NEW ORLEANS.
The capture of the commercial metropolis of the Southwest by
General Butler and Admiral Farragut. Butler’s chivalrous letter to
the Superior of the Convent at Donaldsonville. His tribute to the
Sisters of Charity. Bishop Elder and the panic stricken people of
Natchez. Work of the Sisters in other localities.
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On the 25th of April, 1862, a fleet under the famous Admiral Farragut,
together with a land force under General Benjamin F. Butler, captured
the city of New Orleans. Butler assumed charge of the “commercial
metropolis of the Southwest,” as it was then called, while the gun boats
proceeded up the Mississippi River, subjugating other cities and towns
along its banks. One of these was Donaldsonville. In shelling this place
Admiral Farragut injured some of the property under the charge of the
Sisters of Charity. The Superior entered a complaint with General Butler
and in return received the following chivalrous letter:
“Headquarters Department of the Gulf, New Orleans, La., September
2, 1862.
“Santa Maria Clara, Superior and Sister of Charity.
“Madame: I had no information until the reception of your note
that so sad a result to the Sisters of your community had
happened from the bombardment of Donaldsonville.
“I am very, very sorry that Rear Admiral Farragut was unaware that
he was injuring your establishment by his shells. Any injury must
have been entirely accidental. The destruction of that town became
a necessity. The inhabitants harbored a gang of cowardly
guerrillas, who committed every atrocity, amongst others that of
firing upon an unarmed boat crowded with women and children going
up the coast, returning to their homes, many of them having been
at school in New Orleans.
“It is impossible to allow such acts, and I am only sorry that the
righteous punishment meted out to them in this instance, as,
indeed, in all others, fell quite as heavily upon the innocent and
unoffending as upon the guilty.
“No one can appreciate more fully than myself the holy,
self-sacrificing labors of the Sisters of Charity. To them old
soldiers are daily indebted for the kindest offices. Sisters to
all mankind, they know no nation, no kindred, neither war nor
peace. Their all-pervading charity is like the boundless love of
‘Him who died for all,’ whose servants they are and whose pure
teachings their love illustrates.
“I repeat my grief that any harm should have befallen your society
of Sisters and will cheerfully repair it, so far as I may, in the
manner you suggest by filling the order you have sent to the city
for provisions and medicines.
“Your Sisters in the city will also further testify to you that my
officers and soldiers have never failed to do to them all in our
power to aid them in their usefulness and to lighten the burden of
their labors.
“With sentiments of the highest respect, believe me your friend,
Benj. F. Butler.”
Some time after this General Blanchard, who was in command of the
military in Monroe, La., made a request for Sisters to care for the
sick and wounded under his charge. A deputation of Sisters was at once
sent from St. Mary’s Asylum in Natchez.
The Sisters were obliged to leave in the night in consequence of a
dispatch announcing the approach of the Federal gun boat Essex, which
might have prevented their departure had they remained until the next
day. Hence they were compelled to cross the Mississippi River shortly
before the midnight hour. The good Bishop of Natchez, now Most Rev. W.
H. Elder, Archbishop of Cincinnati, alarmed for their safety, determined
to accompany them to the post to which they were destined, and he did
so. The pastor of the church at Monroe was also one of the party. The
Sisters and their friends crossed the river in a skiff, and, reaching
the other side, found an ambulance awaiting them. They traveled the
remainder of that night and the following two days over a very rough and
dangerous road. General Blanchard had a matron and nurses employed in
the hospital. He dismissed these and arranged with the Sisters to take
charge the day after their arrival.
