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PRIVATE LETTERS.
LTHOUGH the Spanish-American War
is so recent an epoch that it scarcely
need be recalled to our readers, yet it
is of interest to note through the me
dium of the following “letters” just
what it meant to a conservative south
ern city to have its placid and restrict
ed social life suddenly enlarged and
A
- —J altered by the advent of thousands of
soldiers. The (Southern instinct of hospitality
struggled with the inherited tendency to regard a
private soldier as belonging to the social as well
as the military’ “rank and file” and it was diffi
cult to assign a proper place to the “volunteer”
who differed so widely from a “regular” private.
Something of this problem is shown in the “let
ters” here given as well as the solution for it
found in the ease in point.
Savannah, Ga., Nov. 20, 1898.
You are right, my dearest Madge—l should not
send you such a doleful letter as was my last, but
indeed you have no idea of my disappointment at
this unexpected situation. Here I was saying,
“Blessed Bronchitis,” which would gain your
mother’s consent to a winter spent with me in
this ideal southern clime, and all my preparations
are made for giving you a gloriously good time,
when here comes your pathetic little note telling
me of your bicycle accident which will keep you in
your room for weeks or maybe months! To think
of the chance of there being small bones broken
in that dainty ankle of yours is i 1 ’eed terrible—
but I won’t believe it, for I know with a few weeks’
rest you will be all right again. Now, I shall do
my part toward helping you keep cheerful as the
doctor ordered, and I will send you every particle
of news from these parts. Os course the advent of
the .Seventh Army Corps to this town has enlivened
things up as they never have been enlivened before.
We girls are all interested in the soldier boys al
though I myself am less so than most of them —
you see I have been thrown with the “regulars”
so much that I am not quite fascinated with the
omnipresent private soldier. But our house faces
the parade ground and we have a fine view of all
the military maneuvres, so I can not help showing
a semblance of interest. Especially as Captain
Watson of the —the Illinois has been really very
nice to me. He had letters to father, you know,
and I believe he will remain in the service even
after this little brush with Spain is a thing of the
past. Well, dear gjrl, I am down for a wheel ride
myself out to the camp, so must stop.
Yours devotedly and disappointedly,
Ethel R. M.
December Ist, 1898.
Madge —dear girl—do forgive me for my silence.
I had no idea of waiting so long before writing,
but the days have been full to overflowing. The
soldiers and the work for their entertainment have
kept us all busy and promise to continue to do so
for the coming months. Our Thanksgiving dinner
out at camp was a huge success. Really, Madge,
dear, it is no light undertaking to feed 13,000 men
and yet the women folk of this town did just that.
I was assigned to “special” duty for Captain Wals
ton’s regiment, and that gentleman in turn gave
me a most charming—no, not that —I should say a
most able —assistant, a young private soldier who
is handsome and much to my surprise seemed
quite “to the manor born” —not the “manner”
of a private soldier, either, as the “regulars” re
gard such. I almost giasped with astonishment when
he said something about an “entree.” Os course I
must get used to the rank and file of the Volunteer
army being composed of the “best blood of the
country,” as the reporters say, but it is a little
hard to adjust myself to it. Well, our Thanksgiv
ing day was a great success, as have been the nu
merous entertainments given under the auspices of
the Y. M. C. A. for the soldiers. I have sung in
several of these and my efforts seem much appre
ciated. At the last entertainment I was handed
a bountiful bunch of “Jack” roses—no card was
attached and I supposed they came from the Cap
tain until I caught a glimpse of a tiny “Jack”
The Golden Aje for March 14, IM7.
bud pinned on the coat of the private who helped
me at the Thanksgiving dinner —his name is Wal
ter Brownlow —not very romantic, but he has the
finest eyes —however, the niece of a General in the
Regular Army should never give too many thoughts
even to a volunteer private—so please forget this.
I do hope the poor foot progresses favorably and
that 1 may have you here after Christmas. Dear
Madge, I am,
Ever fondly yours, E.
January 17th. 1899. (Sunday.)
My Dearest Madge:—
Thank Heaven that foot is getting well and that
1 may soon have you with me. I fear lam getting
into very deep water and I do want your advice.
I can not tell a soul here, but I must tell you. I
have taken to visiting the hospitals this winter —
in fact had done so even before the soldiers came,
but I confess it has been more thrilling since the
encampment. Well, on Sunday last I was a little
surprised and considerably shocked to find any
number of these gallant boys had succumbed to the
genuine old-fashioned typhoid—caused by the cli
mate, the bad water, etc., the doctors say, but the
effect is disastrous. I have spoken to any number
of patients. Only privates /go into the general
wards, you know, but these privates have seemed
wonderfully well-bred fellows. Several times I
have met Walter B. visiting his comrades, but we
have only exchanged a few words. This evening,
however, I was later than usual and when I left the
ward a sudden storm had gathered and the wind
blew furiously while the rain clouds darkened the
air. 1 was perplexed for I had on my lovely new
hat —all plumes, you know, and it would have been
ruined by the rain. I could not worry those busy
hospital people about lending me an umbrella, and
when I stood on the top step of the long flight
leading into the street, pondering as to “my best
move,” up came “Private Brownlow,” and in the
courtliest manner possible offered me the use of his
umbrella. I accepted it gladly, but soon found
it was too much for me to manage in that fierce
wind, so I was just preparing to close the huge
affair when up stepped its owner with a polite offer
to carry it for me! I did not hesitate long in
thanking him nor in giving him the desired permis
sion, for the rain had begun to fall in torrents and
1 was two long blocks away from my trolley. We
walked together in the winter* dusk without a word
passing between us, and oh, Madge, I guess I
am a snob, for I did pray that no one would see
us! These girls here have become so adept in the
language of the shoulder strap that tiie first thing
they do when they see a soldier is to glance at
his shoulder. My cavalier’s arm was bare enough,
and so you can imagine that I was not overjoyed
to see Belle Read’s coupe driving toward me, nor
to hear Belle herself beg me to seek shelter there
in. I didn’t want to, but of course I had to get in
and parry as best I could her questions as to the
identity of the “man I was with.” Well, any way,
he is a true gentleman, private soldier
or not, and 1 like him! That is more than I can
say of Belle Read —I never did care for her and
you won’t either, I am sure.
