This is not a tale, but a true history.--ED.
FROM "HOSPITAL SKETCHES."
_HARDLY_ was I settled again, when the inevitable bowl appeared, and
its bearer delivered a message I had expected, yet dreaded to
receive:--
"John is going, ma'am, and wants to see you, if you can come."
"The moment this boy is asleep; tell him so, and let me know if I am
in danger of being too late."
My Ganymede departed, and while I quieted poor Shaw, I thought of
John. He came in a day or two after the others; and, one evening,
when I entered my "pathetic room," I found a lately emptied bed
occupied by a large, fair man, with a fine face, and the serenest
eyes I ever met. One of the earlier comers had often spoken of a
friend, who had remained behind, that those apparently worse wounded
than himself might reach a shelter first. It seemed a David and
Jonathan sort of friendship. The man fretted for his mate, and was
never tired of praising John,--his courage, sobriety, self-denial,
and unfailing kindliness of heart; always winding up with, "He's an
out an' out fine feller, ma'am; you see if he ain't."
I had some curiosity to behold this piece of excellence, and when he
came, watched him for a night or two, before I made friends with
him; for, to tell the truth, I was a little afraid of the stately
looking man, whose bed had to be lengthened to accommodate his
commanding stature; who seldom spoke, uttered no complaint, asked no
sympathy, but tranquilly observed what went on about him; and, as he
lay high upon his pillows, no picture of dying statesman or warrior
was ever fuller of real dignity than this Virginia blacksmith.
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