old. He was lying there, with all his heavy army clothing on, in a most
pitiable condition.
There was a hospital not very far away; and leaving George, my driver,
to minister to him, I went up to the hospital and called for the
surgeon in charge.
“There is a soldier lying down here near the road who is nearly dead.
Will you not have him brought up, and see what you can do for him?” I
said.
“Why, isn’t he dead yet?” exclaimed an attendant.
I then learned that the regiment to which the young soldier belonged
had been ordered out to the Big Black River, and that all the sick
in their regimental hospital had been brought with them to that
point--there unloaded and reported to the hospital authorities. The
attendants had come down and taken all but this one man, and had left
him there to die alone. I was righteously indignant, and I denounced
the whole proceeding as _inhuman and scandalous_.
The surgeon and attendants were alarmed.
“Such carelessness on the part of the surgeon, and brutality on the
part of men charged with the care of the sick and wounded, were
disgraceful!” I declared.
It was not many minutes till the surgeon and attendants with a
stretcher were at his side.
Everything that could possibly be done for any one was done for him.
The surgeons had hard work to save him, however.
If I had passed him by unnoticed, they all agreed that he would have
been dead by the next morning.
Day after day as I drove about the lines I ministered to him till he
was out of danger.
Years passed before I had the privilege of seeing him again. Then he
was a great stalwart man, and bore the title of Hon. E. M. Pike, member
of the Senate of Illinois.
He is now living at Chenoa, Ill., has a lovely wife and two children,
a son and daughter full-grown. He has a large manufacturing
establishment there, and is beloved and honored by all who know him.
He has given good proof that he was well worth saving.
A VISIT FROM GENERAL GRANT AND GENERAL McPHERSON.
A few days after the surrender of Vicksburg, I called at General
Grant’s headquarters on business.
Generals McPherson and Rawlins were the only officials present with
him. I was received most cordially, and inquiries were made by General
Grant at once, as to whether the house he had assigned to me was
comfortable and satisfactory.
I assured him that it was, and spoke with great enthusiasm of the
colored servants left in charge of the property by the owners, who had
fled from Vicksburg before the siege. I was especially enthusiastic
about the cook.
“Why don’t you invite us up to test her cookery?” questioned General
McPherson. I hardly knew what to say, as I had made it a rule to shun
all appearances of social life.
“Oh, you would not come; you are all too busy paroling prisoners,” I
answered.
“Oh, yes! we would certainly come if you should invite us. Is not that
so, General Grant?”
“I shall certainly come if invited,” was General Grant’s reply.
“Then I most cordially invite you.”
“When shall we come?” questioned General McPherson.
“To-morrow, if that will suit you.”
That being satisfactory, they agreed to come the next day at one
o’clock, General Rawlins being included in the invitation, which he
laughingly said, “We have given ourselves.”
When I returned to my quarters that noon, and announced that General
Grant and two other generals were to dine with me the next day, there
was great consternation and excitement. I had tented with Mrs. General
Stone during the siege, and she had come into Vicksburg and occupied
the house with me. She was dismayed at the news. She declared that
there was not one decent tablecloth on the premises, that there were no
two napkins alike, or two dishes that matched. “The fact is,” she said,
“everything in this house mismatches. And how are you going to get them
into the dining-room with all the steps torn away? Are they to walk up
that inclined plane on the boards?”
I told her I did not know of any other way; but as we had to perform
that feat three times a day, I had no doubt they could get up from the
hall to the dining-room once. Aunt Dinah, the cook, who was at the head
of the colored members of the household, was enthusiastic.
“I tell you, honey, I’ll mak ebery ding shine, an’ I’ll hab de
tablecloth so slick a gnat’s heel would fly up on it.”
All the colored people were jubilant. It would be impossible to
describe their antics. The little children danced a jubilee; jumping up
and down, keeping up a chorus: “Ginnel Grant’s a-cummen! Ginnel Grant’s
a-cummen! Ginnel Grant’s de bigest ginnel of dem all!”
It was not an hour till every colored man, woman, and child in that
part of the town knew that at a certain hour the next day General Grant
was to be at that house. The colored men searched every sutler’s shop
for supplies, and Aunt Dinah did her best in the cooking line. The
next morning I went out among the hospitals as usual, but came home
before noon, so as to be there when my guests arrived. I found all the
neighboring fences about the grounds lined with colored people.
