Sixth, and after resting a few moments and partaking of a dinner which
the matron--Mrs. Manning--prepared for us, we made a tour through the
hospital, which consisted of several tent wards and a large three-story
brick house--the one in which General Stoughton was captured by the
rebels a few months previous. I found that five had died since leaving
them a few days before; there were still many others very sick. We each
called for a towel and basin of water, and went to work bathing the
feverish brows and dry and husky hands of typhoid’s suffering victims.
Mrs. Brainard remained a couple of days and returned to Washington. I
was soon comfortably provided for. Doctor Wilson, the Brigade Surgeon,
furnished me with a good wall tent, which the boys fitted up nicely by
flooring, making table, bedstead and chairs, and surrounding it with
evergreens, which made my little home as pleasant and inviting as one
could desire.
About the first work I did was to clean the brick house of which
mention has been made. I worked hard two days and a half, assisted by
several soldiers detailed from the ambulance corps. The windows, paint
and floors looked as though they had been for a long time strangers
to soap and water. After I had finished cleaning, and arranged the
beds to my liking, supplying those that were destitute with sheets
and pillows, I made flower-vases and bouquets with flowers gathered
from Secesh gardens, and tried to make the place assume a somewhat
home-like appearance. The Seventh seemed to suffer more from disease
than the other regiments, yet there was much sickness in all of them.
It was often my painful duty to stand by the dying-bed and go down
with the departing soul to the “River’s” brink. And then another sad
duty remained--that of writing to the friends of the deceased; and I
sometimes thought this the saddest part of all. I never held a dying
hand until the pulse grew still without wishing I might exchange
places with some dear absent one. I will give an extract from a letter
received from a bereaved wife, which will express the language of
thousands of hearts:
“How thankful I am for your kindness to one dearer to me than all
earthly friends. Oh, it is hard to give him up!--it seems like tearing
my poor heart in pieces. I would have given worlds, had I possessed
them, for the privilege of sitting by his side, as you did, even for
one short hour. Oh, how anxiously I had looked forward to his coming
home, that we might once more enjoy life together. My dear husband did
not go into the army for money or pleasure, but because he felt it his
duty to serve his country in her hour of peril, and to defend the old
flag which had always protected him.... His poor little fatherless
children, they know not what a blessing they have lost; but I am
comforted with the thought that he is at rest.”
While I found much to do, I was quite well supplied with material to
do with--our association at Washington sending me from time to time
additional supplies. I recollect at one time, among other things, was
a box of lemons, which was more acceptable than anything else, coming
at a time when the weather was oppressively hot, and there being so
many cases of fever. The Christian Commission gave me permission to
draw from their stores such things as I was not supplied with. During
my stay at this place, various and conflicting rumors were constantly
afloat, causing much excitement and some alarm. I speak from personal
experience. I had not as yet become accustomed to “camp rumors,” and,
though I did not feel particularly afraid, I did feel at times a
“little agitated.”
The evening of the 7th, a messenger was despatched in great haste from
division head-quarters to the hospital department with orders to hoist
a “red flag” early the next morning, for it was reported that Lee was
advancing in the direction of Fairfax.
Soon we were summoned to go to work making flags. Accordingly we
assembled in the basement of the “Stoughton House,” where a bright fire
was blazing on the hearth, and went to work. We made two large flags,
which at early dawn were spread to the breeze, in elevated positions,
which we hoped would command the respect and consideration of the rebel
chief. After finishing the flags, I packed my trunk, that it might be
in readiness to send to Washington in the morning, should the report
be confirmed. As for myself, I resolved, with the other ladies, not to
desert the sick, but stay and share their fate, whatever it might be.
It was quite late when we retired that night, and I must confess my
sleep was somewhat disturbed with unpleasant dreams: several times I
awoke and listened to hear the tread of the advancing foe, but listened
and looked in vain.
