CHAPTER XXVIII.

A LESSON IN CHARITY.

An incident of the war in which a gentle Sister of Charity and a

stern military commander played the leading parts. “What do you do

with your beggings?” The Red River campaign and its fatal results.

The general in the hospital. “Did you get the ice and beef?” A

grateful patient and his appreciation of the real worth of the

Sisters.

[Illustration]

“During the late war, and when General S. was in command of the

department at New Orleans, the Sisters of Charity made frequent

applications to him for assistance.[26] Especially were they desirous to

obtain supplies at what was termed ‘commissary prices;’ that is, at a

reduction or commutation of one-third the amount which the same

provisions would cost at market rates. The principal demand was for ice,

flour, beef and coffee, but mainly ice, a luxury which only the Union

forces could enjoy at anything like a reasonable price. The hospitals

were full of the sick and wounded of both the Federal and Confederate

armies, and the benevolent institutions of the city were taxed to the

utmost in their endeavors to aid the poor and the suffering, for those

were trying times, and war has many victims. Foremost among these

Christian workers stood the various Christian Sisterhoods. These noble

women were busy day and night, never seeming to know fatigue, and

overcoming every obstacle that, in so many discouraging forms,

obstructed the way of doing good--obstacles which would have completely

disheartened less resolute women, or those not trained in the school of

patience, faith, hope and charity, and where the first grand lesson

learned is self-denial. Of money there was little, and food, fuel and

medicine were scarce and dear; yet they never faltered, going on in the

face of all difficulties, through poverty, war and unfriendly

aspersions, never turning aside, never complaining, never despairing. No

one will ever know the sublime courage of these good Sisters during the

dark days of the Rebellion. Only in that hour when the Judge of all

mankind shall summon before Him the living and the dead will they

receive their true reward, the crown everlasting, and the benediction:

‘Well done, good and faithful servant.’

“It was just a week previous to the Red River campaign, when all was

hurry and activity throughout the Department of the Gulf, that General

S., a stern, irascible old officer of the regular army, sat at his desk

in his office on Julia street, curtly giving orders to subordinates,

dispatching messengers hither and thither to every part of the city

where troops were stationed, and stiffly receiving such of his command

as had important business to transact.

“In the midst of this unusual hurry and preparation the door noiselessly

opened, and a humble Sister of Charity entered the room. A handsome

young lieutenant of the staff instantly arose and deferentially handed

her a chair, for those sombre gray garments were respected, if not

understood, even though he had no reverence for the religious faith

which they represented.

“General S. looked up from his writing, angered by the intrusion of one

whose ‘fanaticism’ he despised, and a frown of annoyance and displeasure

gathered darkly on his brow.

“‘Orderly!’

“The soldier on duty without the door, who had admitted the Sister,

faced about, saluted and stood mute, awaiting the further command of his

chief.

“‘Did I not give orders that no one was to be admitted?’

“‘Yes, sir; but--’

“‘When I say no one, I mean no one,’ thundered the General.

“The orderly bowed and returned to his post. He was too wise a soldier

to enter into explanation with so irritable a superior. All this time

the patient Sister sat calm and still, biding the moment when she might

speak and meekly state the object of her mission. The General gave her

the opportunity in the briefest manner possible, and sharply enough,

too, in all conscience.

“‘Well, madam?’

“She raised a pair of sad, dark eyes to his face, and the gaze was so

pure, so saintly, so full of silent pleading, that the rough old soldier

was touched in spite of himself. Around her fell the heavy muffling

dress of her order, which, however coarse and ungraceful, had something

strangely solemn and mournful about it. Her hands, small and fair, were

clasped almost suppliantly, and half-hidden in the loose sleeves, as if

afraid of their own trembling beauty; hands that had touched tenderly,

lovingly, so many death-damp foreheads; that had soothed so much pain;

eyes that had met prayerfully so many dying glances; lips that had

cheered to the mysterious land so many parting souls, and she was only a

Sister of Charity--only one of that innumerable band whose good deeds

shall live after them.

“‘We have a household of sick and wounded whom we must care for in some

way, and I came to ask of you the privilege, which I humbly beseech you

will not deny us, of obtaining ice and beef at commissary prices.’

“The gentle, earnest pleading fell on deaf ears.

“‘Always something,’ snarled the General. ‘Last week it was flour and

ice; to-day it is ice and beef; to-morrow it will be coffee and ice, I

suppose, and all for a lot of rascally rebels, who ought to be shot,

instead of being nursed back to life and treason.’

“‘General!’--the Sister was majestic now--‘Rebel or Federal, I do not

know; Protestant or Catholic, I do not ask. They are not soldiers when

they come to us; they are simply suffering fellow-creatures. Rich or

poor, of gentle or lowly blood, it is not our province to inquire.

Ununiformed, unarmed, sick and helpless, we ask not on which side they

fought. Our work begins after yours is done. Yours the carnage, ours the

binding up of wounds. Yours the battle, ours the duty of caring for the

mangled left behind on the field. Ice I want for the sick, the wounded,

the dying. I plead for all, I beg for all, I pray for all God’s poor

suffering creatures, wherever I may find them.’

“‘Yes, you can beg, I’ll admit. What do you do with all your beggings?

It is always more, more! never enough!’

“With this, the General resumed his writing, thereby giving the

Sister to understand that she was dismissed. For a moment her eyes fell,

her lips trembled--it was a cruel taunt. Then the tremulous hands slowly

lifted and folded tightly across her breast, as if to still some sudden

heartache the unkind words called up. Very low, and sweet, and earnest

was her reply:

[Illustration: UNION LEADERS OF THE CIVIL WAR.

HOWARD KEARNY BURNSIDE SCOTT ROSECRANS WALLACE CUSTER

THOMAS HANCOCK McCLELLAN HOOKER BUTLER LOGAN

]

“What do we do with our beggings? Oh, that is a hard question to ask of

one whose way of life leads ever among the poor, the sorrowing, the

unfortunate, the most wretched of mankind. Not on me is it wasted. I

stand here in my earthly all. What do we do with it? Ah! some day you

may know.’

“She turned away and left him, sad of face, heavy of heart, and her dark

eyes misty with unshed tears.

“‘Stay!’

“The General’s request was like a command. He could be stern; nay,

almost rude, but he knew truth and worth when he saw it, and could be

just. The Sister paused on the threshold, and for a minute nothing was

heard but the rapid scratching of the General’s pen.

“‘There, madam, is your order on the Commissary for ice and beef at army

terms, good for three months. I do it for the sake of the Union Soldiers

who are, or may be, in your care. Don’t come bothering me again.

Good-morning!’

“In less than three weeks from that day the slaughter of the Red River

campaign had been perfected, and there neared the city of New Orleans a

steamer flying the ominous yellow flag, which even the rebel

sharpshooters respected and allowed to pass down the river unmolested.

Another, and still another, followed closely in her wake, and all the

decks were covered with the wounded and dying whose bloody bandages and,

in many instances, undressed wounds gave woeful evidence of the lack of

surgeons, as well as the completeness of the rout. Among the desperately

wounded was General S. He was borne from the steamer to the waiting

ambulance, writhing in anguish from the pain of his bleeding and

shell-torn limb, and when they asked him where he wished to be taken he

feebly moaned:

“‘Anywhere, it matters not. Where I can die in peace.’

“So they took him to the Hotel Dieu, a noble and beautiful institution,

in charge of the Sisters of Charity. The limb was amputated and then he

was nursed for weeks through the agony of the surgical operation, the

fever, the wild delirium; and for many weary days no one could tell

whether life or death would be the victor. But who was the quiet,

faithful nurse, ever at his bedside, ever ministering to his wants, ever

watchful of his smallest needs? Why only ‘one of the Sisters.’

“At last life triumphed, reason returned, and with it much of the old,

abrupt manner. The General awoke to consciousness to see a face not

altogether unknown bending over him, and to feel a pair of small, deft

hands skillfully arranging a bandage, wet in ice-cold water, around his

throbbing temples, where the mad pain and aching had for so long a time

held sway. He was better now, though still very weak; but his mind was

clear, and he could think calmly and connectedly of all that had taken

place since the fatal battle--a battle which had so nearly cost him his

life and left him at best but a maimed and mutilated remnant of his

former self.

“Yet he was thankful it was no worse--that he had not been killed

outright. In like degree he was grateful to those who nursed him so

tenderly and tirelessly, especially the gray-robed woman, who had

become almost angelic in his eyes; and it was like him to express his

gratitude in his own peculiar way, without preface or circumlocution.

Looking intently at the Sister, as if to get her features well fixed in

his memory, he said:

“‘Did you get the ice and beef?’

“The Sister started. The question was so direct and unexpected. Surely

her patient must be getting--really himself!

“‘Yes,’ she replied simply, but with a kind glance of the soft, sad

eyes, that spoke eloquently her thanks.

“‘And your name is ----”

“‘Sister Francis.’

