And the dear bright eyes of long-dead friends
Come to the heart again.
They come with the ringing bugle
And the deep drum's mellow roar,
Till the soul is faint with longing
For the hands we clasp no more!
Oh, band in the pine-wood cease
Or the heart will melt in tears,
For the gallant eyes and the smiling lips
And the voices of old years!
When, at last, we were released from durance vile, the Confederate army had retreated. Of course, the hospitals must follow it. By this time my health was completely broken down. The rigors of the winter, the incessant toil, the bard rations had done their work well. I was no longer fit to nurse the sick. In February I left the camp, intending to go for a while wherever help was needed, relying upon a change to recuperate my exhausted energies.
But from that time there was so much irregularity as far as hospital organization was concerned that one scarcely knew how best to serve the sick. Besides, the presence of a lady had become embarrassing to the surgeons in charge of hospitals, who, while receiving orders one day which were likely to be countermanded the next, often having to send their stores, nurses, etc., to one place while they awaited orders in another, could find no time to provide quarters and sustenance for a lady. As an illustration of this state of things, I will here give an extract from a letter addressed to me after the war by Dr. McAllister, of the ‘Buckner Hospital.’
I was ordered late in November to Gainesville, Alabama; before reaching that place, my orders were