Again, on the 26th instant, there was considerable excitement at
our department. Moseby, it was feared, would make a sudden dash
into camp before morning, and carry off considerable plunder, if no
prisoners. That evening Dr. Spalding was called to go to the camp of
the Sixth--some nine miles distant--to see an officer who had been
taken suddenly sick. Before leaving, he handed me the key to his trunk,
saying: “If Moseby should make a dash in here to-night, try and secure
my papers, and, if possible, my money.” But I did not have a chance to
display my bravery, or to call into exercise my skill in secreting
valuables; and yet our fears were not at all times groundless, for the
country was infested with roving bands of guerrillas, ever ready for
plunder. Occasionally a man shot on picket by these desperadoes was
brought in, and not unfrequently a squad of cavalry-men was sent out to
scour the country for these worse than rebels. Skirmishes and battles
were of frequent occurrence.
The 9th, a severe cavalry fight took place at Beverly Ford, on the
Rappahannock, and, a week later, the battle of Aldie. Everything
indicated that an active, and, we hoped, a decisive campaign was about
to open.
The 14th, news was received that Hooker was on the move, and early the
next morning this report was confirmed, for the wagon-train of the
Twelfth Corps was actually parked within sight. Soon the artillery
began to come in, and then the infantry. All day and night troops
continued to arrive, until the great Army of the Potomac was encamped
around us. The thousands of camp-fires, and the fine martial music
discoursed by various bands, made it a scene surpassingly grand. A day
or two after, I witnessed the artillery review by General Hooker. I
have no words to describe it.
* * * * *
But the ever-shifting scenes of war soon change the programme, and
those weary, foot-sore troops are again on the move, as yet scarcely
rested from their fatiguing march from Falmouth, through heat and dust
almost intolerable; but, before leaving, a kind providence sent a
plentiful shower upon the thirsty earth, laying the dust and cooling
the heated atmosphere; otherwise the number of those who gave out by
the way must have been greatly increased.
General Hooker retained his head-quarters at Fairfax a few days longer,
but was soon after superseded by General Meade, who, with this mighty
army, was soon engaged in the terrible conflict of Gettysburg.
Hooker was soon after assigned to a command in the West, and a few
months later we hear of him “fighting above the clouds” at Lookout.
“Ah! see where the chief leads on his stern band,
’Mid the swift hail of death so calmly advancing,
To strike the proud bulwarks by rebel hosts manned,
Death certain and quick from every side glancing.
’Tis now the mid-hour of the battle’s dread light;
Oh! faint soldier, say, how goes the fierce fight?
Our broad starry banner, our hope and our pride,
Doth it rise, doth it fall on the mountain’s dark side?
“Amid the cannon’s loud roar and the shriek of the shell,
The wave of fierce battle rolls louder and higher;
Enveloped in smoke, hoarse shouts alone tell
That our hopes are still rushing on through that fire;
But see where it glides up the mountain’s dark side,
Now lost in the smoke, now flaunting out wide.
Oh, rebellion has fallen! let traitors despair,
For our banner now floats in the mountain’s pure air.”
Later in the afternoon of the 24th, orders came to break up our
hospitals, and before daylight the next morning the sick were all
removed; at sunrise the cavalry were on the move. Mrs. Maryweather,
matron of the Fifth, going with them on the march, Mrs. Manning had
an opportunity to go to Washington, on horseback, while I was left
alone to get away as best I could with the remainder of my stores. Oh,
how lonely and desolate everything appeared! Tents struck, blankets,
pillows, and dishes scattered about, nothing left in the line of
edibles but “hard tack.” Of all the loneliness I ever experienced that
day caps the climax. The first thing I did was what any silly woman
would have done--gave myself up to a good cry; and then I went to work
packing up, and trying to save the best of the bedding. About noon a
drizzling rain came on, which added gloom to loneliness. I had about
made up my mind that I should not get away that day, and was trying to
fix up some nice little speech to make to his excellency, Mr. Moseby,
in case he should give me a call, which, in all probability, he would
do before morning--when, as misery likes company, I was not a little
comforted to find that Rev. Mr. Chapin, a “Christian Commission”
delegate, had not left the place, but was also waiting an opportunity
to remove his goods to the station, and who would likewise be honored
with the company of this distinguished guest(!) But my little speech
was never made, for about three o’clock transports came to remove the
hospital stores. On the arrival of the first team, I hastily inquired
of the driver if he would take a few things for me to the Station.
