Making an Acquaintance with Duty.
And with light in her looks she entered the chamber of sickness.
Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful attendants, Moistening the feverish lip, and teh aching brow, and in silence Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and concealing their faces, Where on their pallets they lay like drifts of snow by the roadside.
Many a languid head upraised as Evangeline entered, Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she passed for her presence Fell on their hearts like a ray of sun on the walls of a prison, And as she looked around she saw how Death the Consoler, Laying his hand on many a heart hade healed it forever.--Evangaline.
Nervously bolting the rude door after Dr.Denslow's departure, Rachel tossed her hat into one corner, and without farther undressing flung herself down upon the coarse blankets of the cot, in utter exhaustion of mind and body.Nature, beneficent ever to Youth and Health, at once drew the kindly curtains of Sleep, and the world and its woes became oblivion.
Early the next morning the shrill REVEILLE called for a resumption of the day's activities.She was awakened by the fifes screaming a strenuously cheeful jig, but lay for some minutes without opening her eyes.She was so perfectly healthful in every way that the tribulations of the previous day had left no other traces than a slight wariness.But every sense began informing her that yesterday's experience was not a nightmare of her sleep, but a waking reality.
The morning sun was already pouring hot beams upon the thin roof over her head.Through the wide cracks in the partition came the groans and the nauseating odors which had depressed her so on the day before.Mingled with these was the smell of spoiled coffee and ill-cooked food floating in from the kitchen, where a detail of slovenly and untaught cooks were preparing breakfast.
She shuddered and opened her eyes.
The rude garniture of her room, thickly covered with coarse dust, and destitute of everything to make life comfortable, looked even more repugnant than it had the evening before.
The attack of sickness at heart at the position in which she found herself came on with renewed intensity, for the hatefulness of everything connected with the lot she had chosen seemed to have augmented during the passing hours.She tried to gain a little respite by throwing one white arm over her eyes, so as to shut out all sight, that she might imagine for a moment at least that she was back under the old apple tree at Sardis, before all this sorrow had come into her life.
"It is not possible," she murmured to herself, "that Florence Nightingale, and those who assisted her found their work and its surroundings as unlovely as it is here.I won't believe it.In Europe things are different, and the hospitals are made fitting places for women to visit and dwell in."It would have helped her much if she could have known that the Crimean hospitals, in which Florence Nightingale won world-wide fame, lacked immeasurably of the conveniences and comforts with which American ingenuity and lavish generosity mitigated somewhat the wretchedness of army hospitals.
Lying still became unendurable, she rose, in hopes that action might bring some sort of relief.Such plain toilet was made as the very limited means at her command permitted.The scant privacy afforded by her room was another torture.Maiden modesty suggested a Peeping Tom at every yawning crack in the planking.
At least, neatly attired in a serviceable gray frock, with a dainty white collar at her throat, and her satiny hair brushed smoothly over her forehead, she opened her door and stepped out into the main ward room.
A murmur of appreciation arose from those who looked upon her, and the sick ceased groaning, to feast their eyes upon the fair, fresh apparition of sweet young womanhood.There was such unmistakable pleasure written on every face that for a moment even she herself became a little conscious that her presence was like a grateful shower upon a parched and weary land.But before she could buoy her spirits up with this knowledge they sank again as she perceived Dr.Moxon stalking down the long aisle, with ill-humor expressed in every motion of his bulky figure.He was frowning deeply; his great feet fell flatly upon the creaking planks, as if he were crushing something at every step, and he rated the occupants of the cots on either side as he passed along.
"No.4," he said sharply to a gaunt boy, whose cheeks were burning with rising fever, "you've got a relapse.Serves you right for leaving your bed yesterday.Now don't deny it, for I saw you outside myself.I'll send the Wardmaster to the guard-house for that.""But, Doctor, it wasn't his fault," gasped the sick man, painfully.
"I begged so hard to go out that he couldn't refuse me.It was so hot in here and smelled so badly, that I felt I should die unless I got a breath of fresh air.""Silence!" thundered the Surgeon; "I'll have no talking back to me.
Steward, send that Wardmaster to the guard-house for disobedience of orders.No.7, you refused to take your medicine yesterday.
Steward, double his prescription, and if he shows the least resistance to taking it, have the nurses hold him and force it down his throat.
Do you hear? There, why don't you hold still?" (This to a man who was having a large blister applied to his back.)"It hurts so," answered the sufferer.
"Hurts, eh? Well, I'll show you what hurts some of these days, when I cut your leg off.Well, what do you want, youngster?"A slender, white-faced boy was standing at the foot of his cot, at "attention," and saluting respectfully.
