GETTYSBURG.
Twelve Sisters depart for the battlefield from the Mother House at
Emmittsburg. A white handkerchief on a stick serves as a flag of
truce. An open charnel house red with the blood of American
manhood. The little church in the town of Gettysburg filled with
the sick and wounded. A Sister saves the life of a helpless man.
“I belong to the Methodist Church.”
[Illustration]
What is now generally conceded to have been the decisive battle of the
Civil War was fought on the 1st, 2d and 3d of July, 1863. It took place
in and around Gettysburg, a town located only about ten miles north of
Emmittsburg, the mother house of the Sisters of Charity. The Union army
was under the control of General George G. Meade, and the Confederate
forces under General Robert E. Lee. Over 140,000 men were engaged in
that bloody struggle, which lasted until the evening of the third day.
The contending armies by their movements advanced more and more toward
the Sisters’ house in Maryland. The scene of this historic battle
covered an area of over twenty-five square miles. The soldiers were so
close to the Sisters’ house that the buildings trembled from the fearful
cannonading.
On the morning of July 1, as the head of the One Hundred and Seventh
Regiment, Pennsylvania Volunteers, Second Division, First (Reynolds)
Corps was approaching St. Joseph’s Academy near Emmittsburg the soldiers
were greeted with a remarkable and impressive sight. A long line of
young girls led by several Sisters of Charity took their position along
the side of the road and at a word from the Sister in charge all fell
upon their knees and with upturned faces toward the vaulted skies
earnestly prayed for the spiritual and physical safety of the men who
were about to go into deadly battle. The sight was at once solemn and
inspiring in the extreme. The roughest soldiers ofttimes have the
tenderest hearts, and this scene affected them more than they cared to
confess. In an instant the head of every soldier in the line was bowed
and bared, and remained so until the prayer was finished. All
instinctively felt that the prayers of those self-sacrificing women and
innocent children would be answered. To many of the men it was a
harbinger of coming victory as certain as the sunshine that smiled upon
them on that beautiful July morning. The scene was photographed upon the
mind of many a veteran and remained ever afterwards as one of the
sweetest memories of the war.[10]
The night of the third day the rain fell heavily, and it continued
raining all the next day. On Sunday morning immediately after Mass, Rev.
James Francis Burlando, with twelve Sisters, left Emmittsburg for the
battlefield, taking refreshments, bandages, sponges and clothing, with
the intention of doing all that was possible for the suffering soldiers
and then returning home the next evening.[11] The roads previous to the
rain had been in a bad condition and the two armies had passed over them
with difficulty. But with the mighty rain the mud became so thick that
they were almost impassable. The subdued Southerners having retired,
their thousands of dead and wounded were left on the field and in the
barns and farmhouses in the vicinity. Scouts of the North were stationed
here and there, prepared to meet and cope with any eleventh hour
surprises. One of these bands seeing the Sisters’ carriages was about to
fire on them, thinking they were the ambulances of the enemy. The
Sisters had reached a double blockade of zigzag fence thrown across the
road for defensive purposes. The visitors wondered whether they dare go
around it by turning into the fields, for in the distance they saw
soldiers, half hidden in the woods, watching them. Father Burlando put a
white handkerchief on a stick and holding it high in the air, walked
towards them, while the Sisters alighted and walked about, so that the
concealed soldiers might see their white head-dress, known as cornettes.
The men viewed the priest sharply, for they had resolved to refuse to
recognize a flag of truce if it were offered, but the sight of the
cornettes reassured them. They met the priest and, learning his mission,
sent an escort with him to open a passage for the Sisters through the
fields. The meek messengers of peace and charity soon came in sight of
the ravages of grim war.
It was a sight that once seen was not soon to be forgotten. Thousands of
guns and swords, representing the weapons of the living, the wounded and
the dead, lay scattered about. The downpour from heaven had filled the
roads with water, but on this awful battlefield it was red with real
blood. The night before the unpitying stars shone down upon the stark
forms of the flower of American manhood. Hundreds of magnificent
horses--man’s best friend to the end--had breathed their last and lay by
the sides of their dead masters. Silent sentinels upon horseback, as
motionless almost as the dead about them, sat guarding this gruesome
open-air charnel.
