witnessed and the lonely hours sometimes experienced, was rather
pleasant than otherwise. Aside from the satisfaction there is in
trying to do good, there is a novelty connected with such a life
which gives to it many attractions. Soldiers are always full of fun
and good-natured jokes. Exciting rumors, sometimes with, but oftener
without foundation, are constantly afloat, furnishing subjects for
conversation. Besides, there are occasional opportunities, even in
the army, for intellectual entertainments. One such was enjoyed by
the Second Corps soon after my arrival. We were favored with a visit
from the gifted authoress and lecturer, “Grace Greenwood.” It was my
privilege to listen to two of the three lectures she delivered while
there. These lectures were rare treats; they were like oases in the
desert. During her stay, she favored us with a call, visited our
hospital, spoke cheeringly to the sick, with whom her heart was in full
sympathy. She also accepted an invitation to dine with us. She was
accompanied by her little daughter Anna--a sweet child of eight years.
Ah! methinks many a father’s heart grew sad as he saw this little girl
tripping gaily through camp, or as he listened to her sweet singing.
She must have reminded him of the dear little “Annie,” or “Hattie,” or
“Nellie,” he left at home, and whom he might never again see. Perchance
some sentinel on his beat paused to wipe the unbidden tear from his
weather-beaten cheek as she crossed his path, being reminded of his
own precious daughter, the patter of whose feet he might hear no more
forever!
Quite an exciting scene occurred one afternoon, occasioned by one
of the many rumors constantly afloat in the army. All was usually
quiet, no apprehension of immediate danger or sign of “a move,” when
suddenly we were startled by an order for the regiment to be ready
to move at a moment’s notice, as it was reported that the rebels had
crossed the Rapidan, driven in our pickets, and were already engaged
with the cavalry. Presently the order to “advance” is received. Then
comes the hasty preparations; well-filled cartridge-boxes are buckled
on, muskets shouldered, and the order, “fall in,” quietly obeyed.
Very soon they are all drawn up in line of battle on the ridge of a
high hill in front of our camp; batteries are placed in position, and
everything in readiness to give the “chivalry” a cordial greeting.
Things really looked like a fight; but before sundown all were quietly
withdrawn and returned to their old quarters without even getting a
sight of a rebel. As they came filing into camp, some felt provoked,
and all disappointed, for they had hoped to have a “brush”--as they
called it--with the enemy. To use their own words, they were “spoiling
for a fight.” The inactivity of camp life while in winter quarters
was one prolific source of demoralization in the army. The true cause
of the alarm was soon ascertained. A few rebels _did_ cross the river
and drive in some of our pickets, but they were soon driven back and
compelled to re-cross. For a few days this furnished the topic of
conversation, and then something new came up; and when nothing new
happened, the “boys” would improvise something.
Toward the last of March I expected Mrs. Thompson, formerly of Ionia,
Michigan, to make me a visit and bring a new supply of hospital
stores. But I looked in vain. The goods at length came, but she was
not with them, as she could not obtain a pass. I was so greatly
disappointed that for a while time seemed to pass more slowly; my
evenings were unusually lonely. The evening tattoo and morning
reveille, and the warriors’ calls of the drum, to which I had ever
listened with pleasure, now seemed only to mock my loneliness. I tried
to be reconciled, but never could fully. I was obliged to adopt the
language of the old adage, “What can’t be cured must be endured.”
Toward the middle of April I began to feel somewhat anxious to return
to Washington, as all non-combatants were ordered to leave the army.
General Grant had arrived and taken command in person, and the work
of re-organizing commenced. The sick were being sent away as fast as
possible, and everything indicated a speedy move. However, I remained
until I had disposed of the new supply of goods.
The review of the Second Corps on the 22d of April, by General Grant,
was a grand sight. It was estimated that there were fifty thousand
troops on review that day. Then, in addition to these, were the
almost endless lines of ambulances and army wagons, all having been
repaired and newly painted; everything was in readiness for the opening
campaign. To one unaccustomed to seeing large armies, it would seem
that this corps alone was sufficient to meet and successfully resist
whatever force could be brought to oppose it; and yet what a small part
of the vast army of the Union, and only about one-third of the Grand
Army of the Potomac!
Many of our sick I afterward found scattered through various hospitals
in different cities. Among these, there were three of the Twenty-sixth,
for whom I had felt the deepest interest and solicitude, who died after
arriving in Washington, viz., Sergeant Rooks, privates Van Decar and
Miller. Each left a family to mourn departed hopes.
