Never has the Death Angel seemed to me more merciful than
when he took in his icy grasp the fevered hands wildly beating the
air, closed the starting eyes, silenced the gasping breath.
Fortunately, I then had ample means at my command to relieve
suffering, in many cases even to indulge the caprices of the sick. In
this I only acted as the almoner of devoted, generous women in
far-away homes, who deprived themselves of every luxury to benefit the
sick soldiers. There seemed to be no end to the arrival and unpacking
of boxes.
To nearly every one of numberless pairs of socks and gloves was pinned
a paper upon which was written some kindly message, a few words of
cheer, generally signed with the name of the donor. Strange as it may
seem, it is perfectly true that I found among these (not once, but
several times) the name of one of my patients, and at a venture
bearing the article to his bedside, watched his delight, the eager
grasp, the brightened eyes, the heaving breast of some poor fellow who
had thus accidentally received a gift and message from his own home.
Although relieved of all unnecessary fatigue, having at my command
nurses and servants to carry out my plans for the sick, the burden of
their suffering lay heavy upon my own heart.
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