“‘Well, then, Sister Francis, I am glad you got the things--glad I gave

you the order. I think I know now what you do with your beggings. I

comprehend something of your work, your charity, your religion, and I

hope to be the better for the knowledge. I owe you a debt I can never

repay, but you will endeavor to believe that I am deeply grateful for

all your great goodness and ceaseless care.’

“‘Nay; you owe me nothing; but to Him, whose cross I bear and in whose

Divine footsteps I try to follow, you owe a debt of gratitude unbounded.

To His infinite mercy I commend you. It matters not for the body; it is

that divine mystery, the soul, I would save. My work here is done. I

leave you to the care of others. Adieu.’

“The door softly opened and closed, and he saw Sister Francis no more.

“Two months afterward she received a letter sent to the care of the

Mother Superior, inclosing a check for a thousand dollars. At the same

time the General took occasion to remark that he wished he were able to

make it twice the amount, since he knew by experience ‘What they did

with their beggings.’”

With this portion of the book is concluded the record of the labors of

the Catholic Sisterhoods in the war. The appendix which follows contains

a number of interesting facts which it was deemed advisable to separate

from the text proper. Most of them have reference, either directly or

indirectly, to the patience, courage and loyalty of the Sisters. Those

that have not are sufficiently allied to the subject matter to justify

their insertion in a volume of this character. Before the book went to

press the writer went over this additional matter with a view to

omitting some portions that did not appear directly related to the main

volume. But it was difficult to make a choice. No two persons could

agree upon the part to be retained and the portion to be omitted. So all

of the matter has remained as it was originally conceived and arranged.

No one can read the story of the labors of the heroic women in the war

without a thrill of reverence and admiration for these devoted nurses.

They constitute “a grand army of the Republic” before which the boys in

Blue and the boys in Gray, and their descendants after them, can bow the

head in respectful salutation. They “enlisted in the war” from motives

of the highest patriotism--love of humanity and love of God. They had no

purpose to accomplish, no axes to grind, no reward to receive, no pay to

earn! They did not forsake their peaceful convent homes, share the

privations and the rough fare of the soldiers, to gratify any worldly

ambition. All that they did was from a pure and elevated sense of duty.

The high motives that inspired them in volunteering their services at

the crisis in this nation’s history has also prevented them from

recording or publishing the amount and character of these services.

Their light has literally been hid beneath a bushel. This feeble effort

to do justice to their labors and their memory has been undertaken, not

because they would have it done, but because duty, justice and

patriotism alike demanded that it should be done. If the perusal of

these pages furnishes the reader one-tenth of the pleasure involved in

their making, the writer will be well repaid for his labor.

[Illustration]

APPENDIX.

I.

AN INNOCENT VICTIM.

The frontispiece, entitled “An Innocent Victim,” that adorns this volume

is taken from a famous painting executed by S. Seymour Thomas, an artist

who is rapidly rising to fame. Mr. Thomas was born in San Augustine,

Tex., studied in New York at the Art Students’ League, and from there

went to Paris, where he is recognized as an artist of great power. This

picture was exhibited at the World’s Columbian Exposition, in Chicago,

where it attracted great attention.

II.

MEDALS FOR SISTERS.

The official gazette of the French Government recently published an

order of the Minister of War granting medals to certain Catholic

Sisters. A gold medal has been awarded to Sister Clare, of the Order of

Sisters of St. Charles, for twenty-seven years’ service in the wards of

the military hospital at Toul, and for previous service at Nancy, during

the whole of which time she had given constant evidence of her devotion

to duty. Silver medals have been given to Sister Gabrielle for

thirty-six years’ work, during twenty-three of which she has been

Superior; to Sister Adrienne for thirty-eight years’ service, and to

Sister Charlotte for eleven years’ service. These last three religious

have been attached to the mixed hospital of Verdun, and, according to

the official notice, have been remarkable for their zeal and their

devoted care of the sick soldiers.

III.

HONORED BY THE QUEEN.

The Queen of England only a few months ago showed her appreciation of

the work of the Sisters in time of war by bestowing the Royal Red Cross

upon the venerable Mother Aloysius Doyle, of the Convent of Mercy, Gort,

Ireland. The following correspondence deserves to be preserved:

Pall Mall, London, S. W.,

February 15, 1897.

Madam:--The Queen having been pleased to bestow upon you the

decoration of the Royal Red Cross, I have to inform you that in

the case of such honors as this it is the custom of Her Majesty to

personally bestow the decoration upon the recipient when such a

course is convenient to all concerned, and I have, therefore, to

request that you will be so good as to inform me whether it would

be convenient to you to attend at Windsor some time within the

next few weeks. Should any circumstances prevent your receiving

the Royal Red Cross from the hands of Her Majesty it could be

transmitted by post to your present address. I am, madam, your

obedient servant,

GEORGE M. FARQUHARSON.

SISTER MARY ALOYSIUS.

St. Patrick’s, Gort, County Galway.

Sir:--I received your letter of the 15th, intimating to me that

Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen is pleased to bestow on me the

Order of the Royal Cross in recognition of the services of my

Sisters in religion and my own in caring for the wounded soldiers

at the Crimea during the war. My words cannot express my gratitude

for the great honor which Her Majesty is pleased to confer on me.

The favor is, if possible, enhanced by the permission to receive

this public mark of favor at Her Majesty’s own hands. The weight

of seventy-six years and the infirmities of age will, I trust,

dispense me from the journey to the palace. I will, therefore,

with sentiments of deepest gratitude ask to be permitted to

receive this mark of my Sovereign’s favor in the less public and

formal manner you have kindly indicated. I am, sir, faithfully

yours in Jesus Christ,

SISTER M. ALOYSIUS.

February 17, 1897.

IV.

VETERANS OF THE CRIMEAN WAR.

In August, 1897, at the close of the ceremonies incident to the

celebration of her Diamond Jubilee, the Queen of Great Britain conferred

the decoration of the Royal Red Cross upon Army Nursing Sisters Mary

Helen Ellis, Mary Stanilaus Jones, Mary Anastasia Kelly and Mary de

Chantal Huddon, in recognition of their services in tending the sick and

wounded at the seat of war during the Crimean campaign of 1854-56. Their

services were very much appreciated by Miss Nightingale, who, indeed,

has ever since shown her interest in them in many ways.

The three Sisters first mentioned, together with another who has died

since, were on their return from the East, asked to undertake the

nursing at a hospital, just then being established in Great Ormond

street, for incurable and dying female patients, and to this hospital

they have been attached to the present time.

V.

POOR SISTER ST. CLAIRE.

Professor Edward Roth, the well-known Philadelphia educator, is

authority for this episode of the Franco-German war. He quotes General

Ambert, who fought as a private in the war, as follows:

“Oh, yes; one of them I shall never forget. Poor Sister St. Claire! I

see her this moment, her big black veil trimmed with blue, as she makes

her way through the blood-smeared straw of our crowded barn. The roaring

of the cannon was awful, but she did not seem to mind it; she did not

seem to mind even the terrible fire that was now raging through the last

houses of the village, the flames near enough to cast an unearthly

glimmer on the suffering faces of the wounded men. But, oh! how her

sharp ear caught the slightest complaint! How she flew towards the

faintest whisper!

“Everywhere at once--with each one of us at the same time! What iron

strength God must have put into that little body! Your eye had hardly

caught glimpse of it when you felt already at your lips the cool

refreshing drink that you had not the courage to ask for. You had

hardly opened your dimmed eyes, heavy with pain and fever, when you

were aware of a face bending over you, keen, indeed, and bright, though

slightly poxmarked; but so resolute, calm, smiling and kindly that you

instantly forgot your sufferings, forgot the Prussians with their bombs

bursting around you, forgot even the conflagration that was drawing

nearer and nearer and threatened soon to swallow up the barn in which

our ambulances had taken shelter. Good Sister St. Claire, you are now

with your God, the voluntary victim of your heart and your faith, but I

have often wished since that you were once more among us, listening to

the thanks and prayers of such of us as are still alive and never to

forget you. But you did not hear even the tenth part of the blessings of

those that died with your name on their lips as they sank to their

eternal sleep tranquilly, resignedly, hopefully, thanks to your holy

ministrations!

“It was the evening of August 16, 1870, the day of our bloodiest

battle--Gravelotte. For hours and hours the wounded had been carried

persistently and in great numbers to the rear. In a large barn near

Rezonville those of us had been laid whose intense sufferings would not

permit them to be removed further. Thrown hurriedly down wherever room

could be found, the first arms you saw extending towards you, were those

of that little dark-faced woman, her lips smiling, but her eyes

glistening with tears. A few yards only from the field of battle, from

the very thick of the fight; a few yards only from the muddy,

blood-slipping ground where you had just sunk, fully expecting to be

soon trampled to death like so many others, what heavenly comfort it was

to meet such burning charity! How it at once relieved your physical

sufferings, soothed off your mortification and drove away your

deadening despair!

“Poor Sister St. Claire! All that evening and all that long night to get

water for the fifty agonized voices calling for it every moment you had

to cross a yard hissing with bullets, but every five minutes out you

went with your two buckets and back you soon came as serene and

undisturbed as if God Himself had made you invulnerable. And so the long

night wore away.

