soldiers whom examining boards pronounced unfit for field service,
but able to do “light duty,” were transferred to one of the three
battalions into which it was divided. Prior to being assigned to
either of these battalions, they were quartered at Clifburn Barracks.
In this camp there was much suffering from exposure and neglect.
Nights were cold, barracks uncomfortable, bunks with no bedding,
except the soldier’s blanket. Many a poor fellow lost his life in
consequence of exposure during his stay at Clifburn. In the majority
of cases, the transfer to this organization was made against the
soldier’s wishes, who, if able to do duty, preferred to be sent to
his regiment. But a soldier’s duty is to obey orders, irrespective
of his wishes. I recall several instances in which soldiers were
severely punished for refusing to serve in the “Invalid Corps,” as it
was called. I will mention one. A soldier was kept in the guard-house
forty days, court-martialed three times, and he still refused to put
on the “Invalid” jacket. An appeal in his behalf was finally made to
the War Department, when the Secretary ordered his release. He had
always been a good soldier, never refusing to do duty in the field,
and he insisted, as he could no longer serve his country there, he
should receive his discharge. I knew others who would refuse to be
transferred, but, after lying in the guard-house a few days, would
submit. One, who had been a good soldier in the field, seemed to
consider it a disgrace to serve where there was no danger, or, if not a
disgrace, there was at least no honor attached to the service.
The hospital connected with this camp was never as well supplied
as those in the city. Disease in almost every form found its
way thither--fevers, pneumonia, rheumatism, that insidious
disease--consumption, and even small-pox. Upon one of my next visits to
this hospital, I found a young man of the Seventh Michigan, who was a
great sufferer from inflammatory rheumatism. He was extremely anxious
to go home, and requested me to see the surgeon in regard to his
discharge. On inquiry I found that his papers would be ready as soon as
he was able to travel. He was removed to Mr. Clark’s--formerly of Ann
Arbor, at that time residing near the hospital--where, with the most
tender nursing, he so far recovered as to be able to go home in a few
weeks. He continued to improve for a short time after reaching home,
but was suddenly taken worse and died; and another victim was added to
the many occasioned by neglect and exposure while at Clifburn.
It may be asked whose business it was to care for these. I answer,
the Sanitary Commission. After the Government had provided barracks
and blankets, it was the place of this great organization to begin
where the Government left off, and to have made those convalescents
comfortable. Thousands of dollars were almost daily being poured into
its coffers by patriotic, self-sacrificing friends in the North, and in
three days’ time, and even less, after those barracks were occupied,
they should have been supplied with plenty of good, warm bedding; and
vegetables, in large quantities, should have been daily issued. Many
valuable lives would thus have been saved to gladden homes now lonely
and desolate. Let honor be given where honor is due. This commission
did, as it ought with the means at its disposal, a world of good;
but there was at times bad management somewhere, and an injudicious
use of its funds, for, while its supplies were wasting and rotting
in store-houses, soldiers were suffering and dying for want of
them. It may be argued that this could not have been avoided, there
sometimes being a scarcity of help; but that could easily have been
remedied, as hundreds--yea, thousands--stood ready to “volunteer” their
services--all they wanted was the privilege of working for soldiers.
Or these wasting goods might have been given to other societies, which
would have gladly received them, and with willing hands prepared and
distributed them to those for whom they were designed.
* * * * *
As I was leaving camp, after the visit to which I have referred,
I was met by a soldier who wished me to ascertain whether his
discharge-papers had been forwarded to the office of the Medical
Director.
I returned to the office and made inquiry concerning them, and learned
that they were to be forwarded that afternoon. Notifying the soldier, I
again started for home, but, before passing the limits of the camp, I
was hailed by an old man with silver locks and bent form, who wished to
know if I could do anything for him. “If so, for God’s sake,” he said,
“render me some assistance.” I listened to his story, which was indeed
a sad one. It was as follows:
When the war broke out, he was the owner of a handsome property in
Missouri. He was driven from his home by rebel hordes, his buildings
were burned, and all personal property either destroyed or confiscated.
He came North, when himself and three sons enlisted in the Union army.
