SOUTHERN BATTLEFIELDS.
A letter from Central Georgia begging for Sisters of
Charity.--“Are they men or women?” A cautious priest who took the
good nurses for impostors. The train crashes through a bridge. The
“magic” lunch basket and how it fed an unlimited number of Sisters
and soldiers. The hospitals at Marietta and Atlanta.
[Illustration]
After the battle of Fredericksburg, in December, 1862, the Sisters who
had been looking after the sick and wounded in the hospitals near
Richmond soon found their labors reduced very materially. The armies on
both sides were becoming more accustomed to the hardships of the camps,
and as a result there was less sickness in the various regiments. There
had also been a cessation of battles in the vicinity of Richmond, and as
a consequence there were no wounded men to care for. The Sisters,
feeling that their usefulness was at an end, called upon the officer in
charge and asked for passports in order that they might return through
the lines to their Emmittsburg home. The official would not consent to
their going away, claiming that he knew they would be needed in other
places in the near future. This being the case, they remained.
The next day a letter came from the military in Central Georgia, begging
for Sisters of Charity to be sent to their hospital there. Five Sisters
left for this place on the night of February 24, 1863. A fierce battle
had taken place, rendering the services of the Sisters very necessary.
On the way, at many places where they stopped, there was great curiosity
at the sight of their peculiar garb. Upon one occasion, having to wait
two hours for a train, the curious bystanders examined the Sisters
closely, saying:
“Who are they?” “Are they men or women?” “Oh, what a strange uniform
this company has adopted.” “Surely the enemy will run from them.”
Once or twice the crowd pushed roughly against the Sisters, as though to
see whether they were human beings or not. A Sister spoke to a woman at
the station, and thereupon many in the crowd clapped their hands and
shouted: ‘She spoke! she spoke!’
At one of the towns where the Sisters stopped they did not know where to
look for lodgings. Acting upon the first impulse, they went to the
Catholic pastor’s residence and inquired where they might be
accommodated. The good old priest, strange as it may seem, had never
seen their costume before, and as every day had its impostures to avoid,
he was reserved and cautious, even unwilling to direct them to any
house. At last his pity got the better of his prudence and he said
slowly: “I will show you where the Sisters of Mercy live.” He took them
there, where the good Mother received them with open arms, saying: “Oh,
the dear Sisters of Charity. You are truly welcome to my house.”
This lady had been kindly entertained some years before by the Sisters
of Charity at Baltimore. The poor, abashed priest had kept near the
door, fearing he had put trouble on the good Sisters of Mercy, but when
he saw the reception accorded the visitors he brightened up. Approaching
one of the Sisters with outstretched hands, he said: “Oh, ladies, make
friends; I thought you were impostors.”
Continuing the journey, one night a cry suddenly went up: “The cars have
gone through the bridge and we are in the river.” The greatest
excitement prevailed in the train. Passengers rushed to and fro, falling
over one another in their confusion. The Sisters had gone through so
many exciting scenes during the war that they had learned the value of
retaining their presence of mind in such an emergency. They remained
still and soon learned that the accident had not occurred to their
train, but to one coming in the opposite direction. Except by the help
of torches very little could be done until daylight. Two of the Sisters,
however, crossed to the other side of the bridge and gave suitable
attention to the sufferers, washing and binding their wounds. None were
killed or in serious danger. By 12 o’clock the next day they reached a
town. No refreshments were to be had. The work of devastation on the
part of Sherman’s army had preceded them. Fortunately a little basket of
lunch, originally prepared for five Sisters, offered some sustenance.
The next day the number of Sisters had increased to eleven and several
strangers also, with whom they shared their supplies. At 9 o’clock the
same evening a poor soldier near them in the car said: “Oh, but I am
hungry. I have not had one crumb of food this day.”
Out came the magic basket and the sufferer was satisfied. Immediately
others asked for food. The two following days the Sisters had the
soldiers to supply besides themselves, and yet the generous basket was
true to all demands. On the third day’s journey they reached their field
of labor. It was in the town of Marietta. A very fine building had been
prepared for hospital purposes, and the whole place, with its wants and
workings, was placed in charge of the Sisters. Their trained hands soon
reduced everything to a system, and from that hour until its close the
affairs of the institution went like clockwork.
