Chapter 3 – A Day

Louisa May Alcott2016年11月04日'Command+D' Bookmark this page

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"They’ve come! they’ve come! hurry up, ladies – you’re wanted."

"Who have come? the rebels?"

This sudden summons in the gray dawn was somewhat startling to a
three days’ nurse like myself, and, as the thundering knock came
at our door, I sprang up in my bed, prepared

"To gird my woman’s form,

And on the ramparts die,"

if necessary; but my room-mate took it more coolly, and, as she
began a rapid toilet, answered my bewildered question, –

"Bless you, no child; it’s the wounded from Fredericksburg; forty
ambulances are at the door, and we shall have our hands full in
fifteen minutes."

"What shall we have to do?"

"Wash, dress, feed, warm and nurse them for the next three
months, I dare say. Eighty beds are ready, and we were getting
impatient for the men to come. Now you will begin to see hospital
life in earnest, for you won’t probably find time to sit down all
day, and may think yourself fortunate if you get to bed by
midnight. Come to me in the ball-room when you are ready; the
worst cases are always carried there, and I shall need your

So saying, the energetic little woman twirled her hair into a
button at the back of her head, in a "cleared for action" sort of
style, and vanished, wrestling her way into a feminine kind of
pea-jacket as she went.

I am free to confess that I had a realizing sense of the fact
that my hospital bed was not a bed of roses just then, or the
prospect before me one of unmingled rapture. My three days’
experiences had begun with a death, and, owing to the defalcation
of another nurse, a somewhat abrupt plunge into the
superintendence of a ward containing forty beds, where I spent my
shining hours washing faces, serving rations, giving medicine,
and sitting in a very hard chair, with pneumonia on one side,
diphtheria on the other, five typhoids on the opposite, and a
dozen dilapidated patriots, hopping, lying, and lounging about,
all staring more or less at the new "nuss," who suffered untold
agonies, but concealed them under as matronly an aspect as a
spinster could assume, and blundered through her trying labors
with a Spartan firmness, which I hope they appreciated, but am
afraid they didn’t. Having a taste for "ghastliness," I had
rather longed for the wounded to arrive, for rheumatism wasn’t
heroic, neither was liver complaint, or measles; even fever had
lost its charms since "bathing burning brows" had been used up in
romances, real and ideal; but when I peeped into the dusky street
lined with what I at first had innocently called market carts,
now unloading their sad freight at our door, I recalled sundry
reminiscences I had heard from nurses of longer standing, my
ardor experienced a sudden chill, and I indulged in a most
unpatriotic wish that I was safe at home again, with a quiet day
before me, and no necessity for being hustled up, as if I were a
hen and had only to hop off my roost, give my plumage a peck, and
be ready for action. A second bang at the door sent this recreant
desire to the right about, as a little woolly head popped in, and
Joey, (a six years’ old contraband,) announced –

"Miss Blank is jes’ wild fer ye, and says fly round right away.
They’s comin’ in, I tell yer, heaps on ’em – one was took out dead,
and I see him, – hi! warn’t he a goner!"

With which cheerful intelligence the imp scuttled away, singing
like a blackbird, and I followed, feeling that Richard was not
himself again, and wouldn’t be for a long time to come.

The first thing I met was a regiment of the vilest odors that
ever assaulted the human nose, and took it by storm. Cologne,
with its seven and seventy evil savors, was a posy-bed to it; and
the worst of this affliction was, every one had assured me that
it was a chronic weakness of all hospitals, and I must bear it. I
did, armed with lavender water, with which I so besprinkled
myself and premises, that, like my friend Sairy, I was soon known
among my patients as "the nurse with the bottle." Having been run
over by three excited surgeons, bumped against by migratory coal-
hods, water-pails, and small boys, nearly scalded by an avalanche
of newly-filled tea-pots, and hopelessly entangled in a knot of
colored sisters coming to wash, I progressed by slow stages up
stairs and down, till the main hall was reached, and I paused to
take breath and a survey. There they were! "our brave boys," as
the papers justly call them, for cowards could hardly have been
so riddled with shot and shell, so torn and shattered, nor have
borne suffering for which we have no name, with an uncomplaining
fortitude, which made one glad to cherish each as a brother. In
they came, some on stretchers, some in men’s arms, some feebly
staggering along propped on rude crutches, and one lay stark and
still with covered face, as a comrade gave his name to be
recorded before they carried him away to the dead house. All was
hurry and confusion; the hall was full of these wrecks of
humanity, for the most exhausted could not reach a bed till duly
ticketed and registered; the walls were lined with rows of such
as could sit, the floor covered with the more disabled, the steps
and doorways filled with helpers and lookers on; the sound of
many feet and voices made that usually quiet hour as noisy as
noon; and, in the midst of it all, the matron’s motherly face
brought more comfort to many a poor soul, than the cordial
draughts she administered, or the cheery words that welcomed all,
making of the hospital a home.

