Complete weird tales of.., p.524
Complete Weird Tales of Robert W Chambers, page 524
Through the wards of their hospital Ailsa and Letty saw the unbroken column of the sick pass northward or deathward; from their shuttered window they beheld endless columns arriving — cavalry, infantry, artillery, engineers, all seeking their allotted fields or hillsides, which presently blossomed white with tents and grew blue and hazy with the smoke of camp fires.
All day long, rain or sun, the landscape swarmed with men and horses; all day long bugle answered bugle from hill to hill; drums rattled at dawn and evening; the music from regimental and brigade bands was almost constant, saluting the nag at sunset, or, with muffled drums, sounding for the dead, or crashing out smartly at guard-mount, or, on dress parade, playing the favorite, “Evening Bells.”
Leaning on her window ledge when off duty, deadly tired, Ailsa would listen dully to the near or distant strains, wondering at the strangeness of her life; wondering what it all was coming to.
But if life was strange, it was also becoming very real and very full as autumn quickened into winter, and the fever waxed fiercer in every regiment.
Life gave her now scant time for brooding — scarce time for thought at all. There were no other women at the Farm Hospital except the laundresses. Every regiment in the newly formed division encamped in the vicinity furnished one man from each company for hospital work; and from this contingent came their only relief.
But work was what Ailsa needed, and what Letty needed, too. It left them no chance to think of themselves, no leisure for self-pity, no inclination for it in the dreadful daily presence of pestilence and death.
So many, many died; young men, mostly. So many were sent away, hopelessly broken, and very, very young. And there was so much to do — so much! — instruments and sponges and lint to hold for surgeons; bandages, iced compresses, medicines to hand to physicians; and there were ghastly faces to be washed, and filthy bodies to be cleansed, and limp hands to be held, and pillows to be turned, and heads to be lifted. And there were letters to be written for sick boys and dying boys and dead boys; there was tea and lemonade and whisky and wine to be measured out and given; there was broth to be ordered and tasted and watched, delicacies to be prepared; clothing to be boiled; inventories to be made of dwindling medical supplies and of fresh stores to be ordered or unpacked from the pyramids of muddy boxes and barrels in the courts.
There was also the daily need of food and a breath of fresh air; and there were, sometimes, letters to read, None came to Ailsa from Berkley. No letters came to Letty at all, except from Dr. Benton, who wrote, without any preliminary explanation of why he wrote at all, once every fortnight with absolute regularity.
What he had to say in his letters Ailsa never knew, for Letty, who had been touched and surprised by the first one and had read it aloud to Ailsa, read no more of the letters which came to her from Dr. Benton. And Ailsa asked her nothing.
Part of Colonel Arran’s regiment of lancers was now in Washington — or near it, encamped to the east of Meridian Hill, in a field beyond Seventh Street — at least these were the careful directions for posting letters given her by Captain Hallam, who wrote her cheerfully and incessantly; and in every letter he declared himself with a patient and cordial persistence that perhaps merited something more enthusiastic than Ailsa’s shy and brief replies.
Colonel Arran had been to see her twice at her hospital that winter; he seemed grayer, bigger than ever in his tight blue and yellow cavalry uniform; and on both occasions he had spoken of Berkley, and had absently questioned her; and after both visits she had lain awake, her eyes wide in the darkness, the old pain stirring dully in her breast. But in the duties of the morning she forgot sorrow, forgot hope, and found strength and peace in a duty that led her ever amid the shadows of pain and death.
Once Hallam obtained leave, and made the journey to the Farm Hospital; but it had been a hard day for her, and she could scarcely keep awake to talk to him. He was very handsome, very bronzed, very eager and determined as a wooer; and she did not understand just how it happened, but suddenly the world’s misery and her own loneliness overwhelmed her, and she broke down for the first time. And when Captain Hallam went lightly away about his business, and she lay on her mattress beside Letty, she could feel, furtively, a new jewel on the third finger of her left hand, and fell asleep, wondering what she had done, and why — too tired to really care.
The sick continued to drift North; new regiments continued to arrive; the steady, tireless welding of the army was going on all around her, night and day; and the clamour of it filled the sky.