“But next morning our army, after a fifteen hours’ valiant struggle and

after resting all night on the battlefield, had to fall back towards

Metz, and the barn had to be immediately vacated. There was no time for

using the regular ambulances, for the Prussians, though they could not

take any of our positions the previous evening, being heavily reinforced

were now steadily advancing. The wounded, picked up hastily and carried

out without ceremony, were piled on trucks, tumbrils and every available

vehicle.

“Oh, the cries! the pains! the sufferings! Still, dear Sister St.

Claire, though for forty-eight hours you hadn’t had a second for your

own rest, you contrived to pass continually from one end of that

wretched column to the other, with a little water for this one, a good

word for that, a smile or friendly nod for a third, your little arms

lifting out of danger a head that leaned over too far, or shifting into

a more comfortable position the poor fellow whose leg had been cut off

during the night and who would probably be dead in an hour or two. Then

you found a seat for yourself on the last wagon.

“Alas! you were not there half an hour when the bullet struck

you--struck you as you were striving to keep a poor, wounded, helpless

man from rolling out. A squadron of Uhlans suddenly cut us off from the

army and made us all prisoners.

“Poor Sister! It was by the hands of our enemies that the grave was dug

where you are now lying in the midst of those on whom you expended the

treasures of your saintly soul. Of us that survive you there is probably

not one in a thousand that will ever know the name of that little Sister

of the Trinity--in religion Sister St. Claire--that bright vision of

charity flashing continually before us during the long ride of agony in

the barn near Rezonville.

“Your holy limbs are now resting in an unknown corner of Lorraine--no

longer your dear France--but your blessed memory will live forever in

the grateful hearts of those you have died for!”

VI.

LORD NAPIER’S TESTIMONY.

Lord Napier, who held a diplomatic position under Lord Stratford de

Redcliffe, in Constantinople, during the Crimean War, gives the

following testimony to the worth of the Sisters of Mercy:

“During the distress of the Crimean war the Ambassador called me in one

morning and said: ‘Go down to the port; you will find a ship there

loaded with Jewish exiles, Russian subjects from the Crimea. It is your

duty to disembark them. The Turks will give you a house in which they

may be placed. I turn them over entirely to you.’ I went down to the

shore and received about 200 persons, the most miserable objects that

could be witnessed, most of them old men, women and children, sunk in

the lowest depths of indigence and despair. I placed them in the cold,

ruinous lodging allocated to them by the Ottoman authorities. I went

back to the Ambassador and said: ‘Your Excellency, those people are cold

and I have no fuel or blankets; they are hungry, and I have no food;

they are very dirty, and I have no soap; their hair is in an undesirable

condition and I have no combs. What am I to do with these people?’ ‘Do?’

said the Ambassador; ‘get a couple of Sisters of Mercy; they will put

all to rights in a moment.’ I went, saw the Mother Superior and

explained the case. I asked for two Sisters. They were at once sent.

They were ladies of refinement and intellect. I was a stranger and a

Protestant, and I invoked their assistance for the benefit of Jews. Yet

these two women made up their bundles and followed me through the rain

without a look, a whisper or a sign of hesitation. From that moment my

fugitives were saved. No one saw the labors of those Sisters for months

but myself, and they never endeavored to make a single convert.”

[Illustration: CONFEDERATE LEADERS OF THE CIVIL WAR.

BRAGG SMITH PEMBERTON HAMPTON EARLY FITZ-HUGH LEE PICKETT

“JOE” JOHNSTON A. S. JOHNSTON LONGSTREET STUART GORDON

]

In his speeches in after times Lord Napier repeatedly referred to the

singular zeal and devotedness constantly shown by the Sisters to the

sick of every denomination. On one occasion, in Edinburgh, he remarked

that the Sisters faithfully kept their promise not to interfere with the

religion of non-Catholics, but, continued his Lordship, “they made at

least one convert; they converted me, if not to believe in the Catholic

faith, at least to believe in the Sisters of Mercy.”

The few months spent at Balaklava by the devoted Sisters witnessed a

repetition of the deeds of heroism which had achieved such happy results

at Scutari and Koulali. The cholera and a malignant type of fever had

broken out in those days in the camp. By night as well as by day the

Sisters were called to help the patients, yet their strength seemed

never to fail in their work of charity. Besides the soldiers, there were

sick civilians, Maltese, Germans, Greeks, Italians, Americans and even

negroes, and to all they endeavored to give some attention.

The medical orders reveal the constant nature of the nursing required at

their hands. At one time the doctor “requests that a Sister would sit up

with his Dutch patient in No. 9 ward to-night.” Again, “Sisters to sit

up with the Maltese and the Arab.” “Kind attendance on Jones every night

would be necessary until a notification to the contrary be given.” “Keep

the stump moist; a little champagne and water to be given during the

night.” “Elliot is to be watched all night; powder every half hour; wine

in small dose if necessary.” The very confidence placed by the

physicians in their careful treatment added to their toil. As the deputy

purveyor-in-chief reported to the Government in December, 1855: “The

medical officer can safely consign his most critical case to their

hands; stimulants or opiates ordered every five minutes will be

faithfully administered, though the five minutes’ labor were repeated

uninterruptedly for a week.”

The heroism of the nuns, however, was now well known in camp, and never

did workers find more sympathetic subordinates than the Sisters had in

their orderlies. The fact that they would never lodge complaints or have

the orderlies punished only made the men more zealous in their service.

One of the Sisters found it necessary to correct her orderly. “Perhaps,

James,” she said, “you do not wish me to speak to you a little

severely.” He at once interrupted her: “Troth, Sister, I glory in your

speaking to me. Sure, the day I came to Balaklava I cried with joy when

I saw your face.” One who had taken a glass too much was so mortified at

being seen by the Rev. Mother--whom the soldiers call their

commander-in-chief--that he sobbed like a child. Another in the same

predicament hid himself that he might not be seen by the Sister. He had

never hidden from the enemy; a medal with three clasps bore eloquent

testimony to his bravery. “I don’t like to say anything harsh,” said the

Sister. “Speak, ma’am,” interrupted the delinquent; “the words out of

your blessed mouth are like jewels falling over me.”

One of the Sisters writes: “We have not a cross here with anyone. The

medical officers all work beautifully with us. They quite rely on our

obedience. Sir John Hall, the head medical officer of the army, is quite

loud in his promise of the nuns. The hospital and its hunts are

scattered over a hill. The respect of all for the Sisters is daily

increasing. Don’t be shocked to hear that I am so accustomed to the

soldiers now and so sure of their respect and affection that I don’t

mind them more than the school children.” The soldiers in the camp

envied the good fortune of stratagem to have a few words with the nuns.

“Please, sir,” they would say to the chaplain, “do send a couple of us

on an errand to the hospital to get a sight of the nuns.”

As the time for the nuns’ departure approached the cordial

manifestations of respect and kindly feeling were only the more

multiplied. “The grateful affection of the soldiers (a Sister writes) is

most touching, often ludicrous. They swarm around us like flocks of

chickens. A black-veiled nun, in the midst of red coats all eyes and

ears for whatever she says to them, is an ordinary sight at Balaklava.

Our doors were besieged by them to get some little keepsake; a book in

which we write ‘Given by a Sister of Mercy’ is so valuable an article

that a Protestant declared he would rather have such a gift than the

Victoria Cross or Crimean medal.”

The Sunday after the nuns’ departure the men who went to the chapel

sobbed and cried as though their hearts would break. When the priest

turned to speak to them and asked their prayers for the safe passage of

the nuns they could not control their emotion. “I was obliged to cut

short my discourse,” wrote the chaplain, “else I should have cried and

sobbed with my poor men.” This sympathy was shown by Protestants and

Catholics alike, and from the commander-in-chief to the private soldier,

from the first medical officers to the simple presser in the surgery,

all was a chorus in praise of the “untiring, judicious and gentle

nursing of the Sisters of Mercy.”

Two Sisters of Mercy were summoned to their crowns from the hospitals of

the East. One was English, a lay Sister from the convent at Liverpool.

She fell a victim to the cholera which raged at Balaklava. The other was

a choir Sister from Ireland, Sister M. Elizabeth Butler. Already rumors

of peace had brought joy to the camp, when toward the close of February

7, 1855, she caught typhus attending the sick and in a few days joyfully

bade farewell to the world. One of the surviving Sisters describes her

funeral. The Eighty-ninth Regiment obtained the honor and privilege of

bearing the coffin to the grave. One officer earnestly desired to be

among the chosen, but thought he was not worthy, as he had not been at

Holy Communion on that morning. The whole medical staff attended. The

Sisters of Charity at the Sardinian camp sent five of their number to

express sympathy and condolence. Eight chaplains attended to perform the

last rites for the heroine of charity.

The place of interment was beside the departed lay Sister, on a rocky

hill rising over the waters of the Black Sea. The funeral was a most

impressive sight. The soldiers in double file, the multitudes of various

nations, ranks and employments, the silence unbroken, save by the voice

of tears, the groups, still as statuary that crowded the rocks above the

grave, the moaning of the sullen waves beneath, all combined in a weird

pageant never to be forgotten by the thousands that took part in it. The

graves of these cherished Sisters were tended with loving attention.