“Yes,” he replied, “and yourself in the bargain.” What a sudden change
came over the face of everything! Even the misty rain, a short time
since so gloomy, is now just what we need to lay the dust. How pleasant
and cheerful the plain, homely face of the driver looks: no fears now
of “Moseby and Co.” Being provided for myself, I next interceded,
successfully, too, for Mr. Chapin. Our goods are soon piled into the
wagon, and we quite comfortably seated on the top of the load with our
heads reaching the canvas above; but a queen in her chariot was never
happier than I. The farewell look is given Fairfax, and we are off for
the station, but are too late for the train, so have to wait until six
o’clock, when the last train leaves, and we have no more communication
with the place for several months. The balance of army supplies not
removed up to that time was burned. Arrived at Alexandria about eight
o’clock, in the rain and mud.
In looking over the paper the next morning, about the first thing I
noticed was “Moseby at Fairfax Court-House.” Two Union ladies living a
few miles from Fairfax, in the vicinity of Vienna, were made unwilling
captives.
* * * * *
As I was returning from Washington the next day, where I had been to
look after my Fairfax patients, I met on the boat a lady with a little
child, who had come from Maine to see her husband, who was sick at
Camp Convalescent. What a look, almost of despair, was depicted on
her countenance when she learned that this camp was nearly four miles
from Alexandria, the going very bad, and there being no public mode
of conveyance. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “What shall I do? what shall I
do? Were it not for my child, I would go on foot.” It was my happy
privilege to relieve her distress by assuring her that a way should
be provided. Arriving at Alexandria, I ordered an ambulance and
carried her to the camp. What a happy meeting! Had I never before seen
gratitude, I saw it then.
In working for the soldiers, every little deed of kindness was so fully
appreciated, and so richly rewarded with thanks and tears, that there
was a pleasure experienced in it no where else to be found.
The month of July, 1863, was an eventful period in the history of the
nation. A period of hope and fear, of joy and sorrow, of excitement and
alarm, of bloody conflicts, of defeat and victory, of untold suffering
and death.
Lee’s advance into Pennsylvania, the terrible battles of Gettysburg,
of Falling Waters, the surrender of Vicksburg and Port Hudson, the
wearisome march from Vicksburg to Jackson, in which so many died from
exhaustion, from thirst and the oppressive heat, the re-taking of
Jackson, the capture of Huntsville, Morgan’s raid into Ohio, the great
draft riot in New York, and much else of importance that transpired
during the month of July, are too well remembered to need repetition
here. The nation has not yet forgotten the joyful tidings, that the
discomfited Lee was in full retreat from Gettysburg; nor the wild
bursts of enthusiasm, the shouts of victory that rent the air when
the news came flashing over the wires that Vicksburg, “the city of an
hundred hills,” “the heroic city,” had fallen. Fortune, the “fickle
goddess,” so long, it would seem, in league with the enemy, became
propitious and smiled upon our cause.
_CHAPTER VIII._
PLACES OF INTEREST IN ALEXANDRIA--BALTIMORE--A SINGULAR STORY--DEATH
OF A MASSACHUSETTS SOLDIER--THE SERIOUSLY WOUNDED--ERIE--MY SISTER’S
SICKNESS--HARRISBURG--YORK--REBEL WOUNDED--A PARALYTIC--WASHINGTON
HOSPITALS--FREQUENT BATTLES--NEW ARRIVALS--MRS. GRAY--AFFLICTED
FRIENDS--DR. TRUE.
On returning to Alexandria I found comparatively few Michigan men in
the hospitals, and these mostly convalescent; therefore my work in this
place entirely ceased for several weeks.
Among the few places of interest to a stranger visiting Alexandria
is the little brick church where George Washington used to worship.
Though the building has undergone repairs, the old-fashioned square pew
formerly occupied by this good man and his family remains unchanged;
the plate on the door bears this inscription: “Washington’s pew.”
Another place of interest is the “Slave Pen.” Within this dingy
enclosure thousands of human beings have been crowded like cattle for
the market, and from thence brought forth to the auction-block. It
still bears the name of him who once trafficked in flesh and blood.
“Rice & Co., Dealers in Slaves,” may to this day be seen--though
dimly--over the main entrance. A fresh coat of paint has been added,
as if ashamed to stand out boldly in the pure light of liberty. But
the place of all others of the most deep and thrilling interest in
this slavery-cursed city, is the place where “the Boys in White” lie
sepulchred. At the present time--November, 1869--instead of three
hundred turfless graves, as at my first visit, there are more than
thrice as many thousand grass-covered mounds, each with a neat, white
head-board bearing the name of him who fell in freedom’s holy cause, or
that saddest of all sad words, “Unknown.”
