Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 11 (7 page)

 
          
           
"He will have a hard time of it, but I think he will pull through, as he
is a temperate fellow, with a splendid constitution," was the doctor's
verdict, as he left us for the next man, who was past help, with a bullet
through his lungs.

 
          
           
"I don'no as I hanker to live, and be a burden. If Jim was able to do for
mother, I feel as if I wouldn't mind steppin' out now I'm so fur along. As he
ain't, I s'pose I must brace up, and do the best I can," said Joe, as I
wiped the drops from his forehead, and tried to look as if his prospect was a
bright one.

 
          
           
"You will have Lucindy to help you, you know; and that will make things
easier for all."

 
          
           
"Think so
? '
Pears to me I couldn't ask her to
take care of three invalids for my sake. She ain't no folks of her own,
nor
much means, and ought to marry a man who can make things
easy for her. Guess I'll have to wait a spell longer before I say anything to
Lucindy about marryin' now;" and a look of resolute resignation settled on
Joe's haggard face as he gave up his dearest hope.

 
          
           
"I think Lucindy will have something to say, if she is like most women,
and you will find the burdens much lighter, for sharing them between you. Don't
worry about that, but get well, and go home as soon as you can."

 
          
           
"All right, ma'am;" and Joe proved himself a good soldier by obeying
orders, and falling asleep like a tired child, as the first step toward
recovery.

 
          
           
For two months I saw Joe daily, and learned to like him very much, he was so
honest, genuine, and kind-hearted. So did his mates, for he made friends with
them all by sharing such small luxuries as came to him, for he was a favorite;
and, better still, he made sunshine in that sad place by the brave patience
with which he bore his own troubles, the cheerful consolation he always gave to
others. A droll fellow was Joe at times, for under his sobriety lay much humor;
and I soon discovered that a visit from him was more efficacious than other
cordials in cases of despondency and discontent. Roars of laughter sometimes
greeted me as I went into his ward, and Joe's jokes were passed round as
eagerly as the water-pitcher.

 
          
           
Yet he had much to try him, not only in the ills that vexed his flesh, but the
cares that tried his spirit, and the future that lay before him, full of
anxieties and responsibilities which seemed so heavy now when the strong right
arm, that had cleared all obstacles away before,
was gone.
The letters I wrote for him, and those he
received,
told the little story very plainly; for he read them to me, and found much
comfort in talking over his affairs, as most men do when illness makes them
dependent on a woman. Jim was evidently sick and selfish. Lucindy, to judge
from the photograph cherished so tenderly under Joe's pillow, was a pretty,
weak sort of a girl, with little character or courage to help poor Joe with his
burdens. The old mother was very like her son, and stood by him "like a
hero," as he said, but was evidently failing, and begged him to come home
as soon as he was able, that she might see him comfortably settled before she
must leave him. Her courage sustained his, and the longing to see her hastened
his departure as soon as it was safe to let him go; for Lucindy's letters were
always of a dismal sort, and made him anxious to put his shoulder to the wheel.

 
          
           
"She always set consider'ble by me, mother did, bein' the oldest; and I
wouldn't miss makin' her last days happy, not if it cost me all the arms and
legs I've got," said Joe, as he awkwardly struggled into the big boots an
hour after leave to go home was given him.

 
          
           
It was pleasant to see his comrades gather round him with such hearty adieus
that his one hand must have tingled; to hear the good wishes and the thanks
called after him by pale creatures in their beds; and to find tears in many
eyes beside my own when he was gone, and nothing was left of him but the empty
cot, the old gray wrapper, and the name upon the wall.

 
          
           
I kept that card among my other relics, and hoped to meet Joe again somewhere
in the world. He sent me one or two letters, then I went home; the war ended
soon after, time passed, and the little story of my
Maine
lumberman was laid away with many other experiences which made that part of my
life a very memorable one.

 
          
           
Some years later, as I looked out of my window one dull November day, the only
cheerful thing I saw was the red cap of a messenger who was examining the slate
that hung on a wall opposite my hotel.
A tall man with gray
hair and beard, one arm, and a blue army-coat.
I always salute,
figuratively at least, when I see that familiar blue, especially if one sleeve
of the coat is empty; so I watched the messenger with interest as he trudged
away on some new errand, wishing he had a better day and a thicker pair of
boots. He was an unusually large, well-made man, and reminded me of a fine
building going to ruin before its time; for the broad shoulders were bent,
there was
a stiffness
about the long legs suggestive
of wounds or rheumatism, and the curly hair looked as if snow had fallen on it
too soon. Sitting at work in my window, I fell into the way of watching my Red
Cap, as I called him, with more interest than I did the fat doves on the roof
opposite, or the pert sparrows hopping in the mud below. I liked the steady way
in which he plodded on through fair weather or foul, as if intent on doing well
the one small service he had found to do. I liked his cheerful whistle as he
stood waiting for a job under the porch of the public building where his slate
hung, watching the luxurious carriages roll by, and the well-to-do gentlemen
who daily passed him to their comfortable homes, with a steady, patient sort of
face, as if wondering at the inequalities of fortune, yet neither melancholy
nor morose over the small share of prosperity which had fallen to his lot.

