The Death of John

by Louisa May Alcott

　　

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Hardly was I settled again, when the inevitable bowl appeared, andits bearer delivered a message I had expected, yet dreaded toreceive:--"John is going, ma'am, and wants to see you, if you can come.""The moment this boy is asleep; tell him so, and let me know if I amin danger of being too late."My Ganymede departed, and while I quieted poor Shaw, I thought ofJohn. He came in a day or two after the others; and, one evening,when I entered my "pathetic room," I found a lately emptied bedoccupied by a large, fair man, with a fine face, and the serenesteyes I ever met. One of the earlier comers had often spoken of afriend, who had remained behind, that those apparently worse woundedthan himself might reach a shelter first. It seemed a David andJonathan sort of friendship. The man fretted for his mate, and wasnever tired of praising John,--his courage, sobriety, self-denial,and unfailing kindliness of heart; always winding up with, "He's anout an' out fine feller, ma'am; you see if he ain't."I had some curiosity to behold this piece of excellence, and when hecame, watched him for a night or two, before I made friends withhim; for, to tell the truth, I was a little afraid of the statelylooking man, whose bed had to be lengthened to accommodate hiscommanding stature; who seldom spoke, uttered no complaint, asked nosympathy, but tranquilly observed what went on about him; and, as helay high upon his pillows, no picture of dying statesman or warriorwas ever fuller of real dignity than this Virginia blacksmith. Amost attractive face he had, framed in brown hair and beard, comelyfeatured and full of vigor, as yet unsubdued by pain; thoughtful andoften beautifully mild while watching the afflictions of others, asif entirely forgetful of his own. His mouth was grave and firm, withplenty of will and courage in its lines, but a smile could make itas sweet as any woman's; and his eyes were child's eyes, looking onefairly in the face with a clear, straightforward glance, whichpromised well for such as placed their faith in him. He seemed tocling to life, as if it were rich in duties and delights, and he hadlearned the secret of content. The only time I saw his composuredisturbed was when my surgeon brought another to examine John, whoscrutinized their faces with an anxious look, asking of theelder,--"Do you think I shall pull through, sir?" "I hope so, myman." And, as the two passed on, John's eye still followed them,with an intentness which would have won a clearer answer from them,had they seen it. A momentary shadow flitted over his face; thencame the usual serenity, as if, in that brief eclipse, he hadacknowledged the existence of some hard possibility, and, askingnothing, yet hoping all things, left the issue in God's hands, withthat submission which is true piety.The next night, as I went my rounds with Dr. P., I happened to askwhich man in the room probably suffered most; and, to my greatsurprise, he glanced at John:--"Every breath he draws is like a stab; for the ball pierced the leftlung, broke a rib, and did no end of damage here and there; so thepoor lad can find neither forgetfulness nor ease, because he mustlie on his wounded back or suffocate. It will be a hard struggle anda long one, for he possesses great vitality; but even his temperatelife can't save him; I wish it could.""You don't mean he must die, Doctor?""Bless you, there's not the slightest hope for him; and you'd bettertell him so before long; women have a way of doing such thingscomfortably, so I leave it to you. He won't last more than a day ortwo, at furthest."I could have sat down on the spot and cried heartily, if I had notlearned the wisdom of bottling up one's tears for leisure moments.Such an end seemed very hard for such a man, when half a dozenworn-out, worthless bodies round him were gathering up the remnantsof wasted lives, to linger on for years perhaps, burdens to others,daily reproaches to themselves. The army needed men likeJohn,--earnest, brave, and faithful; fighting for liberty andjustice with both heart and hand, true soldiers of the Lord. I couldnot give him up so soon, or think with any patience of so excellenta nature robbed of its fulfilment, and blundered into eternity bythe rashness or stupidity of those at whose hands so many lives maybe required. It was an easy thing for Dr. P. to say, "Tell him hemust die," but a cruelly hard thing to do, and by no means as"comfortable" as he politely suggested. I had not the heart to do itthen, and privately indulged the hope that some change for thebetter might take place, in spite of gloomy prophecies, so,rendering my task unnecessary. A few