SISTERS OF MT. ST. VINCENT.
A joint request from the Mayor of Cincinnati and the Archbishop of
the Diocese promptly answered. Appalling sights witnessed by the
Sisters. Young men seated on their own coffins prepare for
execution. General Rosecrans and his kindness to the Sisters. The
Governor of Indiana calls for nurses. Labors in Kentucky.
[Illustration]
The work done by the Sisters of Charity of Mount St. Vincent during the
war was of a high order. The first of the Sisters to enter the service
as nurses were Sisters Anthony and Sophia. Both were sent to Camp
Dennison, Cincinnati, O., on the 1st of May, 1861. On the evening before
that date a peculiar holy calm was upon the beautiful convent, which is
located on a hill top, just within the limits of Cincinnati. The
structure, surrounded by cedar trees and well-cultivated grounds, had in
it the appearance of nobility, religion, peace and charity. The golden
rays of the setting sun glanced, then darkened as the Sisters were
enjoying their evening walk. A messenger suddenly called for the
Superior. The Mother leaves her religious family to attend to business.
Only a few minutes elapse when she returns to inform her Sisters that
his honor, the Mayor of Cincinnati, and the Most Rev. Archbishop Purcell
earnestly request the Sisters of Charity to attend the sick troops who
are stationed at Camp Dennison. There were no commands; all willingly
volunteered to nurse the sick soldiers. Preparations were quickly made,
and on May 1, 1861, five members of the community were named for the
camp. Sisters Sophia and Anthony were sent in advance, and Sisters
Bernardine, Alphonse and Magdalen followed. Camp Dennison was situated
about fifteen miles from Cincinnati, on the Little Miami Railroad. This
location was advantageous for many reasons--easy of access, with ample
space and abundance of water, level and suitable for military purposes.
Mother Josephine, the presiding Superior, accompanied the Sisters to
this new home. Their duties consisted principally in attending the
soldiers who were suffering from measles, which had broken out in the
ranks in the very worst form. After these soldiers had recovered health
the Sisters returned to the Mother Superior House at Cedar Grove,
Cincinnati.
After the return from Camp Dennison a hasty call was received from the
Mayor of Cumberland to attend the sick and wounded of that place. Sister
Anthony was among the number, and an amusing incident is related of the
Sisters’ leave-taking. As the good-byes were being said the train moved
off, carrying only Sister Anthony. She arrived in Columbus some hours in
advance of the others, who boarded the next train. Arriving at the
station in Columbus she received a telegram from the Most Rev.
Archbishop of Cincinnati to return immediately to St. John’s Hospital to
prepare for the sick and wounded soldiers who were there, being brought
from different places. The Sisters named for Cumberland were Sisters
Sophia, Ambrosia, Ettiene, Agnes, Jane, Mary, Gabriella. There they were
kindly received by a Catholic family. Dr. McMahon, the attending
physician, was kind and attentive.
The weather was cold, the accommodations poor and the hospitals, of
which there were twelve, were some distance from each other. There were
crowded into these hospitals at one time 2200 poor soldiers, suffering
from typhoid fever, pneumonia, erysipelas, etc. The duties were very
trying, but a murmur never escaped from the lips of one Sister of
Charity. Almighty God and His glory being their only aim, all seemed
easy. “Sad and numerous were the scenes we witnessed in those
hospitals,” says one of the Sisters, “yet none presents itself more
vividly to my mind to-day than the suffering of the boy soldiers longing
for home and mother. How often were those endearing words, ‘Mother,’
‘Home,’ mentioned!”
Sister Jane says: “I had in my ward a droll boy named Billy. Now, our
Billy had watched the Sisters for some time and addressed me thus:
‘Lady, what is that I hear the boys call you? Sister! Ah, that is a
beautiful name. Well, Sister, will you give me your Bible? I would like
to know something of your religion.” Billy received the little Bible, or
rather a small catechism, of which he made good use. He was soon
baptized, made his first holy communion, and his zeal did not end here.
“Often have I seen him on a platform explaining the words of his
catechism to his comrades, many of whom became fervent children of the
Church. Many hundreds of like instances could be cited, but I trust they
are written in the Book of Life.”
