Every
particle of the flesh had sloughed off, and the leg began to heal not
"by first intention" but by unhealthy granulations like excrescences.
These had constantly to be removed, either by the use of nitric acid
(I believe) or by the knife. As maybe imagined, it was horribly
painful, _and there was no chloroform_. Day after day I was sent for,
and stood by, while this terrible thing was going on, wiping the sweat
from the face that, though pale as death, never quivered. Save an
occasional groan, deep and suppressed, there was no "fuss."
Does it seem to you that this was exceptional, dear reader? Ah! no; in
the wards outside, where lay hundreds of _private soldiers_, without
the pride of rank to sustain them, only their simple, noble manhood, I
daily witnessed such scenes. The courage and daring of our soldiers
have won full appreciation from the whole world. Of their patient
endurance, I was for four years a constant witness, and I declare that
it was sublime beyond conception. I cannot remember the name of the
heroic officer whose wound I have described. I remember, however, that
Dr. Jackson treated it successfully, and that in the desperate days,
towards the close of the war, the wounded man was again at his post.
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