His sons had all been killed--the last one, a little drummer-boy, only
a few days before--and himself nothing but a wreck. He had served
nearly three years in the ranks as a private soldier, and now asked to
be discharged from the service. “You have made a great sacrifice,” I
said. “Yes; but we did it cheerfully. The country is worth it all, and
a thousand times more,” he answered. “If I could do any good by staying
longer, I would not ask to go home; but, you see, I’m of no account
now,” holding up his thin, emaciated hands. “The boys were fine lads;
but they’re gone, and I shall soon follow.” I was moved to tears by
his pitiful story, and again retraced my steps to the office, briefly
related the old soldier’s statement, and requested that he might have
an early examination, and obtained a promise that he should. The poor
old man, on hearing this, was too grateful to express his thanks; he
could only say, “God bless you! God bless you, my child!” His discharge
at length came. He called to bid me “good-by,” before leaving the city;
but whether he now lives to enjoy the blessings for which he fought, or
has gone to meet his sons on the further shore, I cannot tell.
Once again I endeavored to make my exit from camp, but was met by two
more requesting a similar favor; but, not daring to trespass upon the
doctor’s good-nature any more that day, I told them they would have to
wait until I came again, and so made my escape.
Not long after this I spent nearly half a day in running about trying
to get transportation for a soldier of the Nineteenth Maine, who had
obtained a furlough. How glad I was when I saw the poor old man on his
way to the depot, and how richly paid I felt for my trouble, when he
turned and said, as I parted with him, “Good-by, God bless you; I’ll
tell my wife I shouldn’t have got home these two days if you hadn’t
helped me.” Then, with what an elastic step he hurried on, lest the
train should leave him, forgetting that he was weak and feeble. It
will be seen from these few incidents that our duties did not consist
altogether in preparing and distributing supplies. In fact, that was
but a small part of our work--there were, at almost every visit, so
many errands to do, questions to answer, and messages to deliver, that
they greatly increased our labors, but these were only parts of the
great whole.
The 24th inst. Mrs. B. and I spent the entire day in cooking, as
we wished to surprise the boys at Clifburn by giving them a little
something extra for dinner the next day; all the hospitals in the city
were to have a “Christmas dinner,” and we feared this would be wholly
overlooked. Our fears proved true, as far as those not in the immediate
hospital department were concerned.
Christmas came, bringing chilly winds and biting frosts; but before
noon we were on our way to Clifburn with well-filled baskets,
accompanied by a couple of soldiers who volunteered their assistance.
Arriving in camp, it was heart-sickening to see those who had left
homes of plenty, crowding around us, and, like children, begging for
a piece of “Christmas pie!” The remembrance would not be so sad could
all have been served, but there were hundreds who received nothing;
and, when all was given out, they fell back a few paces, and gave
three rousing cheers for the Michigan ladies, those who received
nothing cheering with the rest. Oh, could these have shared the
bountiful Christmas dinners at home, how many hearts would have been
gladdened and made happy! As we were ready to start upon our mission
that morning, we were met at the door by Mr. Moses, who surprised us,
Mrs. B. and myself, with a present of forty dollars each, in behalf
of Michigan gentlemen residing in Washington. The gift was truly
appreciated.
The 28th of the month, Mrs. Brainard left for Michigan, and did not
return until about the 1st of April; so I was again left alone, with
the work that both had been doing devolving upon me.
Supplies continued to reach us--many through the personal efforts of
Mrs. Brainard. I also received a nice barrel of goods from Brighton,
Mich., and another from Harbor Creek, Penn., also ten dollars in money.
The last day of the month, I was happily surprised by receiving a call
from Professor Holden, formerly of Kalamazoo College. He found me
busy at work preparing articles for distribution. After asking many
questions, and inquiring into the nature of my work, and how long I had
been engaged in it, he said: “We didn’t know what we were preparing
you for, when you were with us at Kalamazoo. We never dreamed that
you would so soon engage in a work like this.” His heart was in full
sympathy with the good cause, and, when about to leave, he placed a
five-dollar bill in my hand, saying, as he did so, “I will add so much
to your Christmas present.” If, as he turned away, he was five dollars
poorer in purse, he was much more than that richer in blessings.