Sister Agnes spent about three months in Cumberland nursing the sick
soldiers. She then returned to St. John’s Hospital, Cincinnati, to nurse
the soldiers who were being sent from Richmond and Nashville to the
city. “It was here I witnessed the most appalling sights,” she says;
“men wanting arms or legs, and sometimes wanting both arms and
legs--pale, haggard faces, worn from long marching and fasting. Many, I
think, died of broken hearts. Faces and voices haunt me yet, calling for
home and dear ones whom they were destined never again to behold on
earth. The streets of this now flourishing city were then the scenes of
extreme suffering and misery. Frequently fine young men, seated on their
own coffins, passed through on their way to execution on some
neighboring hillside.”
About the 16th of February the Sisters received a hasty call from
Cumberland. Mother Josephine and Rev. Father Collins were to accompany
them to the scene of their duties. They reached Wheeling about 5 P. M.
the next day, and received hospitality from the Visitation Nuns. The
next morning, in the face of a blinding storm of sleet and snow, the
Sisters started for Cumberland, where they were met at the station by
Dr. McMahon, the surgeon of the post. They walked in procession through
the streets, and were the objects of much curiosity. That evening they
secured some rooms, but slept on the floor. The next morning they were
assigned some apartments in the house of a Southern gentleman, Dr.
Healy, whose sympathy with the South compelled him to leave home and
family. The accommodations here were little better than at the hotel.
The bunks were made of rough boards, covered with straw ticks, and the
pillows were of the same material.
Pages would not suffice to relate all the good done in Cumberland. Often
during the stillness of night one might have gazed on a Sister as she
stood at the cot of a dying soldier, heard her whisper words of
consolation and religion in his ears, saw her close gently his dying
eyes. Thus they passed long, weary nights.
Early in March, 1863, the Sisters of Mount St. Vincent, who had already
done valiant service in other localities, were invited to go to
Nashville to nurse the sick and wounded of that place. Those named were
Sisters Anthony, Constantina, Louise, Benedicta and Gabriella. They left
Cincinnati March 19, 1863, and were accompanied by Rev. Father Tracy.
There were four hospitals at this place, fairly well adapted for their
purpose. Sister Constantina, who took charge of the first one, proved to
be an angel of mercy to the poor invalids. The building was formerly an
old cotton mill, located on an eminence known as College Hill. The
Sisters were quartered in a small house opposite to this place, and
during their stay were treated with the greatest consideration. Many of
the wounded were sent to this place after the battle of Stone River.
Most of the patients were young, and they suffered intense agony.
At one time measles became quite epidemic among the soldiers, from which
many of them died. It was during the mission at this place that General
Rosecrans, with his body-guard, made daily visits to the sick. He was
wont to say in his kind, jovial way: “Come, come, boys, you are foxing;
these Sisters are too good to you,” then laugh heartily at his remarks.
He was very kind to all the Sisters. The next important call to duty
was at New Creek. The Sisters of Charity named for this colony were
Sister Sophia, in charge, assisted by Sisters Ann, Cecelia, Beatrice,
Stainlaus, Etienne, Laurence and Benedicta. The chaplain was Rev. Father
Corcoran.
[Illustration: BATTLE OF WILSON’S CREEK.]
From the diary of one of the above-named Sisters the following is
extracted: “We left Cedar Grove Academy June 9, 1862, for New Creek.
Arriving at our destination, we were assigned a tent, erected for our
accommodation by order of Dr. McMahon. This gentleman, however, soon
procured better quarters for us with a family named Dinges. Here we
performed our duties of nursing the sick and wounded with energy and
zeal. During our stay at New Creek we were treated with great kindness
and respect, particularly by Colonel Miller, who, although a Protestant,
proved a sincere friend of priest and Sisters.
“It is not surprising that our peculiar dress was a source of amusement
to many persons who had never before seen a religious. We were
frequently asked why we dressed so differently from other ladies. We are
happy to relate that our care and kindness removed many prejudices
against our religion. We remained at New Creek about three months; then
the army moved to Culpepper Court House. We followed in ambulances and
nursed the sick soldiers in tents pitched on the camp grounds. Some of
the soldiers had typhoid fever, of which disease many of them died. When
the Confederates were victorious at Harper’s Ferry we retreated to
Washington, whence we returned to the Mother house, Cincinnati.”
