Another characteristic scene of that dark and bloody 1863, from notes of
my visit to Armory-square hospital, one hot but pleasant summer day. In
ward H we approach the cot of a young lieutenant of one of the Wisconsin
regiments. Tread the bare board floor lightly here, for the pain and
panting of death are in this cot. I saw the lieutenant when he was first
brought here from Chancellorsville, and have been with him occasionally
from day to day and night to night. He had been getting along pretty
well till night before last, when a sudden hemorrhage that could not be
stopt came upon him, and to-day it still continues at intervals. Notice
that water-pail by the side of the bed, with a quantity of blood and
bloody pieces of muslin, nearly full; that tells the story. The poor
young man is struggling painfully for breath, his great dark eyes with
a glaze already upon them, and the choking faint but audible in his
throat. An attendant sits by him, and will not leave him till the last;
yet little or nothing can be done. He will die here in an hour or two,
without the presence of kith or kin. Meantime the ordinary chat and
business of[6] the ward a little way off goes on indifferently. Some
of the inmates are laughing and joking, others are playing checkers or
cards, others are reading, &c.
I have noticed through most of the hospitals that as long as there
is any chance for a man, no matter how bad he may be, the surgeon and
nurses work hard, sometimes with curious tenacity, for his life, doing
everything, and keeping somebody by him to execute the doctor's orders,
and minister to him every minute night and day. See that screen there.
As you advance through the dusk of early candle-light, a nurse will step
forth on tip-toe, and silently but imperiously forbid you to make any
noise, or perhaps to come near at all. Some soldier's life is flickering
there, suspended between recovery and death. Perhaps at this moment the
exhausted frame has just fallen into a light sleep that a step might
shake. You must retire. The neighboring patients must move in their
stocking feet. I have been several times struck with such mark'd
efforts--everything bent to save a life from the very grip of the
destroyer. But when that grip is once firmly fix'd, leaving no hope or
chance at all, the surgeon abandons the patient. If it is a case
where stimulus is any relief, the nurse gives milk-punch or brandy, or
whatever is wanted, _ad libitum_. There is no fuss made. Not a bit
of sentimentalism or whining have I seen about a single death-bed in
hospital or on the field, but generally impassive indifference. All is
over, as far as any efforts can avail; it is useless to expend emotions
or labors. While there is a prospect they strive hard--at least most
surgeons do; but death certain and evident, they yield the field.
Note:
[6]MR. GARFIELD (_In the House of Representatives, April 15,'79_.) "Do
gentlemen know that (leaving out all the border States) there were fifty
regiments and seven companies of white men in our army fighting for the
Union from the States that went into rebellion? Do they know that from
the single State of Kentucky more Union soldiers fought under our flag
than Napoleon took into the battle of Waterloo? more than Wellington
took with all the allied armies against Napoleon? Do they remember that
186,000 color'd men fought under our flag against the rebellion and for
the Union, and that of that number 90,000 were from the States which
went into rebellion?"