minutes later, as I came inagain with fresh rollers, I saw John sitting erect, with no one tosupport him, while the surgeon dressed his back. I had neverhitherto seen it done; for, having simpler wounds to attend to, andknowing the fidelity of the attendant, I had left John to him,thinking it might be more agreeable and safe; for both strength andexperience were needed in his case. I had forgotten that the strongman might long for the gentler tendance of a woman's hands, thesympathetic magnetism of a woman's presence, as well as the feeblersouls about him. The Doctor's words caused me to reproach myselfwith neglect, not of any real duty perhaps, but of those littlecares and kindnesses that solace homesick spirits, and make theheavy hours pass easier. John looked lonely and forsaken just then,as he sat with bent head, hands folded on his knee, and no outwardsign of suffering, till, looking nearer, I saw great tears roll downand drop upon the floor. It was a new sight there; for though I hadseen many suffer, some swore, some groaned, most endured silently,but none wept. Yet it did not seem weak, only very touching, andstraightway my fear vanished, my heart opened wide and took him in,as, gathering the bent head in my arms, as freely as if he had beena little child, I said,--"Let me help you bear it, John."Never, on any human countenance, have I seen so swift and beautifula look of gratitude, surprise, and comfort, as that which answeredme more eloquently than the whispered,--"Thank you ma'am; this is right good! this is what I wanted!""Then why not ask for it before?""I didn't like to be a trouble; you seemed so busy, and I couldmanage to get on alone.""You shall not want it any more, John."Nor did he; for now I understood the wistful look that sometimesfollowed me, as I went out, after a brief pause beside his bed, ormerely a passing nod, while busied with those who seemed to need memore than he, because more urgent in their demands; now I knew thatto him, as to so many, I was the poor substitute for mother, wife,or sister, and in his eyes no stranger, but a friend who hithertohad seemed neglectful; for, in his modesty, he had never guessed thetruth. This was changed now; and, through the tedious operation ofprobing, bathing, and dressing his wounds, he leaned against me,holding my hand fast, and, if pain wrung further tears from him, noone saw them fall but me. When he was laid down again, I hoveredabout him, in a remorseful state of mind that would not let me rest,till I had bathed his face, brushed his "bonny brown hair," set allthings smooth about him, and laid a knot of heath and heliotrope onhis clean pillow. While doing this, he watched me with the satisfiedexpression I so linked to see; and when I offered the littlenosegay, held it carefully in his great hand, smoothed a ruffledleaf or two, surveyed and smelt it with an air of genuine delight,and lay contentedly regarding the glimmer of the sunshine on thegreen. Although the manliest man among my forty, he said, "Yes,ma'am," like a little boy; received suggestions for his comfort withthe quick smile that brightened his whole face; and now and then, asI stood tidying the table by his bed, I felt him softly touch mygown, as if to assure himself that I was there. Anything morenatural and frank I never saw, and found this brave John as bashfulas brave, yet full of excellences and fine aspirations, which,having no power to express themselves in words, seemed to havebloomed into his character and made him what he was.After that night, an hour of each evening that remained to him wasdevoted to his ease or pleasure. He could not talk much, for breathwas precious, and he spoke in whispers; but from occasionalconversations, I gleaned scraps of private history which only addedto the affection and respect I felt for him. Once he asked me towrite a letter, and, as I settled pen and paper, I said, with anirrepressible glimmer of feminine curiosity, "Shall it be addressedto wife, or mother, John?""Neither, ma'am; I've got no wife, and will write to mother myselfwhen I get better. Did you think I was married because of this?" heasked, touching a plain ring he wore, and often turned thoughtfullyon his finger when he lay alone."Partly that, but more from a settled sort of look you have,--a lookwhich young men seldom get until they marry.""I don't know that; but I'm not so very young, ma'am; thirty in Mayand have been what you might call settled this ten years; formother's a widow; I'm the oldest child she has, and it wouldn't dofor me to marry until Lizzie has a home of her own, and Laurie'slearned his trade; for we're not rich, and I must be father to thechildren, and husband to the dear old woman, if I can.""No doubt but