as he stammered,--
“We have to do it; it’s the surgeon’s orders. Indeed, Miss Vance, we
can’t help it;” and he dashed away as fast as he could go, to tell the
others.
“O boys! Miss Vance knows all about the cheating here, and the logwood
and everything in the coffee.”
As they wanted to set themselves right with Miss Vance, the others, as
soon as they could, went to her to apologize, and to assure her that
it was orders. She assumed not to believe that a surgeon would give
such orders, and said she could not believe till she saw the orders.
They brought them, and also the surgeon’s instructions for mixing, and
various other devices for cheating.
“Now, boys, don’t say a word about this till I can see what I can do.”
Of course I got all these facts as quick as the mail could bring them.
I wrote her “to be careful, to make copies of all the papers and
records of the false entries in the books, and take these men one by
one to a justice of the peace or notary public, and have them swear to
everything;” for, if the surgeon should suspect what she was doing, he
would at once relieve them, and order them to join their regiments,
and she would be left to stand alone. I started for Louisville, Ky.,
the headquarters of Assistant Surgeon-General R. C. Wood, at once, and
requested Miss Vance to send to me there all the papers in the case,
which she did.
As I read over the villanous record of cheatery, and the disgusting
compounds he had put into the old coffee-grounds for the poor sick
and wounded men to drink, my soul was hot within me with righteous
indignation. When I went into the office of General Wood the next
morning I was in a mood for strong talk. He gave me his usual cordial
greeting.
“General Wood, if you please, I would like to see you alone,” I said.
He looked surprised, as I had never made such a request before.
“Certainly,” he said, and nodded to the two or three clerks in the room
to withdraw. As soon as the door was closed behind them I began:--
“I came to report Dr. R----, of the Madison Hospital.”
“Dr. R----? Why, he is one of my best surgeons! What has he done?”
“You may think he is one of your best surgeons, but my opinion of him
is that _he ought to be hung higher than Haman_.”
The general looked greatly surprised, as he had never heard me use any
such emphatic terms about any one before. “Please, madam, explain,” he
said.
“He is cheating and starving the soldiers, and selling their good
coffee, and giving them a little coffee mixed with logwood and other
vile adulteration.”
“Impossible! That is entirely impossible.”
“Nevertheless, it is true; and he is _cheating you_ in making up his
hospital returns. I have the proof here in my hands.”
He turned pale. “Can such a thing be possible?” he gasped.
“It is possible,” I said. “See for yourself;” and I handed him the true
returns, with the affidavits.
He brought out the official returns which had been sent by the surgeon,
and we compared them.
“He’s a villain, a heartless villain,” the general would mutter at each
new exhibition of the surgeon’s rascality.
When we had gone through with the papers, he said in a most emphatic
way,--
“I will punish that man to the full extent of the law.”
“No, general: he will elude you; he will find some way to escape. If
dealt with by military law he will escape; but I have a plan that will
reach him.”
“What is your plan?”
“To go to Governor Morton of Indiana, and lay the facts and these
papers before him, and put the whole case in his hands. The hospital
is in his State, and I don’t think he can get out of the clutches of
Governor Morton.” My words were like the shock of an electric battery.
He sprang to his feet, and walked the floor in a most excited state
of mind. At last he calmed himself enough to speak, and facing me, he
said,--
“Madam, do you wish to kill me? Do you wish to kill me? Do you wish to
stab me to the heart?”
“Certainly not. I have the highest respect for you. I believe you are
innocent in this matter; but I do not want that villain to escape.”
“_He shall not escape._”
“What will you do?”
“I will send up Inspector Allen right away.”
“No; that won’t do. Inspector Allen has been going up month after
month, and has not seen a thing wrong. No; I am sorry to say it, but I
do not believe you can bring this man to justice. Governor Morton is my
only chance to secure that.”
I shall never forget with what majesty he stood before me. He looked
like a patriarch,--tall, straight, commanding, with his crown of gray
hair, his fair and kindly face. _A perfect Christian gentleman_ of the
old school, too honest and true himself to suspect others as frauds.
