MANASSAS AND ANTIETAM.
Five Sisters charged with the care of five hundred patients.
Bodies of the dead consumed by the flames. The military hospitals
at Gordonsville and Lynchburg. Boonsboro and Sharpsburg selected
for hospital purposes for the men wounded at Antietam. General
McClellan’s kindness to the Sisters. A man who had met Sisters
during the Crimean war. The brave flag bearer.
[Illustration]
There was scarcely a time from the opening of the war until its close
that some of the Sisters of Charity were not located at Richmond. This
was a sort of unofficial Southern headquarters for them, whence they
were sent for duty on the various Southern battlefields. The section of
country in which the Mother House was located was in possession of the
Union army most of the time. But the house was looked upon as sacred
property by the generals of both armies and was never molested by the
soldiers.
Late in August, 1862, Dr. Williams, the medical director of the army of
the Potomac, made a hasty summons for a detachment of Sisters to wait
upon the sick and wounded at Manassas, where a severe battle had just
taken place. Five of the Sisters immediately left Richmond for the scene
of the conflict.
When they arrived at Manassas they found five hundred patients,
including the men of both armies, awaiting them. The mortality was very
great, as the wounded men had been very much neglected. The wards of the
temporary hospital were in a most deplorable condition and strongly
resisted all efforts of the broom, to which they had long been
strangers. It was finally discovered that the aid of a shovel was
necessary. One small room was set aside as a dormitory for the Sisters.
They were also provided with a chaplain and Mass was said every day in
one corner of the little room. Fresh difficulties and annoyances
presented themselves later in the season. The kitchen, to which what was
called the refectory was attached, was a quarter of a mile from the
Sisters’ room, and often it was found more prudent to be satisfied with
two meals than to trudge through the snow and sleet for the third. These
meals at the best were not very inviting, for the culinary department
was under the care of negroes who had a decided aversion to cleanliness.
On an average ten of the patients died every day. Most of these poor
unfortunates were attended by either Father Smoulders, Father Tuling or
the Sisters.
After spending a long while at Manassas the Sisters received orders from
General Johnston to pack up quietly and prepare to leave on six hours’
notice, as it had been found necessary to retreat from that quarter.
They had scarcely left their posts when the whole camp was one mass of
flames and the bodies of those who died that day were consumed.
The next field of labor for the Sisters was the military hospital at
Gordonsville. There were but three Sisters, and they had two hundred
patients under their charge. The sick were very poorly provided for,
although the mortality was not as great as at Manassas. The Sisters had
a small room, which served for all purposes. One week they lay on the
floor without beds, their habits and a shawl loaned by the doctor
serving for covering. The trunk of a tree was their table and the rusty
tin cups and plates, which were used in turn by doctors, Sisters and
negroes, were very far from exciting a relish for what they contained.
The approach of the Federal troops compelled the Sisters to leave
Gordonsville on Easter Sunday.
They retreated in good order toward Danville. Having been obliged to
stop at Richmond some time they did not enter on this new field of labor
until much later in the year. At Danville they found four hundred sick,
all of whom were much better provided for than at Manassas or
Gordonsville. The Sisters had a nice little house, which would have been
a kind of luxury had it not been the abode of innumerable rats, of which
they stood in no little dread. During the night the Sisters’ stockings
were carried off, and on awakening in the morning the meek religious
frequently found their fingers and toes locked in the teeth of the bold
visitors.
In November the medical director removed the hospital to Lynchburg, as
there was no means of heating the one in Danville. The number of the
Sisters had increased to five, as the hospital was large and contained
one thousand patients, most of whom were in a pitiable condition. When
the Sisters arrived they found that most of the unfortunate patients
were half-starved, owing to the mismanagement of the institution. As a
Sister passed through the wards for the first time, accompanied by the
doctor, a man from the lower end cried out:
“Lady, lady, for God’s sake give me a piece of bread!”