To this sacred “rest” long pilgrimages will be made through coming
years by those who mourn the loved and lost, and who, “with cautious
step and slow,” will wander amid this sea of graves, anxiously looking
for some cherished name.
Near the entrance stands a little rustic chapel, occupied by a
one-armed soldier, who has charge of the grounds--which are most
beautiful, being interspersed with trees, shrubbery and flowers,
while cooling fountains and pleasant arbors adorn the quiet place.
Henceforth, in the spring-time of the year, willing hands will cull
sweet flowers as a floral offering to our heroic dead!
“Forever be these sacred fields
Decked in immortal beauty,
Where sleep the brave who fought and fell
For freedom and for duty.
They lie on glory’s camping-ground,
On high their deeds recorded;
No nobler act on history’s page,
On fame’s, no prouder lauded.”
* * * * *
The 16th of July I was called to Washington, where I received
instructions to go to Baltimore, as many of the wounded had arrived
there from Gettysburg. I was greatly disappointed, for I had earnestly
hoped to be sent to Gettysburg, believing that I could do vastly more
good there than any where else at that particular time. However, on
the morning of the 18th I took the eleven o’clock train for Baltimore.
On the way I fell in company with a lady who called herself Jimmeson,
though her true name, she told me, was Frank Abel. Her story was indeed
a strange one. It was as follows: Her husband entered the service with
the rank of captain in a Kentucky regiment of cavalry, and she as his
first lieutenant. Her husband was killed at the first battle of Bull
Run, after which she was employed as a scout by General Sigel. She had
endured many hardships, visited several battle-fields, and assisted--as
she belonged to the medical staff--in performing amputations and
dressing wounds. She was once captured by the Rebels and confined
in Libby Prison several weeks; but at the time of which I write she
claimed to be a Government detective in the City of Washington, and was
then on her way to Baltimore to arrest a woman with whom she had had a
quarrel. What became of her after we parted at Baltimore, whether she
found her victim or not, I never learned, for I have neither seen nor
heard of her since.
Arriving in Baltimore, I proceeded directly to the Rev. Mr. Reid’s,
where I obtained board. This was the same Christian family by whom
sister and I were so kindly and hospitably entertained when we first
arrived in Alexandria on our sad mission.
There were six hospitals in Baltimore, situated from one to four miles
apart. As a general thing I found them more comfortable than any I had
previously visited; and yet there was much suffering which the most
tender care could not alleviate. I will give a single extract from my
journal which will convey something of an idea of the sad, distressing
scenes there witnessed:
_July 28th._
Visited Jarvis Hospital, and distributed lemons, oranges, and
blackberries. This has been one of the saddest visits I have made since
coming to Baltimore. In one of the wards was a sergeant of the Ninth
Massachusetts volunteers, dying. His wife and mother had just arrived.
The dying man recognized them, and, taking the hand of his wife, kissed
her, and then kissed his mother, bade them farewell, closed his eyes,
and was soon gone. The circumstances of his death are most aggravating.
His wound was dressed with bandages and lint taken to the hospital
by rebel women, which, upon examination, were found sprinkled with
cayenne pepper. He suffered the most excruciating pain from the time
the bandages were first used, which so irritated and inflamed the wound
that death was the result. After escaping the deadly effects of rebel
lead, a fiend in friendship’s guise takes his life. A hundred deaths at
the hands of a manly foe would not be half so trying. But this is only
another example of the malignity and cruel hatred born of and nursed
by Secession. At the dying man’s head was one seriously wounded, and a
great sufferer, while at his feet was another, holding in his hand a
letter from home, containing the sad news that two of his children lay
at the point of death. His quivering lip and tear-dimmed eye were more
potent than words in expressing his overwhelming sorrow. In another
ward was a poor man who had lost both eyes, by his side was a young boy
with a sweet, pale face, who, in addition to his wounds, was delirious
with fever; a few cots from him was another young man with five wounds,
whose clenched hands and convulsed frame expressed untold agony. A
little farther along was an old man with a deep sabre-cut in his head,
and another in the back of his neck; another was suffering greatly with
a wound in the ankle. Time would fail me to mention the many with an
arm off, a leg amputated, wounded in the head, in the lungs, and in
every other conceivable manner. From none of those with whom I have
conversed to-day have I heard one word of regret expressed for going
into the army; but, on the contrary, many were anxious again to cross
sabres and try their muskets with the enemy. It is an astonishing fact
that, notwithstanding all the suffering experienced in our hospitals,
an air of cheerfulness pervades them all. It seems unaccountable,
unless we look upon it as a miraculous display of God’s all-sustaining
power and grace.