Celia Craig wrote her and sent her boxes for herself; but the contents of the parcels went to her sick men. Camilla wrote her and requested information concerning Stephen, who was, it appeared, very lax in correspondence; but Ailsa had not heard from Colonel Craig since the 3rd Zouaves left Fortress Monroe, and she had no information for either Celia or Camilla.
Christmas boxes for the hospital began to arrive early; presents came to Ailsa from Colonel Arran, from Hallam, from Celia and Camilla,
Letty had only one gift, a beautiful watch and chain from Dr. Benton; and Ailsa, going up to undress for a short sleep before supper, found the girl sitting with the little timepiece in her hand, crying silently all to herself.
“Why, dear!” she exclaimed, “what in the world is the trouble?” and put both arms around her. But Letty only laid her head against Ailsa’s breast, and sobbed anew, uncomforted.
“Won’t you tell me what is wrong?” urged Ailsa, mystified.
“Yes . . . I am . . . Don’t pay attention to what I say, Mrs.
Paige. You — you like me, don’t you?”
“I love you, dear,”
“Please — do. I am — very unhappy.”
“You are only tired out. Listen; don’t the wards look pretty with all the laurel and evergreens and ribbons! Our poor boys will have something to remind them of Christmas. . . . I — do you know that young Langley is dead?”
“Yes — I helped him — die. Yesterday Dr. West seemed to think he would get well. But Hammond couldn’t stop the gangrene, and he cut him almost to pieces. Oh — I’m very, very miserable — my boys die so fast — so fast — —”
“You mustn’t be miserable on Christmas Eve! I won’t let you be silly!”
“I’m gay enough in the wards,” said Letty listlessly; “I’ve got to be. Can’t I cry a little in my own room?”
“No, we haven’t time to cry,” said Ailsa decisively. “Lie down beside me and go to sleep. Flannery has promised to wake us in time for supper.”
“I can’t get Langley’s terrible face out of my mind,” whimpered Letty, cuddling close to Ailsa, as they lay in bed in the wintry darkness. “It was all drawn up on one side.”
“But coma had set in,” said Ailsa gently. “You know, he wasn’t suffering when he died. . . . You’ll write to his mother, won’t you, dear? Or shall I?”
“I will. . . . She wanted to come, you remember, but she’s bedridden. . . . Her only son. . . . Yes, I’ll write . . . I think Peterson is going to die, next — —”
“But Levy is getting well,” interrupted Ailsa.
“Stop it, Letty dear! I won’t let you become morbid. Think of your beautiful watch! Think of dear Dr. Benton.” “I — I am,” gasped Letty, and fell to crying again until she sobbed herself to sleep in Ailsa’s tired arms.
Supper was spread in Dr. West’s private office; Hallam had obtained leave, and Ailsa expected him; Colonel Arran was in Washington and could not come, but the company was to be a small one at best — Ailsa, Letty Lynden, Dr. West, Dr. Hammond, and Hallam were all who had been expected for Christmas Eve supper.
They waited for Hallam until Dr. West decided to wait no longer, saying that he was either stuck in the mud somewhere or had been detailed for duty unexpectedly.
So Ailsa lighted the Christmas candles, and the two young women in their fresh gray garbs, and the two civilian doctors in clean clothes, sat down before a rather thin roasted turkey. But the bird proved tender and juicy, and it was beautifully cooked; and a glass of wine sent the colour into Letty’s pale cheeks, and straightened Ailsa’s drooping neck.
Candles, laurel branches, evergreens, bits of red ribbon, and flags made the office very gay and attractive. Dr. West rose and delivered an unexpected speech, complimenting the ladies and praising their skill and devotion; then dinner began, and Dr. Hammond told about an intensely interesting operation, which made the negro waiter turn almost white.
“Christmas comes but once a year!” cried jolly Dr. Hammond, warming up. “Let’s be merry!” And he told about another operation even more wonderful than the first; and Letty, catching a glimpse of the negro’s wildly rolling eyes, threw back her head and laughed. It was the first genuine laughter of the evening, and rested everybody.