The doctors soon placed everything under the control of the Sisters, and
with a little economy the patients were provided for and order began to
prevail. Father L. H. Gache, S. J.[8], a zealous and brave priest,
effected much good among the patients. During the three years that the
Sisters remained in Lynchburg he baptized one hundred persons. The
approach of the Federal troops placed the hospital in imminent danger,
and it was decided to remove the sick and the hospital stores to
Richmond. The surgeon general of the Confederate army begged that the
Sisters would take charge of the Stuart Hospital in that city, which
they did on the 13th of February, 1865.
Father Gache accompanied them and continued his mission of zeal and
charity. The Sisters were then ten in number, and, as usual, found
plenty to do to place the sick in a comfortable situation. They had just
accomplished this when the city was evacuated, and on the 13th of
April they left Richmond for the Mother House at Emmittsburg.
[Illustration: BATTLE OF ANTIETAM.]
A terrible engagement took place near the Antietam River, in Maryland,
not far from the Potomac, on the 17th of September, 1862. Not only were
thousands on both sides killed, but as many more were left wounded on
the battlefield, with the farmhouses and barns their only prospective
shelter. As the fighting had been from twelve to fifteen miles in space,
the towns of Boonsboro and Sharpsburg were selected for hospital
purposes. The general in charge of the Maryland division requested the
people to aid the fallen prisoners, as the Government provided for the
Northern soldiers and would have cared for all if it had enough for that
purpose.
The Superior of the Sisters of Charity, with the people of Emmittsburg,
collected a quantity of clothing, provisions, remedies, delicacies and
money for these poor men. The overseer of the community drove in a
carriage to the place, with Father Smith, C. M., and two of the Sisters.
Boonsboro is about thirty miles from Emmittsburg, and the wagon
containing the supplies reached the town by twilight. Two officers of
the Northern army saw the cornettes by the aid of the lighted lamps,
and, pointing to the carriage, one said to the other:
“Ah, there come the Sisters of Charity; now the poor men will be equally
cared for.”
The Sisters were kindly received at the house of a worthy physician,
whose only daughter had previously been their pupil. There were in the
town four hospitals. The morning after their arrival they set out for
the battlefield, having Miss Janette, their kind hostess, as a pilot.
They passed houses and barns occupied as hospitals, fences strewn with
bloody clothing, and further on came to the wounded of both armies. The
poor men were only separated from the ground by some straw for beds,
with here and there a blanket stretched above them by sticks driven into
the earth at their head and feet to protect them from the burning sun.
The Sisters distributed their little stores among the men, although
their wretched condition seemed to destroy all relish for food or
drinks.
Bullets could be gathered from the small spaces that separated the men.
They were consoled as much as possible, but the Sisters scarcely knew
where to begin or what to do. If they stopped at one place, a messenger
would come to hastily call them elsewhere. In a wagon shed lay a group
of men, one of whom was mortally wounded.
An officer called the Sisters to him, telling them how the mortally
wounded man had become a hero as a flag-bearer in the bloody struggle
just ended. The poor fellow seemed to gain new strength while the
Sisters were near him.
They were about to move away when the officer recalled them, saying: “I
fear the man is dying rapidly; come to him. He has been so valiant that
I wish to let his wife know that the Sisters of Charity were with him in
his last moments.”
Father Smith was summoned and hastily prepared the man for death. The
thought of having the Sisters near him seemed to fill the poor man with
joy and gave him the confidence and courage to die with a smile upon his
lips.
Two wounded Protestant ministers lay among the wounded soldiers, and
with one of these Father Smith spoke for a long time while preparing the
man for his end. The steward, who seemed delighted to see the Sisters,
informed them that he had met members of their order during the Crimean
War.
A Northern steward and a Southern surgeon became involved in a personal
dispute, which ended by one challenging the other to meet him in mortal
combat in a retired spot near the battlefield. Both withdrew towards an
old shed, at the same time talking in a loud voice, threatening each
other in angry tones. No one interfered and the duel would have taken
place had not one of the Sisters followed them. She spoke to both of
them firmly and reproachfully, taking their pistols from them, and the
affair ended by their separating like docile children, each retiring to
his post.
Nightfall drove the Sisters to their lodgings in the town, but they
returned early in the morning. The medical director met the Sisters,
saying: “You dine with me to-day,” and added: “If you will remain I
shall make arrangements for your accommodations.” But he was ordered
elsewhere a few hours later and the Sisters saw no more of him.