The Sisters were five weeks without having the opportunity or facilities
for hearing Mass. Two Sisters at last went to Atlanta, where there were
two priests, and begged that they might at least have Mass at Easter,
which was then approaching. This was agreed to, and not only the
Sisters, but many poor soldiers made their Easter duty. An earnest
appeal was also made for a chaplain, and “headquarters” appointed one.
Before he arrived, however, orders were given to remove, as the enemy
was advancing. The Sisters had just received many wounded soldiers, and
these men grieved bitterly when the religious left them.[9]
On the 24th of May, in response to an urgent appeal, the Sisters reached
Atlanta, where nearly all the houses were filled with the sick and
wounded. Only tents could be raised for the Sisters. They had five
hundred patients in the tents at the start, and large numbers were added
daily. The Sisters were provided with a little log house, containing two
small rooms. The mice ran over them at night and the rain was so
constant through the day that their umbrellas were always in their
hands. Two of them became very ill. The surgeon told them to keep in
readiness for a move, but the patients were so happy and doing so well
under their care that he could not think of their leaving at that time.
A poor man, badly wounded, had been very cross and abusive towards the
Sister who served him, but she increased her kindness and on the surface
did not seem to understand his rudeness. At last he became very weak,
and one day when she was waiting on him she saw that he was weeping. She
said: “Have I pained you? I know I am too rough. Pardon me this time and
I will try to spare you pain again, for I would rather lessen than
augment distress in this hour of misery.”
He burst into tears and said: “My heart is indeed pained at my
ingratitude towards you, for I have received nothing less than maternal
care from you, and I have received it in anger. Do pardon me. I declare
I am forced to respect your patience and charity. When I came into this
hospital and found that the Sisters were the nurses my heart was filled
with hatred. My mind was filled with prejudice--a prejudice which I
confess was inherited from those nearest and dearest to me. I did not
believe that anything good could come from the Sisters. But now I see my
mistake all too clearly, and in seeing it I recognize the unintentional
blackness of my own heart. I have seen the Sisters in their true light.
I see their gentleness, their humility, their daily--aye, their hourly
sacrifices, their untiring work for others; in a word, their great love
for humanity. Forgive me if you can.”
This man soon after expired with the most edifying sentiments upon his
lips.
The Sisters were employed at Camp Dennison until the hospitals there
were systematized; then they went to New Creek, Va., and Cumberland, Md.
During Pope’s campaign they followed Sigel’s corps in the ambulances.
After the battle of Stone River they went to Nashville and took charge
of Hospital 14, capable of accommodating 700 or 800 patients. The
following document, written on the occasion of the Sisters leaving
Nashville, will show the light in which they were regarded by the
inmates of the hospital. The paper was signed by two hundred and
thirty-six persons.
General Hospital No. 14, Nashville, Tenn., November, 1863.
To the Late Superior and Sisters of Charity in Attendance of Said
Hospital:--The undersigned attaches and patients in said hospital
have learned with regret that you contemplate leaving your present
post of labor, and the object of this is to express the hope that
you may be induced to forego that intention, and kindly consent
to remain with us:
During your stay in the hospital you have been indeed sisters to
all the patients, and your uniform kindness to all has endeared
you to all our hearts.
Should you leave us we can only say that wherever you may go you
will bear with you the soldier’s gratitude and our earnest hope
and prayer is that in whatever field you may labor in future you
may be as happy as you have been kind and charitable to us, and
may heaven’s choicest blessings be showered upon you for your
kindnesses to the poor sick and wounded soldier.
Private William N. Nelson, Nineteenth Illinois Infantry, writes that he
was passing through the ward getting signatures to the above petition
when one poor fellow, who was lying on the bed almost dead, aroused
himself and said: “I want to sign that paper. I would sign it fifty
times if asked, for the Sisters have been to me as my mother since I
have been here, and I believe had I been here before I would have been
well long ago. But if the Sisters leave I know I shall die. This is the
feeling of every sick soldier under the care of the Sisters.”
On May 2, 1863, General Joseph Hooker, who had succeeded Burnside,
fought General Lee at Chancellorsville, but was defeated. Lee followed
up this victory by crossing the Potomac at Harper’s Ferry, and marching
into Pennsylvania. The Union army under General Meade advanced to meet
him, and then came Gettysburg.