Doctor F.
here made light of his sickness--said he would recover soon, etc.; but
I thought very different, and told F. so repeatedly; (I came near
quarreling with him about it from the first)--but he laugh'd, and
would not listen to me. About four days ago, I told Doctor he would in
my opinion lose the boy without doubt--but F. again laugh'd at me.
The next day he changed his opinion--brought the head surgeon of the
post--he said the boy would probably die, but they would make a hard
fight for him.
The last two days he has been lying panting for breath--a pitiful
sight. I have been with him some every day or night since he arrived.
He suffers a great deal with the heat--says little or nothing--is
flighty the last three days, at times--knows me always, however
--calls me "Walter"--(sometimes calls the name over and over and over
again, musingly, abstractedly, to himself.) His father lives at
Breesport, Chemung county, N. Y., is a mechanic with large family--is
a steady, religious man; his mother too is living. I have written to
them, and shall write again to-day--Erastus has not receiv'd a word
from home for months.
As I sit here writing to you, M., I wish you could see the whole
scene. This young man lies within reach of me, flat on his back, his
hands clasp'd across his breast, his thick black hair cut close; he is
dozing, breathing hard, every breath a spasm--it looks so cruel. He is
a noble youngster,--I consider him past all hope. Often there is no
one with him for a long while.
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