“Mrs. Wittenmyer,” he said, “you could not possibly do me a greater
injury; such a thing would likely lead to my removal. You certainly
do not desire that. Have I not co-operated with you in all your
great plans, removing from one hospital to another surgeons at your
suggestion? Have I not placed steamers and trains to carry your goods,
and extended to you the hearty co-operation and aid of this office? Why
should you wish to injure me?”
“I do not wish to injure you. I only want to bring this rogue to
justice. You have done _all_ that any one could do for me, and the
influence of your high office has helped me all along the lines. I
shall ever hold you in grateful remembrance for your kindness and
co-operation; but I cannot stand by and see our sick and wounded men
treated in this way, and not do my utmost to bring such a rascal to
justice.”
“He shall be brought to justice. I will make this proposition to you:
I will appoint a commission to investigate, bring charges against and
court-martial him, and you may select the commission.”
“But he will resign as soon as he knows they are going to bring
charges.”
“I will not accept his resignation.”
And so this plan was agreed to; as over the opposition of the assistant
surgeon-general, who had been my ablest helper, I saw it would not do
to go, as I wished to do, to Governor Morton.
I selected Dr. Clendening, medical director of that department, as the
president of the court. I knew him to be a true gentleman, of sterling
integrity, who would do his duty without fear or favor. The others were
among the best medical men of the army.
The last I heard of Dr. Clendening he was in the regular army, and
stationed at St. Louis. I think he is still living, as are most of
those who are familiar with the facts here recorded. The commission
received the documents, went to Madison, and verified all Miss Vance’s
statements, and sat down together to formulate the charges. But as soon
as the committee came on the ground, Surgeon R---- telegraphed his
resignation to Surgeon-General Barnes at Washington. It was accepted
by telegraph, and he was on a train far away. The commission was
greatly disappointed, and General Wood was very much humiliated over
the affair. Shortly afterwards, returning to Washington, I spoke to the
surgeon-general about the case, and gave him my views about Dr. R----’s
rascality. But the hospital was soon cleaned up; the old coffee-grounds
and logwood were dumped out upon the “common,” and good food and plenty
of it was served to the men.
I was not known to Dr. R---- in the case; but Dr. Clendening and the
other members of the commission, and Miss Vance, will know how the
reform was brought about. I do not give the full name of the surgeon,
as he may have repented in sackcloth and ashes for aught I know; but
there is little danger of my forgetting his name. Miss Vance is now
living in California.
REMINISCENCE OF GENERAL GRANT.
One of the strongest evidences of General Grant’s nobility of character
was his respectful treatment of the men in the ranks. They were all
men, and were treated as men. He did not toady to the officers, or
bully the privates. His attitude to all was respectful and considerate.
He was more approachable to the men in the ranks than were many of his
inferior officers.
An ambulance driver at City Point told me this story:--
“The road was narrow, and I was allowing the horses to jog on at a slow
pace, when an officer rode up and said, ‘Drive your ambulance to one
side, please, and allow my staff to pass.’
“I was paralyzed when I looked up and saw it was General Grant who
was talking to me so nice and polite. I looked back and saw a lot of
officers coming, and you may be sure I got out of their way as quick as
I could. Most officers would have sworn a blue streak because I was in
the road, but that isn’t General Grant’s way; he is a mighty nice man.”
I had occasion to call at an officer’s headquarters to report that
there were supplies at the landing for his regiment. He was very much
pleased that I had taken the trouble to call on him personally, as
he was from my own State. As we sat in his tent talking socially, a
private soldier came to the tent-door, made the military salute, and
was about to speak, when the colonel thundered his words of command:--
“Begone; what business have you coming to my headquarters?”
“The lieutenant sent me to”--
“Begone, I tell you.”
The soldier turned away deeply humiliated, and no doubt indignant. I,
as indignant as the soldier, arose, and without ceremony left the tent.
I have never thought of that officer since, that I did not want to go
back to that lost opportunity, and tell him how mean and ignoble he
was.
FRED D. GRANT--THE BRAVE ORDERLY AT VICKSBURG.
Nearly every day during the siege of Vicksburg, General Grant rode
around the fiery line of the besieged city on his little black horse;
and his son Fred, about thirteen years old, who acted as his orderly,
followed about fifty yards in the rear.
