THERE is of necessity in a large camp more or less stir and activity on
the Sabbath day, even when no battle is on, but even here there seemed
to be a difference between it and other days. There was a hush and
stillness in the air that seemed to proclaim, “It is the holy Sabbath
day.” Religious services were held by chaplains and pious soldiers.
There were several lady nurses, and they occupied a tent near the
college building. Their names were: Miss Adaline Williams, Miss Babcock,
Mrs. Cunningham and Mrs. Yates. Mrs. Penfield did not remain long, as
there seemed to be some friction between her and the other ladies.
Always a welcome visitor to this tent, I was in and out all day Sunday,
but with one restraint. I was told that I must not talk or ask
questions, as that was their day for writing letters to friends in the
North. They had leather portfolios, which they used as writing desks on
their laps. Miss Williams and my mother became great friends, and I was
very fond of her. I made many visits with her and for years the little
red-backed books she gave me from the Christian Commission supplies were
counted among my treasures. My life on Sundays was about the same as on
other days. I visited the big “shebang” three times a day, wandered
around from tent to tent, and sat for hours on the steps of the portico
wishing for companionship of my own age, myself and sister being the
only children in the hospital and entire encampment.