Mrs. Stone said to me as soon as I came in,--
“Now, you must not laugh or object, but Aunt Dinah has sent and got two
professional waiters; they are here now, dressed in broadcloth, with
swallow-tailed coats and white vests and white gloves.”
Of course I did laugh, and she laughed quite as heartily as myself,
at the incongruity of the arrangement. Here, in one of the deserted
houses of Vicksburg, that a shell had crashed through, making it
almost impossible to get into the dining-room, with nothing in the
way of table-outfit but the most ordinary camping utensils, we had
two professional waiters, rigged out in a style that could hardly be
matched at a state dinner at the presidential mansion, we were to
receive great generals. It was indeed laughable. Aunt Dinah felt she
ought to explain the matter to me.
“Honey, I want to ’splain ’bout dese ’fessional watahs. Our common
niggahs would never do to wait on fine gentlemen. You see, dey’s awkard
an’ hain’t got no good close. So I just hir’d dese fashionable watahs
case I wanted to have the thing done up right.”
Of course I made no objections. At the appointed hour, General Grant,
dressed in military uniform, riding his little black horse that had
carried him so often around the fiery lines of Vicksburg during the
siege, and General McPherson, dressed in elegant military fashion,
tall, stately, commanding, and splendidly mounted, rode up in front of
our house.
General Stone, who had commanded the extreme right during the siege,
and who had come up from his military camp to dine with us that day,
went out and hitched their horses, as there were no orderlies with them.
General Rawlins, who was prevented at the last moment from coming,
sent his regrets. Black faces were peeping out from the near houses,
and the fences were black with colored people. It was perhaps the one
chance of their lives to see their deliverer, the great captain who
had opened the prison-house of Vicksburg, and given liberty to all the
people.
Everything passed off very pleasantly. When dinner was announced,
taking the arm of General Grant, I led the way to the dining-room. Mrs.
General Stone took the arm of General McPherson, General Stone having
already gone into the dining-room to help us up. The stairs being
torn away, and the ascent being made on two planks that stood at an
angle of forty-five degrees, he reached down his hands and helped us
up. When the two great commanders reached the dining-room, they stood
for some time by the broken walls and stairs, and discussed shells as
destructive missiles, and speculated as to which battery sent that
shell crashing through the house. They finally decided that it came
from one of Admiral Porter’s gunboats.
The dinner followed, and was most thoroughly enjoyed. All the praise I
had given our cook she justified in that grandest effort of her life.
Aunt Dinah held the door a little ajar so that she could see and hear
all that was going on in the dining-room. She said to me afterwards,
with a satisfied chuckle, “Oh! Laws a massa, didn’t dey praise my
cooken! I never felt so big in my life. Seems to me I’se one of the
biggest cooks in the world.”
The professional waiters were skilled and graceful, even though a
napkin over a tin platter was used as a tray.
Aunt Dinah said very confidentially afterwards to me,--
“You see, honey, ’twould neber hab done to hab our niggahs done it.
T’ey’d been most scar’t to death, and sure to spill something. It
won’t do to hab common niggahs waten on high an’ mighty folks like big
ginnels.”
The guests enjoyed the dinner and the after visit. The siege; the
surrender; the terms of parole; the condition of the people who had
been shut up in the city during the siege; their life in the caves; the
condition of the hospitals; and “_what next?_” were freely discussed in
that frank and easy way that characterized General Grant when he was
surrounded by a group of friends he could trust.
When the two great generals took their leave, every colored person in
the neighborhood knew that the smaller man was General Grant, and they
were watching to get another glimpse of him. Both generals thanked
us for inviting them, and assured us that it was the most restful,
home-like visit they had enjoyed since the war began.
It was my privilege to dine with them on several occasions after
that, and to dine with General Grant at the White House during his
presidential terms; but there was not the enthusiasm and novelty on
those occasions that clustered around the dinner and visit in the
shell-wrecked house after the fall of Vicksburg.