A few moments later there came a jingle of metal from outside, and Hallam walked in, his wonderfully handsome face aglow, and plenty of red mud frozen on his boots.
“I’ve a green orderly outside. Where can I stow him?” he asked, shaking hands and exchanging preliminary Christmas greetings all around.
“I’ll attend to him,” said Ailsa, flushed and a little shy as she felt the significant pressure of Hallam’s hand and saw him glance at her ring.
“No,” he insisted, “I’ll see to him myself, if you’ll tell me where he can put the horses and find some supper.”
“Poor fellow,” said Ailsa. “Tell him to stable the horses in the new barn, and go to the kitchen. Wait a moment, Captain Hallam, I’d rather do it myself!” And she turned lightly and ran out to the dark porch.
The trooper holding Hallam’s horse: sat his own saddle, wrapped to the eyes in his heavy overcoat, long lance with its drooping pennon slanting stiffly athwart the wintry wilderness of stars.
“Soldier!” she called gently from the porch. “Stable, blanket, and feed; then come back to the kitchen, and there will be a good hot dinner waiting.”
The cavalryman slowly turned his head at the sound of her voice.
And, as he made no movement to obey:
“There is the stable over there,” she said, pointing across the frozen field. “Follow that gate path. There’s a lantern in the barn.”
An orderly, passing, added:
“Come on, lancer. I’m going to the barn myself;” and very slowly the trooper turned both tired horses and walked them away into the darkness.
When she returned to the table there was considerable laughter over a story chat Hallam had been telling. He jumped up, seated Ailsa, hovered over her for a second with just a suspicion of proprietary air which made her blush uncomfortably. Talking had become general, but everybody noted it, and Letty’s eyes grew wide and velvety, and the blood was making her cheeks and lips very pink.
Dr. West said: “The new regiment on Pine Knob was recruited from the Bowery. I happened to be with Kemp, their surgeon, when sick call sounded, and I never saw such a line of impudent, ruffianly malingerers as filed before Kemp. One, I am convinced, had deliberately shot off his trigger finger; but it couldn’t be proven, and he’ll get his discharge. Another, a big, hulking brute, all jaw and no forehead, came up and looked insolently at Kemp.
“Kemp said: ‘Well, what’s the matter with you?’ “‘Aw,’ said the soldier, with a leer, ‘I’ve got de lapsy-palls, and I wanter go to de horspittle, I do.’
“I never saw such a mad man as Kemp was.
“‘So you’ve got the lapsy-palls, have you?’
“‘Bet yer boots, I have.’
“‘And you want to go to the hospital?’
“Aw — w’ats der matter wit youse, Doc.?’
“And Kemp gave him a bang on the eye with his fist, and another on the nose, and then began to hit him so quickly that the fellow reeled, about, yelling for mercy.
“‘Sure cure for the lapsy-palls,’ said Kemp; and, turning his glare on the rest of the shivering line: ‘Anybody else got ‘em?’ he asked briskly.
“At that a dozen big brutes sneaked out of the line and hurriedly decamped; and I don’t think that disease is going to be popular in that regiment.”
A shout of laughter greeted the story. All present had seen too many instances of malingering not to appreciate Surgeon Kemp’s cure for a disease which never existed.
A plum pudding was brought on and set afire. Ailsa poured the burning sauce over and over it. Dr. Hammond got up and threw some more pine logs on the fire. Huge shadows rose up and danced in the ruddy light, as the candles burned lower. Then Dr. West began another story, but was checked by the appearance of a hospital steward:
“Davis, Ward A, No. 3, is very bad, sir.”
“Going?”
“Yes, sir.”
The doctor bent above the table, took a hasty spoonful of pudding, nodded to the company, and went out.
“Speaking of malingerers,” began Hammond, “I saw the Colonel of the forty Thieves put down in a most amusing manner the day before Bull Run. Shall I tell it? It involves some swearing.”
Ailsa laughed. “Proceed, Dr. Hammond. Do you think Miss Lynden and I have been deaf since we arrived at the front?”
“Does anybody in this hospital use bad language?” demanded the doctor sharply.