With the first streak of gray dawn the work of interment had begun.
Bands of soldiers were engaged in digging graves and others were busy
carrying the bodies to them. There was no attempt at system. Vast
excavations were made and as many bodies as possible placed in them. The
dead were generally buried where they fell. In one trench at the foot of
the slope known as Culp’s Hill sixty Confederates were buried. In that
three days’ fight 2834 Union soldiers were killed and 14,492 wounded. On
the Confederate side there were 5500 killed and 21,500 wounded.
Thousands of the slightly wounded cared for themselves without the
assistance of either doctor or nurses. Thousands of others were shipped
to the Satterlee Hospital, in West Philadelphia, where their wants were
looked after by the Sisters of Charity in that institution. The
remainder were forced to remain in Gettysburg.
This was the condition of things that confronted the brave Sisters as
they rode over the battlefield on that scorching July day. Frightful as
it may seem, their carriage wheels actually rolled through blood. At
times the horses could scarcely be induced to proceed on account of the
ghastly objects in front of them. The sight of bodies piled two and
three high caused the animals to rear up on their hind legs and kick
over the traces in a most uncomfortable manner. In the midst of the
sickening scenes the Sisters discovered one little group sitting about
an improvised fire trying to cook some meat. The carriage was directed
to this point and here again Father Burlando informed the soldiers of
his errand. The officers seemed well pleased and told the Sisters to go
into the town of Gettysburg, where they would find sufficient employment
for their zealous charity. Every large building in Gettysburg was being
filled as fast as the wounded men could be carried in. Within and around
the city one hundred and thirteen hospitals were in operation, besides
those located in private houses. On reaching Gettysburg the Sisters were
shown to the hospital, where they distributed their little stores and
did all they could to relieve and console the wounded soldiers.
Two of the Sisters returned to Emmittsburg that same evening with Father
Burlando, for the purpose of sending additional nurses to relieve those
already on the ground. On arriving at the first hospital the surgeon in
charge took the Sisters to the ladies who had been attending there and
said to them: “Ladies, here are the Sisters of Charity come to serve our
wounded; they will give all the directions here; you are only required
to observe them.” Those addressed cheerfully bowed their assent.
[Illustration: GENERAL MEADE AT GETTYSBURG.]
The soldiers seemed to think that the presence of the Sisters softened
their anguish. One Sister was giving a drink to a poor dying man with a
teaspoon. It was slow work and a gentleman who entered unobserved at the
time stood near by without speaking for some moments. This gentleman was
from a distance and was in search of the very person the Sister was
serving. Standing a moment in silence, he exclaimed in a loud voice:
“May God bless the Sisters of Charity,” and repeated it emphatically,
adding: “I am a Protestant, but may God bless the Sisters of Charity.”
The Catholic Church in Gettysburg was filled with sick and wounded. The
stations of the cross hung around the walls, with a very large oil
painting of St. Francis Xavier holding in his hand a crucifix. The first
man put in the sanctuary was baptized, expressing truly Christian
sentiments. His pain was excruciating and when sympathy was offered him
he said: “Oh, what are the pains I suffer compared with those of my
Redeemer.” Thus disposed he died. The soldiers lay on the pew seats,
under them and in every aisle. They were also in the sanctuary and in
the gallery, so close together that there was scarcely room to move
about. Many of them lay in their own blood and the water used for
bathing their wounds, but no word of complaint escaped from their lips.
Others were dying with lockjaw, making it very difficult to administer
drinks and nourishment. Numbers of the men had their wounds dressed for
the first time by the Sisters, surgeons at that juncture being few in
number. When the Sisters entered in the morning it was no uncommon thing
to hear the men cry out: “Oh, come, please dress my wound,” and “Oh,
come to me next.” To all the pain suffered by the soldiers was added the
deprivations of home friends and home comforts, which in such times come
so vividly to the mind.
