He was a mere
lad (perhaps twenty). His eyes, as they met mine, expressed so plainly
a sense of captivity and extreme dislike of it that I felt very sorry
for him. He had been dressed in a clean hospital shirt, but one
shoulder and arm was bare and bandaged, for he was wounded in the left
shoulder,--a slight wound, but sufficient to occasion severe pain and
fever.
At first I did not approach him, but his eyes followed me as I paused
by each bed to ascertain the needs of the sick and to bestow
particular care in many cases. At last I stood by his side, and,
placing my hand upon his head, spoke to him. He moved uneasily,
seemingly trying to repress the quivering of his lip and the tears
that, nevertheless, would come. Not wishing to notice his emotion just
then, I called the nurse, and, by way of diversion, gave a few
trifling directions, then passed on to another ward.
Returning later, bringing some cooling drink and a bottle of
Confederate bay-water (vinegar), I gave him to drink and proceeded to
sponge off his head and hands. He submitted, as it seemed at first,
unwillingly, but just as I turned to leave him he suddenly seized my
hand, kissed it, and laid his burning cheek upon it.
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