CHAPTER VIII.

CLOSING LABORS OF CENTRAL HOSPITAL.

One afternoon in Slave-Hunting-Wounded in the Back Arm a "little bit Smashed"- No Good till We came Here - Sister, will

you Pray for Me? - Death-bed Confession of a Guerrilla - Benediction to his Sweet-heart- A Scare-The Amputated Arm- "God and My Country"-" Grant and Victory"- Mammoth Roses, with Compliments of Illinois Cavalry - Mrs. General Wallace - Chicago sends Coatsworth a Corps of Nurses — Captain Ralph Fields — Dr. T. R. Austin - Mrs. Dr. Hammilton - Rebecca Woodward - Mrs. Colonel Noble - Mrs. Dr. Wardner.

In giving this inside view of hospital life, I have hesitated somewhat, lest it might be thought irksome in times of peace to recur to these sufferings; but when we consider what these men achieved for us— how they drove slavery from our midst by the liberation of four millions of souls-how they forever settled the long-agitated question of State Independence, and, from a position of doubtful perpetuity, raised our Republic to be the model of governments, respected of all the potentates and powers-is it too much to ask, that we look back and see at what cost our country was redeemed? History is said to be a tree that grows only when its roots are moistened with blood; and the record of arts and sciences, very secondary in importance to these contests of bloodshed. "A Thermopyla has far more historic value than a thousand prairie farms, and a Waterloo excites more emotion in the human breast than all the

gorgeous scenery of the Rocky Mountains. America will no longer have to cross the water to worship at the shrine of heroes. Hitherto this broad Continent, washed by two great oceans, with a population of 30,000,000 of people, was almost without incident or record; but in this war between the States, 500,000 victims fell. Every battle-field witnessed a contest such as only found an equal in the Peloponnesian war, and the victims-whether of the art of wounding or of healing-sleep their last sleep far away; some on the New England hills, where snow-wreaths shroud their obscure graves; others beneath a warm Southern sky, where nature decorates their obscure tombs. Every square mile of the Republic is thus covered, and the blossoms bloom above each, regardless whether, when living, her children wore the blue or the grey.

But the tomb can speak to us only through eloquent silence; the cripples, who now fill our land, by their presence daily bring back those old scenes, and silently ask us to forget them not. And the sad hearts of those who went out, like myself, and lived with their fallen friends those terrible years, will, if no others, thank me for this "tribute to the dead."

One whole afternoon's absence from the patients was about the greatest loss sustained by our slavehunting. Mattie was secure in the land of freedom, and her pursuers, after performing the functions of a chimney-sweep, dispersed homeward. The case was by myself laid before the government authorities, and, a few weeks later, Southern citizens were pro

hibited invading loyal homes in search of colored refugees.

On entering the hospital next morning, I learned that a load of wounded Confederates had been brought. Many of them had been shot in the back, and some fatally. This wound was always significant, and indicated a coward, or a convert to our cause; but the healer of the sick knew no distinction, and devoted his care alike to the man who had fought for or against the government. These were the orders from General Grant, and most rigidly did he see them carried out. In passing through the ward on my usual mission, and at the usual time, after wardmasters and nurses had made all as neat and proper as a lady's breakfast parlor, one poor fellow, who lay upon his face, excited my greatest sympathy.

"Sister, do you think I can live?" said he, as I laid my hand upon his throbbing brow.

"I hope so; we will try to save you. You seem to suffer much."

'Yes, some; but not so much from my wounds as from my head and heart; they are a flaming fire, and will consume me," he replied, with a deep moan. "I do not want to die; I am not ready to die. Can't you save me?" he exclaimed, clasping my hand tightly, after sobbing aloud.

"I have but little confidence in myself, but my husband is said to pretty nearly bring the dead to life. I will seek him." And I hastened to his side.

"Doctor, here's another man you must save, and

at all hazards; he is in a pitiable condition of despondency and suffering."

"My child, you know I will save him, if possible; but you forget that I am not possessed of the elixir of life, to distribute at will, else none should die."

I conducted him to the weeping Confederate. The doctor made another examination, and whispered to me that there was no possible chance for hope.

"My poor boy, you must try to get that weight from your mind, else I can give you no hope for this life or the next. After you have slept a little, and dried your tears, I will bring you good news, but, remember, not without your first sleep."

"For God's sake don't forget to come," were his last words, as he submissively closed his eyes.

Oh, the joy I felt that my husband's mission was that of healing, instead of wounding. When I looked at the poor soldiers with broken jaws, perforated heads, mangled arms, smashed ankles, broken ribs, dislocated shoulders, lacerated faces and forms, cripples for life,--Confederates and Federals side by side in their gory wounds inflicted by each other's hands, my heart cried out in anguish, "Why, why must brother thus slay brother?" So absorbed in the sufferings around us had every one become, that it was frequently remarked by Christians and ministers, "I feel as though I had done no good in all my life until I came here."

When I returned to poor Rodgers, the rebel, he again asked me to pray for him. "Yes, if you will let me help you a little with that," I said, touching

a delicate locket, half concealed beneath his face. The chaplain joined me, and aided by his eloquent words the invalid expressed his hopes of salvation. He then asked me to hear his confession, and that he be placed alone in a room to give it.

The request was granted; and in the quiet of a Sabbath evening, in the faint rays of the declining sun, the invalid lay in a western room, near the window, with the green boughs sweeping in above his cot, and the spring birds waltzing through the open door. The smile of peace that had rested upon his face was saddened by a tremor of pain. He seemed rallying courage to begin. The dusk of evening was creeping around, and life fast ebbing away.

"Come, sir, there is no time to lose," I said, and kissed the locket, to give him confidence. It contained the face of a young girl, beautiful as a poet's

dream.

"I thank you for that kiss to one whose life will now be desolate indeed. Will you write to her just as I direct?'

"Just as you direct, so Heaven be my witness."

With a deep moan, and a sudden flash of pain across his face, he crossed himself and began:

"MY DARLING EMMA:

"Though death has for days claimed me, yet I can not go until I make my confession to you. Long and earnestly did you try to win me to a better life, but all in vain; for though I professed a change to you, I was still living in sin. I am now in Northern hands, and a convert to their cause, and though purchased at the cost of life, 'tis cheap for its value. Your gentle image filled my heart with love, my life with