"Miss Lou" Part 32

Mrs. Whately was much pleased, for her son was adopting just the course she desired. She added nothing and accompanied Louise downstairs.

The amputating table had been removed and the halls cleansed, but the unmistakable odor of the hospital pervaded the house. Every apartment on the first floor except the dining-room was filled with the wounded.

Some were flushed and feverish by reason of their injuries, others, pallid from loss of blood and ebbing vital forces.

The Confederate general, with his staff, had already made a hasty breakfast and departed; through the open door came the mellow sound of bugles and the songs of birds, but within were irrepressible sighs and groans. Mrs. Whately entered the s.p.a.cious parlor on the floor of which Confederate officers lay as close as s.p.a.ce for attendance upon them permitted. The young girl paused on the threshold and looked around with a pitying, tearful face. A white-haired colonel was almost at her feet. As he looked up and recognized her expression, a pleased smile illumined his wan, drawn face. "Don't be frightened, my child," he said gently.

The swift glance of her secured attention took in his condition. His right arm was gone and he appeared ghastly from loss of blood. In her deep emotion she dropped on her knees beside him, took his cold hand and kissed it as she said, "Please let me help you and others get well."

The old man was strongly touched by her unexpected action, and he faltered, "Well, my child, you make us all feel that our Southern girls are worth fighting for and, if need be, dying for. Yes, you can help us, some of us, in our dying perhaps, as well as in our mending. My battles are over. You can help best by caring for younger, stronger men."

"Such men will not begrudge you anything, sir."

"Bravo!" cried half a dozen voices, and an officer near added, "Miss Baron speaks as well and true as you fought, Colonel."

She looked hastily around. Seeing many friendly smiles and looks of honest goodwill and admiration she rose confusedly, saying, "I must go to work at once."

"I think, Louise," said Mrs. Whately, joining her in the hall, "we can accomplish most if we work much together and under the directions of the surgeons. It is evident from the numbers of the wounded that time, strength, food--everything will have to be used to the best advantage.

I'm glad that we both got some sleep last night. Now, I insist. Before you do a thing you must have a cup of hot coffee and some nouris.h.i.+ng food yourself. The best impulses in the world are not equal to the tasks before us. Indeed, we shall fail these poor men in their sore need if we do not keep our strength. The worst is yet to come. As far as you can, control your feelings, for emotion wears faster than work.

Let's first go to the kitchen."

Zany followed from the dining-room with her hands full of dishes. She gave Miss Lou a swift, significant glance, and that was all. Even she was sobered by the scenes witnessed that morning and the thought of Chunk's indefinite absence. Aun' Suke sat dozing in a corner, absolutely worn out, and other negroes from the quarters had been pressed into the service. Mrs. Baron was superintending their efforts to supply soup and such articles of diet as the surgeons had ordered.

"Ole miss" now shone to advantage and had the executive ability of a general. In cool, sharp, decisive tones she gave her orders, which were obeyed promptly by a.s.sistants awed into forgetfulness of everything else except the great, solemn emergency. All differences had disappeared between the two ladies, and they began consulting at once how best to meet the prolonged demands now clearly foreseen.

"The confusion and conflicting requirements are just awful," said Mrs.

Baron. "As soon as possible, we must bring about some system and order.

One of the first things to do is to get as many provisions and delicacies as possible under lock and key, especially the coffee and sugar. They are going to give out anyway, before long."

Miss Lou stole away and ran to Aun' Jinkey's cabin. Soldiers had taken possession of it and were cooking and eating their breakfasts. Some recognized the girl politely as she stood at the door, while others continued their occupation in stolid indifference. Aun' Jinkey rose tottering from a corner and came to the doorstep. "You see how 'tis, honey," she said. "Dey des gwine on ez ef I ain' yere. I a hun'erd yeahs ol'er dan I wuz w'en you want sump'n ter hap'n."

"Take courage, mammy," Miss Lou whispered. "Chunk's safe. Have YOU had any breakfast?"

"I can't eat, honey, w'en ev'yting des a whirlin'."