Four of the Sisters attended the sick in the Transylvania College
building, which for the time being was used as a prison for about six
hundred Confederate soldiers. The Sisters dressed their wounds as in
other cases. Every morning when they returned, eight or ten dead bodies
lay at the entrance of the college awaiting interment. Two youths lay in
an outstretched blanket and a little ditch two inches deep was around
the earth they lay upon, to prevent the rain from running under them.
There was quite a sensational scene in this prison one morning. One of
the Sisters hearing a great noise among the patients looked to see the
cause. She discovered a group of men with guns aimed at one poor,
helpless man. There had been a quarrel, and no one attempted to stop the
strife. The Sister promptly and with no thought of personal danger
hurried over to the group and placed her hand on the shoulder of the
prospective corpse. Then she pushed him back into the surgeon’s room,
holding her other arm out to hinder the men from pursuing him. There was
a dead silence. The poor man was put safely inside the doctor’s room and
his tormentors retired without a word, quietly putting away their guns.
The silence continued for some time. The Sister placidly resumed her
duties in the mess room.
Presently the doctor came to her and said: “Sister, you have surprised
me. I shall never forget what I have witnessed. I saw their anger and
heard the excitement, but feared that my presence would increase it. I
did not know what to do, but you came and everything was all right.
Indeed, this will never die in my memory.”
“Well,” replied the Sister calmly, “what did I do more than any other
person would have done? You know they were ashamed to resist a woman.”
“A woman!” exclaimed the doctor; “why, all the women in Gettysburg could
not have effected what you have. No one but a Sister of Charity could
have done this. Truly it would have been well if a company of Sisters of
Charity had been in the war, for then it might not have continued so
long.”
One young man after being baptized requested the Sister to stay with him
until he died. He prayed fervently until the last breath, and almost his
final words were: “Oh, Lord, bless the Sisters of Charity.” This brought
a crowd around him, as his bed was on the floor. The Sister was kneeling
by him and continued to pray for him until the last; then she closed his
mouth and bandaged his face with a towel, in the usual manner. They who
stood near said one to another: “Was this man her relative?”
“No,” was the reply; “but she is a Sister of Charity.”
“Well,” said one of the company, “I have often heard of the Sisters of
Charity, and I can now testify that they have been properly named.”
The surgeon remarked to the religious: “Sisters, you must be more
punctual at your repast. I see you are often here until 4 o’clock in the
afternoon without your dinner, working for others with a two-fold
strength. Where it comes from I do not know--forgetting no one but
yourselves. You should, however, try to preserve your own health.”
A Protestant gentleman remarked to one of the Sisters that “the Sisters
of Charity have done more for religion during the war than has ever been
done in this country before.”
Both the Catholic church and the Methodist church in Gettysburg were
used for hospital purposes. One day a Sister from the Catholic church
had ordered her supplies, as usual, from the sanitary store. Soon after
this a Sister who was nursing the sick in the Methodist church called at
the store and as she was about to leave the merchant said:
“Where are these articles to be sent? I believe that you belong to the
Catholic church.”
“No, sir,” replied the Sister, with a barely suppressed smile. “I belong
to the Methodist church. Send the goods there.”
After the more severely wounded had been removed by friends, or had
died, the officers began directing the work of transferring the
remaining patients from the town hospital to a wood of tents, called the
general hospital.
A Sister was passing through the streets of Gettysburg about this time
when a Protestant chaplain, running several squares to overtake her,
said:
“I see Sisters of Charity everywhere but in our general hospital. Why
are they not there?”
The Sister told him that when the wounded men had been removed none of
the surgeons or officers had asked them to go there or they would have
gone willingly.
“Well,” he said, “I will go immediately to the provost and ask him to
have you sent there. I feel sure that he needs you there.”
In going over the field encampment one of the Sisters was pleased and
saddened to find her own brother, whom she had not seen for nine years.
He had been wounded in the chest and ankle and was in one of the
hospitals in the town. The meeting under such circumstances was an
affecting one. Both were devoted, loyal souls, each doing duty earnestly
according to his or her knowledge of the right. Through the kindness of
the officer of the day the wounded man was permitted to be removed to
the hospital where his sister was in charge.
