Nor did he;for now I understood the wistful look that sometimes followed me,as I went out,after a brief pause beside his bed,or merely a passing nod,while busied with those who seemed to need me more than he,because more urgent in their demands;now I knew that to him,as to so many,Iwas the poor substitute for mother,wife,or sister,and in his eyes no stranger,but a friend who hitherto had seemed neglectful;for,in his modesty,he had never guessed the truth.This was changed now;and,through the tedious operation of probing,bathing,and dressing his wounds,he leaned against me,holding my hand fast,and,if pain wrung further tears from him,no one saw them fall but me.When he was laid down again,I hovered about him,in a remorseful state of mind that would not let me rest,till I had bathed his face,brushed his "bonny brown hair,"set all things smooth about him,and laid a knot of heath and heliotrope on his clean pollow.
While doing this,he watched me with the satisfied expression I so liked to see;and when I offered the little nosegay,held it carefully in his great hand,smoothed a ruffled leaf or two,surveyed and smelt it with an air of genuine delight,and lay contentedly regarding the glimmer of the sunshine on the green.Although the manliest man among my forty,he said,"Yes,ma'am,"like a little boy;received suggestions for his comfort with the quick smile that brightened his whole face;and now and then,as I stood tidying the table by his bed,I felt him softly touch my gown,as if to assure himself that I was there.Anything more natural and frank I never saw,and found this brave John as bashful as brave,yet full of excellencies and fine aspirations,which,having no power to express themselves in words,seemed to have bloomed into his character and made him what he was.
After that night,an hour of each evening that remained to him was devoted to his ease or pleasure.He could not talk much,for breath was precious,and he spoke in whispers;but from occasional conversations,I gleaned scraps of private history which only added to the affection and respect I felt for him.Once he asked me to write a letter,and as I settled pen and paper,I said,with an irrepressible glimmer of feminine curiosity,"Shall it be addressed to wife,or mother,John?""Neither,ma'am;I've got no wife,and will write to mother myself when I get better.Did you think I was married because of this?"he asked,touching a plain ring he wore,and often turned thoughtfully on his finger when he lay alone.
"Partly that,but more from a settled sort of look you have;a look which young men seldom get until they marry.""I didn't know that;but I'm not so very young,ma'am,thirty in May,and have been what you might call settled this ten years;for mother's a widow,I'm the oldest child she has,and it wouldn't do for me to marry until Lizzy has a home of her own,and Laurie's learned his trade;for we're not rich,and I must be father to the children and husband to the dear old woman,if I can."
"No doubt but you are both,John;yet how came you to go to war,if you felt so?Wasn't enlisting as bad as marrying?""No,ma'am,not as I see it,for one is helping my neighbor,the other pleasing myself.I went because I couldn't help it.I didn't want the glory or the pay;I wanted the right thing done,and people kept saying the men who were in earnest ought to fight.I was in earnest,the Lord knows!but I held off as long as I could,not knowing which was my duty;mother saw the case,gave me her ring to keep me steady,and said 'Go:'so I went."A short story and a simple one,but the man and the mother were portrayed better than pages of fine writing could have done it.
"Do you ever regret that you came,when you lie here suffering so much?""Never,ma'am;I haven't helped a great deal,but I've shown I was willing to give my life,and perhaps I've got to;but I don't blame anybody,and if it was to do over again,I'd do it.I'm a little sorry I wasn't wounded in front;it looks cowardly to be hit in the back,but I obeyed orders,and it don't matter in the end,I know."Poor John!it did not matter now,except that a shot in the front might have spared the long agony in store for him.He seemed to read the thought that troubled me,as he spoke so hopefully when there was no hope,for he suddenly added:
"This is my first battle;do they think it's going to be my last?""I'm afraid they do,John."
It was the hardest question I had ever been called upon to answer;doubly hard with those clear eyes fixed on mine,forcing a truthful answer by their own truth.He seemed a little startled at first,pondered over the fateful fact a moment,then shook his head,with a glance at the broad chest and muscular limbs stretched out before him:
"I'm not afraid,but it's difficult to believe all at once.I'm so strong it don't seem possible for such a little wound to kill me."Merry Mercutio's dying words glanced through my memory as he spoke:
"'Tis not so deep as a well,nor so wide as a church door,but 'tis enough."And John would have said the same could he have seen the ominous black holes between his shoulders;he never had;and,seeing the ghastly sights about him,could not believe his own wound more fatal than these,for all the suffering it caused him.
"Shall I write to your mother,now?"I asked,thinking that these sudden tidings might change all plans and purposes;but they did not;for the man received the order of the Divine Commander to march with the same unquestioning obedience with which the soldier had received that of the human one;doubtless remembering that the first led him to life,and the last to death.