 
          
           
I often planned to give him a
job, that I might see him
nearer; but
 
 I had few errands, and little Bob,
the hall-boy, depended on doing
 
 those: so the winter was
nearly over before I found out that my Red
 
 Cap was an old friend.
 
 

 
          
           
A parcel came for me one day, and bidding the man wait for an answer, I sat
down to write it, while the messenger stood just inside the door like a
sentinel on duty. When I looked up to give my note and directions, I found the
man staring at me with a beaming yet bashful face, as he nodded, saying
heartily,—

 
          
           
"I mistrusted it was you, ma'am, soon's I see the name on the bundle, and
I guess I ain't wrong. It's a number of
years
sence we
met, and you don't remember Joe Collins as well as he does you, I reckon?"

 
          
           
"Why, how you have changed! I've been seeing you every day all winter, and
never knew you," I said, shaking hands with my old patient, and very glad
to see him.

 
          
           
"Nigh on to twenty years makes consid'able of a change in folks,
'specially
if they have a pretty hard row to hoe."

 
          
           
"Sit down and warm yourself while you tell me all about it; there is no
hurry for this answer, and I'll pay for your time."

 
          
           
Joe laughed as if that was a good joke, and sat down as if the fire was quite
as welcome as the friend.

 
          
           
"How are they all at home?" I asked, as he sat turning his cap round,
not quite knowing where to begin.

 
          
           
"I haven't got any home nor any folks neither;"
and the melancholy words banished the brightness from his rough face like a
cloud. "Mother died soon after I got back.
Suddin', but
she was ready, and I was there, so she was happy.
Jim lived a number of
years, and was a sight of care, poor feller; but we managed to rub along,
though we had to sell the farm: for I couldn't do much with one arm, and
doctor's bills right along stiddy take a heap of money. He was as comfortable
as he could be; and, when he was gone, it wasn't
no
great matter, for there was only me, and I don't mind roughin' it."

 
          
           
"But Lucindy, where was she?" I asked very naturally.

 
          
           
"Oh!
she
married another man long ago.
Couldn't expect her to take me and my misfortins.
She's doin'
well, I hear, and that's a comfort anyway."

 
          
           
There was a look on Joe's face, a tone in Joe's voice as he
spoke,
that
plainly showed how much he had needed comfort when left to bear his
misfortunes all alone. But he made no complaint, uttered no reproach, and
loyally excused Lucindy's desertion with a simple sort of dignity that made it
impossible to express pity or condemnation.

 
          
           
"How came you here, Joe?" I asked, making a sudden leap from past to
present.

 
          
           
"I had to scratch for a livin', and can't do much: so, after tryin' a
number of things, I found this. My old wounds pester me a good deal, and
rheumatism is bad winters; but, while my legs hold out, I can git on. A man
can't set down and starve; so I keep waggin' as long as I can. When I can't do
no more, I s'pose there's almshouse and hospital ready for me."

 
          
           
"That is a dismal prospect, Joe. There ought to be a comfortable place for
such as you to spend your last days in. I am sure you have earned it."

 
          
           
"Wal, it does seem ruther hard on us when we've give all we had, and give
it free and hearty, to be left to knock about in our old age. But there's so
many poor folks to be took care of, we don't get much of a chance, for
we
ain't the beggin' sort," said
Joe, with a wistful look at the wintry world outside, as if it would be better
to lie quiet under the snow, than to drag out his last painful years,
friendless and forgotten, in some refuge of the poor.

 
          
           
"Some kind people have been talking of a home for soldiers, and I hope the
plan will be carried out. It will take time; but, if it comes to pass, you
shall be one of the first men to enter that home, Joe, if I can get you
there."

 
          
           
"That sounds mighty cheerin' and comfortable, thanky,
ma'am.
Idleness is dreadful tryin' to me, and I'd rather wear out than
rust out; so I guess I can weather it a spell longer. But it will be pleasant
to look forrard to a snug harbor bymeby. I feel a sight better just hearin'
tell about it." He certainly looked so, faint as the hope was; for the
melancholy eyes brightened as if they already saw a happier refuge in the
future than almshouse, hospital, or grave, and, when he trudged away upon my
errand, he went as briskly as if every step took him nearer to the promised
home.

 
          
           
After that day it was all up with Bob, for I told my neighbors Joe's
story,
and we kept him trotting busily, adding little gifts,
and taking the sort of interest in him that comforted the lonely fellow, and made
him feel that he had not outlived his usefulness. I never looked out when he
was at his post that he did not smile back at me; I never passed him in the
street that the red cap was not touched with a military flourish; and, when any
of us beckoned to him, no twinge of rheumatism was too sharp to keep him from
hurrying to do our errands, as if he had Mercury's winged feet.

 
          
           
Now and then he came in for a chat, and always asked how the Soldiers' Home was
prospering; expressing his opinion that "
Boston
was the charitablest city under the sun, and he was sure he and his mates would
be took care of somehow."

 
          
           
When we parted in the spring, I told him things looked hopeful, bade him be
ready for a good long rest as soon as the hospitable doors were open, and left
him nodding cheerfully.