you are both, John; yet how came you to go to war, ifyou felt so? Wasn't enlisting as bad as marrying?""No, ma'am, not as I see it, for one is helping my neighbor, theother pleasing myself. I went because I couldn't help it. I didn'twant the glory or the pay; I wanted the right thing done, and peoplekept saying the men who were in earnest ought to flight. I was inearnest, the Lord knows! but I held off as long as I could, notknowing which was my duty; mother saw the case, gave me her ring tokeep me steady, and said 'Go;' so I went."A short story and a simple one, but the man and the mother wereportrayed better than pages of fine writing could have done it."Do you ever regret that you came, when you lie here suffering somuch?""Never ma'am; I haven't helped a great deal, but I've shown I waswilling to give my life, and perhaps I've got to; but I don't blameanybody, and if it was to do over again, I'd do it. I'm a littlesorry I wasn't wounded in front; it looks cowardly to be hit in theback, but I obeyed orders, and it doesn't matter in the end, Iknow."Poor John! it did not matter now, except that a shot in front mighthave spared the long agony in store for him. He seemed to read thethought that troubled me, as he spoke so hopefully when there was nohope, for he suddenly added,--"This is my first battle; do they think it's going to be my last?""I'm afraid they do, John."It was the hardest question I had ever been called upon to answer;doubly hard with those clear eyes fixed on mine, forcing a truthfulanswer by their own truth. He seemed a little startled at first,pondered over the fateful fact a moment, then shook his head, with aglance at the broad chest and muscular limbs stretched out beforehim:--"I'm not afraid, but it's difficult to believe all at once. I'm sostrong it don't seem possible for such a little wound to kill me."Merry Mercutio's dying words glanced through my memory as hespoke:--"'Tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door,but 'tis enough." And John would have said the same, could he haveseen the ominous black holes between his shoulders, he never had;and, seeing the ghastly sights about him, could not believe his ownwound more fatal than these, for all the suffering it caused him."Shall I write to your mother, now?" I asked, thinking that thesesudden tidings might change all plans and purposes; but they didnot; for the man received the order of the Divine Commander tomarch, with the same unquestioning obedience with which the soldierhad received that of the human one, doubtless remembering that thefirst led him to life, and the last to death."No, ma'am; to Laurie just the same; he'll break it to her best, andI'll add a line to her myself when you get done."So I wrote the letter which he dictated, finding it better than anyI had sent; for, though here and there a little ungrammatical orinelegant, each sentence came to me briefly worded, but mostexpressive; full of excellent counsel to the boy, tenderly"bequeathing mother and Lizzie" to his care, and bidding him good-byin words the sadder for their simplicity. He added a few lines withsteady hand, and, as I sealed it, said, with a patient sort of sigh,"I hope the answer will come in time for me to see it;" then,turning away his face, laid the flowers against his lips, as if tohide some quiver of emotion at the thought of such a suddensundering of all the dear home-ties.These things had happened two days before; now John was dying, andthe letter had not come. I had been summoned to many death-beds inmy life, but to none that made my heart ache as it did then, sincemy mother called me to watch the departure of a spirit akin to thisin its gentleness and patient strength. As I went in, John stretchedout both hands,--"I knew you'd come! I guess I'm moving on, ma'am."He was; and so rapidly that, even while he spoke, over his face Isaw the gray veil falling that no human hand can lift. I sat down byhim, wiped the drops from his forehead, stirred the air about himwith the slow wave of a fan, and waited to help him die. He stood insore need of help,--and I could do so little; for, as the doctor hadforetold, the strong body rebelled against death, and fought everyinch of the way, forcing him to draw each breath with a spasm, andclench his hands with an imploring look, as if he asked, "How longmust I endure this, and be still?" For hours he suffered dumbly,without a moment's respite, or a moment's murmuring; his limbs grewcold, his face damp, his lips white, and, again and again, he torethe covering off his breast, as if the lightest weight added to hisagony; yet through it all, his eyes never lost their perfectserenity, and the man's soul seemed to sit therein, undaunted by theills that