The Sisters were requested by one of the officers to attend the funeral
of the brave flag-bearer. It was about dusk and eight or ten persons
followed the body to the grave, besides Rev. Father Smith and the
Sisters. Presently they saw about two hundred soldiers on horseback
galloping towards them. A few of the horsemen approached the group of
mourners and taking off their caps and bowing one of them said:
“I am General McClellan and I am happy and proud to see the Sisters of
Charity with these poor men. How many are here?”
“Two,” was the reply. “We came here to bring relief to the suffering,
and we return in a day or so.”
“Oh,” he replied, “why can we not have more here? I would like to see
fifty Sisters ministering to the poor sufferers. Whom shall I address
for this purpose?”
Father Smith gave him the address of the Superior Emmitsburg. Then he
asked:
“Do you know how the brave standard-bearer is doing?”
He was informed that the flag-bearer was just about to be buried,
whereupon he joined the procession and remained until after the
interment.
General McClellan at this time was in the full flush of a vigorous
manhood, with the added prestige of a West Point education. His command
was considered the finest body of men in either the Union or the
Confederate army. Just prior to the battle of Antietam General McClellan
had ordered a review of his troops before the President and the members
of his Cabinet. It was a magnificent sight to see 70,000 well-drilled
and well-dressed soldiers keeping step to the tune of martial music.
What a difference between then and now. The finest blood in the nation
lay spilled upon the field of Antietam; the dread hand of death had
broken up and demoralized the Army of the Potomac.
General McClellan was the idol of his men and was affectionately styled
“Little Mac.” Upon his staff were two volunteers from France, the Compte
de Paris and the Duc de Chartres. They were grandsons of King Louis
Philippe, were commissioned in the Union army and served without pay as
aides-de-camp to General McClellan. The Compte de Paris has written what
is considered to be the best and most impartial history of the civil
war extant. Both of these distinguished volunteers were with General
McClellan at the time of his conversation with the Sisters.
About this time the work of removing the wounded soldiers to Frederick
City and Hagerstown began. During the time the Sisters remained on the
battlefield they went from farm to farm trying to find those who were in
most danger. The Sisters were in constant danger from bomb shells which
had not exploded and which only required a slight jar to burst. The
ground was covered with these and it was hard to distinguish them while
the carriage wheels were rolling over straw and dry leaves. The farms in
the vicinity were laid waste. Unthreshed wheat was used for roofing of
tents or pillows for the men. A few fences that had been spared by the
cannon balls were used for fuel. The quiet farmhouses contained none of
their former inhabitants. Stock in the shape of cattle and fowl seemed
to have disappeared from the face of the earth. Even the dogs were
either killed or had fled from the appalling scene. It was very
remarkable also that on none of the battlefields during the war were
there any carrion birds, not even a crow, though piles of dead horses
lay here and there. Some of these animals were half burned from the
efforts made to consume them by lighting fence rails over them, but this
seemed rather to add to the foulness of the atmosphere than help to
purify it. Long ridges of earth with sticks here and there told “so many
of the Northern army lie here” or “so many of the Southern army lie
there.” General McClellan’s army was encamped in the neighborhood, with
arms stacked, shining in the sun like spears of silver.
A Northern soldier was rebuking a sympathizing lady for her partiality
towards the fallen Southerners and said: “How I admire the Sisters of
Charity in this matter. When I was in Portsmouth, Va., they were called
over from Norfolk to serve their own men, the Southerners, in their
hospitals and labored in untiring charity. When, a few weeks later, our
men took the place and the same hospital was filled with the Northern
soldiers, these good Sisters were called on again, when they resumed
their kind attention the same as if there was no sectional change in the
men.” “This,” he continued, “was true Christian charity, and I would not
fear for any human misery when the Sisters have control. This, young
lady, is what all you young ladies ought to do.”
The following day Father Smith celebrated two Masses in the parlor of
the house at which he was stopping. The Sisters left this place on the
8th of October, having spent six days among the wounded soldiers, who
had nearly all been removed at this time from the neighborhood.
[Illustration: GENERAL BENJAMIN BUTLER.]