No doubt our Massachusetts
women would do the same kind of work should the emergency arise, but I cannot speak in too high praise of the women of Littletown.
They would dress the shattered arm of some poor boy, wash the blood from the wounds of another, thinking only of what they could do to relieve suffering.
It was like getting home.
My wounds were in a frightful condition.
They had not been dressed, and the maggots were crawling into them.
As soon as we were settled the ladies came to see what they could do. They were anxious to dress our wounds, but it required more hospital accommodations than the church afforded, so they washed our hands and faces, and made us as comfortable as possible.
A real motherly woman asked what I wanted to eat. I had eaten little except the chicken Billy
brought me, and when she said she had chicken broth, I said, “Bring me two or three.”
As soon as possible she came with a large pan full of broth, but the trouble was I could not sit up to eat it. At my suggestion she brought the prettiest girl in the room, who put her left arm around me and let me lean my head on her shoulder, while she fed me with the broth.
Oh, it was nice!
Either the broth or the young lady's presence revived me. My new friend's name was Lucy.
She said, “Don't take breakfast until I come, because I will bring yours from home.”
Bright and early Lucy was on hand with a pan of milk toast.
She had seen me eat the night before and had brought enough for six.
As she was called away for a few moments, I spoke to the boys who were near, and they soon reduced the surplus.
We remained here two days. While I had the best care they could give I was growing worse.
I had a high fever, and my wounds were getting inflamed.
At times I would lie