vexed his flesh.One by one the men woke, and round the room appeared a circle ofpale faces and watchful eyes, full of awe and pity; for, though astranger, John was beloved by all. Each man there had wondered athis patience, respected his piety, admired his fortitude, and nowlamented his hard death; for the influence of an upright nature hadmade itself deeply felt, even in one little week. Presently, theJonathan who so loved this comely David came creeping from his bedfor a last look and word. The kind soul was full of trouble, as thechoke in his voice, the grasp of his hand betrayed; but there wereno tears, and the farewell of the friends was the more touching forits brevity."Old boy, how are you?" faltered the one."Most through, thank heaven!" whispered the other."Can I say or do anything for you anywheres?""Take my things home, and tell them that I did my best.""I will! I will!""Good-by, Ned.""Good-by, John, good-by!"They kissed each other, tenderly as women, and so parted; for poorNed could not stay to see his comrade die. For a little while, therewas no sound in the room but the drip of water from a stump or two,and John's distressful gasps, as he slowly breathed his life away. Ithought him nearly gone, and had just laid down the fan, believingits help to be no longer needed, when suddenly he rose up in hisbed, and cried out with a bitter cry that broke the silence, sharplystartling every one with its agonized appeal,--"For God's sake, give me air!"It was the only cry pain or death had wrung from him, the only boonhe had asked; and none of us could grant it, for all the airs thatblew were useless now. Dan flung up the window. The first red streakof dawn was warming the gray east, a herald of the coming sun. Johnsaw it, and with the love of light which lingers in us to the end,seemed to read in it a sign of hope of help, for, over his wholeface there broke that mysterious expression, brighter than anysmile, which often comes to eyes that look their last. He laidhimself gently down; and, stretching out his strong right arm, as ifto grasp and bring the blessed air to his lips in a fuller flow,lapsed into a merciful unconsciousness, which assured us that forhim suffering was forever past. He died then; for, though the heavybreaths still tore their way up for a little longer, they were butthe waves of an ebbing tide that beat unfelt against the wreck,which an immortal voyager had deserted with a smile. He never spokeagain, but to the end held my hand close, so close that when he wasasleep at last, I could not draw it away. Dan helped me, warning meas he did so, that it was unsafe for dead and living flesh to lie solong together; but though my hand was strangely cold and stiff, andfour white marks remained across its back, even when warmth andcolor had returned elsewhere, I could not but be glad that, throughits touch, the presence of human sympathy, perhaps, had lightenedthat hard hour.When they had made him ready for the grave, John lay in state forhalf an hour, a thing which seldom happened in that busy place; buta universal sentiment of reverence and affection seemed to fill thehearts of all who had known or heard of him; and when the rumor ofhis death went through the house, always astir, many came to seehim, and I felt a tender sort of pride in my lost patient; for helooked a most heroic figure, lying there stately and still as thestatue of some young knight asleep upon his tomb. The lovelyexpression which so often beautifies dead faces soon replaced themarks of pain, and I longed for those who loved him best to see himwhen half an hour's acquaintance with Death had made them friends.As we stood looking at him, the ward master handed me a letter,saying it had been forgotten the night before. It was John's letter,come just an hour too late to gladden the eyes that had longed andlooked for it so eagerly; yet he had it; for, after I had cut somebrown locks for his mother, and taken off the ring to send her,telling how well the talisman had done its work, I kissed this goodson for her sake, and laid the letter in his hand, still folded aswhen I drew my own away, feeling that its place was there, andmaking myself happy with the thought, even in his solitary place inthe "Government Lot," he would not be without some token of the lovewhich makes life beautiful and outlives death. Then I left him, gladto have known so genuine a man, and carrying with me an enduringmemory of the brave Virginia blacksmith, as he lay serenely waitingfor the dawn of that long day which knows no night.

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The Death of John was featured as TheShort Story of the Day on Sat, Jan 18, 2014

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