were also waiting transportation, I paid a visit to the tomb of
Mrs. Mary Washington. The monument had evidently been struck by a
cannon-ball, as the top was broken off, and lay in fragments on the
ground. We gathered up a few pieces as sacred mementoes of the spot
where repose the ashes of that noble woman--the mother of the “Father
of his Country.” As we stood in silence, gazing with solemn awe upon
her grave, we could not help thinking of her son--that little boy,
who once, perhaps, played in childish glee upon the very ground where
we were standing, and who with his little hatchet cut the favorite
cherry-tree, growing, as some affirm, upon the spot where that
monument now stands. Then the beautiful lesson taught by his truthful
simplicity, and the deep impression it made upon our minds in early
life, were recalled; also the purity of his after life, his noble
record, his philanthropic deeds, his peaceful death. With reflections
like these we leave this venerated tomb, and slowly wend our way to
the soldiers’ burying-ground, and pay our last tribute of respect to
the hundreds of brave men who were there resting from their labors,
and “whose slumbers will not be broken until the reveille of the
resurrection morn shall awake them.”
“Soldiers’ graves are thickly scattered
O’er the valley and the lea;
They are sleeping on the mountains,
They are sleeping by the sea.”
The morning of the 27th, a detachment of cavalry was sent out to the
“wilderness” to recapture some of our wounded who had been for several
days in the hands of the rebels. Before night they returned with forty
of those poor half-starved men, whom I assisted in feeding after they
were taken on board the steamer “George Weems.” About nine o’clock
that evening I went aboard the same boat. It was filled to its utmost
capacity with the wounded, nurses, agents, officers and refugees.
Next morning--as we had not left Fredericksburg--while waiting for
the tide to come in, I went ashore and returned to our old quarters,
nearly a mile and a half distant. Mrs. Mayhew and Mrs. Samson of Maine
accompanied me. Having found the forgotten articles, which I was in
search of, we retraced our steps; but, supposing we had plenty of time,
we strolled leisurely along, gathering flowers, and stopping a moment
to gaze upon the lonely, deserted hospitals that we passed, in which
so many distressing sights had been witnessed, and so much suffering
experienced.
On our way, several “Secesh” women greeted us with, “Good-by, Yanks;
glad you’re going--reckon you won’t get back here again.” We most
heartily responded to their expressions of joy. If they were rejoiced
to have us go, we were no less so to leave. When within a few rods of
the landing, the whistle blew, the plank was taken in, the water-wheel
began to revolve, and the boat to shove out from the shore. If we
never before knew the meaning of the phrase “double quick,” I think
we then learned it; while the thought of being left in rebeldom every
moment accelerated our speed. Hands extended to aid us were eagerly
grasped, and with a desperate leap, as for life, we jumped on board.
Had we been left, no alternative would have remained to us, except
that of marching the overland route with the troops, the last of whom
were then slowly filing out of town; for this was the last boat of any
description that left Fredericksburg, and all communication with the
place that day ceased. At ten o’clock we bade farewell to the “bloody
city” with its hundreds of sleeping braves. But we could not forget the
sad experiences of the previous two weeks.
The weariness, the fatigue, the oppressive heat, the care and anxiety,
the sick, the wounded, the dying, the dead; the long trains of
ambulances freighted with human suffering, the bloody scenes, the torn
and mangled bodies, the newly-made graves, were all fresh in mind, and,
being securely locked in the halls of memory, can never be forgotten.
_CHAPTER XV._
PORT ROYAL--FROM PORT ROYAL TO WHITE HOUSE--ARRIVAL OF AGENTS WITH
SUPPLIES--BATTLE OF COAL HARBOR--SICK AND WOUNDED SOLDIERS--MAJOR
LEWIS--A MASSACHUSETTS SOLDIER--EVACUATION OF WHITE HOUSE--A SAD
ACCIDENT--THE DELAY--LAND AT CITY POINT--ARRIVAL OF MR. HOWARD WITH
SUPPLIES--A CALL FROM GENERAL GRANT.
After considerable delay, and entertaining many fears lest we should
be attacked by guerrillas who were occasionally seen along the
shore--until we were joined by a gunboat, under the protection of
which we felt secure--we arrived at Port Royal Sunday morning at eight
o’clock. Here we left the “George Weems,” which was _en route_ for
Washington, and went on board the exchange. While lying at anchor,
services were held by the chaplain of the Sixth Wisconsin volunteers.