The sight of several stretchers, each with its legless, armless,
or desperately wounded occupant, entering my ward, admonished me
that I was there to work, not to wonder or weep; so I corked up
my feelings, and returned to the path of duty, which was rather
"a hard road to travel" just then. The house had been a hotel
before hospitals were needed, and many of the doors still bore
their old names; some not so inappropriate as might be imagined,
for my ward was in truth a ball-room, if gun-shot wounds could
christen it. Forty beds were prepared, many already tenanted by
tired men who fell down anywhere, and drowsed till the smell of
food roused them. Round the great stove was gathered the
dreariest group I ever saw – ragged, gaunt and pale, mud to the
knees, with bloody bandages untouched since put on days before;
many bundled up in blankets, coats being lost or useless; and all
wearing that disheartened look which proclaimed defeat, more
plainly than any telegram of the Burnside blunder. I pitied them
so much, I dared not speak to them, though, remembering all they
had been through since the route at Fredericksburg, I yearned to
serve the dreariest of them all. Presently, Miss Blank tore me
from my refuge behind piles of one-sleeved shirts, odd socks,
bandages and lint; put basin, sponge, towels, and a block of
brown soap into my hands, with these appalling directions:

"Come, my dear, begin to wash as fast as you can. Tell them to
take off socks, coats and shirts, scrub them well, put on clean
shirts, and the attendants will finish them off, and lay them in

If she had requested me to shave them all, or dance a hornpipe on
the stove funnel, I should have been less staggered; but to scrub
some dozen lords of creation at a moment’s notice, was
really – really – . However, there was no time for nonsense, and,
having resolved when I came to do everything I was bid, I drowned
my scruples in my wash-bowl, clutched my soap manfully, and,
assuming a business-like air, made a dab at the first dirty
specimen I saw, bent on performing my task vi et armis if
necessary. I chanced to light on a withered old Irishman, wounded
in the head, which caused that portion of his frame to be
tastefully laid out like a garden, the bandages being the walks,
his hair the shrubbery. He was so overpowered by the honor of
having a lady wash him, as he expressed it, that he did nothing
but roll up his eyes, and bless me, in an irresistible style
which was too much for my sense of the ludicrous; so we laughed
together, and when I knelt down to take off his shoes, he
"flopped" also, and wouldn’t hear of my touching "them dirty
craters. May your bed above be aisy darlin’, for the day’s work
ye ar doon! – Whoosh! there ye are, and bedad, it’s hard tellin’
which is the dirtiest, the fut or the shoe." It was; and if he
hadn’t been to the fore, I should have gone on pulling, under the
impression that the "fut" was a boot, for trousers, socks, shoes
and legs were a mass of mud. This comical tableau produced a
general grin, at which propitious beginning I took heart and
scrubbed away like any tidy parent on a Saturday night. Some of
them took the performance like sleepy children, leaning their
tired heads against me as I worked, others looked grimly
scandalized, and several of the roughest colored like bashful
girls. One wore a soiled little bag about his neck, and, as I
moved it, to bathe his wounded breast, I said,

"Your talisman didn’t save you, did it?"

"Well, I reckon it did, marm, for that shot would a gone a couple
a inches deeper but for my old mammy’s camphor bag," answered the
cheerful philosopher.

Another, with a gun-shot wound through the cheek, asked for a
looking-glass, and when I brought one, regarded his swollen face
with a dolorous expression, as he muttered –

"I vow to gosh, that’s too bad! I warn’t a bad looking chap
before, and now I’m done for; won’t there be a thunderin’ scar?
and what on earth will Josephine Skinner say?"

He looked up at me with his one eye so appealingly, that I
controlled my risibles, and assured him that if Josephine was a
girl of sense, she would admire the honorable scar, as a lasting
proof that he had faced the enemy, for all women thought a wound
the best decoration a brave soldier could wear. I hope Miss
Skinner verified the good opinion I so rashly expressed of her,
but I shall never know.

