[318] thus attempt to subdue and control the anguish of his wounds, by whistling up the bright memories of home, soon became a prime favorite in the hospital, where he was long detained by the severity of his wounds. βHis left arm,β says Miss Dunlap,
was terribly shattered, just below the shoulder, and injuring the shoulder blade; and for a long time his case was a very critical one, requiring the most close and constant watching. He was entirely confined to his bed for many tedious weeks, and yet I know not why I should apply that term to the time so passed; for they were certainly never tedious to us, although we felt great anxiety for him, and we never had any proof that they were so to him. Patient and uncomplaining, the only sign he gave of suffering, save the contraction of his brow, was the constant effort to whistle away the pain, and his moans in his sleep. There was always something inexpressibly sad to me in these moans; it seemed as though the body were compensating itself, during sleep, for the powerful restraint imposed upon it during waking hours. I have rarely seen greater unselfishness in any one. During his illness, it was all-important to keep up his strength, for as the wound began to heal, one abscess followed another, and kept him much prostrated; we, therefore, tried to tempt his appetite in every way; and often, when I have brought him some delicacy, he has pointed me to some one near him, with the words: β Please give it to him; he cares for such things more than I do.β His love for his mother, and anxiety to spare her all unnecessary suffering on his account, was very
