THE scene changes. We were now ordered to turn. We “moved” in an
ambulance, my father being taken on a cot, and were given quarters in
the Tishomingo Hotel. The old Tishomingo House! Can I ever forget it?
The historic, dilapidated old hotel through which a cannon ball passed
during the progress of battle. We were given a large, cheerless room in
the second story; the floor was bare, the four large windows were each
guiltless of blind or curtain.
Our bed consisted of two cots placed together, with an army blanket to
each for covering. The nights were cold, and we would have suffered had
not my mother arisen through the night and replenished the fire. There
was a large stove in the room and we had a plentiful supply of wood. The
hotel was used as a hospital, although it was not full at this time,
there being a number of vacant rooms. I remember but one nurse here, a
Miss Johnson. We were great friends, and I spent as much time in her
room as in our own. I frequently took walks with her about town. I went
with her one morning to call on Dr. Norman Gay and family, of Columbus,
O., who had roomed for a time at the hotel, but who afterward rented
furnished rooms in a private house in another part of the town. On our
way we passed the Iuka House and several sutlers’ stores. I had not been
long in the Tishomingo House until I made the acquaintance of the cook,
a curly-headed young fellow whose name was John Storms, of Ohio.
Part of the time we took our meals in the dining room with the doctors
and officers. By “we” I mean my mother and myself; my father not being
able to leave the room his meals were carried to him. At other times we
all took our meals in our own room. Those who ate in the dining-room
were: Dr. Gay, wife and son, Dr. Spicer, Dr. Huntington, Captain
Pemberton, Chaplain Estabrook, Miss Johnson, ourselves and many others,
comers and goers, whose names I can not now recall.
Across the railroad and directly opposite the hotel was another
encampment, and reveille and lights out were again daily and nightly
sounds. Gen. Hunter had his headquarters in a large white house not far
away, and night after night I have sat on the upper porch listening
entranced to the regimental band, as it played Hail Columbia, Star
Spangled Banner, Red, White and Blue, Rally round the Flag, and America.
Each night this band would play from dark until bedtime, and I could not
be induced to leave my post until the last note died away in silence.
Many events come to my mind as I write of this time. One day a man was
brought in who had been accidentally shot through both thighs. While
sitting on the floor of a box car a jolt dislodged a musket from where
it was standing. As it fell, it was discharged, and the man being in
direct range, the ball passed through both limbs. Amputation was decided
upon as a forlorn hope of saving his life. Not knowing the time fixed
upon for the operation, I passed down the stairway leading through the
Medical Director’s room, which was also the operating room, and there,
on the operating table, under the influence of chloroform, white and
lifeless-looking, surrounded by the doctors, lay the poor fellow
undergoing the awful ordeal of having both legs taken off. Sick at
heart, I hurried on and delayed my return until I felt sure the
operation was well over with. But alas! the hope of saving his life was
a vain one, as he died a few days later.
While here we one day received a visit from our old friend Frank
Williams, of the Seminary Hospital.
He came to tell us goodby, as he expected to leave with Mother
Bickerdyke in a few days for La Grange, Mississippi.
A few days later he sent a friend to have my picture taken at the little
gallery built up against one end of the hotel, and authorized him to
spare no expense in securing it. Photography was not then the fine art
it is today and this picture was an excellent sample of the old time
ambrotype and was placed in the handsomest case the establishment
afforded at a cost of $4.00. By this time the agent of my friend had
fallen in love with me, and wished a picture for himself, which with the
consent of my parents, he secured at a cost of $2.50. Some months later
both these pictures were given my father at Memphis, but were one night
stolen from his tent with all the contents of his satchel.
Should the thief ever see these lines, repent, and return the pictures,
he will receive my full and free forgiveness and everlasting gratitude.
I never saw my old friend after the day he called to bid us goodby, but
received several letters from him after returning home, and then all
knowledge of him ceased. He has doubtless passed into the Great Beyond
long ago.
There were a great many refugees or contrabands in Corinth. President
Lincoln’s proclamation of Emancipation had not yet been issued; yet the
slaves were practically free. Some of them had quarters near the hotel.
Among them was a quaint old couple known as Uncle Sandy and Aunt Katy
with whom we became well acquainted. Aunt Katy did washing for us and
was frequently in our room.
My mother bought a large piece of homespun cotton cloth of her such as
was used by the slave women for dresses and aprons. After Aunt Katy had
tasted of freedom, she thought “Massa Linkum” a grand man, and the best
friend the slave had.
My mother one day asked her what she thought the “Yankees” looked like
before she saw them. “Well, hunny,” said she, “I thought they was some
kind of wild animals with ho’ns on their heads and they would eat me
up,” and then she laughed until her fat sides shook as she realized what
kind of an animal the Yankee really was.
Uncle Sandy told us that when he first entered within the Union lines he
ate so much he became very sick and thought he was going to die, and
that the only reason he hated to die was because he could never eat any
more.
From among the children of the refugees I organized and taught a school
on the upper veranda of the Tishomingo, which was situated at the
crossing of the Memphis & Charleston and the Mobile & Ohio railroads.
The pupils were all girls, some older and some younger than myself, and
so far as I have ever been able to learn to the contrary, this was the
first crude, little contraband school organized in the great state of
Mississippi, and humble though it was, I feel very proud of my share in
it. I taught them the alphabet, and how to make a few figures. Our text
books were the heads of newspapers, and cards with figures numbering the
rooms, which we tore off the doors. Many trains passed our open air
schoolroom daily, and each whistle that pierced the air was a signal to
suspend lessons, and teacher and pupils alike would scramble to the
front, and leaning far over the rotten railing, would wave and cheer at
the blue-coated soldiers being borne onward to victory or defeat, life
or death, God alone knew.
But the time came all too soon when the Tishomingo House was ordered
evacuated, as it was to be again used for hotel purposes. We received
instructions to go to Jackson, Tennessee, sixty miles north, and one
sunny Sabbath morn we boarded the train for that place, and it was many
a day before I ceased to regret my dusky pupils and playmates.
It was with sad hearts we left Corinth. We had been here so long it had
become like home to us, and we were much attached to the place, the
nurses, and our soldier friends. But the fortunes of war are many and
varied, and there is no sure abiding place in the army.