The girl darted away and in a few moments returned with a cup of coffee. Entering the cabin, she said, "Fair play, gentlemen. This is my old mammy's cabin and this her place here in the corner by the hearth.

Will you do me the favor of being kind to her and letting her remain undisturbed? Then you can use her fireplace all you please."

The Southern soldiers, understanding so well the relation between the girl and the old woman, agreed with many good-natured protestations, offering to share with Aun' Jinkey their rude breakfast.

By the time the girl had returned to the house, she found that Zany and others had prepared a second breakfast in the dining-room for the family and such of the officers whose wounds were so slight as to permit their presence at the table. Miss Lou was placed between her cousin and a young, dark-eyed officer who was introduced as Captain Maynard. He also carried his left arm in a sling.

Mrs. Whately sat in Mr. Baron's place, since he, after a night's vigils, had retired to obtain a little sleep. "Louise," said the lady, "you will have to begin being useful at once. You have a disabled man on either side of you for whom you must prepare food."

"Miss Baron," said Captain Maynard gallantly, "I am already more than reconciled to my wound. Anything that you prepare for me will be ambrosia."

Whately frowned as he heard these words and saw the immediate impression made by his cousin upon his brother officer; but a warning glance from his mother led him to vie in compliments. Before very long Maynard remarked sotto voce, "If you aid in healing the wounds made by the Yanks, Miss Baron, who will heal the wounds YOU make?"

"I shall not make any, sir. Such thoughts, even in jest, wound me at this time. Please excuse me, I've had all the breakfast I wish, and I cannot rest till I am doing something for those who are suffering so much."

He rose instantly and drew back her chair. In sitting down again, he encountered Whately's eyes, and recognized the jealousy and anger already excited.

CHAPTER XXV

A TRIBUTE TO A SOUTHERN GIRL

Miss Lou entered upon her duties as hospital nurse at once.

Untrammelled even by the knowledge of conventionalities, and with the directness and fearlessness of a brave child, she went from one to another, her diffidence quickly banished by her profound sympathy. The enlisted men on the piazzas received her chief attentions, nor was she long in discovering the Federal wounded, crowding the outbuildings and offices.

With the exception of a rearguard and hospital attendants, the Confederate forces had marched in pursuit of the Union column. The dead were buried during the morning and the ghastlier evidences of strife removed. Along the edge of the grove tents were pitched, some designed for the soldiers, others for the better accommodation and isolation of certain critical cases. The negroes performed most of the labor, Uncle l.u.s.thah counselling patience and quiet acceptance of their lot for the present. The prisoners were sent South. Confederate surgeon Ackley was in charge of the hospital, while upon Whately was conferred the military command. His partial disablement would not prevent him from attending to the light duties of the position, the surgeon being practically the superior officer. Order was quickly restored, guards set at important points, and the strangely a.s.sorted little community pa.s.sed speedily under a simple yet rigorous military government.

Curiosity, desire of gain, as well as sympathy, led people to flock to the plantation from far and near. One of Surgeon Ackley's first steps was to impress upon all the need of provisions, for Mr. Baron's larder, ample as it had been, was speedily exhausted. During the day began the transfer of the slightly wounded to the nearest railroad town, where supplies could be obtained with more certainty, and it was evident that the policy of abandoning the remote plantation as soon as possible had been adopted.

Miss Lou knew nothing of this, and simply became absorbed in successive tasks for the time being.

"Miss Baron," said Surgeon Ackley, "a number of the men are so disabled that they cannot feed themselves. Proper food at the right time usually means life."

These words suggested what became one of her princ.i.p.al duties. At first, rough men were surprised and grateful indeed to find fair young girl kneeling beside them with a bowl of hot soup; then they began to look for her and welcome her as one who evoked their best and most chivalrous feelings. It had soon been evident to her that the wounded officers in the house would receive the most careful attention from the regularly appointed attendants and also from Mrs. Whately. With the exception of the old colonel, she gradually began to devote the most of her time to the enlisted men, finding among them much less embarra.s.sment in her labors. With the latter cla.s.s among the Confederates, there was not on either side a consciousness of social equality or an effort to maintain its amenities. The relation was the simple one of kindness bestowed and received.