One afternoon, as I was returning from Alexandria, I met a lady on
the boat, whom a few hours before I had seen in a hospital anxiously
inquiring for her son. She was sitting alone in one corner of the
cabin, rocking to and fro, wringing her hands and sobbing aloud,
apparently oblivious to all around her. I at once divined the cause
of her sorrow, which her own words confirmed--she was too late! They
were just closing his coffin when she found him. It seemed as though
her poor agonized heart must break. He was her only son, his term of
enlistment had nearly expired, and she was joyfully anticipating his
speedy return home, when the dreadful tidings reached her that he was
mortally wounded--accidentally shot by a comrade. The first train that
left after she received this sad message was bearing her away from her
Eastern home to the coffin-side of her dead. The hope of receiving
from his own lips his last words and dying blessing had buoyed her up
during that sad journey; but this last hope having been taken from
her, she was overwhelmed with grief. No words of mine could afford her
consolation. Like Rachel of old, she refused to be comforted. “My poor
boy! oh, my poor boy!” she continued to repeat amid tears and sobs,
until we parted at Washington.
The 14th of January, I went to the army with supplies for our sick
in field hospitals. Arriving at “Brandy Station”--some seventy miles
from Washington--I was set out in the mud with my goods, no one to
meet me as I expected; cold, gray clouds were hanging overhead, and a
chilly wind whistling among the tents. Here, for the first time, I
experienced the great difficulty there was in finding any particular
regiment in the army. Each seemed like a little isolated town, so
wholly absorbed with its own cares and duties that frequently the
nearest encampment was neither known by name or number--recognized
only in the broad sense of “Uncle Sam’s boys.” Yet there was a common
interest and sympathy existing among all who wore the army blue; no
matter what part of the Union they hailed from, they were all enlisted
in the same cause, fighting beneath the same flag, and for the same
grand result.
Having my goods removed to a little rise of ground where the mud was
not quite so deep, I climbed its slippery side and took my post as
guard; but, in spite of my vigilance, a firkin of butter was carried
off, though I recovered it--taken through mistake of course (!!)
On inquiry, I was surprised to find that no one there even knew
that there was such a regiment in the army as the Twenty-sixth
Michigan--neither could they tell me anything about General Custer’s
Cavalry Brigade. I next inquired for the First Division, Second
Corps--to which the Twenty-sixth belonged. “About four miles from
here,” was the reply. It was getting late; there was no possible chance
that I could see to obtain accommodations at the station over night.
The roads were almost impassable, and, as yet, I had no conveyance and
no prospect of procuring one before the next day. My first thought
was to store my goods and start on foot, but I was dissuaded from
this course by the boys declaring that I could never get through if I
started; and I afterwards learned how utterly impossible would have
been the undertaking. But what was to be done? Everything looked
discouraging, and I almost felt like giving up in despair. I resolved,
however, to make one more effort to get some sort of a conveyance,
and again inquired if there were not a Second Corps ambulance still
at the station? I had asked the same gentleman several times before,
and every time received a negative reply--a positive “no.” But, not
knowing what else to do, I kept repeating my question, and this time
a doubtful answer was given by one who really seemed to pity me in my
deplorable condition; and the very doubt expressed in his reply, “I
think not--however, I’ll go and see,” kindled a new hope in my heart.
In a moment he disappeared behind boxes of “hard tack,” bales of hay
and sacks of grain, while I remained _in statu quo_, being for once
the central object of attraction. This soldier was soon the bearer of
good news: the only ambulance remaining would leave in a few moments.
The driver soon made his appearance, who kindly offered to take me to
the Twenty-sixth, as his regiment--the Eighty-first Pennsylvania--was
brigaded with the same and encamped near it. What goods I could not
take with me were stored with the Provost Marshal until the next day.
Those four miles through deep mud, over corduroy roads and across
bridgeless streams are at length made in safety, and the driver returns
to his quarters rich in the possession of a few pounds of sweet, yellow
butter, while I am heartily greeted and cheerfully welcomed to the
cabin homes of the Twenty-sixth. Many regrets are expressed that my
letter had not been received, in consequence of which no one knew of
my arrival at the station. But that tedious waiting in wind and mud
is soon forgotten, for familiar faces, pleasant smiles, and cordial
greetings are met on every hand.
I could hardly realize that this was the same regiment that, nine
months before, we bade adieu as it left the shores of Alexandria for
the seat of war. To some of their number, alas! it proved a long
farewell, for they were left sleeping their last sleep on the bank
of the James. After resting a little and partaking of a warm supper,
which was prepared with neatness and dispatch, I paid a visit to the
hospital, which reminded me of the home of the pioneer. It consisted of
a low, one story log cabin, with two rude chimneys and a ruder floor.