General and Mrs. Stone live at their old home in Mount Pleasant, Iowa;
but the two great captains of the Union hosts are gone--McPherson
falling in the midst of the struggle on the bloody field of strife near
Atlanta, Ga., and Grant, after passing through untold perils, passing
peacefully away, and even in death immortalizing Mount McGregor.
LIBERTY HICKS.
As we were on our way to the brick church hospital, at Helena, Ark., a
very large man, with his hair curled and hanging over his shoulders,
passed us and looked back, my secretary and myself both imagined, in an
impudent way. When we reached the hospital we found him there. He put
himself in our way as though he wished to speak with us, but we both
avoided him. At last he came up and said to me, “Madam, I want to speak
with you; there is a man over here that the doctor thinks will die. I
thought maybe you’d come over and pray with him. I’ve been trying to
lead him to trust the Lord Jesus, but he don’t seem to find the way.”
How that great stalwart fellow was transfigured before us from a rowdy
to a saint. And as we went about the hospital everybody said, “If it
wasn’t for Liberty Hicks I don’t know what we would do.” It was not
long till a great cake of ice was floating about in the barrel of tepid
water that stood near the pulpit, and lemons from our supply were in
many a fever-parched hand. We found out afterwards that Liberty Hicks
was an Illinois soldier, and though big, coarse, and strong of body,
he was as tender in his ministrations as a woman, and as faithful as
tender. And although it was not our privilege to ever meet him again,
our good wishes have ever followed him.
Liberty Hicks was a grand hospital worker. I heard of his labors
afterwards, for he accompanied the sick up the river. But like many
others he overworked, and I learn from his daughter who lives near
him in Illinois that he is permanently disabled. It must, however, be
a great consolation to him now, in his old age, to know that by his
faithful services he saved many precious lives.
TRADING TOBACCO FOR COFFEE.
Governor Samuel J. Kirkwood and some of the state officials of Iowa
came down to visit the army during the siege of Vicksburg. I was
invited to go with the distinguished visitors on a tour of inspection,
as was also Mrs. General Stone.
Among the points of danger visited was the fortifications on the
“Extreme Right,” which was up above Vicksburg and down to the water’s
edge. The fortifications were so near together that the men could talk
back and forth.
Our boys had a printing-press and type, and there were men who could
write sensational news of the success of the Union army to order.
They would buy a St. Louis paper, and then get out an “Extra.”
“SURRENDER OF LEE--CAPTURE OF JEFF. DAVIS--RICHMOND TAKEN.”
The particulars of all these events would be given in the most
plausible and convincing manner.
A stone was tied to the papers, and some wag would call out,--
“Say, Rebs, do you want the latest news? Newspapers are just in from
St. Louis. The war is over.”
“Yes, throw them over;” and over they would go.
But the Confederates would not believe a word unless it was favorable
to their cause, and they laughed loud and long over the “lies of the
Yanks.” But they kept it up on the principle that “everything is fair
in war.”
“Put up your head above the embankment, and you will soon see whether
the war is over or not,” the soldiers on the other side would say. On
that day, while we stood there, some of the Iowa officials put their
hats on their canes, and had them perforated by bullets.
A voice came over the ramparts, “Say, Yanks, do you want some tobacker?”
“Yes.”
“Will you trade coffee for tobacker?”
“Yes; throw it over, and we will throw over enough coffee to pay for
it.”
We waited in expectation a little while, then a warning came,--
“Look out there, Yanks!”
All stepped back out of danger. A cloth that had once been white, but
had evidently been in the trenches, came over filled with a lot of the
most abominable tobacco I had ever seen.
After due inspection, the cloth was shaken a few times and filled with
coffee, and a warning cry given,--
“Look out, Rebs!” and over the coffee went.
“All right; thanks;” and the firing was resumed.
There was, I learned afterwards, trading all along the lines.
THE HOSPITALS OF VICKSBURG AT THE TIME OF THE SURRENDER.
Early on the morning of the 5th of July, the roadways being opened,
I drove into Vicksburg. On every side the evidences of the severe
struggle were visible. The concentrated fire of shot and shell had
riddled nearly every building.
The solid shot had done much less damage than the shells, which, after
striking, usually exploded. The solid cannon-balls cut clean round
holes in the solid brick walls, with less damage to the walls in most
cases than could have been done by a mason’s chisel. But the murderous
shot and shell had come from every direction, and scattered the
household goods and the inmates, killing many citizens and soldiers,
and wounding many more. The whole city was an immense hospital.
