Complete Prose Works - Specimen Days and Collect, November Boughs and Goodbye My Fancy by Walt Whitman
page 56 of 831 (06%)
page 56 of 831 (06%)
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There are fires in large stoves, and the prevailing white of the
walls is reliev'd by some ornaments, stars, circles, &c., made of evergreens. The view of the whole edifice and occupants can be taken at once, for there is no partition. You may hear groans or other sounds of unendurable suffering from two or three of the cots, but in the main there is quiet--almost a painful absence of demonstration; but the pallid face, the dull'd eye, and the moisture of the lip, are demonstration enough. Most of these sick or hurt are evidently young fellows from the country, farmers' sons, and such like. Look at the fine large frames, the bright and broad countenances, and the many yet lingering proofs of strong constitution and physique. Look at the patient and mute manner of our American wounded as they lie in such a sad collection; representatives from all New England, and from New York, and New Jersey, and Pennsylvania--indeed from all the States and all the cities--largely from the west. Most of them are entirely without friends or acquaintances here--no familiar face, and hardly a word of judicious sympathy or cheer, through their sometimes long and tedious sickness, or the pangs of aggravated wounds. A CONNECTICUT CASE This young man in bed 25 is H. D. B. of the 27th Connecticut, company B. His folks live at Northford, near New Haven. Though not more than twenty-one, or thereabouts, he has knock'd much around the world, on sea and land, and has seen some fighting on both. When I first saw him he was very sick, with no appetite. He declined offers of money--said he did not need anything. As I was quite anxious to do something, he confess'd that he had a hankering for a good home-made rice pudding--thought he could relish it better than anything. At this |
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