On either side of the room was a row of cots, which consisted of pine
boughs and a blanket laid across poles elevated a little from the
floor, with another blanket, or perhaps two, for covering--sheets and
pillows they had none. These were occupied by the sick.
As I passed through the hospital, stopping a few moments at the bedside
of each patient, and telling them I had come with sanitary stores which
had been sent by friends at home expressly for them, their countenances
brightened, while some declared, that they felt a hundred per cent.
better for knowing they were thus kindly remembered.
Upon a calm, still day, with two blazing, crackling fires, the
hospital, though rude, presented a pleasant, cheerful aspect; but,
upon a damp, windy day, this cheerful aspect was driven away by dense
volumes of smoke, which would come pouring down the chimneys, making
it almost impossible to remain inside; yet all seemed to think it was
the best that could be provided for them under the circumstances, and
uncomplainingly submitted to their hard lot. There was considerable
sickness in the regiment at this time, one great cause of which, I have
no doubt, was the location of the camp--it being low and wet, and, I am
sorry to say, was poorly policed. Death was not an unfrequent visitor.
Some three or four, in as many days, had obeyed his stern mandate and
gone--ah! whither?
“Ask not--the lonely hearthstone tells
Too plain the mournful story:
Gone, in their beauty and their pride,
To swell the ranks of glory.”
At my next visit, a few weeks later, I was able to report a great
change for the better. In the absence of superior officers, Major
Saviers--a man possessing rare executive ability--was in command. The
campground had been drained, sidewalks of split wood built, the streets
bordered with evergreens, and many other improvements made.
Leaving these poor sick men cheered with the promise that, as soon as
my goods arrived, they should be made more comfortable, I was given
_carte blanche_ possession of a little cabin, which I found “swept
and garnished” after the most approved style of the soldier. A bright
fire was blazing on the hearth, a narrow cot--similar to those in the
hospital--stood in one corner of the room, a rude table in another, and
a camp-chair in the third. These, with a couple of shelves on one side
of the cabin, containing sundry culinary articles together with the
accoutrements of war, constituted the owner’s household goods. Being
quite weary I retired early, yet I cannot say that I felt much rested
next morning; but I wondered all the more how those poor sick men could
lie upon such beds.
As soon as my goods arrived I furnished the hospital beds with
sheets and pillows, the patients with clean handkerchiefs and a few
dressing-gowns, besides dried fruit, jellies, wine, and butter, also
papers and magazines. I found several sick in their quarters which the
hospital could not accommodate; these I visited and supplied with such
things as they were mostly needing. Never was anything, I am sure,
received with more gratitude than were those few supplies which it was
my pleasure to distribute.
This regiment, unlike many, was blessed with a kind and faithful
surgeon, and a chaplain worthy of the name. My next visit was to the
Fifth and Sixth Cavalry; but there was far less sickness in these
regiments than when I visited them at Fairfax, notwithstanding their
increased hardships and exposures, their frequent raids, skirmishes,
and battles. But many, for whom this toughening process was too severe,
had fallen out by the way, and were left to sleep in unmarked yet
honored graves. At the little broken, dilapidated town of Stevensburg,
where fences and “hoops” were unknown, and sallow faces gave evidence
of the “dip”--where chimneys were leaning from perpendicular as if
contemplating a change of base, and where windows could boast of
more rags than panes of glass--was our Cavalry Brigade Hospital; but
it contained comparatively few sick. Good nursing and proper food, no
doubt, would have saved any who were in the hospital at that time. The
beds were much better than those in infantry hospitals. Each cot was
furnished with a tick filled with hay, which was obtained by cutting
the horses’ rations a little short; but, in other respects, they were
about on a par with field hospitals generally. Here I disposed of the
remainder of my goods, and, on the morning of the 17th, left the sick,
with a promise to come again soon, with a larger supply of sanitary
stores. Arriving at Brandy Station, I found the train had left, and,
not knowing what to do, I appealed to the Provost Marshal, from whom,
to my great relief, I learned that Mrs. Mayhew--an agent for the Maine
Association--had her head-quarters in an old building not far away.