And it is but kindly and fair to say, just here, that no city was
ever more heroically defended; and that the gallant force inside of
Vicksburg did not yield until starvation stared them in the face. There
was nothing to eat in the city. The soldiers had been on short rations
for a long time; the citizens were without food. Cattle, horses, mules,
dogs, cats, rats, and mice had been devoured. The sick and wounded in
the hospitals had been sustained on mule soup for a long while, and the
supply of mules was about exhausted. There was no living creature in
the shape of dogs and cats and rats to be seen in the streets or about
the houses--all had been eaten for food.
The United States government issued rations to the starving people at
once. I visited the hospitals immediately. I had large supplies of
hospital stores, which were sent to me by Mr. Yeateman of St. Louis,
President of the Western Sanitary Commission, who was a Southern
gentleman, and who, though loyal to the Stars and Stripes, yet felt
deep sympathy for the Southerners in their terrible sufferings; and
also from Louisville and elsewhere, for I, too, was linked by ties
of blood to the people of the South, and the history of Kentucky was
interlinked with the history of my ancestors.
These immense supplies were sent me, in anticipation of the surrender,
for the Confederate Hospital of Vicksburg. Some of the hospitals were
in a most wretched condition; the men being without beds or pillows, or
any other comforts for the sick. This was especially true of what were
called the “field hospitals;” the hospitals immediately in the rear of
the fighting force, into which the wounded were carried before being
transported to the permanent hospitals.
In these hospitals I found men lying on the floor with their knapsacks
under their heads, sweltering in their heavy army clothing. We found
afterwards that their clothing was full of vermin. One poor man who
looked very ill, and seemed to be suffering much, lay on the floor of
one of the first hospitals I visited. I stopped to speak with him,
coming close beside him. A Confederate surgeon sprang forward, and,
taking me by the arm, said, “Please, lady, don’t go so near, you are
in danger of getting vermin on you.” I had the satisfaction within the
next twenty-four hours of seeing that hospital thoroughly cleansed, and
every soldier lying clean and comfortable in a cot-bed between clean
sheets, and his head resting on a soft white pillow; while a bonfire
just in the rear of the building was consuming all the old clothing
and former contents of the hospital. The Confederate surgeons were
retained in the hospitals where the Union army found them, and many of
them were faithful, gentlemanly men. I remember very kindly the medical
director, or chief surgeon, of Pemberton’s army, although I have
forgotten his name. He seemed very anxious to improve the condition of
the hospitals, and was very grateful for help and supplies. The wounded
were lying on the floor because there were no beds for them; they were
starving--dying for lack of proper nourishment because there was
little or no food for them, and so the hospitals were necessarily in a
wretched state.
The hospitals in the centre of the city were in better condition. There
were many incidents connected with my visits to these hospitals which I
should be glad to record, but space will not allow.
A VISIT TO CAPTAIN WALKE’S GUNBOAT.
Among the gallant Union officers who distinguished themselves for
wisdom and bravery was Captain Walke, commander of the _Carondelet_.
I knew him personally as a benevolent Christian gentleman. No one who
knew him doubted his profession of faith in the Divine Redeemer.
While his gunboat was lying at Cairo, just before the battle of Fort
Donelson, he came into the church one Sabbath morning and quietly took
a seat. The minister who was expected disappointed the audience.
As soon as that was made known, Captain Walke arose and went into
the pulpit, opened the Bible, and saying, “Let us worship God,” read
the One Hundred and Third Psalm. Closing the book, he talked most
impressively of our duty to God and to man, and of the boundless,
measureless love of Christ, and, offering an earnest prayer, dismissed
the congregation with the long-metre doxology.
The people, who had been held with almost breathless interest by the
eloquent, forceful words of the stranger, began to ask, “Who is he?”
And great was their surprise when they learned that the man who filled
the pulpit that day was Captain Walke, commander of the _Carondelet_,
an iron-clad that with bristling cannon was lying at anchor near the
town.
It was at Cairo that I first met Captain Walke. As he was often at
the chief ports where the army was protected by gunboats, I had the
privilege of meeting him occasionally.