Yours ever fondly. E.
February 2, 1899.
Oh! Madge, my dearest girl! I can not begin to
tell you all that has happened, but I will write at
least a little. It seems a thousand vears since mv
• • • *
last letter to you, but that is because 1 have
“counted time by heart throbs,” and I’ve had a
lot of those! But things have happened besides
heart throbs, too. You said my hospital visiting
was “romantic,” and yon were right, though hon
estly, I had no such idea, for I only hoped to help
or comfort those soldier boys a little; they were so
far from hoilie and many of them were so young.
But to tell you my story —a few days after my last
to you I was again at St. Andrews’ Hospital. The
wards were more crowded than ever and what is
most ominous, there were a number of white
screens around the beds. This means, you know,
that the patient so surrounded is dangerously ill,
dying, perhaps, and the screen is to shield them
from visitors or the other patients. I noticed the
number of these white danger signals and spoke to
the sister in charge about them. “Yes,” she said,
“we have some bad cases; there is one young man
who is very low, indeed,” and she pointed to a
nearby screen. “I am so sorry,” I replied, “but
of course, I can do nothing there.” “I fear not,
my dear,” said Sister Agnes; “but you have helped
many of our boys and we thank you for it —this
one is too ill try be talked to, however,” and we
moved away. A little while later I was seated in
(he woman’s ward beside one of my favorite
“chronics.” when -Sister Agnes came up to me
and said: “Miss Morris, will you go down to the
ward arain? The patient near whose bed we stood
has asked to .see you; we can not refuse him any
thing, poor boy, he may not want much more!”
Os course I went, and oh, “the patient” was Walter
Brownlow —or a pale wraith of himself —lying
behind that •screen, with gaunt face and hollow
eyes, but with, still a shadow of his brave smile.
1 could not speak and so just held out my hand,
which he grasped eagerly and said at once:
“Please pardon me, but I heard your voice speak
ing to Sister Agnes and I did so want to see you.
I know that this, pointing to the screen, means
that I .am nearly done for and T want you to write
to my people —will you? You have done that for
a lot of fellows and I want .you to do it for me.”
‘Of course I will,” I answered, “but you must
not be discouraged about yourself—you will pull
through all right.”
“No, I fear not; but it’s good to hear you say
so. I am not ready to go and didn’t fancy I would
this way. It’s rather tame after the glory we all
dreamed of. but never mind that. I want you to
write to my mother—here is the address,” and al
ready he seemed iso tired that I hurried away.
That was several days ago and he still lingers,
which they say is a good sign. I have seen him for
a moment each day, and Madge, Sister Agnes says
he is always better for my visits. As for me—
well, I somehow won’t let those visits be classed
under the head of pure “philanthropy”!
You told me to amuse you with army happenings
and 1 am obeying you. Thank fortune you are
doing so well —now at last you will come to
Yours ever lovingly, Ethel R. M.
March I—(Tuesday.)l—(Tuesday.)
Just a tiny note, my precious Madge, to prepare
you for what you will find when you get here! Yes,
it is quite true —I am really engaged and not to
Capt. Watson, as everybody predicted—but to his
orderly, Walter Brownlow! Perhaps you are not
surprised, but then you have shared my confidence.
I am not insane, as Belle Read suggested, either —•
but I am a very happy girl. Walter is—but you
know what all engaged girls say and I’ve always
said I would not rave over my fiancee, only Walter
is most unusually charming. Just think of his en
tering the Volunteer service as a private because
he thought there was more need for him in the
ranks —I learned all about him in the days of his
convalescence. Ou',r friendship seemed to begin
when his mother failed to answer my letter, and
I felt so sorry for the poor boy. You know the
old adage about pity, etc. At any rate, Walter
and I had arranged everything before the letter
came. His mother had been away from home and
Ihe letter followed her around considerably. When
her answer did come I saw at once from the crest
on her note paper as well as from the general tone
of her letter that Walter was of gentle blood as
he had already proven himself to be of gentle
breeding.
I don’t care a snap for shoulder straps —he is
every inch a man and a gentleman, and to my mind
his brave battle with death in a dreary hospital
ward, miles away from home and friends, was just
as much a hero’s act as though he had facet a
Mauser bullet in Cuba! Thank Heaven he didn’t,
and that “the fortunes of war” cast him here in
stead. I long for you to know him. dear, so hurry
as fast as steam and that mended ankle will let
you to
Yours lovingly and happily, Ethel.
—ESTEY DEE.
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