SISTER ANTHONY AT SHILOH.
Terrible loss of life at the battle of Pittsburg Landing or
Shiloh. Sister Anthony wins enduring laurels. Seven hundred
wounded soldiers crowded on one boat. The deck of the vessel
resembles a slaughter house. A Sister of Charity acts as assistant
surgeon. Sisters refuse to abandon their patients. Sketch of the
life of Sister Anthony.
[Illustration: SISTER ANTHONY.]
The battle of Shiloh, Tenn, sometimes known as the battle of Pittsburg
Landing, was one of the great combats of the war. Shiloh cost the Union
army in killed, wounded and prisoners 14,000 men, while the Confederates
lost 10,700 men, including General Albert Sidney Johnston, who fell in
the first day’s fight. The battles were fought on the 6th and 7th of
April, 1862. The morning of the 6th was clear and beautiful, with no
indications of a storm; but the day’s terrific battle was followed by a
night of drenching rain. The battle of the next day was also succeeded
by a fearful storm, which in this case consisted of rain, hail and
sleet. An eye-witness writing of this says: “And to add to the horrors
of the scene, the elements of Heaven marshaled their forces--a fitting
accompaniment to the tempest of human devastation and passion that was
raging. A cold, drizzling rain commenced about nightfall and soon came
harder and faster, then turned to pitiless, blinding hail. This storm
raged with unrelenting violence for three hours. I passed long wagon
trains filled with wounded and dying soldiers without even a blanket to
shield them from the driving sleet and hail which fell in stones as
large as partridge eggs until it lay on the ground two inches deep.”[6]
It was by the work that she did at and after this battle that Sister
Anthony, a notable member of the Sisters of Charity, won enduring
laurels. She left Cincinnati for Shiloh, accompanied by two other
Sisters of Charity, Dr. Blackman, of Cincinnati; Mrs. Hatch and
daughter, Miss McHugh, Mrs. O’Shaughnessy and some charitable ladies of
the Queen City. This trip was made on Captain Ross’ boat, under the care
of Dr. Blackman. Sister Anthony, whose mind is unimpaired and whose
memory is excellent, thus tells of her experience at Shiloh:
“At Shiloh we ministered to the men on board what were popularly known
as the floating hospitals. We were often obliged to move farther up the
river, being unable to bear the terrific stench from the bodies of the
dead on the battlefield. This was bad enough, but what we endured on the
field of battle while gathering up the wounded is simply beyond
description. At one time there were 700 of the poor soldiers crowded in
one boat. Many were sent to our hospital in Cincinnati. Others were so
far restored to health as to return to the scene of war. Many died good,
holy deaths. Although everything seemed dark and gloomy, some amusing
incidents occurred. Some days after the battle of Shiloh the young
surgeons went off on a kind of lark, and Dr. Blackman took me as
assistant in surgical operations, and I must acknowledge I was much
pleased to be able to assist in alleviating the sufferings of these
noble men.
“The soldiers were remarkably kind to one another. They went around the
battlefield giving what assistance they could, placing the wounded in
comfortable places, administering cordials, etc., until such time as the
nurses could attend to the wounded and sick. I remember one poor soldier
whose nose had been shot off, who had almost bled to death and would
have been missed had we not discovered him in a pen, where some kind
comrade had placed him before he left the field, every other place of
refuge being occupied. His removal from the pen caused great pain, loss
of blood, etc. The blood ran down his shirt and coat sleeves, down his
pantaloons and into his very boots. He was very patient in the boat up
the river. On arriving in Cincinnati he was placed in a ward in our
hospital. Shortly after his arrival in the city a gentleman came to
Cincinnati and called at the Burnett House, which was then used as a
military hospital, inquiring for his son. After searching everywhere
else he called at St. John’s Hospital. I met this sorrowing father just
as I was leaving the hospital to attend to some business. From the
description he gave I concluded that the boy without the nose must be
his son. I took him to the ward. When we reached the bed where the man
lay the father did not know him.
“‘Well,’ said he, ‘if he is my child I shall know him by his head.’
Running his fingers through the boy’s hair he exclaimed: ‘My son! my
dear boy!’