Marked by crosses and enclosed by a high iron railing set in cut stone,

they are still quite visible from the Black Sea beneath. Many a pilgrim

went thither to strew the graves with flowers; and to the present day

many a vessel entering the Black Sea lowers its flag in memory of those

heroines, who in the true spirit of charity devoted their lives to

alleviate the suffering of their countrymen.

VII.

VERY REV. JAMES FRANCIS BURLANDO, C. M.

The Very Rev. James Francis Burlando, of the Congregation of the

Mission, who is mentioned several times in the text of this volume, was

born on May 6, 1814, in the city of Genoa, Italy. Very early in life he

became impressed with the desire of adopting the priesthood as his

vocation, and on the 16th of February, 1837, his Archbishop, Cardinal

Tadini, conferred on him the holy orders of sub-deacon and deacon.

Soon after this he sailed for the United States and enlisted for the

American missions under Rev. John Odin, C. M., late Archbishop of New

Orleans, who at that time was seeking recruits for the infant seminary

at the Barrens, Missouri. Before Father Burlando could come here he was

obliged to meet and overcome a very strong opposition on the part of his

good father, who, although a fervent Christian, could not bear the idea

of being separated from his first-born son.

The very day that Father Burlando was to be admitted to the novitiate he

perceived his father at the Archepiscopal Hall, waiting for an audience

with Cardinal Tadini. Guessing at once the motive of such an interview,

namely, that he might exercise his authority and command the young

deacon, in virtue of holy obedience, to remain with his father and

family, which would prevent him from carrying out his holy desire, the

young man sought to baffle the intention of his father by seeing the

Archbishop first and securing his permission and blessing.

Accordingly he had recourse to the following stratagem: He borrowed from

his friends the various articles of a clerical suit; from one a hat,

from another a cassock differing from his own, from a third a cloak,

and, to render the disguise more complete, he put on a pair of

spectacles and wig. Thus equipped, he entered the house of the Cardinal,

had a conversation with him, in which he received his approbation and

blessing, and passed out again without being recognized by his father,

who he left standing at the door watching closely every young seminarian

who entered. Fearing he might be discovered, the young man quickened

his pace, and repaired immediately to the venerable R. Bartholomew

Gazzano, then Superior of the Lazarists, who received him.

In the following June he left Genoa and repaired to Turin, where he was

ordained priest on the 9th of July by the Most Rev. Aloysius Fransoni,

Archbishop of that See. To mitigate in some measure the pain which his

good father experienced on account of this separation, Father Burlando

wrote him a pressing invitation to honor and gratify him by being

present at his first Mass, on the 10th of July. Touched by his son’s

filial respect and affection, he at last relented and assisted with

tearful devotion at the impressive ceremony.

A few weeks after Father Burlando went to the Mother House, in Paris,

whence he set out for New Orleans. Having landed safely on the American

shore, he proceeded by steamboat to Missouri, and reached the Seminary

of the Barrens towards the close of the same year. He filled many

positions of trust and honor. The last and most important field of his

apostolic labors was the Community of the Daughters of Charity, at the

Central House of St. Joseph’s, near Emmittsburg, Md., whither he

repaired in the spring of 1853, and where he remained for the space of

twenty-three years.

“During all that time,” says Father Gandolfo, his assistant, “I had more

occasion than anyone else of observing his noble qualities of mind and

heart. As a Superior he was always kind, discreet, obliging, generous,

amiable and edifying in all that regarded the observance even of the

least rule, beginning from rising at 4 o’clock in the morning at the

first sound of the Benedicamus Domino. He was exceedingly charitable and

ever ready to assist me at the first request in the performance of my

duties, and this notwithstanding his frequent attacks of neuralgia and

weakness of the digestive organs. I never saw him misspend a minute of

his time. If he was not occupied in answering his numerous

correspondents he was drawing plans of hospitals and other buildings, or

attending to similar important affairs of the Community. He never

retired to rest without having first read the many letters he daily

received from every quarter of the United States. Although he frequently

retired very late and slept but a few hours during the night, he was

always ready for the hard labor of the next day.”

It was largely due to the wise administration of this worthy director

that the Community owed, and owes, its singular prosperity and

development. It suffices to state that when he assumed the duties of his

position there were only three hundred members distributed among

thirty-six houses, and he lived to see the white Cornette on the brow of

one thousand and forty-five Daughters of St. Vincent, having under their

control ninety-seven establishments for the service of the poor,

affording relief for almost every species of misfortune. Owing to his

superior knowledge of architecture, he not only planned but personally

supervised the erection of the greater number of these charitable

institutions.

It would be impossible to enumerate the long and painful journeys he

took, the multiplied dangers to which he exposed himself, and the many

privations he endured for the particular welfare of the different

establishments of the Sisters. How many sleepless nights he passed

during our late civil war! There were Sisters in the North and Sisters

in the South, but, by his constant vigilance, his consummate prudence,

his repeated fatherly admonitions, and especially by his continual and

fervent prayers, he had the consolation of seeing the entire Community

free from all reproach and danger.

He has left many valuable volumes which prove his ability as a writer as

well as a thinker. One of these is the “Ceremonial,” which was entrusted

to him by the Most Rev. Archbishop Kenrick, approved by the Provincial

Council, and which is now largely used throughout the United States. In

this valuable work all the details relative to the Mass and offices of

the Church, the sacred vessels and other articles used are minutely

described, so that solemnity, beauty and becoming uniformity may be

maintained. He also compiled the life of Father De Andreis, the pioneer

of the Lazerists in this country. To him we are also indebted for the

publication of the beautiful life of “Sister Eugenie, Daughter of

Charity.”

A person remarked that he must be well and extensively known throughout

the United States, as he was always traveling and had to register his

name in the hotels. “Oh, no,” he replied, “I give my name in as many

different languages as I can. In this way I pass unnoticed, and get a

little recreation at the expense of the poor recorder, who is often at a

loss to spell the foreign name. He looks bewildered, repeats it several

times, and casts an inquiring glance at me; meantime I pretend stupidity

and leave him write whatever he likes. Then, you see, Francis Burlando

is not known.”

This devoted priest breathed his last on Sunday, February 16, 1873, at

the close of a day well spent in the exercise of his sacred functions.

The funeral service took place in the Central House of the Sisters of

Charity, St. Joseph’s, Emmittsburg, February 19, and the remains were

interred in the little cemetery of the Sisters of Charity, besides the

mortuary chapel, wherein repose the venerated remains of Saintly Mother

Seton, foundress of the Sisters of Charity in the United States.

VIII.

MOTHER SETON.

Mother Elizabeth Ann Seton, the founder and first Superior of the

Sisters of Charity in the United States, was one of the most remarkable

women in the history of the Catholic Church in America. She was reared

in the doctrines of the Protestant Episcopal Church and did not embrace

the Catholic faith until after the death of her husband.

This distinguished woman, who was born in the city of New York on the

28th of August, 1774, was a younger daughter of Dr. Richard Bayley, an

eminent physician of the metropolis. Her mother died when she was but

three years of age, but her father watched over her with all the loving

care of a good parent. As Miss Bayley advanced in years, nature and

education combined in developing those admirable traits of character

that were to make her so lovable and merciful in later life. All of her

friends and relatives were members of the Protestant Episcopal Church,

but the physician’s daughter was more fervent in her religious duties

than any of those with whom she was associated. From her earliest years

she wore a small crucifix on her person, and was frequently heard to

express regret and astonishment that the custom was not more general

among the members of her church.

At the age of twenty Miss Bayley was married to William Seton, a

prosperous and most estimable merchant, of New York city. It was a happy

marriage, and husband and wife lived in mutual love and esteem. In 1800

Mr. Seton became embarrassed through a reaction in business, caused

mainly by the consequences of the Revolutionary war. In this crisis Mrs.

Seton was a help-mate in every sense of the word. She not only cheered

her husband by her encouraging counsel, but rendered him practical aid

in arranging his business affairs.

In the course of her married life Mrs. Seton became the mother of five

children, Anna Maria, William, Richard, Catherine Josephine and Rebecca.

She was a model mother, restraining, guiding and educating her offspring

with a mingling of tact, tenderness and edifying example. She did not

confine her goodness to her children, but was ever ready to assist the

poor and suffering. One of her biographers says she was so zealous in

this respect “that she and a relative who accompanied her were commonly

called Protestant Sisters of Charity.”

The death of Mrs. Seton’s father in 1801 was a source of great sorrow to

this devoted woman. Years had only served to cement the affectionate

relations between father and daughter. During the last three or four

years of his life Dr. Bayley was Health Officer at the Port of New York.

He was naturally of a philanthropic disposition, and his official duties

called him to a field that presented an unbounded field for Christian

charity. It was while in the discharge of his duty among the immigrants

that Dr. Bayley contracted the illness which carried him to his grave

within a week’s time.