The morning of the 23d, I bade “good-by” to the few sick left in the
hospital and returned to Washington. The day was warm and pleasant; yet
my heart was sad, for it took no great stretch of the imagination to
look forward into the midst of the terrible conflict about to begin,
and to see many of the brave and the noble fall; to see the wounded
and slain by thousands, scattered far and near, with the advancing and
retreating armies marching and counter-marching over their mangled
bodies, the bones of multitudes being left to bleach upon the plain
and the earth made red with human gore. Then the thought of the bitter
grief and unavailing tear which would so soon succeed the long suspense
and anxious fears which filled every home, if not every heart, in
our land, left little room for other than sad reflections. But every
picture, however dark, has its bright side, and so had this fearful
one. The hope of victory illumined its dark background. It was this
that buckled on the armor and nerved every heart for the contest.
_CHAPTER XIII._
HOSPITAL WORK IN WASHINGTON AND ALEXANDRIA--NEW ARRIVALS OF
THE SICK--NINTH CORPS--BATTLES OF THE WILDERNESS--THE WOUNDED
ARRIVE--EN ROUTE FOR FREDERICKSBURG--FIRST NIGHT IN THE “BLOODY
CITY”--OUR QUARTERS--HOSPITAL VISITS AND HOSPITAL WORK--DISTRIBUTING
SUPPLIES--DISTRESSING SIGHTS--SAD INCIDENTS.
I arrived in Washington without accident this time, though the rebels
had become very bold, making frequent raids upon the road, tearing
up the track, capturing the guard, and doing all sorts of mischief.
Immediately upon arriving in Washington, I expected to start for
Michigan on a short visit; but, as the army was on the eve of a move,
I yielded to the urgent request of the officers of our Association, to
remain until the close of the opening campaign, and resumed my work of
visiting hospitals, in connection with Mrs. Brainard, who had returned
from her visit home three months before. We found plenty to do, as our
hospitals were being filled with the sick daily arriving from the army.
Many were left from the Ninth Corps, which passed through the city on
the 25th instant, on their way to rejoin the Army of the Potomac,
having been recalled from the Western department, where they were
sent one year before. The corps, at this time, numbered about thirty
thousand. They were over three hours in passing a given point. Poor
fellows, how worn and weary they looked! There was the Eighth Michigan,
to which a dear brother once belonged. How eagerly I watched for
Company K! But, oh! a tall, manly form was missing. No familiar face
met my eye, no well-known voice greeted me; but while his comrades were
marching on to victory and to death, he lay calmly sleeping a few miles
distant. No more fatiguing marches, no more sleepless nights, no more
suffering, no more hunger or thirst or weariness for thee, brother; thy
last march is ended, the last battle fought, and the victory won. Sleep
peacefully, brother, until the archangel’s trumpet shall bid thee arise.
The 26th of the month I went to Alexandria, and remained three days,
visiting and distributing to the sick and wounded in those hospitals.
While there, I had the pleasure of seeing, for the first time, General
Burnside--that noble, generous officer, who always did the best he
could, if not always the most successful. He was then, and still is,
loved for his honesty of heart and integrity of purpose.
Two days more, which were spent in Washington--one in visiting
hospitals, the other in packing goods to take to the front and
attending to home duties--brings me down to the first of May.
It will be remembered that, early in this month, the Army of the
Potomac struck tents, buckled on their armor, and, at the command of
their gallant leader, “whose name was a tower of strength,” moved
on with their faces “wilderness-ward,” to scenes of fierce strife,
carnage, and death. Soon a series of battles commenced, which scarcely
ended until the fall of Richmond. It was a truthful saying, that
the battle of the Wilderness was the bloody initiation of the great
campaign which was to terminate the war. The 8th of the month several
hundred of the more slightly wounded arrived. They had a serious
time in making their way from the battlefield to the Rappahannock--a
distance of nearly thirty miles--no transportation being furnished
them, as all the ambulances were employed in removing the more severely
wounded. On their way they were attacked by guerrillas, but finally
succeeded in making their escape, after killing several, without losing
any of their own number. Those who were unarmed fought with broken
muskets, clubs, and whatever else they could lay hands on.
As reports of the fighting continued to reach us, and none of
the more serious cases arrived, we applied for passes to go to
Fredericksburg--that being the new base of supplies for the
army, and whither thousands of the wounded were removed from the
battlefield--which we finally obtained through our State Agent, Dr.
Tunnecliffe, late in the afternoon of the 10th. Early next morning,
Mrs. Johnson, Mrs. Brainard, and myself, in company with other
volunteer laborers, went to the wharf with our goods, that we might be
in readiness to take the first boat that should leave for Belle Plain.