“Not to us,” said Ailsa, smiling. “But there’s an army just outside the windows. Go on with your story, please.”
“Well, then,” said the jolly surgeon, “I was talking with Colonel Riley, when up walks the most honest-looking soldier I think I ever saw; and he gazed straight into the Colonel’s eyes as he saluted. He wanted a furlough, it appeared, to go to New York and see his dying wife.
“Riley said: ‘Is she very sick?’
“‘Yes, Colonel.’
“‘You have a letter: saying she is very sick?’
“‘Yes, Colonel.’
“‘Well, I also have a letter from your wife. I wanted to make certain about all the applications for furlough you have been making, so I wrote her.’
“‘Yes, Colonel.’
“‘And she says that she is perfectly well, and does not want you to come home!’
“The soldier smiled.
“‘Did you write a letter to my wife, Colonel?’
“‘I did.”
“‘Did my wife write to you?’
“‘She did. And what do you mean by coming here to me with a lie about your sick wife! Have you anything to say to that?’
“‘Yes, Colonel.’
“‘Then say it!’
“‘Well, Colonel, all I have to say is that there are two of the damnedest, biggest liars that ever lived, right here in this regiment!’
“‘What!’
“The soldier grinned.
“‘I’m not married at all,’ he said, ‘and I’m the biggest liar — and you can ask the boys who the damnedest liar is.’”
When the merriment and laughter had subsided, Hallam told another story rather successfully; then Hammond told another. Then Dr. West returned; the tiny Christmas tree, cut in the forest, and loaded with beribboned cakes and sticks of chocolate and a few presents tied in tissue-paper, was merrily despoiled.
Ailsa and Letty had worked slippers for the two doctors, greatly appreciated by them, apparently; Hallam had some embroidered handkerchiefs from Ailsa, and she received a chain and locket from him — and refrained from opening the locket, although everybody already had surmised that their engagement was a fact.
Letty sent an orderly for her guitar, and sang very sweetly an old-fashioned song:
”When the moonlight
Shines bright
Silvery bright on the sea.”
Ailsa sang “Aileen Aroon,” and “Oft in the Stilly Night,” and everybody, later, sang “The Poor Old Soldier.”
The fire glowed red in the chimney; gigantic shadows wavered on wall and ceiling; and, through the Christmas candles dimly burning, the branches of the little evergreen spread, laden with cake and candy.
“They’re to have a tree in every ward to-morrow,” said Ailsa, turning toward Hallam. Her eyes smiled, but her voice was spiritless. A tinge of sadness had somehow settled over the festivity; Hammond was staring at the fire, chin in hand; West sipped his wine reflectively; Letty’s idle fingers touched her guitar at intervals, as her dark eyes rested on Ailsa and Hallam.
Hallam had found in camp a copy of a Southern newspaper; and,
thinking it might amuse the company to read it, produced it.
Ailsa, looking over his shoulder, noticed a poem called
“Christmas,” printed on the first page.
“Read it aloud,” he said, laughing. “Let’s hear what sort of
Christmas poetry the Johnnies produce.”
So, after smilingly scanning the first lines, she began, aloud; but her face had grown very grave, and her low voice thrilled them as she became conscious of the deeper sadness of the verse.
”How grace this Hallowed Day?
Shall happy bells from yonder ancient spire
Send their glad greetings to each Christmas fire
Round which our children play?
”How shall we grace the Day?
With feast and song and dance and homely sport,
And shout of happy children in the court,
And tales of ghost and fay?
”Is there indeed a door
Where the old pastimes with their joyful noise
And all the merry round of Christmas joys
Can enter as of yore?
”Would not some pallid face
Look in upon the banquet, calling up
Dread shapes of battle in the Christmas cup,
And trouble all the place?
”How can we hear the mirth
While some loved reveller of a year ago
Keeps his mute Christmas now beneath the snow,
In cold Virginia earth—”
Her voice suddenly broke; she laughed, slightly hysterical, the tears glittering in her eyes.
“I — c-can’t — read it, somehow. . . . Forgive me, everybody, I think I’m — tired — —”