* * * * *
Next day I again visited the same hospital, taking sundry articles for
distribution. While there I attended the funeral of the sergeant whose
sad death I have already noticed. Services were held in the open air,
beneath the spreading branches of beautiful shade-trees. The solemn
scene was one not soon to be erased from memory. The young wife and
aged mother were the only mourners to follow his remains to the grave.
But, alas! how many a poor soldier dies with none to drop a tear to
his memory until the intelligence is borne over mountains and across
valleys, through fruitful plains and gloomy forests, to some humble
cottage on the lawn. Oh! then what tears are shed--and all the more
bitter because they cannot even fall upon the grave of him they loved
so well. And yet there is a still deeper grief. Many there are, who,
could they only know _where_ their dear ones sleep, would feel that the
bitterest dreg was removed from their cup of sorrow. Alas! their fate
will only be known when the great book of God’s accounts is unsealed.
Many a heart responds to the painful truth expressed in the following
words:
“Not among the suffering wounded,
Not among the peaceful dead,
Not among the prisoners--‘Missing’--
That was all the message said.”
On the evening of the 30th, as I returned from my work, I found a
letter informing me of the dangerous illness of my eldest sister--Mrs.
Clark--residing in Erie Co., Penn., and an urgent request to come
to her immediately. At eight o’clock I was at the depot waiting
for the first train going West. Arriving in Erie I found my sister
still living, though but little hope of her recovery was entertained;
yet it pleased a kind Providence to spare her life. I remained with
her until she was considered out of danger, and then returned to my
hospital work, leaving her in care of another sister--Mrs. Smith--who
had already been with her nearly two years, her husband being in the
army. I can even now see the pale face of my poor sick sister as she
threw her arms around my neck and gave the parting kiss, saying, as
she did so, “I shall never see you again on earth.” Ah! I have since
experienced the bitter truth of those words; for, in little more than a
year from that time, she went to her eternal home.
“She is not dead, but sleepeth!”
Resting from the toils of life--
Safely moored her bark, and anchored
Far from earthly care and strife.
“She is not dead, but sleepeth!”
Once the gracious Master said
To those who sought Him, weeping
And sorrowing for their dead.
“She is not dead, but sleepeth!”
In the grave so calm and still,
She waiteth for the trumpet’s call,
Resting in her Father’s will.
“She is not dead, but sleepeth!”
Thy blest words, O Christ, we trust;
For though the body slumber long,
Thou wilt raise the mouldering dust.
Then cherished friends, long parted,
That glorious morn shall meet;
All washed from sins in Jesus’ blood,
And in a Saviour’s love complete.
And kindred souls, united,
Their way to heaven shall wing;
While, with their songs triumphant,
The heavenly arches ring.
According to instructions, on my return to Washington I stopped at
Harrisburg, and spent three days in visiting the six hospitals in that
city, looking up Michigan soldiers, and supplying immediate wants.
Rebel wounded were scattered through all of these hospitals, faring the
same as our soldiers. Entering into conversation with them, I inquired
what hope of success the South had left, and their unanimous reply was,
“Our cause is hopeless.” The Federal victories of July had well-nigh
discouraged them. They expressed great surprise at the kind treatment
they received; they had not expected this at the hands of the hated
“Yanks.”
At York, the city so disgracefully surrendered to the rebels a few
months previous, there was but one hospital; it consisted of barracks
built upon an extensive plan. While here, I visited the city cemetery,
where about fifty of “the boys in white” were buried. As I stood by
those turfless mounds, my heart was deeply pained, and I wondered that,
in a large Northern city, no hand was found to plant a single flower
upon a soldier’s grave. But though neglected, though without turf or
flower,
“On fame’s eternal camping-ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And glory guards with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead.”