It was a wild ride over the rough, roadless fields and bluffs in the
rear of our batteries, where the enemy’s guns were ploughing the ground
here and there, over which they were riding.
Almost every day, as I drove about the lines, at some point or other
I would see General Grant and his brave little orderly riding at full
speed in the face of the long lines of the enemy’s batteries, and
within range of their murderous fire. But most of all to be feared was
the surer fire of the Confederate sharpshooters.
They were never within speaking distance, being much nearer the
batteries than was the roadway along which I drove.
There was great anxiety for General Grant during the siege. Personally
he was beloved by officers and men, but there were deeper reasons. His
life was so important to the Union cause, that his death would have
been the greatest calamity that the army could have suffered. Officers
and civilians warned and entreated him, but as far as I could see he
made no change in his course.
Fred Grant shared his father’s dangers; and although he was one of the
nicest boys I ever saw, few knew his real merits and bravery. Like
his distinguished father, he was free from bombast, and was quiet and
reserved, so his heroic services during the siege were not paraded
before the public, as the deeds of many who did not show half the
courage he did.
We did not meet very often; but when we did, I always had some kindly
words and an approving smile for him. It was fortunate that his devoted
mother was not there at that time to see his danger as he went out
under the guns daily.
Her anxiety would have been unbearable, as she was a most devoted wife
and mother, and the dangers were appalling.
Fred D. Grant ought in some marked way to receive public honor for his
wonderful heroism at Vicksburg.
THE SAD FATE OF JENNIE WADE.
One of the many sad incidents of the battle of Gettysburg was the
tragic death of Jennie Wade. The family remained in their house, as
they could not well leave a married daughter lying on her bed with a
new-born infant by her side. Jennie and her mother remained with her,
as there seemed to be no way of removing Mrs. McClelland and her baby
to a place of safety when the coming of the two armies disturbed the
quiet of the quaint old Pennsylvania town of Gettysburg. Amid the clash
of arms, when the boom of cannon shook the rock-rimmed hills and echoed
among the mountains, and the shock of battle sent a throb of agony
along the lines of two armies, they were there in the midst of it all.
Mrs. McClelland lay there helpless amid its thunders, while Jennie made
bread for the soldiers who crawled to the door begging for something to
eat.
A shell came crashing through the house, and cut off one of the posts
of the bedstead on which Mrs. McClelland and her infant were lying, but
neither was injured.
The mother and sister took a big rocking-chair down into the cellar,
and carried her down and placed her in it with her baby, and Jennie
went on making bread for the famishing soldiers.
Another shell came screaming into the house; and Jennie, with her hands
just out of the dough, lay dead. The mother, bending over her, searched
in vain for some token of life, but the pulse had ceased to beat; her
loyal heart was forever still.
The battle was now raging in all its wild fury; but the heroic mother,
instead of flying to the cellar for safety, took up Jennie’s work, and
with Jennie lying dead at her feet, went on with the bread-making till
the battle closed.
Jennie Wade had always been planning for her burial. A complete
burial-suit was in the house. But after the battle was over, the safety
of the army made it imperative that the dead, lying bloated on the
battle-field under a scorching July sun, should be buried at once. A
squad of stalwart men, grim with the dust and smoke of battle, took
Jennie Wade up tenderly, wrapped a flag about her, completely covering
her soiled calico gown and her hands all covered with dough, and
carried her uncoffined to her grave. But many a soldier who was fed at
her hands, and all who have heard the pathetic story, will pause where
Jennie Wade lies sleeping to pay her the honor due a heroine of the war.
The mother still lives in Gettysburg; but the surviving daughter, Mrs.
McClelland, with her soldier husband, who was on another battle-field
at the time of her peril at Gettysburg, is now living near Tacoma,
Wash. She has from the first been an active and valuable worker of the
Woman’s Relief Corps.
THE HOSPITAL AT POINT OF ROCKS, VA.
When the Union army was massed at City Point in the desperate struggle
to capture Petersburg and Richmond, it became necessary to establish a
large hospital at Point of Rocks, a few miles above City Point.