Mrs. Seton had scarcely recovered from the shock of her father’s death

when her husband’s health, which had never been robust, began to decline

rapidly. A sea voyage and a sojourn in Italy were recommended. Mrs.

Seton could not permit her husband to travel alone in his weak and

exhausted state, and she accompanied him, along with her oldest child, a

girl of eight. The other children were committed to the care of

relatives in New York city. The child caught the whooping cough on the

way over, and the anxious mother was constantly occupied in nursing the

husband and daughter. Before landing the unfortunate trio were detained

for many days at the lazaretto station in the harbor of Leghorn. After

they landed the good wife was untiring in her attentions to her husband,

but, in spite of her love and solicitude, he died on the 27th of

December “among strangers and in a foreign land.”

On the following 8th of April, with her tears still fresh upon the grave

of her devoted husband, Mrs. Seton sailed for home. Prior to this voyage

and during the fifty-six days that it occupied, Mrs. Seton began to take

a deep interest in the doctrines and practices of the Catholic Church.

She eagerly devoured all of the literature upon the subject that

opportunity offered, and also learned much by frequent conversations

with friends. Deep meditation finally strengthened her in the desire to

become a Catholic. Her only fear was that a change in her religious

faith might bring about a coldness and a severance of the friendship

that existed between herself and her friends and relatives--particularly

her pastor--Rev. J. H. Hobart, a man of singular talent and goodness,

who afterwards became the Protestant Episcopal Bishop of New York.

Writing of the possibility of such an estrangement in her diary at this

time, Mrs. Seton says with evident feeling: “If your dear friendship and

esteem must be the price of my fidelity to what I believe to be the

truth, I cannot doubt the mercy of God, who, by depriving me of one of

my remaining dearest ties on earth, will certainly draw me nearer to

Him.” She was not mistaken. When she returned home the coldness of many

of her Protestant friends was a great trial to her warm and still

bleeding heart. The storm of opposition added to her grief.

The fact that Mrs. Seton was in doubt upon the question of religion made

her a subject of attack for the friends of all denominations. Writing of

this, she says: “I had a most affectionate note from Mr. Hobart to-day,

asking me how I could ever think of leaving the Church in which I was

baptized. But, though whatever he says has the weight of my partiality

for him, as well as the respect it seems to me I could scarcely have for

anyone else, yet that question made me smile; for it is like saying that

wherever a child is born and wherever its parents place it, there it

will find the truth; and he does not hear the droll invitations made me

every day since I am in my little new home and old friends come to see

me.

“It has already happened that one of the most excellent women I ever

knew, who is of the Church of Scotland, finding me unsettled about the

great object of a true faith, said to me: ‘Oh, do, dear soul, come and

hear our J. Mason and I am sure you will join us.’

“A little after came one whom I loved, for the purest and most innocent

of manners, of the Society of Quakers (to which I have always been

attached), she coaxed me, too, with artless persuasion: ‘Betsey, I tell

thee, thee had better come with us.’ And my faithful old friend of the

Anabaptist meeting, Mrs. T----, says, with tears in her eyes: ‘Oh! could

you be regenerated; could you know our experiences and enjoy with us our

heavenly banquet.’ And my good old Mary, the Methodist, groans and

contemplates, as she calls it, over my soul, so misled because I have

got no convictions. But, oh, my Father and My God! all that will not do

for me. Your word is truth, and without contradiction, whatever it is.

One faith, one hope, one baptism, I look for, whatever it is, and I

often think my sins, my miseries, hide the light. Yet I will cling and

hold to my God to the last gasp, begging for that light, and never

change until I find it.”

Mrs. Seton’s doubts were finally set at rest, and on Ash Wednesday,

1805, she was received into Catholicism in old St. Peter’s Church, New

York city. The embarrassed state of her husband’s finances at the time

of his death had involved her, and she opened a boarding house for some

of the boys who attended a neighboring school. Some months later Miss

Cecilia Seton, the youngest sister-in-law of Mrs. Seton, followed her

into the Catholic Church. The one thought of Mrs. Seton was now to

devote her life to the poor and to the Church. The opportunity came

sooner than she anticipated. The co-operation of the Church authorities,

and financial resources being forthcoming, a little Community was formed

in St. Joseph’s Valley, Emmittsburg. Vows were taken in accordance with

the rules of the institute of the Sisters of Charity, of France, and in

a few months ten Sisters were employed with the instruction of youth

and the care of the sick. They were poor but happy. The first Christmas

day, for instance, “they rejoiced to have some smoked herring for

dinner.” Rigid regulations were adopted for the government of the new

order, and its growth was remarkable. Mother Seton had the satisfaction

of receiving her eldest daughter into the Sisterhood.

Mrs. Seton’s youngest daughter lived into the nineties and died recently

in the Mercy Convent, New York, where she had lived as a Sister of Mercy

for over forty years. The sons of Mrs. Seton were prosperously launched

in business enterprises.

Mother Seton died on the 4th of January, 1821, in the forty-seventh year

of her age. Her bedside was surrounded by the dark-robed Sisters of

Charity and her only surviving daughter, Josephine. Her end was happy

and tranquil. Her career was one of great piety and usefulness. She has

gone but her memory will live forever through the perpetration of the

great order that she planted in the United States, and which has already

grown to proportions far beyond the most sanguine expectation of its

tender and affectionate founder.

IX.

“THE SISTER OF CHARITY.”

This beautiful poem, descriptive of a Sister of Charity, written by

Gerald Griffin, has taken its place among those precious bits of

literature that never die. The author was born in Limerick, Ireland, in

1803, and began his literary career as a reporter for a London daily. He

wrote many novels, a tragedy and various poems. He died in Cork, in

1840.

A correspondent whose opinion is valued very highly writes to remind the

author of the “Angels of the Battlefield” that a society of Sisters of

Charity was first established in Dublin by Mary Mother Aikenhead early

in this century. It was these ladies, particularly a sister and a cousin

of the poet who joined Mother Aikenhead, that inspired Gerald Griffin’s

beautiful lines. The Irish Sisters of Charity make perpetual vows, wear

veils and dress somewhat similar to the Sisters of Mercy. They are not

connected with any other congregation. The “Sister of Charity” is as

follows:

She was once a lady of honor and wealth,

Bright glowed on her features the roses of health,

Her vesture was blended of silk and of gold,

And her motion shook perfume from every fold;

Joy reveled around her--love shone at her side,

And gay was her smile as the glance of a bride;

And light was her step in the mirth-sounding hall

When she heard of the daughters of Vincent De Paul.

She felt in her spirit the summons of grace,

That called her to live for the suffering race;

And heedless of pleasure, of comfort, of home,

Rose quickly like Mary and answered, “I come.”

She put from her person the trappings of pride,

And passed from her home with the joy of a bride;

Nor wept at the threshold as onward she moved,

For her heart was on fire in the cause it approved.

Lost ever to fashion--to vanity lost,

That beauty that once was the song and the toast.

No more in the ball room that figure we meet,

But gliding at dusk to the wretch’s retreat.

Forgot in the hall is that high-sounding name,

For the Sister of Charity blushes at fame;

Forgot are the claims of her riches and birth,

For she barters for heaven the glory of earth.

Those feet that to music could gracefully move

Now hear her alone on the mission of love;

Those hands that once dangled the perfume and gem

Are tending the helpless or lifted for them;

That voice that once echoed the song of the vain

Now whispers relief to the bosom of pain;

And the hair that was shining with diamond and pearl

Is wet with the tears of a penitent girl.

Her down-bed a pallet--her trinkets a bead,

Her lustre--one taper that serves her to read;

Her sculpture--the crucifix nailed by her bed;

Her paintings one print of the crown-thorned head;

Her cushion--the pavement that wearies her knees;

Her music--the Psalm or the sigh of disease;

The delicate body lives mortified there,

And the feast is forsaken for fasting and prayer.

Yet not to the service of heart and mind,

Are the cares of that heaven-minded virgin confined.

Like Him whom she loves, to the mansions of grief

She hastes with the tidings of joy and relief.

She strengthens the weary--she comforts the weak,

And soft is her voice in the ear of the sick;

Where want and affliction on mortals attend

The Sister of Charity there is a friend.

Unshrinking where pestilence scatters his breath,

Like an angel she moves mid the vapor of death,

Where rings the loud musket and flashes the sword

Unfearing she walks, for she follows the Lord.

How sweetly she bends o’er each plague-tainted face

With looks that are lighted with holiest grace;

How kindly she dresses each suffering limb,

For she sees in the wounded the image of Him.

Behold her, ye worldly! Behold her, ye vain!

Who shrink from the pathway of virtue and pain;

Who yield up to pleasure your nights and your days,

Forgetful of service, forgetful of praise;

Yet lazy philosophers--self-seeking men--

Ye fireside philanthropists, great at the pen,

How stands in the balance your eloquence weighed,

With the life and the deeds of that high-born maid?

X.

SISTERS OF CHARITY.

(In Mr. Southey’s “Sir Thomas More” the following account of the

Beguines of Belgium and the Sisters of Charity of France is reprinted

from the London Medical Gazette, Vol. I.)