His sermon--from the words, “The Lord is my shepherd”--was full of
comfort. Those present upon that occasion will, I am sure, ever love
to refer to it as one of the bright spots in their army life. Before
arriving at Port Royal a touching incident occurred. A rebel soldier
was dying, and, in great distress of mind, he asked to be prayed for.
We gathered around his bed--a few professing Christians--and tried to
point him to the “Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world.”
Precious words of promise were read from the New Testament and prayer
offered in his behalf, after which he seemed more composed, but he sank
rapidly--as a wound in his neck had broken out afresh and was bleeding
profusely--and died, as we hope, trusting in Jesus. Late in the
afternoon, learning from Dr. St. Clair, master of transportation, that
another boat would leave the next day having better accommodations, I
went ashore and put up for the night with a rebel family, which at that
time consisted of an elderly lady and a little girl. I learned from the
old lady that her husband was dead, and that her two sons were in the
rebel army. Her servants had all deserted her. She appeared lonely and
disconsolate, not having even the hope of victory to cheer her.
Her house was an old-fashioned vine-clad cottage; the kitchen, with
its huge fire-place and massive iron kettles, where the servants had
formerly done the work, being separated from the main building, as
is customary in the South. A large garden near by was filled with
vegetables and flowers and interspersed with shade-trees and shrubbery,
the whole being surrounded with a fine boxwood hedge. In one part of
the house were the head-quarters of Dr. Snow, of the Ninth Corps.
Being detained here, contrary to expectation, until Monday evening, I
endeavored to make myself useful by assisting about the cooking for
the doctor and “mess.” We got up quite a sumptuous dinner, consisting
not only of pork, “hard tack” and coffee, as usual, but, in addition,
“flour gravy,” stewed goose, berries, and “hoe-cake.” Our Port Royal
dinner will certainly not soon be forgotten by those who partook, for
it was a right royal one.
Shortly after sundown we took leave of our kind hostess and went
on board the steamer “Ocean Wave,” bound for White House Landing,
which place had been decided upon as the “new base.” We anchor and
await the tide next morning, when we find ourselves sailing down the
Rappahannock. It is afternoon when we enter the Chesapeake bay, ninety
miles from Port Royal. The day was extremely warm, but a fine breeze
blowing from the bay renders the heat quite endurable. The scenery,
portions of the way, was fine. I enjoyed the passage very much,
especially as it afforded a good opportunity for rest and preparation
for another hard campaign.
About seven in the evening we ran upon a sand-bar and anchored for the
night. The next morning we entered the York river, and at five P. M.
the Pamunkey.
The waters of this river, unlike those of the York, are dark and
muddy, its banks low and marshy; besides, the river is very crooked
and the channel narrow; consequently, it was not at all surprising
that we ran aground again soon after dark, where we were obliged to
remain until the tide came in the next morning. Point Lookout, where
we had an extensive hospital, had been passed, also Yorktown--a place
of great historical interest, rendered so, not only during our late
war, but the Revolutionary also. Here Lord Cornwallis surrendered
his sword to General George Washington. Here also, nearly a century
later, McClellan’s mighty army encamped for weeks, besieging the
fortifications of the rebels, which they finally evacuated in safety,
while his own brave men died by hundreds and thousands, of disease
contracted in the pestilential swamps of the Chickahominy.
Tuesday, the 2d of June, we land at White House, our new field of
labor. No wounded had yet arrived, though a long train of ambulances
could be seen, on the opposite side of the Appomattox, waiting for the
river to be bridged in order to cross over. At the same time could be
heard the booming of guns, warning us to be in readiness to bind up the
wounds they were making.
A delegation from the Sanitary and Christian Commissions went over by
boat, with supplies for those having already arrived. Our hospitals
were not yet established, though, before night, a large number of
tents were in readiness to shelter the wounded as soon as they should
arrive. Soon after landing I learned of the timely arrival of Messrs.
Kellogg, Cater, and Lapand, from Washington, with supplies; but, a
cold, drenching rain coming on, which lasted all night, and having no
shelter for our goods, they were not taken from the barge until next
day, when Dr. St. Clair kindly loaned us a large tent, and a team with
which to bring up our goods. In a short time all were hard at work.