“There was one young man under the care of Sister De Sales. This Sister
spoke to him of heaven, of God and of his soul. Of God he knew nothing,
of heaven he never heard, and he was absolutely ignorant of a Supreme
Being. He became much interested in what the Sister said and was anxious
to know something more of this good God of whom the Sister spoke. This
good Sister of Charity instructed him, and, no priest being near, she
baptized him and soon his soul took its flight to that God whom he so
late learned to know and love.
“Were I to enumerate all the good done, conversions made, souls saved,
columns would not suffice. Often have I gazed at Sister De Sales, as she
bent over the cots of those poor boys, ministering to their every want,
in the stillness of the night. Ah! here is one to whom she gives a cool
drink, here another whose amputated and aching limbs need attention,
there an old man dying, into whose ears she whispers the request to
repeat those beautiful words: ‘Lord, have mercy on my soul!’ I asked
myself: ‘Do angels marvel at this work?’
“Day often dawned on us only to renew the work of the preceding day,
without a moment’s rest. Often the decks of the vessels resembled a
slaughter house, filled as they were with the dead and dying.”
The following is what an eye-witness says of Sister Anthony: “Amid this
sea of blood she performed the most revolting duties for those poor
soldiers. Let us follow her as she gropes her way among the wounded,
dead and dying. She seemed to me like a ministering angel, and many a
young soldier owes his life to her care and charity. Let us gaze at her
again as she stands attentive kindness and assists Dr. Blackman while
the surgeon is amputating limbs and consigning them to a watery grave,
or as she picks her steps in the blood of these brave boys,
administering cordial or dressing wounds.”
A Sister relates a sad story of a young man who was shot in the neck.
The wound was very deep. From the effect of this and the scorching rays
of the sun he suffered a burning thirst. He was too weak to move, when
suddenly the rain fell down in torrents. Holding out his weak hands, he
caught a few drops, which sustained life until he was found among the
dead and dying on the battlefield. Cordials were given which relieved
him. His looks of gratitude were reward enough. Many other soldiers who
were thought to be dying eventually recovered.
After the Sisters had finished their work at Shiloh they followed the
army to Corinth, where the Confederates had retreated. The river was
blocked by obstacles in the stream and progress by boat was necessarily
slow. Finally the impediments became so thick that the boat was stopped
altogether. The vessel was crowded and the situation was a critical one.
The captain finally said that it was a matter of life and death and that
the Sisters would have to flee for their lives. To do this it would have
been necessary to abandon their patients, who were enduring the greatest
misery on the boat. This the Sisters heroically refused to do. All
expressed their willingness to remain with the “wounded boys” until the
end and to share their fate, whatever it might be. Such heroism melted
the hearts of hardened men. The Sisters fell on their knees and called
on the “Star of the Sea” to intercede for them, that the bark might be
guarded from all harm. And their prayer was answered. Two brave pilots
came, who steered the boat to their destination and to a place of
safety.
After the war Dr. Blackman became an active member of the medical staff
of the Good Samaritan Hospital in Cincinnati and ever proved a sincere
friend of Sister Anthony. The Sisters unite in praising the services of
Mrs. Hatch and her daughter. Miss Hatch was a most estimable lady, who
bestowed upon the soldiers the greatest of charity and kindness. Many of
them called her “Sister Jennie,” a rare compliment for one who was not a
religious.
The groans of the soldiers on the battlefield of Shiloh still linger in
the memories of many of the Sisters. Sister Anthony and her colleagues
frequently picked their way through the files of the dead and wounded,
and on many occasions assisted in carrying the sufferers to the boats.
These floating hospitals were unique in many ways, but they will ever
remain memorable as the scenes of the Sisters’ greatest triumphs, where
they did so much for the cause of humanity and where so many unwarranted
prejudices were removed from the minds of brave men.
Among the war Sisters none was regarded with more affection and
reverence than this same Sister Anthony, who spent her last years near
Cincinnati, surrounded with all the loving attentions and comforts that
should go with honorable old age. Her work for humanity was spread over
a long series of years, and the heroic labors she performed during the
war form but an episode in a busy and useful career. But it was a
brilliant episode, one that deserves to be handed down to history and
that brought fadeless laurels to a modest and unpretending woman.
[Illustration: SISTER ANTHONY.]
