What Answer?
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CHAPTER XX
"_Drink,--for thy necessity is yet greater than mine._"
Sir Philip Sidney
The hospital boat, going out of Beaufort, was a sad, yet great sight. Itwas but necessary to look around it to see that the men here gatheredhad stood on the slippery battle-sod, and scorned to flinch. You heardno cries, scarcely a groan; whatever anguish wrung them as they werelifted into their berths, or were turned or raised for comfort, foundlittle outward sign,--a long, gasping breath now and then; a suppressedexclamation; sometimes a laugh, to cover what would else be a cry ofmortal agony; almost no swearing; these men had been too near the awfulrealities of death and eternity, some of them were still too near, tomake a mock at either. Having demonstrated themselves heroes in action,they would, one and all, be equally heroes in the hour of suffering, oron the bed of lingering death.
Jim, so wounded as to make every movement a pang, had been carefullycarried in on a stretcher, and as carefully lifted into a middle berth.
"Good," said one of the men, as he eased him down on his pillow.
"What's good?" queried Jim.
"The berth; middle berth. Put you in as easy as into the lowest one: badlifting such a leg as yours into the top one, and it's the comfortablestof the three when you're in."
"O, that's it, is it? all right; glad I'm here then; getting in didn'thurt more than a flea-bite,"--saying which Jim turned his face away toput his teeth down hard on a lip already bleeding. The wrench to hisshattered leg was excruciating, "But then," as he announced to himself,"no snivelling, James; you're not going to make a spooney of yourself."Presently he moved, and lay quietly watching the others they werebringing in.
"Why!" he called, "that's Bertie Curtis, ain't it?" as a slight,beautiful-faced boy was carried past him, and raised to his place.
"Yes, it is," answered one of the men, shortly, to cover some strongfeeling.
Jim leaned out of his berth, regardless of his protesting leg, canteenin hand. "Here, Bertie!" he called, "my canteen's full of fresh water,just filled. I know it'll taste good to you."
The boy's fine face flushed. "O, thank you, Given, it would tastedeliriously, but I can't take it,"--glancing down. Jim followed thelook, to see that both arms were gone, close to the graceful, boyishform; seeing which his face twitched painfully,--not with his ownsuffering,--and for a moment words failed him. Just then came up one ofthe sanitary nurses with some cooling drink, and fresh, wet bandages forthe fevered stumps.
Great drops were standing on Bertie's forehead, and ominous gray shadowshad already settled about the mouth, and under the long, shut lashes.Looking at the face, so young, so refined, some mother's pride anddarling, the nurse brushed back tenderly the fair hair, murmuring, "Poorfellow!"
The eyes unclosed quickly: "There are no poor fellows here, sir!" hesaid.
"Well, brave fellow, then!"
"I did but do my duty,"--a smile breaking through the gathering mists.
Here some poor fellow,--poor indeed,--delirious with fever, called out,"Mother! mother! I want to see my mother!"
Tears rushed to the clear, steady eyes, dimmed them, dropped downunchecked upon the face. The nurse, with a sob choking in his throat,softly raised his hand to brush them away. "Mother," Bertiewhispered,--"mother!" and was gone where God wipes away the tears fromall eyes.
For the space of five minutes, as Jim said afterwards, in telling aboutit, "that boat was like a meeting-house." Used as they were to death inall forms, more than one brave fellow's eye was dim as the silent shapewas carried away to make place for the stricken living,--one of whom wasdirectly brought in, and the stretcher put down near Jim.
"What's up?" he called, for the man's face was turned from him, and hiswounded body so covered as to give no clew to its condition. "What'swrong?" seeing the bearers did not offer to lift him, and that they wereanxiously scanning the long rows of berths.
"Berth's wrong," one of them answered.
"What's the matter with the berth?"
"Matter enough! not a middle one nor a lower one empty."
"Well," called a wounded boy from the third tier, "plenty of room uphere; sky-parlor,--airy lodgings,--all fine,--I see a lot of emptyhouses that'll take him in."
"Like enough,--but he's about blown to pieces," said the bearer in a lowvoice, "and it'll be aw--ful putting him up there; however,"--commencingto take off the light cover.
"Helloa!" cried Jim, "that's a dilapidated-looking leg,"--his head out,looking at it. "Stop a bit!"--body half after the head,--"you just stopthat, and come here and catch hold of a fellow; now put me up there. Ireckon I'll bear hoisting better'n he will, anyway. Ugh! ah! um! owh!here we are! bully!"
If Jim had been of the fainting or praying order he would certainly havefainted or prayed; as it was, he said "Bully!" but lay for a whilethereafter still as a mouse.
"Given, you're a brick!" one of the boys was apostrophizing him. Jimtook no notice. "And your man's in, safe and sound"; he turned at that,and leaned forward, as well as he could, to look at the occupant of hislate bed.
"Jemime!" he cried, when he saw the face. "I say, boys! it'sErcildoune--Robert--flag--Wagner--hurray--let's give three cheers forthe color-sergeant,--long may he wave!"
The men, propped up or lying down, gave the three cheers with a will,and then three more; and then, delighted with their performance, threemore after that, Jim winding up the whole with an "a-a-ah,--Tiger!" thatmade them all laugh; then relapsing into silence and a hard battle withpain.
A weary voyage,--a weary journey thereafter to the Northernhospitals,--some dying by the way, and lowered through the shifting,restless waves, or buried with hasty yet kindly hands in aliensoil,--accounted strangers and foemen in the land of their birth. Godgrant that no tread of rebellion in the years to come, nor thunder ofcontending armies, may disturb their peace!
