" One day I stopped to look on a moment at a game of euchre. One
of the players had lost an arm (close to the shoulder). Said he,
"Sure, ma'am, it's bating the b'ys intirely, I am." I did not
understand, so he explained, with a comic leer at the others,--"Sure,
haven't I always the '_lone hand_' on thim?" At once I recalled a
similar remark made by an Irish soldier lying in the hospital at
Newnan, who had just lost one of his legs; when I condoled with him,
he looked up brightly, and, pointing at his remaining foot, explained,
"Niver mind, this feller _will go it alone and make it_."
Among the surgeons in camp was one who had highly offended these
convalescents by retiring to his cabin, _pulling the latch-string
inside_ and remaining deaf to all calls and appeals from outside.
Mutterings of discontent were heard for a while, but at last as there
was no further mention of the matter, I believed it was ended.
About this time the actions of the convalescents began to appear
mysterious: they remained in their tents or absented themselves, as I
supposed, upon foraging expeditions. Frequently, I found them working
upon cow-horns, making ornaments as I thought (at this business
Confederate soldiers were very expert).
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