A few days after the battle of Gettysburg Father Burlando wrote a letter
to one of his reverend colleagues in Maryland. Some of the facts
mentioned in this document have already been told in this chapter, but
the fact that it was written while the echoes of that famous fight were
still fresh makes it of unusual interest. It is as follows:
Emmitsburg, July 8, 1863.
Rev. and Dear Sir:--You have been informed without doubt by the
papers that we have been visited by the Army of the Potomac, and
that very near us has been fought a terrible battle, the most
bloody since the secession. St. Joseph has well taken care of his
house, and St. Vincent of his daughters; we have not been
troubled, or at least we have escaped with the slight loss of a
little forage and some wooden palings, which have served for the
wants of a portion of the army.
The evening of the 27th of June the troops commenced to appear
upon a small hill a little distance from St. Joseph’s. Regiment
after regiment, division after division, all advanced with
artillery and cavalry, and taking possession of all the heights
encamped in order of battle. The 28th, 29th and 30th we were
completely surrounded. General Howard and his suite took
possession of our house in Emmitsburg; General Schultz and his
suite were close to St. Joseph’s, in the house which served some
time since for an orphanage; the other Generals took quarters in
different houses along the line of army.
For the protection of St. Joseph’s General Schultz gave orders
that guards should be posted in its environs, and General Howard
did the same for our little place in Emmittsburg. A great number
of officers asked permission to visit the house, and all conducted
themselves with courtesy, expressing gratitude for the services
rendered the soldiers in military hospitals by the Sisters.
On Monday this portion of the army departed, and was replaced by
another not less numerous, which ranged itself in line of battle
as the first. A colonel of artillery, Mr. Latrobiere, with other
officers quartered in the orphanage; he also visited the
Institution. The Sisters distributed bread, milk and coffee.
On the 1st of July the battle commenced about seven miles from
Emmittsburg. Whilst the booming of the cannon announced that God
was punishing the iniquities of man our Sisters were in church
praying and imploring mercy for all mankind.
On Sunday I accompanied eight Sisters bearing medicaments and
provisions for the wounded. At the distance of six miles we were
stopped by a barricade, and at about three hundred yards there was
another to intercept all communication. At the second was
stationed a company of Federal soldiers, who perceived us from
afar. I descended from the carriage, and raising a white
handkerchief advanced to the second barricade, and announced the
purpose of our errand. Immediately several soldiers were sent to
open the way, and the two vehicles continued their route without
danger. At some distance we found ourselves again in face of
another barricade, which compelled us to make a long circuit.
Behold us at last upon the scenes of combat--what a frightful
spectacle! Ruins of burned houses; the dead of both armies lying
here and there; numbers of dead horses; thousands of guns, swords,
vehicles, wheels, projectiles of all dimensions, coverings, hats,
habiliments of all color, covered the fields and the road. We made
circuits to avoid passing over dead bodies; horses, terrified,
recoiled or sprang from one side to the other. The further we
advanced the more abundant were the evidences presented of a
terrible combat, and tears could not be restrained in the presence
of these objects of horror. At last we halted in the village of
Gettysburg. There was found a good portion of the Federal army in
possession of the field of battle. The inhabitants had but just
issued from the cellars wherein they had sought safety during the
engagement. Terror was still painted upon their countenances. All
was in confusion, each temple, each house, the Catholic church,
the Court House, the Protestant Seminary were filled with wounded,
and still there were many thousands extended upon the field of
battle nearly without succor. I placed two of our Sisters in each
one of the three largest improvised hospitals, offered some
further consolations to the wounded and then returned to St.
Joseph’s.
The next day I started with more Sisters and a reinforcement of
provisions. Meanwhile provisions had been sent by the Government,
and the poor wounded succored, and the inhabitants having
recovered from their terror have given assistance to thousands of
suffering and dying. Eleven Sisters were now employed in this town
transformed into a hospital. We shall send some Sisters and
necessaries to-morrow if possible. Whilst I write you the sound of
cannonading re-echoes from the Southwest, where another engagement
takes place. My God, when will you give peace to our unhappy
country?
Yours, BURLANDO.