A few summers ago I passed through Flanders on my way to Germany, and at

the hospital at Bruges saw some of the Beguines, and heard the

physician, with whom I was intimate, speak in strong terms of their

services. He said: “There are no such nurses.” I saw them in the wards

attending on the sick, and in the chapel of the hospital on their knees

washing the floor. They were obviously a superior class of women, and

the contrast was striking between these menial offices and the

respectability of their dress and appearance; but the Beguinage of Ghent

is one of their principal establishments, and, spending a Sunday there,

I went in the evening to vespers. It was twilight when I entered the

chapel. It was dimly lighted by two or three tall tapers before the

altar and a few candles at the remotest end of the building, in the

orchestra, but the body of the chapel was in deep gloom, filled from

end to end with several hundreds of these nuns seated in rows, in their

dark dresses and white cowls, silent and motionless, excepting now and

then one of them started up, and, stretching out her arms in the

attitude of the crucifixion, stood in that posture many minutes, then

sank and disappeared among the crowd. The gloom of the chapel, the long

line of these unearthly-looking figures, like so many corpses propped up

in their grave clothes--the dead silence of the building, once only

interrupted by a few voices in the distant orchestra chanting vespers,

was one of the most striking sights I ever beheld. To some readers, the

occasional attitude of the nuns may seem an absurd expression of

fanaticism, but they are anything but fanatics. Whoever is accustomed to

the manners of Continental nations knows that they employ a grimace in

everything. I much doubt whether, apart from the internal emotion of

piety, the external expression of it is graceful in anyone, save only a

little child in his night-shirt, on his knees, saying his evening

prayer

The Beguinage, or residence of the Beguines at Ghent, is a little town

of itself, adjoining the city, and inclosed from it. The transition from

the crowded streets of Ghent to the silence and solitude of the

Beguinage is very striking. The houses in which the Beguines reside are

contiguous, each having its small garden, and on the door the name, not

of the resident, but of the protecting saint of the house; these houses

are ranged into streets. There is also the large church, which we

visited, and a burial ground, in which there are no monuments. There are

upwards of six hundred of these nuns in the Beguinage of Ghent, and

about six thousand in Brabant and Flanders. They receive sick persons

into the Beguinage, and not only nurse, but support them, until they

are recovered; they also go out to nurse the sick. They are bound by no

vow excepting to be chaste and obedient while they remain in the order;

they have the power of quitting it and returning again into the world

whenever they please, but this, it is said, they seldom or never do.

They are most of them women, unmarried, or widows past the middle of

life. In 1244 a synod at Fritzlau decided that no Beguine should be

younger than 40 years of age. They generally dine together in the

refectory; their apartments are barely yet comfortably furnished, and,

like all the habitations of Flanders, remarkably clean. About their

origin and name little is known by the Beguines themselves, or is to be

found in books. For the following particulars I am chiefly indebted to

the “Histoire des Ordres Monastiques” (tome viii):

Some attributed both their origin and name to St. Begghe, who lived in

the seventh century; others to Lambert le Begue, who lived about the end

of the twelfth century. This latter saint is said to have founded two

Communities of them at Liege, one for women, in 1173, the other for men,

in 1177. After his death they multiplied fast, and were introduced by

St. Louis into Paris and other French cities. The plan flourished in

France, and was adopted under other forms and names. In 1443 Nicholas

Rollin, Chancellor to Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, founded a

hospital at Beaune and brought six Beguines from Malines to attend upon

it, and the hospital became so famed for the care of its patients that

the opulent people of the neighborhood, when sick, were often removed to

it, preferring its attendance to what they received at home. In one part

of the hospital there was a large square court, bordered with galleries

leading to apartments suitable to such patients; when they quitted the

hospital the donations which they left were added to its funds.

The Soeurs de la Charite, of France, are another order of religious

nurses, but different from the Beguines in being bound by monastic vows.

They originated in a charity sermon, perhaps the most useful and

extensive in its influence that ever was preached. Vincent de Paul, a

celebrated missionary, preaching at Chatillon, in 1617, recommended a

poor sick family of the neighborhood to the care of his congregation. At

the conclusion of the sermon a number of persons visited the sick family

with bread, wine, meat and other comforts. This led to the formation of

a committee of charitable women, under the direction of Vincent de Paul,

who went about relieving the sick poor of the neighborhood, and met

every month to give an account of their proceedings to their superior.

Such was the origin of the celebrated order of the Soeurs de la Charite.

Wherever this missionary went he attempted to form similar

establishments. From the country they spread to cities, and first to

Paris, where, in 1629, they were established in the parish of St.

Savious.

And in 1625 a female devotee, named Le Gras, joined the order of the

Soeurs de la Charite. She was married young to M. Le Gras, one of whose

family had founded a hospital at Puy, but, becoming a widow in 1625, in

the thirty-fourth year of her age, she made a vow of celibacy, and

dedicated the rest of her life to the service of the poor. In her

Vincent de Paul found a great accession. Under his direction she took

many journeys, visiting and inspecting the establishments which he had

founded. She was commonly accompanied by a few pious ladies. Many women

of quality enrolled themselves in the order, but the superiors were

assisted by inferior servants. The Hotel Dieu was the first hospital in

Paris where they exercised their vocation. This they visited every day,

supplying the patients with comforts above what the hospital afforded,

and administering, besides, religious consolation. By degrees they

spread into all the provinces of France, and at length the Queen of

Poland requested Mademoiselle Le Gras, for though a widow that was her

title, to send her a supply of Soeurs de la Charite, who were thus

established in Varsovia, in 1652. At length, after a long life spent in

the service of charity and religion, Mademoiselle Le Gras died on the

15th of March, 1660, nearly seventy years of age, and for a day and a

half her body lay exposed to the gaze of the pious.

A country clergyman, who spent several years in various parts of France,

gives an account of the present state of the order, which, together with

what I have gathered from other sources, is in substance as follows: It

consists of women of all ranks, many of them of the higher orders. After

a year’s novitiate in the convent, they take a vow which binds them to

the order for the rest of their lives. They have two objects, to attend

the sick and to educate the poor; they are spread all over France, are

the superior nurses at the hospitals, and are to be found in every town,

and often even in villages. Go into the Paris hospitals at almost any

hour of the day, and you will see one of these respectable-looking

women, in her black gown and white hood, passing slowly from bed to bed,

and stopping to inquire of some poor wretch what little comfort he is

fancying will alleviate his sufferings. If a parochial cure wants

assistance in the care of his flock he applies to the Order of Les

Soeurs de la Charite. Two of them (for they generally go in couples),

set out on their charitable mission; wherever they travel their dress

protects them. “Even more enlightened persons than the common peasantry

hail it as a happy omen when on a journey with a Soeur de la Charite

happens to travel with them, and even instances are recorded in which

their presence has saved travelers from the attacks of robbers.” During

the Revolution they were rarely molested. They were the only religious

order permitted openly to wear their dress and pursue their vocation.

Government gives a hundred francs a year to each Sister, besides her

traveling expenses; and if the parish where they go cannot maintain

them, they are supported out of the funds of the order. In old age they

retire to their convents and spend the rest of their lives in educating

the novitiates. Thus, like the vestal virgins of old, the first part of

their life is spent learning their duties, the second in practicing

them, and the last in teaching them.

XI.

“THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA.”

(Written by John Greenleaf Whittier with reference to the work of the

Sisters of Mercy at the battle of Buena Vista, during the Mexican war.)

Speak and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward far away,

O’er the camp of the invaders, o’er the Mexican army.

Who is losing? Who is winning? Are they far or come they near?

Look ahead, and tell us, Sister, whither rolls the storm we hear.

“Down the hills of Augostura still the storm of battle rolls;

Blood is flowing, men are dying; God have mercy on their souls!”

Who is losing? Who is winning?--“over hill and over plain,

I see but smoke of cannon, clouding through the mountain rain.”

Holy Mother! keep our brothers! Look, Ximena, look once more.

“Still I see the fearful whirlwind rolling darkly as before,

Bearing on in strange confusion, friend and foeman, foot and horse,

Like some wild and troubled torrent sweeping down its mountain course.”

Look forth once more, Ximena! “Oh! the smoke has rolled away;

And I see the Northern rifles gleaming down the ranks of gray.

Hark! that sudden blast of bugles! there the troop of Minon wheels,

There the Northern horses thunder, with the cannon at their heels.

“Jesu, pity! how it thickens! Now retreat and now advance!

Right against the blazing cannon showers Pueblo’s charging lance!

Down they go, the brave young riders; horse and foot together fall;

Like a plowshare in the fallow through them ploughs the Northern ball.”

Nearer came the storm and nearer, rolling fast and frightful on;

Speak, Ximena, speak and tell us who has lost and who has won?

“Alas, alas! I know not, friend and foe together fall,

O’er the dying rush the living; pray my Sisters for them all.”

“Lo! the wind the smoke is lifting; Blessed Mother save my brain!

I can see the wounded crawling slowly out from heaps of slain.

Now they stagger, blind and bleeding; now they fall and strive to rise;

Hasten, Sisters, haste and save them, lest they die before our eyes.

