Fannie A. Beers, Memories: a record of personal exeperience and adventure during four years of war.

Arrived at the tent, which at that hour was rather dark, I lifted the flap to enter, but was arrested by a piteous cry from the patient, who lay facing the entrance. ‘For God's sake keep out that light,’ said he, ‘it hurts my eyes.’ The nurse said, ‘It's masles he has, ma'am.’ So I concluded the pained eyes were not unusual.

Approaching the bunk, and taking the patient's hand, I found he had a raging fever. But when I placed my hand upon his forehead, and felt the dreadful pustules thickly covering it, my heart almost ceased to beat. An unreasoning terror overpowered me; my impulse was to flee at once from that infected tent. But I must not give any alarm, so I simply said to the nurse, ‘I will go to Dr. Beatty for some medicine; let no one enter this tent until I come back.’ Dr. Beatty was not yet out of his cabin, but receiving my urgent message, soon appeared. I said, ‘Doctor, in tent No.—there is a very sick man; can we look at the books and learn what diagnosis his surgeon has made?’ We went to the office, found the patient's name and number: diagnosis,—Measles. I then said, ‘Dr. Beatty, it is not measles, but, I fear, smallpox.’ At once, the doctor strode off, followed closely by myself. As before, the tent was dark. ‘Lift those flaps high,’ said the surgeon. It was done, and there lay before us a veritable case of smallpox.

Dr. Beatty's entire calmness and self-possession quite restored my own. Said he, ‘I must have time to consult my surgeons, to determine what is to be done. Meanwhile, retire to your cabin. You will hear from me when matters are arranged.’

The next few hours were for me fraught with fearful anxiety and uncertainty,—yes, uncertainty,—for (to my shame, let it be recorded) I actually debated in my own mind whether or not to desert these unfortunate boys of