Sister Anthony O’Connell was born in Limerick, Ireland, of pious
Catholic parents. She came with them to this country at an early age,
and, in pursuance of a long-cherished idea, renounced the world and was
vested with the familiar habit of the Sisters of Charity. Her novitiate
and earlier years in the order were spent at Emmittsburg, Md. Finally
she was placed in charge of a community at Cincinnati. According to good
people in that city who carefully watched her career, she displayed
unusual devotion, business talent and self-sacrifice. Through her
exertions an orphan asylum was founded at Cumminsville, where large
numbers of friendless and homeless children were cared for and reared to
a sense of their responsibility to God and man.
When the Civil war broke out Governor David Tod issued a call for
volunteer nurses. Alive to the necessities of the occasion, Sister
Anthony relinquished the care of her asylum to other hands and, taking a
band of Sisters with her, offered their services. Their work was in the
South, most of it being in and around Nashville, Shiloh, Richmond, Ky.;
New Creek and Cumberland. Colonel John S. Billings, M. D., now of the
Surgeon General’s office at Washington, is one of the physicians having
personal knowledge of Sister Anthony, and he speaks of her in the very
highest terms. “I first knew Sister Anthony,” he said to the writer, “in
1859, when she was in charge of the old St. John’s Hospital, on Fourth
street, Cincinnati, in which I was resident physician, and I have known
her ever since. I can say very cordially that she was a competent
hospital manager and that I have always had the greatest respect and
affection for her.”[7].
Sister Anthony and her brave assistants spent many months in Nashville.
The care and attention that was bestowed upon the sick and wounded
soldiers of both the Union and Confederate armies did much to dispel the
thoughtless prejudices that had previously existed against the Sisters.
They went about like good angels, easing many a troubled spirit and
showering love upon all with whom they came in contact. Sister Anthony
stood out in bold relief from all the others, and one who has knowledge
of those times says: “Happy was the soldier who, wounded and bleeding,
had her near him to whisper words of consolation and courage. Her person
was reverenced by Blue and Gray, Protestant and Catholic alike, and the
love for her became so strong that the title of the ‘Florence
Nightingale’ of America was conferred upon her, and soon her name became
a household word in every section of the North and South.” Many of the
Sisters with whom she worked fell upon the field of honor, but Sister
Anthony lived and survived to enjoy a peaceful old age and the sweet
thought and consolation of work well done.
The ending of the war, however, did not end her work. After the white
wings of peace had been spread over the battlefields she returned to
Cincinnati and made an effort to found an asylum that should be larger
and greater than old St. John’s, where she had labored before the war.
For a time it looked as if this noble intention was to be frustrated.
Funds were not available and the usually charitable people of the city
seemed to be indifferent. They only seemed, however, for just when the
effort was about to be given up in despair, John C. Butler and Lewis
Worthington, two of the wealthy men of the city, came forward with
sufficient money to build and equip a magnificent institution. The
result of this was the establishment of the Good Samaritan Hospital.
Sister Anthony was placed in charge and the work she did there equaled,
if it did not exceed, her war experiences. Already a model nurse, she
became a model hospital manager. In the hospital she increased her great
knowledge and made a science of nursing the sick. She remained in
executive control of the institution until 1882, when devoted friends
finally prevailed upon her to relinquish her task and live in peace and
quiet the remainder of her life. She has had several successors, the one
now in charge being Sister Sebastian.
Sister Anthony departed this life at 6 P. M. on Wednesday, December 8,
1897, in her room, in St. Joseph’s Maternity Hospital and Infant Asylum,
conducted by the Sisters of Charity at Norwood, O. Her last days were as
tranquil and peaceful as the most devoted friend could desire. The
fortnight before her death was spent chiefly in prayer. On the Saturday
prior to her demise she received Holy Communion in the chapel attached
to the hospital. It was destined to be her last visit to the holy table
she loved so much. That same day she was prostrated and compelled to
take her bed. Here she remained until she calmly expired on the
following Wednesday.
Sister Anthony made her home with the Sisters at Norwood during the
last few years of her life. Her love for the poor unfortunates of the
hospital and the helpless little foundlings in the asylum was boundless.
Notwithstanding her extreme age she was very active and delighted to
mingle with the inmates every morning, giving them words of comfort and
consolation and in a hundred and one little ways trying to lighten their
burdens. She was ever cheerful and kind, and those who knew her best
cannot recall an instance where a word of impatience or complaint ever
escaped her lips.
