But now a new trouble arose. Mrs. Rice
was a sobre, clean, industrious woman, who with the pay she received
for nursing the baby could make herself and place very comfortable.
This made the less fortunate soldiers' wives jealous, and their
thoughts were bent on nothing else for awhile but how to get the poor
little waif out of barracks. The baby thrived well under Mrs. Rice's
care, but cried at times, as all healthy babies will; but as the
babies of the other soldiers' wives never cried--so their mothers
said--they would not suffer a crybaby in the room, and such a
mysterious child where nobody knew where it came from, and could not
find it out either. The larger rooms in the barracks were in general
occupied by different families, and the one where Mrs. Rice had her
quarters was a very large one. It was called the ship, and was
occupied at this time by forty different families. Each had a
certain space, say about 12 by 14 feet, allotted to them, and it was
indeed a surprise to me how neat it was kept, and how one woman
would try to have her place in better order than the other. Their
packing boxes were converted into dressing tables, a little muslin
curtain pinned around it, a looking glass in the centre, and a few
ornaments, sea-shells or East Indian curiosities gave the whole a
nice appearance.
Pages:
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266