Mrs. Nowell, of Philadelphia, volunteered to assist us, and remained
with us several days. We cooked over a range outside of our tent until
a stove was procured--which was already promised me by Dr. Burmaster,
Surgeon in charge of the Second Corps hospitals. At night we made two
tents of one, by putting in a canvas partition; and for beds, spread
our blankets upon the ground, which, if not the best substitute for
feathers or mattress, answered very well. My _first_ night at this
place I was provided for by Dr. Snow, who gave me possession of one of
his unoccupied hospital-tents, sent me a stretcher and blankets for a
bed, also a warm supper and breakfast--a kindness fully appreciated and
gratefully remembered.
The 3d inst., the wounded were arriving nearly all day from the battle
of Coal Harbor, among whom I found a cousin--Lieutenant Tracy, of the
Seventh Michigan Infantry--whose brother was wounded at the battle of
the Wilderness. “Frank” will not, I am sure, soon forget the many times
he drew rations from the “Michigan Relief,” at Fredericksburg.
The afternoon of the same day the rest of the Michigan agents and three
Pennsylvania delegates, viz.: Mr. Ritz, Mrs. Price, and Miss Sayles,
arrived with a large supply of hospital-stores and two additional
tents. At this place the Michigan and Pennsylvania Associations worked
together. We had our goods in common, and endeavored, to the extent of
our efforts, to relieve suffering.
We remained at White House until the 14th--at least I did. The wounded
were almost constantly arriving, as battles were daily being fought.
Work was the order of the day, and I trust I shall not be considered
egotistical when I say we _did_ work early and late. Rest belonged
only to the past, or was looked forward to in the future; it had no
connection with the present.
Going to the numerous hospitals with supplies of all kinds; cooking
soups, puddings, custards; making tea, coffee, lemonade, milk-punch;
preparing “special diet” for individual cases, dressing wounds, bathing
burning brows, receiving dying messages, writing to friends of the
disabled and deceased, were among our daily duties. Sad and distressing
scenes met us at every turn. Death was a daily visitor. Graves almost
hourly increased in numbers; and even then the demand was not fully
met, for it was no uncommon sight to see, in going from tent to tent,
from one to half-a-dozen lifeless forms wrapped in their blankets,
mutely pleading for burial.
Not unfrequently the sick and wounded were obliged to lie a long time
upon the ground in the burning sun, before shelter could be provided.
The 6th of the month, a large number belonging to the Ninth Corps
were thus unsheltered and unprotected from the heat of day and the
chilling dews of night. Among these there was one whose emaciated form
and imploring look particularly attracted my attention, and seemed to
demand special aid and sympathy. This was James E. Rouse, a member
of the Michigan Second. Placing my umbrella over him, I finished
distributing my lemonade and crackers, and then tried to find a vacant
place in some tent to which I could remove him; but without success.
The best I could do was to make a bed on the shady side of one of the
tents, underneath the ropes, which I covered with a shelter-tent. To
this he was taken, bathed, and provided with clean clothes. The few
days he remained there, I took him his meals regularly. A cup of tea
and a few mouthfuls of toast were about all he would take at a time.
At length he was removed into a hospital. He still continued to fail,
and in a few days he was gone. But instead of being sent to Washington,
as I was told, he had been removed into another tent, where I found
him the evening before leaving the place, dying. As I approached his
bed--if bed it could be called--he recognized me, and tried to speak,
but was too far gone to say much. A few words about home, in which I
caught the words, “wife--my children,” were all I could understand.
Soon he became unconscious, and apparently near his end. Remaining
as long as I could be of any service, I returned to my quarters, and
called again early next morning to see him, but he was gone. I learned
from the nurse that he died during the night, and was already buried.
Sunday, the 5th, among the many who were brought from the field,
was the body of Major Lewis, of the Eighth Michigan volunteers, who
fell mortally wounded at the battle of Coal Harbor. Dr. Fox, of the
same regiment, came in with the body, and was the first to break the
heart-rending news to the widowed wife.
The coat in which he fell was left in my care, and forwarded to her
the first opportunity. Oh! sad reminder of bloody scenes and a hero’s
death! His last words were about wife and country. He would have her
know that, even in death, she was not forgotten. “But,” said he, “I
would live that I might _serve my country longer_.”
“Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead,
Dear as the bloody grave;
No impious footsteps here shall tread
The herbage of your grave.
Nor shall your glory be forgot
While Fame her record keeps,
Or honor points the hallowed spot
Where valor proudly sleeps.”
There was one I cannot fail to mention. A noble Massachusetts soldier
was mortally wounded, yet unconscious of his fate, until informed of
it by a Christian surgeon, who advised him, if he had any accounts
with eternity to settle, to attend to them at once. “What,” he quickly
replied, “am I going to die?” He appeared greatly distressed, for
the thought of death had not before entered his mind. Taking from
under his pillow photographs of a beautiful-looking woman and sweet
little girl--his wife and child--he looked at them a few moments with
tear-dimmed eyes, and then exclaimed: “My God! Can I leave them? Shall
I never see them again?” Oh, it was hard for him to die and leave them,
but he never saw them more, for in a few days he was numbered with the
“Boys in White.”
The 10th inst., having received a call from Surgeon Bonine--who was
in charge of the third division Ninth Corps hospital, situated at
the extreme front--for supplies, I sent an ambulance load of stores,
consisting of canned fruits and meats, condensed milk, loaf-sugar,
pickles, lemons, wine, brandy, etc., which I drew from the Sanitary
and Christian Commissions, and to his care they were entrusted for
distribution, as the appeal was for himself as well as those in his
charge. Hear his words: “For God’s sake, Julia, send me something I can
eat, or I shall die.”
Perhaps there are those who might think I did wrong in trusting to
care of a “doctor” sanitary stores. Now while I would not, for a
moment, excuse the course pursued by many army surgeons during the
war, in appropriating for their own use articles designed only for the
sick, yet there were times and places--especially during an active
campaign--when a faithful surgeon, working night and day among scenes
the most revolting, needed, and was justly entitled to, something more
than “hard tack.” When far from the base of supplies, and not even a
sutler in the army, money was of little account. Let one such as Dr.
Bonine have fainted at his post of duty, and many lives would have been
sacrificed in consequence. All honor to surgeons, as well as to other
officers who are faithful in the discharge of duty.
The 11th, it was rumored that the place was soon to be evacuated, and
the next morning an order to that effect was received; accordingly our
goods were packed, and Sunday afternoon were put into a barge ready to
be sent to the new “base.” The wounded were being removed as fast as
transportation could be procured, though at this time there were nearly
two thousand not yet sent off; besides, the afternoon of the same day,
Dr. Smith, of the Twenty-seventh Michigan volunteers, came in with
sixty more, forty of whom were Michigan men, and, therefore, especially
entitled to our supplies. The doctor immediately appealed to us for
aid; but, our goods having all been removed, he applied to the Sanitary
Commission.
It having been suggested that a part of the Michigan delegation should
remain with a portion of our supplies, until all the hospitals were
broken up, Mrs. Johnson and myself volunteered to stay; but it being
neither convenient nor thought best to have any of our stores brought
back, we applied to the Christian Commission, and obtained permission
to draw on them; but our stores and cooking-utensils being gone, we
could accomplish but little, and, by the request of one of the Sanitary
agents, went and assisted in their low diet kitchen. Mrs. J. finally
concluded to go with the rest of our agents, who left Monday evening,
the 13th inst., and the next day, at 5 P. M., I went on board the
steamer “New Jersey,” and was soon sailing down the Pamunkey on our
way to City Point, leaving, forever it may be, “White House,” with not
only its hundreds and thousands of its newly-made graves, but also the
many grass-covered mounds of McClellan’s braves.
“Bend in love, O azure sky!
Shine, O stars! at evening time.
Watch where heroes calmly lie,
In their faith and hope sublime.”
The ground occupied by our hospitals at this place consists of a large
estate containing five thousand acres, formerly owned by the widow
Custus, afterwards the wife of George Washington. The mansion, I am
sorry to say, was burned during the war, and, at the time I was there,
nothing remained to mark the spot where it stood except the tall
chimneys. A few days after arriving at this our field of labor, Mrs.
