Chapter 4

CHAPTER IV: A NIGHT.

Being fond of the night side of nature, I was soon promoted to
the post of night nurse, with every facility for indulging in my
favorite pastime of "owling." My colleague, a black-eyed widow,
relieved me at dawn, we two taking care of the ward, between us,
like the immortal Sairy and Betsey, "turn and turn about." I
usually found my boys in the jolliest state of mind their
condition allowed; for it was a known fact that Nurse Periwinkle
objected to blue devils, and entertained a belief that he who
laughed most was surest of recovery. At the beginning of my
reign, dumps and dismals prevailed; the nurses looked anxious and
tired, the men gloomy or sad; and a general "Hark!-from-the-
tombs-a-doleful-sound" style of conversation seemed to be the
fashion: a state of things which caused one coming from a merry,
social New England town, to feel as if she had got into an
exhausted receiver; and the instinct of self-preservation, to say
nothing of a philanthropic desire to serve the race, caused a
speedy change in Ward No. 1.

More flattering than the most gracefully turned compliment, more
grateful than the most admiring glance, was the sight of those
rows of faces, all strange to me a little while ago, now lighting
up, with smiles of welcome, as I came among them, enjoying that
moment heartily, with a womanly pride in their regard, a motherly
affection for them all. The evenings were spent in reading aloud,
writing letters, waiting on and amusing the men, going the rounds
with Dr. P., as he made his second daily survey, dressing my
dozen wounds afresh, giving last doses, and making them cozy for
the long hours to come, till the nine o'clock bell rang, the gas
was turned down, the day nurses went off duty, the night watch
came on, and my nocturnal adventure began.

My ward was now divided into three rooms; and, under favor of the
matron, I had managed to sort out the patients in such a way that
I had what I called, "my duty room," my "pleasure room," and my
"pathetic room," and worked for each in a different way. One, I
visited, armed with a dressing tray, full of rollers, plasters,
and pins; another, with books, flowers, games, and gossip; a
third, with teapots, lullabies, consolation, and sometimes, a
shroud.

Wherever the sickest or most helpless man chanced to be, there I
held my watch, often visiting the other rooms, to see that the
general watchman of the ward did his duty by the fires and the
wounds, the latter needing constant wetting. Not only on this
account did I meander, but also to get fresher air than the close
rooms afforded; for, owing to the stupidity of that mysterious