Who Goes There?. B. K. Benson
to show a bald curiosity concerning her, and I suppose my hesitation was expressed in my face, for she presently continued.
"I studied and worked in the British hospital; you must know that I am a nurse with some training. Father was very willing for me to become a nurse, for he said that there would be war in America, and that nurses would be needed."
Then, turning to the Doctor, she said, "Father, Mr. Berwick asked me to-day when it was that we sailed from Charleston, and I was unable to tell him."
"The third of September, 1857," said the Doctor.
I remembered that this was my sister's birthday and also the very day on which I had written to Dr. Khayme that I should not return to Charleston. The coincidence and its bearing on my affliction disturbed me so that I could not readily continue my part of the conversation, and Lydia soon retired.
"Doctor," said I, "to-morrow morning I shall be ready to report to my company."
"Very well, Jones," he said, "act according to your conscience; I shall see you frequently. There will be no more battles in this part of the country for a long time, and it will not be difficult for you to get leave of absence when you wish to see us. Besides, I am thinking of moving our camp nearer to you."
VII
A SECOND DISASTER
"Our fortune on the sea is out of breath.
And sinks most lamentably."--SHAKESPEARE.
The winter brought an almost endless routine of drill, guard, and picket duty and digging.
The division was on duty near Budd's Ferry. Dr. Khayme's quarters were a mile to the rear of our left. I was a frequent visitor at his tents. After Willis's return to duty, which was in November, he and I spent much of our spare time at the Sanitary camp. It was easy to see what attracted Jake. It did not seem to me that Dr. Khayme gave much thought to the sergeant, but Lydia gravely received his adoration silently offered, and so conducted herself in his presence that I was puzzled greatly concerning their relations. I frequently wondered why the sergeant did not confide in me; we had become very intimate, so that in everything, except his feeling for Miss Khayme, I was Willis's bosom friend, so to speak; in that matter, however, he chose to ignore me.
One night--it was the night of February 6–7, 1862--I was at the Doctor's tent. Jake was sergeant of the camp guard and could not be with us. The Doctor smoked and read, engaging in the conversation, however, at his pleasure. Lydia seemed graver than usual. I wondered if it could be because of Willis's absence. It seemed to me impossible that this dignified woman could entertain a passion for the sergeant, who, while of course a very manly fellow, and a thorough soldier in his way, surely was not on a level with Miss Khayme. As for me, ah! well; I knew and felt keenly that until my peculiar mental phases should leave me never to return, love and marriage were impossible--so the very truth was, and always had been, that I had sufficient strength to restrain any incipient desire, and prudence enough to avoid temptation. My condition encouraged introspection. I was almost constantly probing my own mind, and by mere strength of will, which I had long cultivated until--I suppose there is no immodesty in saying it--I could govern myself, I drew back from every obstacle which my judgment pronounced insurmountable. The Doctor had been of the greatest help to me in this development of the will, and especially in that phase or exercise of it called self-control; one of his common sayings was, "He who resists the inevitable increases evil."
Ever since when as a boy I had yielded to his friendly guidance, Dr. Khayme had evidently felt a sense of proprietorship in respect to me, and I cherished such relationship; yet there had been many times in our recent intercourse when I had feared him; so keen was the man's insight. The power that he exercised over me I submitted to gratefully; I felt that he was a man well fitted for counselling youth, and I had so many proofs of his good-will, even of his affection, that I trusted him fully in regard to myself; yet, with all this, I felt that his great knowledge, and especially his wonderful alertness of judgment, which amounted in many cases seemingly to prophetic power almost, were doubtful quantities in relation to the war. I believed that he was admitted to high council; I had frequent glimpses of intimations--seemingly unguarded on his part--that he knew beforehand circumstances and projects not properly to be spoken of; but somehow, from a look, or a word, or a movement now and then, I had almost reached the opinion that Dr. Khayme was absolutely neutral between the contestants in the war of the rebellion. He never showed anxiety. The news of the Ball's Bluff disaster, which touched so keenly the heart of the North, and especially of Massachusetts, gave him no distress, to judge from his impassive face and his manner; yet it is but just to repeat that he showed great interest in every event directly relating to the existence of slavery. He commended the acts of General Butler in Virginia and General Fremont in Missouri, and hoped that the Southern leaders would impress all able-bodied slaves into some sort of service, so that they would become at least morally subject to the act of Congress, approved August 6, which declared all such persons discharged from previous servitude. In comparing my own attitude to the war with the Doctor's, I frequently thought that he cared nothing for the Union, and I cared everything; that he was concerned only in regard to human slavery, while I was willing for the States themselves to settle that matter; for I could see no constitutional power existing in the Congress or in the President to abolish or even mitigate slavery without the consent of the party of the first part. I was in the war not on account of slavery, certainly, but on account of the preservation of the Union; Dr. Khayme was in the war--so far as he was in it at all--not for the Union, but for the abolition of slavery.
On this night of February 6, the Doctor smoked and read and occasionally gave utterance to some thought.
"Jones," said he, "we are going to have news from the West; Grant advances."
"I trust he will have better luck than McDowell had," was my reply.
"He will; I don't know that he is a better general, but he has the help of the navy."
"But the rebels have their river batteries," said I.
"Yes, and these batteries are costly, and will prove insufficient; if the North succeeds in this war, and I see no reason to doubt her success if she will but determine to succeed, it will be through her navy."
I did not say anything to this. The Doctor smoked, Lydia sat looking dreamily at the door of the stove.
After a while I asked: "Why is it that we do not move? February is a spring month in the South."
The Doctor replied, "It is winter here, and the roads are bad."
"Is it not winter in Kentucky and Tennessee?"
"Grant has the help of the navy; McClellan will move when he gets the help of the navy."
"What good can the navy do between Washington and Richmond?"
"The James River flows by Richmond," said the Doctor.
I had already heard some talk of differences between our general and the President in regard to a removal of the Army of the Potomac to Fortress Monroe. I asked the Doctor if McClellan would advance on Richmond by the Peninsular route, as it was called.
"He will if he is allowed to do so," replied the Doctor; "at least," he added, "that is my opinion; in fact, I am so well convinced of it that I shall make preparation at once to remove my camp to some good place near Fort Monroe."
This intention was new to me, and it gave me great distress. What I should do with myself after the Doctor had gone, I did not know; I should get along somehow, of course, but I should miss my friends sadly.
"I am very sorry to hear it, Doctor," said I, speaking to him and looking at Lydia; her face was impervious.