Not wishing to begin my work by complaining, or reporting to the
surgeons these daily-recurring annoyances, I struggled to hold my own
and to break down opposition by patient endurance. But one morning the
"last straw" was added to my burden. I found my Georgia soldier
apparently dying,--breathing heavily, and as cold as death already.
His comrade was in great distress, but ready to do all in his power,
and together we went to work in earnest. I sent for brandy and a box
of mustard. Pouring through the white lips spoonful after spoonful of
the stimulant, rubbing hands, arms, and legs with mustard, applying
plasters of the same, as well as bottles of water, to restore warmth
to the body, I soon had the satisfaction of seeing a faint color tinge
the cheeks and lips,--the clammy sweat superseded by returning warmth.
Working earnestly, thinking of nothing but the human life that hung in
the balance, I failed to observe the presence of the most disagreeable
of the female nurses, who was standing, with "arms akimbo," looking
on, until, with an insulting leer, she remarked, "It seems to me ye're
taking great liberties _for an honest woman_." Paralyzed with surprise
and indignation, I knew not how to act. Just then the surgeon in
charge of the ward, who had been summoned, appeared.

After a hasty examination, "Madam," said he, "you have saved your
patient."

Leaving the case in his hands, I fled to my room, resolving never to
enter the hospital again. Forthwith I wrote my resignation, and
demanded transportation back to Alabama.

Meantime, the comrade of the sick man had reported to the surgeon the
whole matter. The next morning I received a visit from Surgeons
McAllister, Minor, and ---- (whose name I am sorry to have forgotten),