The girl made the acquaintance of the Union wounded with feelings in which doubt, curiosity and sympathy were strangely blended. Her regard for Scoville added to her peculiar interest in his compatriots. They were the enemies of whom she had heard so much, having been represented as more alien and foreign than if they had come across the seas and spoke a different tongue. How they would receive her had been an anxious query from the first, but she quickly learned that her touch of kindness made them kin--that they welcomed her in the same spirit as did her own people, while they also were animated by like curiosity and wondering interest in regard to herself. A woman's presence in a field hospital was in itself strange and unexpected. That this woman should be a Southern girl, whose lovely features were gentle in commiseration, instead of rigid from an imperious sense of duty to foes, was a truth scarcely accepted at first. Its fuller comprehension began to evoke a homage which troubled the girl. She was too simple and honest to accept such return for what seemed the natural offices of humanity; yet, while her manner and words checked its expression, they only deepened the feeling.

At first she could scarcely distinguish among the bronzed, begrimed faces, but before the day pa.s.sed there were those whose needs and personal traits enlisted her special regard. This was true of one middle-aged Union captain, to whom at first she had no call to speak, for apparently he was not very seriously wounded. Even before his face was cleansed from the smoke and dust of battle his large, dark eyes and magnificent black beard caught her attention. Later on, when feeding a helpless man near him, he spoke to her and held out a photograph. She took it and saw the features of a blond young girl scarcely as old as herself.

"My little girl," said the officer simply. "See how she resembles her mother. That's one reason why I so idolize her," and he handed Miss Lou another picture, that of a sweet, motherly face, to which the former likeness bore the resemblance of bud to blossom.

"We must try to get you well soon, so that you may go back to them,"

said Miss Lou cordially. "You are not seriously hurt, I hope?"

"No, I think not. I wanted you to see them so you can imagine how they will look when I tell them about you. I don't need to be reminded of my little Sadie, but I almost see her when you come among us, and I think her blue eyes would have much the same expression as yours. G.o.d bless you, for you are blessing those whom you regard as your enemies. We don't look very hostile though, do we?"

"It seems a terrible mistake that you should be here at all as enemies," she replied. "I have been taught to dread your coming more than if you were Indians. I never can understand why men who carry such pictures as these next their heart can fight against us."

"Well, Miss Baron, you must try to believe that we would not have left the dear originals of such pictures unless we had felt we must, and there let the question rest. Our lives are sweet to us, although we risk them, chiefly because so dear to those at home. Let the thought cheer you in your work that you are keeping tears from eyes as good and kind as your own. That's another reason why I showed you the likenesses."

"It will be but another motive," she said. "A suffering man, whether friend or enemy, is enough."

She smiled as she spoke, then picked her way across the wide barn floor and disappeared. Every eye followed her, pain all forgotten for the moment.

"By G--d!" exclaimed a rough fellow, drawing his sleeve across his eyes, "I'm hard hit, but I'll crawl to and choke the first man who says a word she oughtn't to hear when she's around."

"If you can keep your own tongue civil, Yarry, you'll have your hands full," said a comrade.

"Well, I be blankety blank-blanked if that girl doesn't rout the devil out of a fellow, hoof and horns."

"You're right, my man," said the Union captain, "and your feelings do you credit. Now I have a suggestion to make. Not one of us is capable of using a word before her that she shouldn't hear, if not out of our heads. We can pay her a better tribute than that. Let us decide to speak in her absence as if she were present. That's about all we can do in return for her kindness. She won't know the cost to us in breaking habits, but we will, and that's better. We all feel that we'd like to spill some more of our blood for the girl who fed Phillips yonder as if he were a baby. Well, let us do the only thing we can--speak as if our mothers heard us all the time, for this girl's sake."

"I be blanked if I don't agree, and may the devil fly away with the man who doesn't," cried Yarry.