Sister E---- had in her ward a convalescent patient who, deeming himself
of more consequence than the others, was somewhat piqued at her for not
showing him special attention. The Sister kept him in his place and
treated him precisely as she did the others. One day she went as usual
to administer the medicines, and as she was passing the ward in which he
was located she heard him utter most terrible oaths. She passed on
quietly, but on her return showed her displeasure at his disorderly
conduct. He made every apology for his misbehavior. The Sister proceeded
on her way, having a bottle in each hand. At a very short distance from
where the man was standing she stopped to say a few words to another
patient. She happened to look back and noticed the convalescent man put
his hand in his coat pocket, and at the same instant the crack of a
pistol shot was heard. The ball passed through the front of the Sister’s
cornette, within an inch or two of her forehead. The poor man with whom
the Sister had been talking thought he was wounded again, jumped up and
clapped his hands on his old wound, as if to assure himself of its
escape from harm. The Sister, pale, but with perfect presence of mind,
still held her bottles and made her way through the cloud of smoke and
the crowd that had gathered at the report of the pistol. The man was
arrested and would have been dealt with in a summary manner, but at the
request of the Sister he was released. He claimed that it was an
accident. It was afterwards discovered that he was a gambler and had
loaded the pistol to shoot an enrollment officer in town.
In the meantime things were reaching a crisis in the city of Natchez.
One morning the sound of a shell bursting over the town filled the
people with consternation. The scene that followed is beyond
description. Women and children rushed through the streets screaming
with terror. The asylum was thronged by persons of every description,
who begged to be admitted within its walls. One of the Sisters speaking
of this says: “I can never forget the anguish I felt at the sight of
mothers with infants in their arms begging us to preserve the lives of
their little ones, without a thought about their own safety. At the
sound of the first shell our good Bishop hastened to the asylum to
assist us in placing the children out of danger of the shells. The
Bishop was surrounded as soon as he appeared and nothing could be heard
but cries of ‘Oh, Father, hear my confession,’ and ‘Bishop, baptize me.
Do not let us be killed without baptism.’ The Bishop kindly went into
the confessional, but soon perceived that he would be detained there too
long; therefore he requested the Sisters to assemble all in the chapel
and he would give a general absolution, as the danger was so imminent.
Immediately their cries and sobs were suppressed. The Bishop, after a
few touching words, bade us remember that no shell could harm the least
one among us without the Divine permission. He then gave a general
absolution to all present.”
Shells passed over the building in rapid succession while the Sisters
were kneeling in the chapel. Some of the bombs fell in the adjoining
yard, yet not one of those in the asylum was injured. Within the silence
of death reigned. No sound was heard but the fervent aspirations of the
Bishop and the suppressed sobs of the smaller children. Giving the final
blessing the Bishop said: “Tell the Sisters to take the children away as
soon as possible.” When all were in readiness each of the orphans, with
a bundle of clothing, passed out of the asylum with the thought that
they were never again to enter its loved walls. Five of the Sisters
accompanied them, and the others, with two sick children, followed in a
market wagon, the only vehicle that could be procured. While the Sisters
were placing the smaller children in the wagon a shell passed over the
horse’s head, so near as to frighten and cause the animal to jump, but
it fell some distance away without exploding. The poor children had to
go five miles without resting, so great was the danger. After remaining
some weeks in the country the authorities compromised, and the gunboat
left the city without doing any further damages. The Bishop announced
the Forty Hours’ Devotion in thanksgiving.
Good work was done in the Charity Hospital, New Orleans. The Sisters of
Charity had charge of this hospital and attended many hundreds of the
sick and wounded on both sides. It was the same with the Marine Hospital
of New Orleans. The first act of one of the Sisters on entering a ward
in this hospital was to grasp a cup of water from a nurse and baptize a
dying soldier.
One Sister relates how she endeavored for a long time to get a cot for a
very sick patient who lay on the floor reclining on his carpet bag. She
finally succeeded, and then persuaded a convalescent soldier to convey
the sick man to the cot. The patient was unwilling to go without his
carpet bag and his boots, fearing they would be stolen if he left them.
He kept a watchful eye on them all the time, and the Sister,
understanding the reluctant movements of the patient, took up the carpet
bag in one hand and the boots in the other and followed. The poor man
was very much struck with the humility and charity of the Sister, and
said:
“The soldiers wonder how the Sisters can work so hard without pay.”
The Sister replied: “Our pay is in a coin more precious than gold; it is
laid up in a country more desirable than any that exists on this
earth.”