SAVED BY LEMONADE.
THE many-colored signal lights of the fleet of steamers at Milliken’s Bend, and the bright camp-fires on the land, that glowed with such unwonted splendor in the gloaming, soon all faded out of sight as our boat steamed away toward St. Louis; and soon the black curtain of night shut us in with its thick heavy folds like a funeral pall, and our fight with disease and death began in earnest.
Never before in the history of wars, so full of untold agonies, did the timbers of a steamer bear up such a burden of pain, despair, and death, as did theCity of Memphisas she steamed away from Sherman’s army. Wherever there was room for a sick or wounded soldier, on the cabin floor without mattress or pillow, in the staterooms, under the stateroom berths, out on the guards, on the top, or hurricane deck, on the lower deck, every space was filled with sore, weary, aching human bodies, mangled or fever-smitten. Of the seven hundred and fifty sick and wounded on board, about twenty-five were delirious; and theirpitiful cries mingled with the whirr of the wheels, and the splash of the waters, as the monster boat, with its heart of fire and its breath of steam, pulled heavily against the mighty tides of the Mississippi River, were heart-breaking. No one who was on that boat can ever forget that first night out. Nor can I be charged with over-drawing the picture. No pencil can paint it black enough.
Nothing has ever haunted my waking and sleeping dreams, not even the ghastly scenes of the battle-field, as the memory of the concentrated horrors of that journey. The groans and cries of the wounded and dying still ring through my soul; and from feelings of compassion I draw the curtain over the darkest scenes, that even at this distance make me shudder, and give to my readers only the more pleasant incidents of the journey, which was in truth a funeral march.
One man lying on the floor of the ladies’ cabin on his blanket, with his fever-racked head on his knapsack, gave me such an appealing look that I went to him.
“What can I do for you?” I inquired.
“You can write to my wife if you get through alive, and tell her I died on theCity of Memphis.”
“While there is life there is hope. You are not dead yet, and may not die.”
“Oh, yes, I will! there is no chance for me.Now take down her name,” and he gave me the name and address of his wife.
“Now I must do something to help you,” I said. “Could you drink a cup of tea?”
“No, nothing—it’s too late.”
“Could you drink a glass of lemonade?”
How his face brightened! “Where could you get it?” he asked eagerly.
“Make it. I have lemons and sugar, and there is a whole river full of water at hand.”
The poor man cried with joy; and others wept, too, as they drank the refreshing beverage, for, providentially, I had a heavy lot of lemons with me.
The patient began to mend at once, and by the time we reached Cairo was able to sit up.
Years afterwards I was on a Mississippi River steamer bound for St. Louis, when I noticed a lady and gentleman regarding me with some interest, and heard the gentleman say,—
“I am sure it is she.”
The lady came directly to me, with the question,—
“Did you come up the Mississippi River on theCity of Memphiswith the wounded after Sherman’s defeat?”
“Yes, I did.”
“It’s she! It’s she!” the lady exclaimed joyfully, much to the amusement of some of the passengers who had not heard the question.
The gentleman joined us, and made himself known as the man who started the lemonade treat on that doleful night. “That saved my life,” he said reverently.
“I want you to know,” said his wife, with tears on her face, “that we have never for a day forgotten you, though we did not know your name. We prayed for you as the unknown lady; and the children were taught to end their evening prayer with, ‘and God bless the unknown lady that saved papa’s life.’”
It was a very happy and pleasant meeting, although purely accidental.