Some stopped in the heat and dust of Washington to be nursed and tendedin the great barracks of hospitals,--uncomfortable-looking without,clean and spacious and admirable within; some to their homes, onlong-desired and eagerly welcomed furloughs, there to be cured speedily,the body swayed by the mind; some to suffer and die; some to struggleagainst winds and tides of mortality and conquer,--yet scarred andmaimed; some to go out, as giants refreshed with new wine, to take theirplaces once more in the great conflict, and fight there faithfully tothe end.
Among these last was Jim; but not till after many a hard battle, andbuffet, and back-set did life triumph and strength prevail. One thingwhich sadly retarded his recovery was his incessant anxiety aboutSallie, and his longing to see her once more. He had himself, after hisfirst hurt, written her that he was slightly wounded; but when hereached Washington, and the surgeon, looking at his shattered leg,talked about amputation and death, Jim decided that Sallie should notknow a word of all this till something definite was pronounced.
"She oughtn't to have an ugly, one-legged fellow," he said, "to draground with her; and, if she knows how bad it is, she'll post straightdown here, to nurse and look after me,--I know her! and she'll have mein the end, out of sheer pity; and I ain't going to take any such meanadvantage of her: no, sir-ee, not if I know myself. If I get well, safeand sound, I'll go to her; and, if I'm going to die, I'll send for her;so I'll wait,"--which he did.
He found, however, that it was a great deal easier making the decision,than keeping it when made. Sallie, hearing nothing from him,--supposinghim still in the South,--fearful as she had all along been that shestood on uncertain ground,--Mrs. Surrey away in New York,--and RobertErcildoune, as the papers asserted in their published lists, mortallywounded,--having no indirect means of communication with him, andfearing to write again without some sign from him,--was sorrowing insilence at home.
The silence reacted on him; not realizing its cause he grew fretful andimpatient, and the fretfulness and impatience told on his leg,intensified his fever, and put the day of recovery--if recovery it wasto be--farther into the future.
"See here, my man,"--sa
id the quick little surgeon one day, "you'reworrying about something. This'll never do; if you don't stop it, you'lldie, as sure as fate; and you might as well make up your mind to it atonce,--so, now!"
"Well, sir," answered Jim, "it's as good a time to die now, I reckon, asoften happens; but I ain't dead yet, not by a long shot; and I ain'tgoing to die neither; so, now, yourself!"
The doctor laughed. "All right; if you'll get up that spirit, and keepit, I'll bet my pile on your recovery,--but you'll have to stopfretting. You've got something on your mind that's troubling you; andthe sooner you get rid of it, if you can, the better. That's all I'vegot to say." And he marched off.
"Get rid of it," mused Jim, "how in thunder'll I get rid of it if Idon't hear from Sallie? Let me see--ah! I have it!" and looking morecheerful on the instant he lay still, watching for the doctor to comedown the ward once more. "Helloa!" he called, then. "Helloa!" respondedthe doctor, coming over to him, "what's the go now? you're improvedalready."
"Got any objection to telling a lie?"--this might be called coming tothe point.
"That depends--" said the doctor.
"Well, all's fair in love and war, they say. This is for love. Help afellow?"
"Of course,--if I can,--and the fellow's a good one, like Jim Given.What is it you want?"
"Well, I want a letter written, and I can't do it myself, youknow,"--looking down at his still bandaged arm,--"likewise I want a lietold in it, and these ladies here are all angels, and of course youcan't ask an angel to tell a lie,--no offence to you; so if you can takethe time, and'll do it, I'll stand your everlasting debtor, and shoulderthe responsibility if you're afraid of the weight."
"What sort of a lie?"
"A capital one; listen. I want a young lady to know that I'm wounded inthe arm,--you see? not bad; nor nothing over which she need worry, andnothing that hurts me much; and I ain't damaged in any other way; legsnot mentioned in this concern,--you understand?" The doctor nodded. "Butit's tied up my hand, so that I have to get you to say all this for me.I'll be well pretty soon; and, if I can get a furlough, I'll be up inPhiladelphia in a jiffy,--so she can just prepare for the infliction,&c. Comprendy? And'll you do it?"
"Of course I will, if you don't want the truth told, and the fib'll doyou any good; and, upon my word, the way you're looking I really thinkit will. So now for it."
Thus the letter was written, and read, and re-read, to make sure thatthere was nothing in it to alarm Sallie; and, being satisfactory on thathead, was finally sent away, to rejoice the poor girl who had waited,and watched, and hoped for it through such a weary time. When sheanswered it, her letter was so full of happiness and solicitude, and alove that, in spite of herself, spoke out in every line, that Jimfurtively kissed it, and read it into tatters in the first few hours ofits possession; then tucking it away in his hospital shirt, over hisheart, proceeded to get well as fast as fast could be.
"Well," said the doctor, a few weeks afterwards, as Jim was going homeon his coveted sick-leave, "Mr. Thomas Carlyle calls fibs wind-bags. Ifthat singular remedy would work to such a charm with all my men, I'dtell lies with impunity. Good by, Jim, and the best of good luck toyou."
"The same to you, Doctor, and I hope you may always find a friend inneed, to lie for you. Good by, and God bless you!" wringing his handhard,--"and now, hurrah for home!"
"Hurrah it is!" cried the little surgeon after him, as, happy and proud,he limped down the ward, and turned his face towards home.