While waiting, three boats filled with the wounded arrived. They
were crowded, from the upper-deck to the hold, with scarcely room to
pass between those mangled forms, who were suffering not only from
wounds, but famishing with hunger. Their hunger, however, was soon
relieved, for a large number of delegates of the Sanitary and Christian
Commissions were present, with plenty of hot coffee, milk-punch,
lemonade, crackers, and the like, which were distributed with a liberal
hand to all. As fast as possible they were removed to hospitals, where
they could be better cared for. About four o’clock P. M., we went on
board the steamer Wenonah. Before leaving the wharf a letter was handed
me, dated, “Chancellorsville, May 7th, 1864.” I will quote a single
paragraph: “The Twenty-Sixth are all right, but the Fifth are badly cut
up; Major Mathews reported mortally wounded.” Oh! how such reports
increased our impatience, and lengthened the waiting moments into
hours, and the hours into days. But at length we leave the shores of
Washington. Every heart beats high with the hope that the morning will
find us among the wounded at Belle Plain. But we had proceeded only a
few miles when a collision occurred, injuring our boat slightly, yet
sufficient to cause her to anchor off Alexandria for the night.
_May 12th, 1864._
At six o’clock this morning, the Wenonah, richly laden with
hospital-stores and volunteer laborers, left Alexandria and steamed
down the Potomac. Fort Washington is soon passed, Mount Vernon left in
the distance, and other places of less importance appear and recede
from view.
As we near our place of destination, cannonading is heard, rapid and
heavy. A terrible battle is raging. Oh! how we long for “the wings of
the morning,” that we may fly to the relief of the wounded; but our
anxiety does not accelerate our speed. About one o’clock we anchor a
short distance from Belle Plain, where we remain until nearly dark,
when we are all taken on board the Young America, and carried over to
the landing; but we cannot go ashore, as we would be entirely without
shelter for the night, and the rain, which has been falling all the
afternoon, still continues.
* * * * *
Before leaving the Wenonah, it was suggested by some one that we have a
prayer-meeting, and that those wishing to attend would assemble in the
cabin, which in a few moments was filled to its utmost capacity with
delegates from both the Sanitary and Christian Commissions, the ladies
on board, and officers and soldiers. Among the number present were many
eminent Christian men and ministers of the gospel, the names of a few
of whom I obtained, viz.: Drs. Smith, Castle, Porter, McLaughlin, of
Philadelphia, Dr. Howlett, of Washington, and Dr. Dobbins, of Trenton,
New Jersey. Among the ladies present was one whose name has become a
household word in thousands of homes throughout our land, because of
her untiring efforts in behalf of the sick and wounded. I refer to Miss
Clara Barton, of ----, Massachusetts. The meeting was a most solemn and
impressive one. The afternoon was dark and gloomy, the sky overcast
with clouds, and the rain falling; while ever and anon our ears were
saluted with the boom of the cannon, which plainly indicated that the
conflict was still raging, and every moment new names were added to the
long list of sufferers. The solemnity of the occasion, and the deep
impressions then made, must--it seems to me--follow each of us through
life.
Nine o’clock next morning we were taken into a barge and carried
ashore. The wounded were arriving by hundreds, and I may say thousands,
to await transportation to Washington. The two great Commissions and
a few State Reliefs were there with abundant supplies of food; so all
hands went to work feeding those poor, suffering, half-starved soldiers
with crackers, hot coffee, and light bread--which we cut into slices
and spread with apple-butter. Thus we worked on, wading through mud to
the top of our boots until noon, when, in company with Mrs. Johnson,
I started with part of our goods for Fredericksburg--transportation
being furnished us through the kindness of Lieutenant Chase, of the
Ambulance Corps. The mud was deep and the roads badly cut up; but
fortunately we did not share the fate of some of the wounded, whose
ambulances were overturned on their way to Belle Plain. It was after
dark when we reached the Rappahannock, which we crossed on pontoons,
and nearly eight o’clock when we arrived at the head-quarters of the
Christian Commission in the “bloody city” of Fredericksburg. On our
way we met several thousand prisoners captured by the Second Corps
the day previous. Among these were Generals Edward Johnson and George
H. Stewart. It was said that General Johnson was so affected as to
shed tears when General Hancock extended to him his hand after he was
taken, declaring that he preferred death to captivity. But the other,
with an air of haughtiness, replied: “I am General Stewart, of the
Confederate army, and under present circumstances I decline to take
your hand.” General Hancock’s dignified reply was: “And under any other
circumstances, General, I should not have offered it.”
We, with three other ladies who were on a similar mission, found
quarters for the night in the parlor of the worthy (?) ex-Mayor
Slaughter’s fine residence, upon whose carpet we had the honor of
sleeping!! Being very tired, we slept soundly, in spite of our hard
bed. Part of the building was used for a hospital. Mrs. Slaughter was
still there, but her husband, not caring to fall into the hands of the
“hated Yankees,” had left for parts unknown.
I will again add a few extracts from my journal.