The news of her death created great sorrow among the old soldiers, with
whom she was a great favorite. Many military organizations took formal
action as an evidence of their regard and esteem. For instance, William
H. Lytle Post, Grand Army of the Republic, passed the following
resolutions of respect:
“Whereas, The venerable Sister Anthony departed this life on Wednesday
afternoon, after a life of usefulness in taking care of the sick and
doing boundless charity, and
“Whereas, She was one of the most active nurses during the war, doing
many kind, silent acts, and
“Whereas, She will be buried from St. Peter’s Cathedral, Saturday, at 9
o’clock, be it
“Resolved, That, in order to show our gratitude and affection for her
and appreciation of her services as an army nurse, we attend her funeral
and invite all other posts to participate with us.”
It is the usual custom for the Sisters of Charity to be buried from the
mother house, but in recognition of the great services of Sister Anthony
the Archbishop ordered that the funeral be from the Cathedral. The body
remained at the Foundling Asylum, where she died, until Friday, when the
remains were brought to Cincinnati and laid in state at the Good
Samaritan Hospital. The following morning the last services were held in
the Cathedral. The scene was a memorable one. A vast multitude gathered
near the church; only a very small proportion was able to gain
admittance to the sacred edifice. As the cortege approached heads were
bowed in grief and silent reverence. Not a wreath or flower relieved the
simple severity of the pall, but a dozen men stood about the casket, its
guard of honor. These were the men who on the field of battle, in the
rain of bullet and shell, had watched the coming of that form, that now
lay cold within the narrow house, with anxiety born of despair. The
battle flags now furled and draped in their hands had been the beacon
that had led her where pain and fever raged, and it was meet that the
Stars and Stripes should follow to her tomb.
In the casket’s wake came the guard of honor and one hundred Sisters of
Charity in their sombre habits. The forward pews had been reserved for
the Sisters and orphans of the asylum, which the dead Sister had
founded. The white head-dresses of the little girls and white collars of
the boys were in marked contrast to the black garb of the Sisters,
silhouetted against the brilliant background. Archbishop Elder, Bishop
Byrne, of Nashville, a large number of priests and fifty seminarians
were present.
Archbishop Elder celebrated the mass, assisted by the Rev. J. C.
Albrinck. Rev. John H. Schoenelt was the deacon of the mass, and Rev.
Father Van Briss sub-deacon. The deacons of honor were the Very Rev.
John Murray and the Very Rev. John M. Mackay. Rev. Henry Moeller was
master of ceremonies.
Bishop Byrne, of Nashville, who preached the sermon, said among other
things: “We are come together to pay the last tribute to one who is
worthy of such a tribute--to one whose figure was a familiar one on the
streets of Cincinnati, and whom you all knew and loved. Her fame
extended beyond the limits of the State and was not circumscribed by the
limits of a continent, and the Church, always in sympathy with such
nobility of character, has draped her altars in black. Though she is
dead she lives. Every prophecy of the word conspires to express this,
that she has gone to live forever. That prophecy bids us to exult for a
soul gone to Christ. These are the words of the epistles, these are the
sentiments expressed by the Church. * * * Christ was her inspiration,
and for this reason she trod the battlefield and entered hospitals
pregnant with pestilence. Her presence was more to those brave sons of
America than that of an angel. Yet she was only a type of many. For the
same reason she loved the waifs and castaways, the destitute, afflicted
and lowly. I repeat that she was but the type of many, and every Sister
of Charity does these acts. One thing more precious than all she has
left us and that is her glorious example. To her own Sisters, to her own
community, not to Catholics alone, her example is precious. Her fidelity
and devotion should be an inspiration.”
The words of the prelate impressed his listeners, as was evidenced by
their tears, and when his Grace, the Archbishop, arose there was emotion
in his voice as he said:
“You have heard it said what lessons may be drawn from this sad
occasion. The pleasures and pains of this world pass away, and only the
things done for God last always. Only what is done for the world to come
lays by as an eternal treasure. We owe a debt of gratitude to her whose
life was so quiet and yet so glorious. We owe her a debt of gratitude
for the example she has set us for our encouragement.”
