in a sea of soap-suds,and he resembled a dripping merman,suffering from the loss of a fin.If cleanliness is a near neighbor to godliness,then was the big rebel the godliest man in my ward that day.
Having done up our human wash,and laid it out to dry,the second syllable of our version of the word war-fare was enacted with much success.Great trays of bread,meat,soup and coffee appeared;and both nurses and attendants turned waiters,serving bountiful rations to all who could eat.I can call my pinafore to testify to my good will in the work,for in ten minutes it was reduced to a perambulating bill of fare,presenting samples of all the refreshments going or gone.It was a lively scene;the long room lined with rows of beds,each filled by an occupant,whom water,shears,and clean raiment,had transformed from a dismal ragamuffin into a recumbent hero,with a cropped head.To and fro rushed matrons,maids,and convalescent "boys,"skirmishing with knives and forks;retreating with empty plates;marching and counter-marching,with unvaried success,while the clash of busy spoons made most inspiring music for the charge of our Light Brigade:"Beds to the front of them,Beds to the right of them,Beds to the left of them,Nobody blundered.
Beamed at by hungry souls,Screamed at with brimming bowls,Steamed at by army rolls,Buttered and sundered.
With coffee not cannon plied,Each must be satisfied,Whether they lived or died;All the men wondered."Very welcome seemed the generous meal,after a week of suffering,exposure,and short commons;soon the brown faces began to smile,as food,warmth,and rest,did their pleasant work;and the grateful "Thankee's"were followed by more graphic accounts of the battle and retreat,than any paid reporter could have given us.Curious contrasts of the tragic and comic met one everywhere;and some touching as well as ludicrous episodes,might have been recorded that day.A six foot New Hampshire man,with a leg broken and perforated by a piece of shell,so large that,had I not seen the wound,I should have regarded the story as a Munchausenism,beckoned me to come and help him,as he could not sit up,and both his bed and beard were getting plentifully anointed with soup.As I fed my big nestling with corresponding mouthfuls,I asked him how he felt during the battle.
"Well,'twas my fust,you see,so I aint ashamed to say I was a trifle flustered in the beginnin',there was such an allfired racket;for ef there's anything I do spleen agin,it's noise.But when my mate,Eph Sylvester,caved,with a bullet through his head,I got mad,and pitched in,licketty cut.Our part of the fight didn't last long;so a lot of us larked round Fredericksburg,and give some of them houses a pretty consid'able of a rummage,till we was ordered out of the mess.Some of our fellows cut like time;but I warn't a-goin'to run for nobody;and,fust thing I knew,a shell bust,right in front of us,and I keeled over,feelin'as if I was blowed higher'n a kite.I sung out,and the boys come back for me,double quick;but the way they chucked me over them fences was a caution,I tell you.Next day I was most as black as that darkey yonder,lickin'plates on the sly.This is bully coffee,ain't it?Give us another pull at it,and I'll be obleeged to you."
I did;and,as the last gulp subsided,he said,with a rub of his old handkerchief over eyes as well as mouth:
"Look a here;I've got a pair a earbobs and a handkercher pin I'm a goin'to give you,if you'll have them;for you're the very moral o'Lizy Sylvester,poor Eph's wife:that's why I signalled you to come over here.
