Lily Pearl and The Mistress of Rosedale Part 24

One who had not looked on the scenes in a hospital after a battle, has no idea of the soul-depressing sights that everywhere present themselves. So thought Anna who, after two days of restlessness and anxiety in Washington, at last obtained permission to go to Alexandria where she was most needed. While standing among the dead and dying, what wonder that her cheeks paled and her eyes were filled with tears of pity? It was where new accessions were almost continually being made of such as had not previously been able to be moved from the field-tents and private houses where they had been carried. The poor sufferers were brought in upon stretchers or blankets and laid on the floor, waiting for their wounds to be examined, or the stumps of amputated limbs to be redressed, and weather-beaten bodies to be made more comfortable generally; before being taken to the next ward, where nice clean beds were waiting them. Just before her a young man with dark brown hair and deep blue eyes was lying on a mattress where two men had placed him. One leg was gone, and a blood-stained bandage was about his forehead. How pale and wan he looked! His gaze was upon her, and his lips moved. In a moment she was beside him. "Water," was all she could make out. Here was work; why should she be looking for any other? She placed the cup to his lips and raised his head tenderly while he drank. A cup of cold water!

How sweet were the blessings that came in upon her soul as she gave it to him! "Thank you," and a feeble smile came to his lips.

"Will you take this basin and wash some of their hands and faces?" asked a cheery voice near her. "I will get another. Poor fellows; they sadly need soap and water before clean clothing can be put on them."

It was a kind, sympathizing face into which she looked while listening to the request, and although she hesitated to commence so strange a task, it was but for a moment. There was a world of thankfulness in the blue eyes that looked into hers as she took away the blood-stained bandage and smoothed back the dark locks from the brow while she bathed and cooled it with a soft, gentle hand.

"You are so kind," he murmured at last; "G.o.d bless you."

"He does," was the quiet answer, and the mild eyes closed, but not to sleep.

"Do you suffer much?" she asked as she laid the hand she had been washing back on the heaving breast.

"Not much; yet I shall not live. My mother, O my mother!" A tear escaped from beneath the closed lids and dropped down upon the hard pillow. Anna saw it as she turned to leave and stopped to wipe it away. "I will see you again," she whispered and then pa.s.sed on.

A burly son of Erin was lying near with an arm missing and a foot thickly bandaged. With an encouraging smile from the nurse who was engaged in administering to one who might have been his brother, Anna bared her arms to the work.

"Shall I try to improve your appearance a little?" she asked, at the same time kneeling beside him.

"Holy Vargin bless ye, Miss," he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "It's not the likes of ye's who should be doin' it; but the Son of Mary will bless ye, Miss. Look yonder," he continued, "d'ye see that gray-back in the corner there?

He's a reb; ye's wont wash his face, sure?"

"Certainly we will," replied Anna, who could not help smiling at the eagerness of her questioner. "The Bible tells us to 'do good to them that despitefully use us.' I have no doubt his face needs washing as much as your's, and should I not do it?"

"Faith and I'd put lots of soap in his eyes, and wash up instead of down, if I did it at all, at all."

The girl sighed as she tugged away at the worn out boot that seemed unwilling to yield to her powers, but it came off at last, and with elevated nostrils she continued her labor of mercy. While thus engaged she looked occasionally towards the rebel coat in the corner; but it was not he for whom she had been anxiously searching, yet her heart did not fail to upbraid her for an apparent neglect. She had inquired as often as she thought judicious, but had learned nothing. "Perhaps he will soon be brought in," she thought, and her eyes turned searchingly upon every new-comer. Close by was one who had just finished his mortal sufferings, and beyond another so still that one might have thought him dead; but as Anna laid her hand upon his forehead he opened his eyes and looked at her.

The surgeons were busy with their work, and all day her hands were never idle. Three times had she received the last words of love from pallid lips for loved ones far away, and each time had promised to send their precious remembrances or tokens of undying affection from the lost whom they never in life would look upon again; and no wonder that at last she should return to her lodgings weary and sick at heart!

"I fear I have kept you waiting," she said as she pa.s.sed her landlady in the hall; "but I have been very busy."

"I understand it; how worn-out you must be! Katy is in the kitchen keeping a cup of tea for you," and with a thankful heart Anna proceeded thither followed by the lady.

"I hope you will pardon me," she continued, "but a soldier has been almost thrust upon me to-day, and I have been obliged to change your room. I was sure you would forgive me after you knew all. He is an officer whom the general did not like to take to the hospital, as it would not be very pleasant for him, being a prisoner from the Confederate army."