“O my heart’s love, O my dear one! lay thy poor head on my knee;

Dost thou know the lips that kiss thee? Cans’t thou hear me? Cans’t thou see?

Oh, my husband, brave and gentle! O my Bernal, look once more

On the blessed cross before thee! Mercy! Mercy! all is o’er!”

Dry thy tears, my poor Ximena; lay thy dear one down to rest;

Let his hands be meekly folded, lay the cross upon his breast;

Let his dirge be sung hereafter, and his funeral masses said;

To-day, thou poor bereaved one, the living ask thy aid.

Close beside her, faintly, faintly moaning, fair and young a soldier lay,

Torn with shot and pierced with lances, bleeding slow his life away;

But, as tenderly before him the lorn Ximena knelt,

She saw the Northern eagle shining on his pistol belt.

With a stifled cry of horror straight she turned away her head;

With a sad and bitter feeling look’d she back upon her dead;

But she heard the youth’s low moaning, and his struggling breath of pain,

And she raised the cooling water to his parching lips again.

Whisper’d low the dying soldier, press’d her hand and faintly smiled.

Was that pitying face his mother’s? Did she watch besides her child?

All his stronger words with meaning her woman’s heart supplied;

With her kiss upon his forehead, “Mother!” murmur’d he and died.

“A bitter curse upon them, poor boy, who led thee forth,

From some gentle sad-eyed mother, weeping, lonely in the North!”

Spoke the mournful Mexic woman, as she laid him with her dead,

And turn’d to soothe the living, and bind the wounds which bled.

Look forth once more Ximena! like a cloud before the wind

Rolls the battle down the mountains leaving blood and death behind.

Oh! they plead in vain for mercy--in the dust the wounded strive;

Hide your faces, holy angels! O thou Christ of God forgive!

Sink, O night, among thy mountains! let the cool gray shadows fall;

Dying brothers, fighting demons, drop thy curtain over all!

Through the thickening winter twilight, wide apart the battle rolled,

In its sheath the sabre rested and the cannon’s mouth grew cold.

But the noble Mexic women still their holy task pursued,

Through that long dark night of sorrow worn and faint and lacking food;

Over weak and suffering brothers, with a tender care they hung,

And the dying foeman bless’d them in a strange and Northern tongue.

Not wholly lost, O Father, is this evil world of ours;

Upward, through its blood and ashes spring afresh the Eden flowers;

From its smoking hill of battle love and pity send their prayer,

And still Thy white-wing’d angels hover dimly in our air.

XII.

CATHERINE ELIZABETH McAULEY.

Miss Catherine Elizabeth McAuley, the foundress of the Order of Sisters

of Mercy, ranks high among the notable women whose achievements have

enriched the history of the Catholic Church. The religious institution

first planted by her in the city of Dublin has spread to such an extent

that its branches now spread into at least every quarter of the

English-speaking globe. The communities of the Sisters of Mercy in the

United States have done excellent work in many fields, but they

particularly distinguished themselves as nurses during the unhappy

conflict between the North and the South.

Miss McAuley was born September 29, 1787, at Stormanstown, Dublin,

Ireland. She was the daughter of pious, well-known and respectable

parents. Her father was especially prominent by reason of his goodness

to the poor and the unfortunate. One of his regular practices was to

have all the poor of the vicinity come to his house on Sundays and

holidays for the purpose of instructing them in their religion. Both

father and mother died when the subject of this sketch was very young.

Shortly after this unfortunate event Catherine was adopted by Mr. and

Mrs. William Callahan, who belonged to a family that was distantly

connected with the mother of Miss McAuley. Her foster-parents, although

very worthy people, were bitterly prejudiced against the religion

practiced by their adopted child. They were so opposed to anything

Catholic that they would not permit a crucifix or a pious picture in the

house. Despite this, Catherine attended to her religious duties with

great regularity and fidelity, and by her gentleness succeeded in

disarming any anger or annoyance that they might have otherwise felt

regarding her course.

She was a model of all the virtues, and this fact did not escape the

attention of her foster-parents. Dean Gaffney, writing of her at this

period, says: “Everyone who had distress to be relieved, affliction to

be mitigated, troubles to be encountered, came to her, and to the best

of her ability she advised them what to do. Her zeal made her a

missionary in her district.” In these works of charity and usefulness

she continued for several years, during which she was rendering herself

dearer and dearer to her adopted parents. In the course of a few years

both these estimable people died, but not before the gentle foster-child

had led both of them into the Catholic Church. Catherine was left the

sole heiress of Mr. Callahan, and at once made arrangements for

systematically distributing food and clothing to the poor.

Miss McAuley was now in a position to realize her early vision of

founding an institution in which servants and other women of good

character might, when out of work, find a temporary home and be shielded

from the dangers to which the unprotected members of the sex are

exposed. She unfolded her plans to the Very Rev. Dr. Armstrong and Very

Rev. Dr. Blake, her spiritual advisers.

“It was deemed advisable,” says Dean Murphy, writing of this, “not to

take a house already built and occupied for other purposes, and which

she would have some difficulty in adapting to her own designs, but to

secure a plot of ground that had never been built upon, and to erect an

edifice for the honor and glory of God that had never been profaned by

the vices and folly of the world, and which should be as holy in its

creation as in its use, and be dedicated to God from its very

foundation.” The building was constructed and put into operation within

a reasonably short time. When finished it was discovered that the

architect had created a building which for all purposes could be used as

a convent.

This was regarded as a fortunate mistake. In the beginning Miss McAuley

had no thought of founding a religious institute, but in working out the

ideas that were near to her heart she imperceptibly and almost

unconsciously drifted towards that end. Daniel O’Connell, the great

Irish liberator, was a friend and patron of Miss McAuley, and frequently

visited her establishment, which he regarded as filling a long-felt want

in the Irish capital. In 1827 O’Connell presided over a Christmas dinner

given by Miss McAuley to the poor children of Dublin.

In 1828, at the suggestion of the Archbishop of the Diocese, she formed

the Order of the Sisters of Mercy. There had been a “Royal, Military and

Religious Order of Our Lady of Mercy,” dating back to the twelfth

century, and this new order, founded by a pious young woman, was largely

based upon the old one, except that it was intended for women and not

for men. Miss McAuley frequently said that what she desired was to found

an order whose members would combine the silence, recollection and

prayer of the Carmelite with the active zeal of a Sister of Charity. It

seems to be generally conceded that she succeeded in achieving her

purpose. Three words, “works of mercy,” briefly tell the story of the

character of the labors of the Sisters of Mercy. Miss McAuley did not

finally complete her laudable plan without having to overcome many

obstacles, and to set aside some very bitter opposition, part of which

came, not only from her own relatives, but from bishops and priests as

well.

A few years after the dedication of her institute Miss McAuley and a few

chosen companions decided that the high purpose to which they had

consecrated their lives could be carried out if they would enter the

religious state. They were admitted to one of the convents of the

Presentation Order, and after a novitiate lasting one year she and her

companions received the religious habit.

In October, 1831, she professed and was canonically appointed by the

Archbishop as Superior of the new order. The costume worn by the members

of the order was devised by Mother Catherine, as she was thereafter

called. The Order grew rapidly in numbers and in prominence. The life of

its first Mother and foundress was active and edifying. Her labors were

not confined to any particular work, but embraced everything that was in

the interest and for the benefit of the poor and unfortunate. In 1832

she won enduring laurels by assuming charge of the cholera hospital in

Dublin.

She died on November 11, 1837, resigned and happy, and furnished an

example of pious fortitude to the Sisters that crowded about her

deathbed. The Order that she founded, as it exists to-day, is her best

monument. Beginning in Ireland in 1827 it was afterwards successfully

introduced into England, Newfoundland, Australia, New Zealand, South

America and the United States of America.

XIII.

CLERICAL VETERANS.

Notre Dame, Indiana, enjoys the distinction of a Grand Army Post

composed of Catholic clergymen, most of whom are members of the faculty

of Notre Dame University. The organization was officially entered on

October 6, 1897, as Post No. 569, Department of Indiana. Very Rev.

William E. Corby, C. S. C., the commander of the new post, was chaplain

of the Irish Brigade, and is now the provincial, or head officer, of the

order of the Holy Cross in the United States. Dr. Corby is also the

chaplain of the Indiana Commandery of the Loyal Legion. To this position

he was nominated by General Lew Wallace.

The membership of the new post will be very small, but large enough to

have a few famous fighters and great men of the war. With the exception

of Colonel William E. Haynes, the only lay member, the post is composed

altogether of members of the congregation of the Holy Cross. The

following complete the roster:

Very Rev. William Corby, C. S. C., chaplain Eighty-eighth New York

Volunteers, Irish Brigade.

Rev. Peter P. Cooney, C. S. C., chaplain Thirty-fifth Medina.

James McLain (Brother Leander), C. S. C., B Company, Twenty-fourth

United States Infantry.

William A. Olmsted, C. S. C., captain and lieutenant colonel Second

Infantry, New York Volunteers, colonel Fifty-ninth New York Veteran

Volunteers; brigadier general by brevet, commandery First Brigade,

Second Division, Second Army Corps, Army of the Potomac.