The next scrubbee was a nice looking lad, with a curly brown
mane, and a budding trace of gingerbread over the lip, which he
called his beard, and defended stoutly, when the barber jocosely
suggested its immolation. He lay on a bed, with one leg gone,
and the right arm so shattered that it must evidently follow: yet
the little Sergeant was as merry as if his afflictions were not
worth lamenting over; and when a drop or two of salt water
mingled with my suds at the sight of this strong young body, so
marred and maimed, the boy looked up, with a brave smile, though
there was a little quiver of the lips, as he said,

"Now don’t you fret yourself about me, miss; I’m first rate here,
for it’s nuts to lie still on this bed, after knocking about in
those confounded ambulances, that shake what there is left of a
fellow to jelly. I never was in one of these places before, and
think this cleaning up a jolly thing for us, though I’m afraid it
isn’t for you ladies."

"Is this your first battle, Sergeant?"

"No, miss; I’ve been in six scrimmages, and never got a scratch
till this last one; but it’s done the business pretty thoroughly
for me, I should say. Lord! what a scramble there’ll be for arms
and legs, when we old boys come out of our graves, on the
Judgment Day: wonder if we shall get our own again? If we do, my
leg will have to tramp from Fredericksburg, my arm from here, I
suppose, and meet my body, wherever it may be."

The fancy seemed to tickle him mightily, for he laughed blithely,
and so did I; which, no doubt, caused the new nurse to be
regarded as a light-minded sinner by the Chaplain, who roamed
vaguely about, informing the men that they were all worms,
corrupt of heart, with perishable bodies, and souls only to be
saved by a diligent perusal of certain tracts, and other equally
cheering bits of spiritual consolation, when spirituous ditto
would have been preferred.

"I say, Mrs.!" called a voice behind me; and, turning, I saw a
rough Michigander, with an arm blown off at the shoulder, and two
or three bullets still in him – as 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 I don’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 I got 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. They aint much, I guess, but they’ll do to
memorize the rebs by."

Burrowing under his pillow, he produced a little bundle of what
he called "truck," and gallantly presented me with a pair of
earrings, each representing a cluster of corpulent grapes, and
the pin a basket of astonishing fruit, the whole large and
coppery enough for a small warming-pan. Feeling delicate about
depriving him of such valuable relics, I accepted the earrings
alone, and was obliged to depart, somewhat abruptly, when my
friend stuck the warming-pan in the bosom of his night-gown,
viewing it with much complacency, and, perhaps, some tender
memory, in that rough heart of his, for the comrade he had lost.

Observing that the man next him had left his meal untouched, I
offered the same service I had performed for his neighbor, but he
shook his head.

"Thank you, ma’am; I don’t think I’ll ever eat again, for I’m
shot in the stomach. But I’d like a drink of water, if you aint
too busy."

I rushed away, but the water-pails were gone to be refilled, and
it was some time before they reappeared. I did not forget my
patient patient, meanwhile, and, with the first mugful, hurried
back to him. He seemed asleep; but something in the tired white
face caused me to listen at his lips for a breath. None came. I
touched his forehead; it was cold: and then I knew that, while he
waited, a better nurse than I had given him a cooler draught, and
healed him with a touch. I laid the sheet over the quiet sleeper,
whom no noise could now disturb; and, half an hour later, the bed
was empty. It seemed a poor requital for all he had sacrificed
and suffered, – that hospital bed, lonely even in a crowd; for
there was no familiar face for him to look his last upon; no
friendly voice to say, Good bye; no hand to lead him gently down
into the Valley of the Shadow; and he vanished, like a drop in
that red sea upon whose shores so many women stand lamenting. For
a moment I felt bitterly indignant at this seeming carelessness
of the value of life, the sanctity of death; then consoled myself
with the thought that, when the great muster roll was called,
these nameless men might be promoted above many whose tall
monuments record the barren honors they have won.

All having eaten, drank, and rested, the surgeons began their
rounds; and I took my first lesson in the art of dressing wounds.
It wasn’t a festive scene, by any means; for Dr P., whose Aid I
constituted myself, fell to work with a vigor which soon
convinced me that I was a weaker vessel, though nothing would
have induced me to confess it then. He had served in the Crimea,
and seemed to regard a dilapidated body very much as I should
have regarded a damaged garment; and, turning up his cuffs,
whipped out a very unpleasant looking housewife, cutting, sawing,
patching and piecing, with the enthusiasm of an accomplished
surgical seamstress; explaining the process, in scientific terms,
to the patient, meantime; which, of course, was immensely
cheering and comfortable. There was an uncanny sort of
fascination in watching him, as he peered and probed into the
mechanism of those wonderful bodies, whose mysteries he
understood so well. The more intricate the wound, the better he
liked it. A poor private, with both legs off, and shot through
the lungs, possessed more attractions for him than a dozen
generals, slightly scratched in some "masterly retreat;" and had
any one appeared in small pieces, requesting to be put together
again, he would have considered it a special dispensation.