Two days before the running of the blockade at Vicksburg, a little
company of us went over from the Sanitary boat to bid Captain Walke
godspeed and farewell.
He had just completed the task of pouring two barrels of coal-oil over
his gunboat, and whitewashing the lower deck, where the guns were to be
loaded by the light of the whitewash.
The oil was to prevent solid shot from adhering; striking a smooth
oiled surface they would be more likely to fly off on a tangent, he
explained by way of apology, as the gangway was reached, and the
dresses of the ladies were besmeared with coal-oil. The sides of
the _Carondelet_ were more than three feet thick, and consisted of
alternate layers of wood and iron.
In answer to the question,--
“Is not the eve of a battle a season of great anxiety?” he said,--
“No; the time of anxiety with me is when I am putting the ship in
order. When I have done all that I can do, then I can serenely trust in
God.”
In the course of the conversation, he said that the most beautiful
sight he had ever seen was the bursting of shells against the side of
his ship, sending out volumes of fire, and scintillations of light like
a cloud of glory.
Our godspeeds and good wishes were earnest and heartfelt. We all felt
that it might be a last farewell.
He went through the fiery channel in safety, but I never saw his face
again.
His death occurred not a great while thereafter.
A grand, true Christian gentleman, and a brave soldier, was Captain
Walke.
HOSPITAL ABUSES--PUTTING LOGWOOD IN THE COFFEE.
There was a very large hospital at Madison, Ind., which was very
much crowded in 1864-1865 with the sick and wounded. I established a
special-diet kitchen there for the preparation of food for the very
sick and the severely wounded, and placed one of my lady helpers in
charge. She had scarcely assumed the supervision of the cookery till
she began complaining of the quality of the food, especially of the
coffee. As she put it: “There is nothing in this hospital fit for a
well man to eat, much less these sick and wounded and dying men.”
I was in Washington at the time; but I telegraphed to Miss Louisa
Vance, one of the shrewdest and most careful workers of the Christian
Commission, to report at the hospital at Madison, Ind., and await
instructions. I met her there with carefully written instructions: “Go
on with the work, and don’t complain, but watch. There is something
wrong in that hospital; _find out what it is_. The government furnishes
good supplies and good coffee; find out what becomes of them, but
don’t, for the life of these men, let the surgeon and hospital steward
know that they are suspected. Make frequent errands to the room of the
commissary,” etc. She was not long in finding out as to the cheating
and adulteration. The first clew was obtained because of the rule in
that hospital, that a barrel be placed beside the kitchen door, and all
the coffee-grounds emptied into it. “Boys,” she said to some of the men
who did the cooking, “why do you put the coffee-grounds there? They
have been used; they are no account.”
“It’s the surgeon’s orders.”
“He has them hauled away and emptied, I suppose?”
“No; he has them dried on the commissary floor.”
“Gives them to poor people, I suppose?”
“I don’t know,” answered one; but there was a general laugh among the
men in the kitchen.
She made an excuse to go to the commissary-room; and there, sure
enough, on the floor, was a large pile of old coffee-grounds. The men
employed there were busy stirring and turning it over to hasten the
drying process. She asked for something in a careless way, and then
said as she was leaving,--
“You have a good lot of coffee, boys. What in the world are you going
to do with so much coffee?”
“The surgeon in charge is going to sell it, I guess;” and then they
all laughed. She felt sure from their manner that these men knew all
the secrets of that commissary department, and it must be her business
to get it from them. But I was urging her to be careful; for if false
charges were brought against the surgeon in charge of a large hospital,
it would injure the diet-kitchen service all along the line. We were
in daily correspondence. She had tested the coffee every way she could
think of, but could not decide as to how it was adulterated. She had a
new white-pine sink put in the kitchen, and poured out some coffee on
that. It stained the boards logwood color. She knew now at least _one_
article of adulteration. She looked the men of the commissary well
over, and picked out one, an innocent young fellow, that she thought
she might surprise into a confession. Waiting her chance, when no one
was near, she faced him with the terrible question:--
“Why do you men in the commissary-room put logwood and every other vile
stuff in the coffee for our poor sick and wounded men to drink? Have
you no conscience? Do you want to kill them?”