The house was pointed out, and, in a few minutes more, I was the
welcome guest of this excellent lady and her friend, Mrs. Painter, of
New Jersey. It being the Lord’s day, we attended service at the C. C.
chapel. That was a day long to be remembered. How solemn the service!
And what a good class--or speaking-meeting--followed! What a beautiful
sight to see those brawny, stalwart soldiers stand up for Jesus! Early
Monday morning I assisted in feeding a train of sick who were on
their way from Culpepper to Washington. These ladies held themselves
in readiness to start with broth, crackers, tea and coffee, as soon as
a train of the sick or wounded arrived. Who can estimate the good thus
accomplished by those two earnest, Christian women?
At ten o’clock the same morning, I started for Washington, accompanied
by Mrs. Mayhew. When in the vicinity of Union Mills--some twenty-five
miles from the city--a collision occurred a few miles ahead of us, in
consequence of which we were delayed twelve hours. The day was gloomy,
cold, and rainy; our car leaked badly. We were without food, nothing to
read, and, in fact, nothing to do but to sit still and wait, and hope
every moment that the train would start. We were wholly unprepared for
such an emergency. Those twelve hours seemed lengthened into as many
days, and not until two A. M. were we safely quartered in my own room,
cold, hungry, and drenching wet. Next day we both began to experience
the effects of a severe cold, which for some time seriously threatened
us, but we managed to keep at work.
_CHAPTER XI._
ANOTHER VISIT TO THE ARMY--INCIDENTS--PONY MOUNTAIN--PICKET LINE--THE
MOVE--RETURN TO WASHINGTON--LONG BRIDGE--CAPTAIN MASON--REMARKS ABOUT
HOSPITAL DUTIES--ARLINGTON--THE SOLDIERS’ HOME.
The 21st ult., through the kindness of Colonel Alger of the Fifth
Cavalry, I obtained another pass to go to the army, and, on the morning
of the 27th, again started with a fine lot of hospital stores. At
the station I met Dr. Beach, who was returning to his regiment. The
day was warm and pleasant, and instead of a long, lonely ride, the
journey is too soon made. How desolate the country through which we
pass! Marks of destruction, which ever follow the train of war, are
everywhere visible. The earth is furrowed and ridged with long lines of
rifle-pits, redoubts and redans. Breastworks and formidable abattis are
seen at various places along the line of the road. Occasionally a tall
chimney is seen standing like some lone sentinel, telling in language
plainer than words of “glory departed.” Every few miles we are reminded
of the dangers to which we are exposed by broken cars, iron rails bent
and twisted and strewn along the side of the track, causing us almost
to expect to leave one or more of our cars, if not our bones, with
the wreck of others, before arriving at our place of destination. We
pass some places of little note before the war, but by it rendered not
only historical, but memorable. Such are Manassas, Catlett’s, Bristow,
and Rappahannock Stations and Warrenton Junction. At or near each of
these, battles have been fought, and the earth drenched with human
gore. No waiting this time at the station; General Custer’s carriage--a
confiscated barouche--is there before us. Nearly dark when we arrive
at camp. Soldiers are never at a loss for expedients, and soon the
dispensary is converted into a temporary dwelling-house, which, with a
bright fire blazing on the hearth, made my little home look cozy and
inviting.
Again, as at my former visit, the work of unpacking, assorting, and
distributing to different hospitals and those sick in their quarters
had to be gone through with. Most of the sick who were in these
hospitals upon my former visit had been sent away, but they were filled
with others quite as needy.
The afternoon of the 29th I rode out with Sergeant Summerville to
the camp of the Twenty-fourth Michigan, to learn the condition of
the sick and what they were most needing. The regiment was encamped
in a beautiful place about a mile and a half from the once pleasant
little village of Culpepper. The hospital I found entirely empty. A
few had been sent to the division hospital at Culpepper, but none were
dangerously ill. From both surgeon and chaplain I learned that the
health of the regiment was never better, and that whatever stores I had
designed for them had better be given to those more needy. Here for
the first time I had the pleasure of meeting that excellent lady, Mrs.
Chaplain Way. Who knows how far her kind care and advice and influence
went toward not only restoring the sick to health, but preventing
sickness? As the day was far spent, and having about nine miles to
ride, we made only a short stay, and then headed our horses for “home.”