The amputations were reserved till the morrow, and the merciful
magic of ether was not thought necessary that day, so the poor
souls had to bear their pains as best they might. It is all very
well to talk of the patience of woman; and far be it from me to
pluck that feather from her cap, for, heaven knows, she isn’t
allowed to wear many; but the patient endurance of these men,
under trials of the flesh, was truly wonderful. Their fortitude
seemed contagious, and scarcely a cry escaped them, though I
often longed to groan for them, when pride kept their white lips
shut, while great drops stood upon their foreheads, and the bed
shook with the irrepressible tremor of their tortured bodies. One
or two Irishmen anathematized the doctors with the frankness of
their nation, and ordered the Virgin to stand by them, as if she
had been the wedded Biddy to whom they could administer the
poker, if she didn’t; but, as a general thing, the work went on
in silence, broken only by some quiet request for roller,
instruments, or plaster, a sigh from the patient, or a
sympathizing murmur from the nurse.

It was long past noon before these repairs were even partially
made; and, having got the bodies of my boys into something like
order, the next task was to minister to their minds, by writing
letters to the anxious souls at home; answering questions,
reading papers, taking possession of money and valuables; for the
eighth commandment was reduced to a very fragmentary condition,
both by the blacks and whites, who ornamented our hospital with
their presence. Pocket books, purses, miniatures, and watches,
were sealed up, labelled, and handed over to the matron, till
such times as the owners thereof were ready to depart homeward or
campward again. The letters dictated to me, and revised by me,
that afternoon, would have made an excellent chapter for some
future history of the war; for, like that which Thackeray’s
"Ensign Spooney" wrote his mother just before Waterloo, they were
"full of affection, pluck, and bad spelling;" nearly all giving
lively accounts of the battle, and ending with a somewhat sudden
plunge from patriotism to provender, desiring "Marm," "Mary Ann,"
or "Aunt Peters," to send along some pies, pickles, sweet stuff,
and apples, "to yourn in haste," Joe, Sam, or Ned, as the case
might be.

My little Sergeant insisted on trying to scribble something with
his left hand, and patiently accomplished some half dozen lines
of hieroglyphics, which he gave me to fold and direct, with a
boyish blush, that rendered a glimpse of "My Dearest Jane,"
unnecessary, to assure me that the heroic lad had been more
successful in the service of Commander-in-Chief Cupid than that
of Gen. Mars; and a charming little romance blossomed instanter
in Nurse Periwinkle’s romantic fancy, though no further
confidences were made that day, for Sergeant fell asleep, and,
judging from his tranquil face, visited his absent sweetheart in
the pleasant land of dreams.

At five o’clock a great bell rang, and the attendants flew, not
to arms, but to their trays, to bring up supper, when a second
uproar announced that it was ready. The new comers woke at the
sound; and I presently discovered that it took a very bad wound
to incapacitate the defenders of the faith for the consumption of
their rations; the amount that some of them sequestered was
amazing; but when I suggested the probability of a famine
hereafter, to the matron, that motherly lady cried out: "Bless
their hearts, why shouldn’t they eat? It’s their only amusement;
so fill every one, and, if there’s not enough ready to-night,
I’ll lend my share to the Lord by giving it to the boys." And,
whipping up her coffee-pot and plate of toast, she gladdened the
eyes and stomachs of two or three dissatisfied heroes, by serving
them with a liberal hand; and I haven’t the slightest doubt that,
having cast her bread upon the waters, it came back buttered, as
another large-hearted old lady was wont to say.

Then came the doctor’s evening visit; the administration of
medicines; washing feverish faces; smoothing tumbled beds;
wetting wounds; singing lullabies; and preparations for the
night. By eleven, the last labor of love was done; the last "good
night" spoken; and, if any needed a reward for that day’s work,
they surely received it, in the silent eloquence of those long
lines of faces, showing pale and peaceful in the shaded rooms, as
we quitted them, followed by grateful glances that lighted us to
bed, where rest, the sweetest, made our pillows soft, while Night
and Nature took our places, filling that great house of pain with
the healing miracles of Sleep, and his diviner brother, Death.


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