He meant to be polite, but that he was unlucky was shown by my answer.
“If my features were pinched, and my face pale, it was not caused by
privations under the Confederacy, but the anguish consequent upon our
failure.”
But his kindness had once again put my ambulance under my control, and
placing a bag of coffee and a demijohn of whiskey in it, I assumed
the reins, having no driver, and went to market. The expedition was
successful, as I returned shortly with a live calf, for which I had
exchanged them, and which summoned every one within hearing by its
bellowing. I had quite won the heart of the Vermonter who had been
sentry at my door, and though patriotic souls may not believe me, he
paid me many compliments at the expense of the granite ladies of his
State. The compliments were sincere, as he refused the drink of whiskey
my gratitude offered him.
_Liberty or Death._
My next visit was to the commissary department of my hospital in search
of sugar. Two Federal guards were in charge, but they simply stared
with astonishment as I put aside their bayonets and unlocked the door
of the place with my pass-key, filled my basket, with an explanation to
them that I could be arrested whenever wanted at my quarters.
After this no one opposed my erratic movements, the new-comers ignoring
me. No explanation was ever given to me, why I was allowed to come and
go, nurse my men and feed them with all I could take or steal. All I
ever gathered was from one of our errand-boys, who had fraternized with
a Yankee sutler, who told him confidentially that the Federal surgeon
in charge thought that woman in black had better go home, and added on
his own responsibility, “He’s awful afraid of her.”
_At Last!_
Away I was compelled to go at last, for my sick were removed to another
hospital, where I still attended to them. There congregated the ladies
of the neighborhood, bringing what delicacies they could gather, and
nursing indiscriminately any patient who needed care. This continued
till all the sick were either convalescent or dead, and at last my
vocation was gone, and not one invalid left to give me a pretext for
daily occupation.
And now when the absorbing duties of the last years no longer demanded
my whole thoughts and attention, the difficulties of my own position
forced themselves upon my mind. Whatever food had been provided
for the sick since the Federal occupation had served for my small
needs, but when my duties ceased I found myself with a box full of
Confederate money and a silver ten-cent piece; perhaps a Confederate
_gage d’amitie_; which puzzled me how to expend. It was all I had for
a support, so I bought a box of matches and five cocoa-nut cakes. The
wisdom of the purchase there is no need of defending. Should any
one ever be in a strange country where the currency of which he is
possessed is valueless, and ten cents be his only available funds,
perhaps he may be able to judge of the difficulty of expending it with
judgment.
_The Mother of States._
But of what importance was the fact that I was houseless, homeless
and moneyless, in Richmond, the heart of Virginia? Who ever wanted
for aught that kind hearts, generous hands or noble hospitality could
supply, that it was not there offered without even the shadow of a
patronage that could have made it distasteful? What women were ever so
refined in feeling and so unaffected in manner; so willing to share all
that wealth gives, and so little infected with the pride of purse that
bestows that power? It was difficult to hide one’s needs from them;
they found them out and ministered to them with their quiet simplicity
and the innate nobility which gave to their generosity the coloring of
a favor received; not conferred.
_My Thanks._
I laughed carelessly and openly at the disregard shown by myself for
the future, when every one who had remained in Richmond, apparently
had laid aside stores for daily food, but they detected with quick
sympathy the hollowness of the mirth, and each day at every hour of
breakfast, dinner and supper, would come to me a waiter, borne by the
neat little Virginia maid (in her white apron), filled with ten times
the quantity of food I could consume, packed carefully on. Sometimes
boxes would be left at my door, with packages of tea, coffee, sugar and
ham, or chicken, and no clue given to the thoughtful and kind donor.
Would that I could do more than thank the dear friends who made my
life for four years so happy and contented; who never made me feel by
word or act, that my self-imposed occupation was otherwise than one
which would ennoble any woman. If ever any aid was given through my own
exertions, or any labor rendered effective by me for the good of the
South—if any sick soldier ever benefited by my happy face or pleasant
smiles at his bedside, or death was ever soothed by gentle words of
hope and tender care, such results were only owing to the cheering
encouragement I received from them.
_And Gratitude._
They were gentlewomen in every sense of the word, and though they might
not have remembered that “_noblesse oblige_” they felt and acted up to
the motto in every act of their lives. My only wish was to live and die
among them, growing each day better from contact with their gentle,
kindly sympathies and heroic hearts.
It may never be in my power to do more than offer my heartfelt thanks,
which may reach their once happy homes; and in closing these simple
reminiscences of hospital experience, let me beg them to believe
that whatever kindness my limited powers have conferred on the noble
soldiers of their State, has been repaid tenfold, leaving with me an
eternal, but grateful obligation.
————
_The End._
There is one subject connected with hospitals on which a few words
should be said—the distasteful one that a woman must lose a certain
amount of delicacy and reticence in filling any office in them. How can
this be? There is no unpleasant exposure under proper arrangements, and
if even there be, the circumstances which surround a wounded man, far
from friends and home, suffering in a holy cause and dependent upon a
woman for help, care and sympathy, hallow and clear the atmosphere in
which she labors. That woman must indeed be hard and gross, who lets
one material thought lessen her efficiency. In the midst of suffering
and death, hoping with those almost beyond hope in this world; praying
by the bedside of the lonely and heart-stricken; closing the eyes of
boys hardly old enough to realize man’s sorrows, much less suffer by
man’s fierce hate, a woman _must_ soar beyond the conventional modesty
considered correct under different circumstances.
If the ordeal does not chasten and purify her nature, if the
contemplation of suffering and endurance does not make her wiser and
better, and if the daily fire through which she passes does not draw
from her nature the sweet fragrance of benevolence, charity, and
love,—then, indeed a hospital has been no fit place for her!