Gallipolis was the next assignment. The Sisters named for the field of
charity were Sisters Louis, Ambrosia, Euphrasia, Basilia, Gonzaga,
Laurence, Constantina and Seraphine. About eight months after their
return from Cumberland they were ordered to this location to attend the
soldiers from Winchester and Lynchburg. The wounded did not reach the
hospitals until fourteen days after the battle. The misery and suffering
presented was most frightful. The attending physician was Dr. Stone, and
the chaplain was Rev. Father Callenberg. Sister Gonzaga, a very holy
person, who has since gone to her reward, took quite an interest in
little Toby, a little darky, who was conspicuous about the camp, and who
endeavored, whenever an opportunity occurred, of instructing him in the
knowledge and love of God. When she thought she had instructed him
sufficiently and an examination would not be out of place, she called
him to her and said: “Toby, who made you?”
“Dun no, Sister,” he answered.
She then said to him: “Well, Toby, who made the trees, the grass, the
flowers and all these beautiful things which we see around us?”
The little fellow looked at her for awhile and said: “Dun no; dey was
all hyar when I comed.”
The soldiers in Gallipolis acted as gentlemen in their intercourse with
the Sisters. The sight of a Sister was sufficient to check the least
levity. Men who had been taught to look on Catholics as dangerous people
learned to love and respect the faith which taught even women to
sacrifice their lives for the comfort or relief of the soldiers.
The Governor of Indiana made application to the Most Rev. Archbishop of
Cincinnati for the Sisters to care for and nurse his troops in Richmond,
Ky. Sisters Anthony and Sophia were among the first ones sent. They
traveled in ambulances from Cincinnati. The following are extracts from
the diaries of these religious:
“Much, very much, might be said of our work at Richmond, but God alone
could tell the story. En route from here (Cincinnati) we witnessed
sights the most appalling; the grounds were covered with wounded, dying
and dead bodies. Some of the dead bodies were only partially covered,
hands and feet protruding. The weather being very hot added not a little
to the hardships of this scene of action.
“Arriving in Richmond, we began work immediately. The hospital had been
an academy, affording wards larger and better than many other locations
during the war. Shortly after attending to those suffering from the most
severe wounds, a Sister discovered a poor soldier crouched in a corner.
For hours he had lain under the burning rays of the sun, suffering
severely from a wound received in his shoulder. The flesh surrounding
the wound was dreadfully mangled, and owing to neglect was swarming with
vermin. Pale and haggard he looked. I shall never forget him. We washed
and dressed his wounds and administered the necessary cordials, and when
we placed him in a clean cot the reader may imagine his joy.
“Another ward in this hospital accommodated more than one hundred men.
Seventeen were lying on the floor, each of whom had lost one or more
limbs. ‘What shall we do with these poor men?’ was the constant query.
“The first death that occurred was of a man who had been shot through
the lung. He had been exposed to the heat of the sun, and had eaten no
food for hours. Everything was done for him, but his moments on earth
were few. He received the last sacraments and died a beautiful death.
His last words were: ‘Thanks to the Sisters.’ This death and its
attending circumstances were the cause of many conversions. One pious
Episcopalian asked the Sisters for books on the subject of religion,
saying that ‘a religion which teaches gentle ladies such devoted
self-sacrifice for suffering humanity must be Divine.’
“No page in history can record such noble deeds of courage and devotion
as that illuminating the life and labors of these Sisters during their
stay at Richmond. Particularly noble was our much esteemed Sister
Anthony.[15]
“History can point to annals of devotion and self-sacrifice of noble
women, but no annals are so rich in noble work and silent charity as
that of our loved Sister. Hundreds of men scattered over the States will
always remember and revere her. She seemed happy when engaged in
alleviating the sufferings of others, particularly of the soldiers.”
The following anecdote from the diary of a Sister illustrates the
influence that the religious possessed with these soldier boys:
“It is midnight. The moon sends her welcome light to cheer my watching
hours. There is stillness all around, although many soldiers are
suffering. But listen! I hear moans. A poor soldier is dying; must away
to his cot. Yes, he was dying. I prayed, then spoke: ‘Now, my young
friend, you are going home.’ ‘Home!’ said the boy; ‘what do you mean,
Sister?’ ‘Why, would you not like to go to heaven?’ ‘Sister, are you
going there when you die?’ I assured the boy that I sincerely hoped to
go there. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘so do I.’ I called the chaplain, had the
soldier baptized and ere the morning dawned this beautiful soul was in
heaven.”