Log cabins, put up from timber green from the forest, and tents, served
as quarters for the sick and wounded; and three or four thousand of
the worst cases were quartered there almost immediately, being soon
increased to five thousand. The army operating against Richmond was
only a few miles away, and the thunder of their guns could be heard all
day long, and the night sky was often illuminated by bursting shells;
for two armies were facing each other between Point of Rocks and
Richmond, and occasionally a shell would come screaming over to remind
us that we were in range of the enemy’s guns. The cooking arrangements,
when I reached Point of Rocks, were of the most primitive character.
Two log cabins without floors or chimneys, with openings in the roof
to allow the smoke to escape, and big kettles hanging over smoking,
crackling log fires, were used for cooking purposes. There were great
black iron kettles for coffee, tea, soups, meat, beans, and rice.
When I saw the messes served to the sick and wounded men in the wards,
as each cabin was called, I did not wonder that the men turned away in
disgust.
The tin cups, in which the patients received their tea and coffee,
were black and battered; the platters had been used in many a march,
and were rusty and greasy. Into each one of these platters was dished
out rice, beans, or mixed vegetables, as the men preferred. My mental
comment was, “There is not one thing here fit for a well man to eat,
much less a sick or wounded man.” The surgeon in charge seemed not
to know that things were not up to the proper standard; and I was
silent--silent till I was out of the hearing of these men, and until I
had a chance to say all that was in my heart to say. The office of the
surgeon in charge was in a frame dwelling on the grounds. When I had
seated myself in his office, he turned suddenly upon me and questioned,
“Well, what do you think of my hospital?”
“Perhaps you would not like to hear; you may wish only flattery,” I
answered very kindly.
“Yes; I want to know the truth. If you see anything that can be
improved just say so frankly; but you must remember we are under the
enemy’s guns, and can’t have the conveniences and luxuries that they
have in the big cities.”
“I will not suggest anything that cannot be accomplished here within
a week, and yet it would be a great change for the men. I would begin
with the kitchen. I would build a kitchen with a chimney; there are
plenty of rocks here.”
“Yes, that is so.”
“Then, I would have a floor in it, and two of the largest ranges the
market affords.”
“That is impossible; the government would not supply ranges.”
“I will supply the ranges. The Christian Commission is ready at an
hour’s notice to honor any order that I am likely to give.”
“The men couldn’t manage them.”
“No, perhaps not; but I would put in two first-class women to do the
managing, and the men you have could do the work.”
After very much more talk, he suggested that I might make the attempt.
I wrote immediately to George H. Stuart of Philadelphia, President of
the Christian Commission, stating the condition of affairs at the Point
of Rocks Hospital, requesting lumber for kitchen, lime for chimney,
two first-class ranges, a thousand tin cups and platters, and all the
necessary supplies to start a kitchen.
My letter was promptly received, and Mr. Stuart answered by telegram:--
“Everything ordered will be sent this afternoon. Also crates of
dishes. Go ahead. You shall have all you need.”
I had already telegraphed to Mrs. E. W. Jones, one of my most reliable
workers, to come to me immediately, and Miss Hattie Noyes, another
superior worker.
They both came as fast as steam could bring them, reaching there before
the kitchen was completed. A cabin had been prepared for them; but as
shingles were not at hand, it was covered with canvas. As the ladies
were entirely competent to complete the arrangements, I left them for
another point. In less than a week a most remarkable change had been
wrought in that hospital. When the first meals were issued from that
well-regulated kitchen in the nice white dishes and bright tinware, the
sick men, many of them, cried and kissed the dishes, and said it seemed
most like getting home. Instead of the slops dished out of vessels that
looked like swill-buckets, there came to the beds of the very sick
and severely wounded, baked potatoes, baked apples, beef-tea, broiled
beefsteak (when allowed), and especially to the wounded, toasts,
jellies, good soup, and everything in the best home-like preparation.
The surgeon looked on in utter surprise. But the patients fared
better than my heroic women. There came a beating, driving rain, and
their canvas roof leaked like a sieve. They wrapped rubber blankets
about their clothing, put rubber blankets on their bed, raised their
umbrellas, and slept. Of this trial Mrs. Jones wrote me. I quote from
her letter:--
“This has been a trying day. All night and all day the rain has
come down in torrents in our quarters and the kitchen, as well as
out-of-doors. Quarts of water ran off our bed while we slept. Almost
everything had to be dried, even to bed and bedding, and in the
kitchen it was even worse. But to-night finds us in good spirits, and
our zeal undampened, though our work has been most thoroughly soaked.