"A Confederate?" queried Anna, with some agitation. "Do you know his name?"

"Colonel St. Clair. Why, my dear girl, how strangely you look! Is he a friend of yours?"

"He is. Is he severely wounded?"

"Badly, I believe, yet I do not know how. Would you like to see him to-night?"

"No, unless he needs my services."

"I think he was sleeping when I came down. The surgeon was here an hour ago, and his negro servant is with him now."

"Then I will not disturb him. In the morning I will go."

Anna Pierson forgot her weariness as she seated herself with her writing desk to finish up her day's toils by penning the promised letters of sympathy and condolence to the friends of those who had that day entered the silent land where there would be no more war; and when all was finished thoughts of home, and loved ones waiting there, came and she wrote on, closing with the promise to finish on the morrow after she had seen him whom she came to seek. And then she slept.

Before the night had gathered up all its dark shadows there came a low rap on her door which aroused her, and, springing from her bed, wondered how she could have slept so long. Mrs. Howard entered.

"I am sorry to awake you so soon," she said, "but he seems so anxious to have you come to him, that I could not well wait longer. I told him there was a lady here to see him, but would not tell him your name. He appears a little brighter this morning, and says he rested pretty well,"

she continued. "Shall I tell him you are coming?"

"Yes, in just a minute; for you know it does not take us Yankee girls long to dress," she responded, a.s.suming a playfulness she did not at all feel. True to her word, however, in a marvelously short time she opened the door of the sick man's chamber softly and closed it again as noiselessly behind her. His face was turned towards the wall, and he did not move until she stood beside him. Softly laying her hand on his she whispered his name, "George St. Clair." A sudden flush of joy overspread his face as his fingers closed tightly over hers, while the response, "Anna, my good angel, how came you here?" burst from his lips.

"How glad I am that I have not on that hated uniform. You will not despise me now? But tell me first how came you here?"

"Just as any one would who had not wings to fly; but my mission is to take care of you until you get well."

"I am unworthy. But talk to me of loved ones, of yourself, of everything."

A pleasant hour followed, and both were happier than they had been for many a day. Clouds were rising that were to cover the calm blue of the clear sky above them, but they saw them not.

How kind in the Father to deal out his chastenings as he does his blessings, one by one, else the poor heart could not bear them!

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE DARK, DARK WAVE.

"Anna." It was a faint, tremulous voice that called through the half-open door of the wounded man's chamber, as the young girl was pa.s.sing; but it was sufficiently clear to arrest her progress, and she stood still for a moment, listening and wondering that she should be called at such a time. The surgeon was in attendance, as was his custom, although the hour was an early one, he being, as St. Clair had told her, an old friend and traveling companion in Europe a few years before, which accounted without doubt for his unusual attention at such a busy time. Anna had not met him during the few days she had been in the house as her services had not been required during his visits, wherefore her surprise at now hearing her name. While thinking the matter over the call was repeated, and without farther hesitation she hastened to him.

The wounded man was lying on his side, partly supported by his servant, whose tears of sympathy were rapidly flowing. The surgeon was bending over the prostrate form with face unmoved, probing and dressing the fearful wound. In a moment Anna was kneeling by the drooping head which hung faintly down on the side of the bed, and, with a sudden impulse of feeling, raised it tenderly to her shoulder and pressed her lips on his cold, damp forehead.

"Poor George," she whispered, as she smoothed back his dark hair, "it is very hard. How sorry I am for you."

"I can bear it all now, and more if need be," and the strained eyes which looked up into the pale anxious face bore testimony to his words.

"It is hard to suffer with no loving hand to wipe the drops of agony from the brow, but endurable when fond lips kiss them away. Dear girl!"

he added, in a whisper, just as the surgeon finished his work, bidding the servant to lay him down gently upon the pillow. When this was done he turned, and apparently for the first time discovered that another had joined their number.

"There, my good fellow," he remarked, cheerfully, "I hope you will not be obliged to go through that operation again. It is healing nicely; and if we can keep the inflammation down and the wound open under the shoulder-blade for a few days, the best results may be hoped for. The trouble is, St. Clair, you have too many chicken-hearted ones to care for you. Your servant must be more thorough." While making this remark his eyes were fixed intently on the face of Anna.

"Miss Pierson, doctor," said St. Clair, with an attempt to a formal introduction, "and let me tell you, she would never be worthy of the slur you have just cast. Should you tell her to perform your most disagreeable commands, I feel positive they would be carried out to the very letter."

"You are welcome to try me," said Anna.

"Can I trust you?"

"I came for that very purpose."

"Then listen." Whereupon followed a long list of commands and injunctions.