Thereupon the blessing followed, and the mourners filed from the church,
preceded by the casket, which after being placed in the hearse, began
its last journey to the mother house at Delhi, followed by eight
carriages containing the Sisters and the clergy. Arrived there the
soulless tenement was placed in the vault of the cemetery, to find
private burial without further ceremony at the hands of the good
Sisters, her friends and companions.
The following beautiful description of the funeral and interment of
Sister Anthony is from the Cincinnati Tribune of December 12, 1897:
“Friday afternoon the remains of Sister Anthony were brought to the Good
Samaritan Hospital, where they lay in state in the chapel, visited by
hundreds of sorrowing friends. A great number of girls employed in
factories near the hospital visited the chapel after working hours to
pay a last tribute of respect to her who was at all times their friend
and confidant in times of trouble.
It was at the earnest request of the Sisters at the hospital that the
remains of Sister Anthony were brought in. They wanted to have her with
them once more for the last time, amid the scenes of her noblest work,
to pray beside her bier and bid a last farewell to the spirit which they
all emulate.
Visitors thronged the chapel far into the night and there was little
rest for the Sisters, who were up at dawn and in the chapel again, where
the Rev. Father Finn, of the Society of Jesus, sang requiem mass,
assisted by the St. Xavier’s choir, under the direction of Mr. Boex.
When the time came for the departure to the Cathedral a number of the
friends joined in singing “Lead, Kindly Light” and “Sweet Spirit Hear My
Prayer” while the body was borne from the chapel.
These two beautiful hymns were the favorites of Sister Anthony, and she
would have wished that they be sung at her funeral.
In the Cathedral, the temple of the religion she loved and worked and
prayed for, two veterans of the Grand Army of the Republic, bearing
aloft the flags of their country draped in sombre black, stood sentinel
at her bier.
There was the procession of priests and companies of Sisters of Charity
instead of the rank and file of soldiery; there were embroidered robes
and black habits in place of the blue and gray; there were candles
instead of camp fires; there was the chime of bells and the chanting of
the choir instead of the call of trumpets and beat of drums; there was
the organ pealing instead of the musketry roll; there was the fragrance
of incense instead of the smoke of the battlefield; there was the
counting of beads instead of the binding of wounds; there was the bier
and the sable pall instead of the hospital stretcher; there were the
whispered prayers of 2000 people on bended knees for the repose of the
soul of Sister Anthony.
The morning light streamed dimly and softly through the stained glass
windows, and electric lights took the place of the stars in heaven’s
blue canopy, but it was the bivouac of the dead.
The ministering angel to soldiers, the comfort of widows and orphans,
the friend of the poor, the sick and the unfortunate was dead, and about
her, come to do her honor, were soldiers, orphans and widows; those who
had been poor and sick and unfortunate, her greatest care in life.
The altars of the church were draped in black, and with high requiem
mass and eulogies the priests of the church paid tribute to a noble
member of their sisterhood.
Far up above the Ohio, on a beautiful plateau, with a view for miles in
every direction, is the mother house of the Sisters of Charity, founded
away back in the thirties by pioneers of the order from Emmittsburg, Md.
Here is the grave of Sister Anthony. She lies beside Mother Regina
Mattingly and Mother Josephine Harvey, who were with her when she first
came West, and with her helped to found the mother house. To-day they
sleep together in the little graveyard and near the home they made for
their sisterhood.
Their graves are in a little grove of birches and ever-greens and
surrounded by the graves of their Sisters who have gone before.
Their graves are marked by simple stone crosses, bearing their names in
the world and in religion.
When the funeral train reached the house the Sisters, headed by their
chaplain, received the body and bore it to the chapel, where it lay in
state for two hours. The Sisters wanted their dear friend for that long
at least, for the mother house she always considered her home, and they
regarded her as a mother and loved her as such, for to all she was ever
the same sweet, lovely and loving friend.
The services for the dead were read by the Rt. Rev. Bishop Byrne, after
which the body was borne to the grave.
With slow and solemn tread the long file of black-robed Sisters marched
before. A drizzling rain had begun to fall, and in the murky atmosphere
the scene took on a solemnity and grandeur impossible to picture. The
Sisters chanting prayers and the priests following in their purple
robes, and their heavy bass voices joining in had a beautiful effect.
As the procession neared the burying ground the ‘Miserere’ was chanted
by all.
There were very few at the graveside besides those connected with the
church. Thus ended the earthly career of this “Angel of the
Battlefield.”