Affectionately,
E. W. J.”
The putting on of new roofs was only a question of a day or two, and
they had no more trouble from rain after that.
This hospital became so large that another kitchen had to be
established, and three other ladies were added to the force.
These kitchens were the most important in the entire service, except,
possibly, the great kitchen at Cumberland Hospital, Nashville, Tenn.
The fame of the cookery there extended all along the line. Surgeons
came long distances to see for themselves if the reports were true
about them. To many it seemed incredible that the cooking for the very
sick could be so well managed right along the front lines in these
field hospitals.
At my request. General Grant, commanding the United States forces with
headquarters at City Point, visited these famous kitchens.
Himself and two of his staff went in disguise.
With his slouch hat drawn down, and coming in citizen’s clothing, no
one noticed him. They stood by the door of the largest kitchen, while
the dinner was issued. He asked, when the food had been sent out, a few
questions and looked at the bill of fare, then followed to the wards to
see the patients receive it.
He said, when I next came down from Washington and called at
headquarters, that he thought it was the most wonderful thing he had
ever seen. He was unusually enthusiastic.
“Why,” said he, “those men live better than I do; and so many of them
too. How they manage to cook such a variety for so many hundreds is
what puzzles me.”
Then he told me about his going through the wards while they were
taking their dinner, and noticing how greatly they enjoyed the food.
And when _told_ THAT THE MOST OF THIS FOOD CAME FROM THE COMMUTATION OF
GOVERNMENT RATIONS, he was still more surprised.
When he was passing through one of the wards, a convalescing soldier,
taking him to be a delegate of the Christian Commission, called out,
“Say, Christian, won’t you bring me a pair of socks?”
“I’ll see that you get a pair,” the general responded, and passed out;
but he arranged to have the man get a pair of socks.
But where are the noble women who labored there with so much energy and
zeal years ago?
Mrs. Jones, a most saintly woman, the widow of a Presbyterian minister,
sits serene in the evening of life--her work done and well-done--at
Wellesley, Mass., where her daughter is the attending physician of the
college.
All the years of her life have been given to benevolent and reform
work, and now she waits and listens for the heavenly voice and the
rustle of the angel’s wings.
Miss Noyes is in Canton, China, where she has been in mission work ever
since the close of the war. A few years ago a beautiful poem written
by her, entitled, “Toiling All Night,” was extensively published
in this country. She has several times returned on a visit to her
native land, and was, when she came to us, the same bright, cheerful,
earnest-hearted woman, as when, amid the thunders of battle, she
ministered to the sick and wounded soldiers of the Republic.
Fortune has not dealt generously with some of the others who labored
there. One, a competent worker, is now poor. She lives in Illinois.
Another married and settled on a land claim. Her husband died from
overwork and exposure, leaving her in the wilderness, without help
to bury him, for days. After he was laid away, she struggled on,
determined to hold the claim; but a fearful snowstorm one winter came,
and buried her and her two little girls under the snow, till the top of
the house was level with the plain.
They remained buried for many days before being dug out. Some men
thought about her, and travelled miles to ascertain if she was all
right.
They searched long before they could find her shanty, and when they
did, had to dig tons of snow away before they could get her out. She
now lives in Colorado.
These years have wrought great changes; but all the workers will look
back, no matter how bright or how dark the hours that may come to them,
with great satisfaction on their heroic work at Point of Rocks, Va.
THE SWEET SINGER OF THE HOSPITALS.
In the fall of 1864, when the Union army was massing against Richmond,
Va., the hospitals in and around Washington were very much overcrowded.
Under special orders from Mr. Stanton, Secretary of War, and with the
hearty co-operation of President Lincoln, I had previously assumed the
general supervision of the special-diet kitchens of the United States
army hospitals all along the lines.
It also devolved upon me to select the lady superintendents for that
important service, two for each kitchen. The food for the very sick
and the severely wounded, on orders of the ward surgeons, was prepared
under their supervision.