Jennie spent an hour each day ministering to the sick prisoners who had
returned from the North and were unable to go further than Richmond. It
was her service of love for Jimmie's friends and comrades.
A poor fellow was dying of the want he had endured in prison. He lifted
his dimmed eyes to hers:
"Will you write to my wife for me, Miss?"
"Yes--yes--I will."
"And give her my love--"
He paused for breath and fumbled in his pocket.
"I've a letter from her here--read it before you write. Our little girl
had malaria. She tried willow tea and everything she could think of for
the chills. The doctor said nothin' but quinine could save her. She
couldn't get it, the blockade was too tight, and so our baby died--and
now I'm dyin' and my poor starvin' girl will have nothin' to comfort
her--but--"
He gasped and lifted himself on his elbow.
"If our folks can just quit free men, it's all right. It's all right!"
The women and children of Richmond were suffering now for food. The
Thirteenth Virginia regiment sent Billy Barton into the city with a
contribution for their relief.
Billy delivered it to Jennie with more than a boy's pride. There was
something bigger in the quiet announcement he made.
"Here's one day's rations from the regiment, sis," he said--"all our
flour, pork, bacon and meal.
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