Mark A. Willis (Brother John Chrysostom, C. S. C.), I Company,

Fifty-fourth Pennsylvania Volunteers.

Nicholas A. Bath (Brother Cosmos, C. S. C.), D Company, Second United

States Artillery.

James Mantle (Brother Benedict, C. S. C.), A Company, First Pennsylvania

Heavy Artillery and Sixth United States Cavalry.

John McInerny (Brother Eustathius, C. S. C.), H Company, Eighty-third

Ohio Volunteers.

Joseph Staley (Brother Agathus, C. S. C.), C Company, Eighth Indiana

Regulars.

Ignatz Mayer (Brother Ignatius, C. S. C.), C Company, Seventy-fifth

Pennsylvania Volunteers and One Hundred and Fifty-seventh Pennsylvania

Volunteers.

James C. Malloy (Brother Raphael, C. S. C.), B Company, One Hundred and

Thirty-third Pennsylvania Volunteers.

Colonel William E. Haynes.

General Olmsted, who is studying for the priesthood, is much interested

in the little gathering. He is justly proud of the work of his men in

the celebrated Hancock’s Division. He refers to the Government reports

in every case as proof of the bravery of his soldiers. The General said

not long ago in an interview: “Very much that is said of me is not true,

but to show you that my men were brave, I give you the reports from the

department at Washington.” The General read: “The losses of the First

Brigade, Second Division, Second Corps--my brigade--were greater in the

battle of Gettysburg than those that occurred to any one brigade in the

army. There was, beside, a total casualty of 763 killed and wounded out

of 1246 men at Antietam, a percentage of 61.”

Father Corby has the honor of being the only chaplain to give absolution

under fire. The event of his giving absolution at Gettysburg to the

Irish Brigade is the best known of his achievements in chaplain life. It

is said that every man, Catholic and Protestant, knelt before the rock

upon which he stood, and the colors were lowered. Then they went out and

fought, and how many fell upon that bloody field is too well known to be

repeated. Father Corby, although an old man, is hale and hearty, and

does all his work as provincial of the order without the aid of a

secretary.

Rev. Peter Cooney also has a brilliant war record, but he and Father

Corby are by no means the only two who went to war from Notre Dame. In

all there were eight priests who went forth to service as chaplains in

the war. Beside these Mother Mary Angela, a cousin of James G. Blaine,

went forth with a large number of Sisters to nurse the wounded and care

for the dying. To these also great praise is due.

There was much enthusiasm in Notre Dame over the organization exercises,

and among those present or who sent their congratulations were General

Lew Wallace, General Mulholland, of Philadelphia; Colonel J. A. Smith,

of Indianapolis; General J. A. Golden, of New York; General William J.

Sewall, Colonel R. S. Robertson, of Fort Wayne; General J. A. Starburg,

of Boston; Captain Florence McCarthy, of New York; Captain Emil A.

Dapper, of Grand Rapids; Captain J. J. Abercrombie, of Chicago;

Department Commander James S. Dodge, with his full staff. The G. A. R.

post from Elkhart and two posts from South Bend helped to muster in the

clerical veterans. Commendatory messages were also received from a large

number of posts and leaders in the G. A. R.

XIV.

CATHOLICS IN THE WAR.

St. Teresa’s Church, at the northeast corner of Broad and Catherine

streets, was temporarily used as a hospital for wounded soldiers during

the war. On July 4, 1897, Rev. Joseph V. O’Connor, one of the eloquent

priests of the diocese of Philadelphia, delivered an address in this

church, relative to Catholics in the war. A score of Grand Army posts

attended the exercises, which were also honored by the presence of the

venerable Hugh Lane, who has been pastor of the church during and since

the war. Father O’Connor’s address deserves a place in this volume. He

said:

“The sacred edifice in which you assemble is an appropriate spot for

religion and patriotism to meet, for St. Teresa’s Church was for a time

in the Civil War a military hospital. The old railway station at Broad

and Prime streets was the rendezvous of the Union troops from the North

and East going to and from the seat of war. The gleaming cross upon the

church seemed lifted in benediction over army after army marching past.

The poet Byron represents the forest of Ardennes as weeping over the

‘unreturning brave’ of Waterloo, but the sign of man’s redemption may

have lifted up many a Catholic soldier’s heart destined to be stilled in

the next battle. These walls, now bright with light and color, have

re-echoed the moans of the dying. The venerable priest whose gracious

presence lends dignity and historic interest to this celebration

prepared here many a soldier for the last dread fight with death, the

universal conqueror. I seem to behold, mingling with your solid

phalanx, the shadowy forms of the brave men who were delivered from the

storm and earthquake of battle to breathe out their spirits here in the

peace of the sanctuary.

“Far be it from me to limit to the Catholic breast that noble fire of

the love of country, which with purifying flame burned in the great

heart of the nation when war sounded the trumpet call to the children of

the republic. It is occasion that shows the man. Our Civil War was an

occasion that showed our Church. The legislative code of England was

disgraced, even in Victoria’s reign by the calumny and the imbecility of

penal laws against Catholics. To be a Catholic was to be a traitor. In

vain did we appeal to history, which crowns with laurels the brows of

unnumbered Catholic patriots and heroes in every land of the universal

Church. The Thundering Legion fought for the Roman Emperor, who decreed

its martyrdom. The fleet of Protestant England was led against the

Armada of Catholic Spain by a Catholic in the service of a Queen who

sent his fellow-religionists to the stake on account of their faith. The

patriotism of the Catholic is motived by his religion. It rises superior

to the form in which civil government may be embodied. Were the Pope, as

temporal prince, to invade our country we should be bound in conscience

to repel him, nor would our patriotism conflict one iota with our

religious faith.

“Our people, driven by misgovernment from their native soil, found the

portals of the great Republic flung open to them in friendly welcome.

They came to the North and to the West. Thus the great centres of

industry in the Northern States were crowded with Catholics. Most of us

had learned the bitter lessons which tyranny, bad government and

religious rancor have to impart under the scourge of England’s misrule

of Ireland. As Bourke Cockran says, England’s treatment of the Irish

people has made the world distrust her. Ireland’s love for America dates

from before the Revolution. The Irish Parliament passed resolutions of

sympathy with the American colonists. The great tides of immigration

from Ireland set in early and continued until, at the outbreak of the

Civil War, the North was one-fourth Celtic in blood.

“The Catholic Church studiously refrained from any official

pronouncement upon the causes of the conflict which she deplored. The

first regiment to respond to President Lincoln’s initial call for troops

was the Sixty-ninth New York. It was mainly Irish and Catholic. Within

forty-eight hours it was on its way to the front. New York,

pre-eminently a Catholic State, furnished one-seventh of the military

forces in the war for the Union.

“Obviously the Government had no reason for recording the religious

faith of its soldiers. Patriotism is at once a natural and a civic

virtue. That it may be supernaturalized is evident from the words of St.

Paul, bidding us obey the higher powers for conscience sake. The country

had to face a condition, not a theory, and whatever abstract reasoning

has to say about State rights, the will of the majority of the people,

which is the supreme law in a republic, decided for the maintenance of

the Federal Union. The best traditions of the country, North and South,

identified liberty with union. God appears to have made the country one

in geographical formation, in sameness of language, in homogeneity of

character.

“Two illustrious Catholic prelates, recognized as leaders in

Israel--the Moses and the Joshua of the Church--Archbishop Kendrick, of

Baltimore, and Archbishop Hughes, of New York, declared in favor of the

Union. The sainted sage of the primatial city flung the starry banner

from the pinnacle of his Cathedral. The Archbishop of New York was so

thoroughly identified with the cause of the Union that he was invested

by the President and his Secretary of State with the authority of envoy

extraordinary to the courts of Europe.

“Unroll the military records of our country and you will read column

after column of names that are historically Catholic. Read the names on

the tombstones of soldiers in the great national cemeteries and you will

find in the Christian name alone confirmatory evidence of the faith of

the hero that sleeps beneath. The Catholic knows that the Church imposes

in baptism the name of a saint. We may safely judge that he is a

Catholic who bears the name of Patrick and Michael, of Bernard and

Dominic. Not even the conservative spirit of the Church of England could

retain the old saintly nomenclature, and Puritanism chose the names of

Old Testament worthies or names taken from natural history and even

heathen mythology.

“If we reckon our soldiers by their religion, the majority would be

Catholic and we should find that we had given our children in far

greater number than any one denomination. On the second day of

Gettysburg a Catholic priest, ascending an eminence, lifted his hand to

give absolution, and far as the eye could reach rank upon rank of

soldiers bent their heads like cornfields swept by the summer breeze.

Hancock, the “superb,” impressed by the solemnity of the scene, bared

his brow. If the poet thought that a tear should fall for Stonewall

Jackson because he spared Barbara Frietchie’s Union flag, will not a

Catholic murmur a prayer for the great general who gave heed to the

priest calling upon his people to be contrite for their sins in the hour

which for many would be the last?