_May 10th._
Early this morning the Provost Marshal obtained for us a house to which
our goods were soon removed, after which we were ready for duty. The
building had once been a store; the counter and shelves being left, we
occupy them with goods. The family in an adjoining room consists of an
old lady and one daughter, who, of course, claim to be loyal. However,
they are very kind, and gave us a large upper room with good beds, and
otherwise comfortably furnished for a sleeping apartment. No one could
listen to their story without feelings of pity. They have suffered much
during the war, being obliged to share their hospitality with both
friend and foe, exposed to dangers from the missiles of destruction
and death which have made such wide-spread desolation, and left in
ruins this once beautiful city. Their own building, and even the room
in which I write, bears testimony to the terrible effects of shell and
ball.
A stove was furnished us in the morning, the “boys” supplied us with
wood, and we went to work with a right good will, Mrs. Johnson to
cooking, and I to visiting hospitals and distributing as fast as she
could cook.
Such scenes of wretchedness and of terrible suffering I have never
before witnessed. I found the wounded lying upon the hard floor without
pillows, and many without a blanket, so closely crowded together that
there was scarcely room to pass between them. Officers and soldiers
are lying side by side. There, if never before, they are all on a
common level. To the untold suffering experienced from broken bones and
shattered limbs, is added that of hunger, many having eaten nothing for
three and four days previous to their arrival here; and thus they are
dying not only of wounds, but of starvation.
In the six hospitals to-day visited, I found many Michigan soldiers,
and among these are several of the Twenty-Sixth volunteers, from whom,
only a few weeks since, I parted at Stevensburg, when imagination was
so busy picturing these horrid scenes. Among this number is Colonel
Saviers, wounded in the lungs; Captain Johnson with a foot amputated;
Lieutenants Grisson and Dopson severely, though less seriously wounded;
Mr. Waters with amputated thigh, and many others whose names I do not
recall. The food which I have to-day distributed consisted almost
entirely of chicken-soup and crackers, in dealing out which I made no
distinction, but gave to all as far as my supplies would go.
Early this evening I went out again in company with Mrs. Johnson,
and remained until twelve o’clock, dressing wounds and doing what
I could to relieve the suffering of our poor boys. Among the many
incidents to-day observed worthy of note, I will mention but two.
While distributing my crackers and soup to the inmates of a large
church, where there are perhaps a hundred and fifty or two hundred poor
sufferers lying side by side upon the floor, nearly all seriously and
many mortally wounded, my ears were saluted with the voice of song,
and, looking around to see from whom it came, I saw a poor fellow
with a severe wound in both arms, whom some one had raised up from his
hard bed. He was sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall,
singing as cheerfully, and apparently as joyously as if he were seated
at the social hearth with his own dear family. It was a scene which
brought tears to my eyes, for the voice of song strangely mingled with
dying groans, and I thought that one who could shut his eyes to the
scenes of distress around him, and so far forget his sufferings as to
attune his heart and voice to singing, must indeed have experienced the
blessedness of the Christian’s hope. In this hospital is another with
eight wounds. He lies on a stretcher entirely helpless. While feeding
him I entered into conversation with him, when, to my surprise, I found
that he entertained hopes of recovery--which seems to me would be
almost miraculous.[4] The rest of our party arrived this afternoon with
the balance of our goods.
[4] Some two years ago, to my great astonishment, I met this man, who,
though having recovered, is badly crippled for life.
_Sunday, the 15th._
Another busy day. It has seemed but little like the Sabbath. After
taking supplies to four different hospitals, and distributing, and
working among the wounded until late in the afternoon, I came home and
prepared chicken-soup, and carried to Planter’s Hotel--assisted by
Mr. Green--sufficient for nearly four hundred men. Michigan soldiers
of the Ninth Corps are here largely represented. Among these are many
seriously wounded. My attention was particularly called to two such
by Chaplain May--viz., Captain Donohue of the Eighth volunteers,
and Lieutenant Joss, of the Second, each with an amputated thigh.
But little hope is entertained of their recovery. I tried to speak
encouragingly to them, having been requested to do so by the surgeon,
Dr. Fox; yet it seems almost wrong to endeavor to inspire with hope of
recovery those for whom nearly all hope has fled. Promising to see them
often and do all I could for them, I left, feeling that it would be
only a short time that they would need anything, except the soldier’s
blanket and a few feet of earth.
In this hospital I found several wounded in the face, among whom is
Sergeant Clark, also of the Eighth. The ball lodged somewhere in the
mouth, and has not yet been found. It is very distressing to see him;
his tongue is swollen to an immoderate size, and protrudes from his
mouth. He is unable to speak, or take nourishment, except liquids.
There are hundreds of cases, each peculiarly sad, and each presenting
itself as an object of sympathy.