Plumb, one of our agents, returned to Washington with a brother, whom
she found severely wounded. We regretted to lose her services, for we
had no more efficient worker than Mrs. P. Though meeting her there for
the first time, I soon learned to highly esteem and love her, as every
one must who knows her, for she is a noble Christian woman, just such
an one as was needed in the army. Another excellent lady who came to
assist us in our work was Mrs. Gridley, from Hillsdale, in whom we
found an earnest and efficient laborer--a lady in every sense of the
word. Her two sons were serving their country--one in the army, the
other in the navy.
Mrs. Mahan, also of Hillsdale, having volunteered her services, was
at this time employed in Washington. She remained about six months,
and returned home, leaving a record bright with noble deeds. Among
the many from my own State who were engaged in the work of caring
for our soldiers, I know of none whose zeal for and devotion to the
cause surpassed that of Mrs. Tunnecliffe and Mrs. Millard, wives of
our State agents in Washington. Early and late, they might be found
either in a crowded office, endeavoring to render assistance to the
numerous applicants who appealed to them for aid, or out on some errand
of mercy, looking after the neglected and those who seemed to have no
helper. One of our number--Mr. Ritz, of Pennsylvania--who was devoted,
soul and body, to the cause he was serving, has long since ceased from
his labors and received his reward. Others are scattered far and wide,
no more, perhaps, to meet, until the final “muster-roll” is called.
It was my pleasure, while at White House, frequently to meet that good
man, Professor Estabrook, whose efforts in behalf of the suffering
have caused his name to be cherished in thousands of homes beyond the
limits of our own State. He is one of those of whom it was said: “Ye
are the light of the world.”
We arrived at City Point, the 18th. Had a pleasant passage from White
House, though a little tedious, as we were delayed at Fort Powhattan,
on the James, from Thursday evening until Saturday morning, by the army
crossing the river on pontoons a few miles below us. On our way we
passed the famous Rip Raps, where many of our soldiers and others were
sentenced, for various crimes, to hard labor during the war. The place
where that brilliant engagement between the little Monitor and the
iron-clad Merrimac occurred, March 9th, 1862, was pointed out to us.
The accommodations on the “New Jersey” were good. All the ladies were
provided with comfortable state-rooms; but we came to short rations
before arriving at our place of destination, as we divided with some
sick soldiers who were with us, and were delayed thirty-six hours.
A sad accident occurred about two o’clock the morning after leaving
White House, while anchored in the Pamunkey waiting for the tide.
All was still as midnight, when suddenly there was heard a plunge,
struggling, splashing, and cries for help from below. At the same
instant several voices were heard exclaiming, “A man overboard!” A
life-preserver was immediately thrown him, but, there being a heavy
mist on the surface of the water, it floated past him unnoticed. The
incoming tide was rapidly bearing him away. I endeavored, but in vain,
to throw him my life-preserver, by crowding it through the small window
of my state-room as he floated by. A life-boat was lowered and two men
went in pursuit; soon another boat followed. The poor fellow’s cries
for help could still be heard. I watched him out of sight, and even
then I could hear him call out, “This way, this way, gentlemen, hurry
up; I can’t keep up much longer;” and then the reply, “We’re coming,
we’re almost there, keep up good courage.” At length the splashing of
the oars dies away, and the voices become fainter and fainter; yet we
can still hear the boatmen call, “Where are you?” and the reply, very
faintly, “Here, here, this way!” but soon it ceases, and we all wait
in almost breathless silence for the return of the life-boats. Soon
we catch the sound of the splashing oars, and eager voices are heard
asking, “Did you save him?” Our hearts almost cease to beat and the
blood nearly freezes in our veins as we hear the reply, “No, he went
down when we were almost in reach of him.” Oh, how much harder for the
dear friends at home to part with him thus than if he had fallen in
battle; _that_ they might have expected, but _this_ they were wholly
unprepared for. Landing at City Point, I reported to Dr. Dalton,
medical director, but was disappointed in finding that the rest of our
agents had not yet arrived, though they left White House twenty-four
hours in advance. The cause of the delay, however, we learned from
Mrs. Johnson, who arrived toward evening the same day. There had been
an order issued that none of the State Relief Associations should be
permitted to go to the new “base” without permission from the Secretary
of War. Hence they had no alternative but to remain at Fortress Monroe
until they could despatch some one to Washington for the requisite
passes, which delayed them until the 22d.