Some of the inmates are laughing and
joking, others are playing checkers or cards, others are reading, &c.
I have noticed through most of the hospitals that as long as there is
any chance for a man, no matter how bad he may be, the surgeon and
nurses work hard, sometimes with curious tenacity, for his life,
doing everything, and keeping somebody by him to execute the doctor's
orders, and minister to him every minute night and day. See that
screen there. As you advance through the dusk of early candle-light, a
nurse will step forth on tip-toe, and silently but imperiously forbid
you to make any noise, or perhaps to come near at all. Some soldier's
life is flickering there, suspended between recovery and death.
Perhaps at this moment the exhausted frame has just fallen into a
light sleep that a step might shake. You must retire. The neighboring
patients must move in their stocking feet. I have been several times
struck with such mark'd efforts--everything bent to save a life from
the very grip of the destroyer. But when that grip is once firmly
fix'd, leaving no hope or chance at all, the surgeon abandons the
patient. If it is a case where stimulus is any relief, the nurse gives
milk-punch or brandy, or whatever is wanted, _ad libitum_. There is no
fuss made. Not a bit of sentimentalism or whining have I seen about a
single death-bed in hospital or on the field, but generally impassive
indifference. All is over, as far as any efforts can avail; it is
useless to expend emotions or labors.
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