1,500 patients, were supplied with carefully prepared food in great
variety three times a day.
It will be readily seen that competent women were needed to take the
management of this important work. They had not only to command
a force of twenty or thirty men in these kitchens, and maintain
discipline and good order, but they had, under hospital authority, the
entire responsibility of supplying the proper preparation of food, on
time and without the least delay or confusion.
Their high position also demanded that they should be ladies of culture
and social standing, who could command the respect and confidence of
officers and surgeons in charge. It is greatly to the honor of the
patriotic women of the North, that scores of accomplished ladies of
high social position volunteered to fill these important places.
Great care had to be taken in their selection, and none were accepted
unless highly indorsed.
One day there came to my headquarters in Washington a young lady from
Pawtucket, R.I. She was twenty-two years old, as I afterwards learned;
but she was so childlike in appearance that she seemed much younger.
“I am Lizzie B----,” she said by way of introduction. “I was ready and
waiting, and just as soon as I received your letter containing pass and
orders to come, I started.”
My heart sank within me. I was expecting Lizzie B----, but I had
anticipated meeting a very different-looking person.
Every letter of recommendation had said: “Although Miss B---- is young
in years, she is mature in character, and is of the highest type of
American womanhood, and will command respect anywhere. We commend her
to you as one of our noblest women, who will be equal to any position,
and one who will never fail nor falter in the line of duty.”
I had naturally expected a woman of stately and commanding presence,
and one who would be equal to any emergency; but she seemed to me to be
only a child in years and experience.
“I have ordered up my baggage,” she said with childlike simplicity,
“and I have brought my little melodeon with me. I thought it might be
useful.”
Sure enough, when her luggage came, and the box containing the
instrument was opened, she took out the smallest melodeon I ever saw.
“What shall I do with that dear little child from Rhode Island and her
little melodeon?” I said to my secretary, Mary Shelton, now Mrs. Judge
Houston of Burlington, Iowa. But she could not solve the problem.
When the heavy work of the day was through, weary and full of care and
anxiety, we joined Miss B---- in the parlor. After some conversation,
she said,--
“Would you like to have me play and sing?”
We assented, and she sat down at the instrument and began to play and
sing.
We were amazed and charmed. It seemed as though the curtains of heaven
were lifted, and the songs of an angel were floating down upon us.
The tones of the little melodeon were soft and clear, and the voice of
the singer was sweet and remarkably sympathetic. Her notes thrilled
one; there was life and spirit in them. After listening to her for an
hour or more, weariness and anxiety were gone, and _I knew just what to
do with Lizzie B----_.
There were tens of thousands of aching and burdened hearts all about
us; and she, with her wonderful gift of song, could lift some drooping
spirit, and pour the balm of peace into some wounded, fainting hearts.
I took her and her melodeon to Campbell Hospital the next morning, and
told her to sing as she had opportunity.
The sick and wounded were quartered in great wooden barracks eighty
feet long. There were rows of cots on either side of the room. That
very day she went into one of these wards. She had never been in a
hospital before; and when she entered and saw the long rows of cots,
and all the faces of the men, whether they were lying down or sitting
up, turned towards her, she grew faint and dizzy, and her courage
almost failed her. She seemed powerless to do anything but to walk on
down the long aisle.
At last a soldier called to her from his bed,--
“Say, miss, won’t you write a letter for me?”
It was a great relief to have the oppressive silence broken and to have
something to do. As she sat down beside his cot, she asked,--
“To whom shall I write?”
“My mother.”
And he thrust his hand down under his pillow, and drew forth a letter
which she read with tears.
“What shall I say to her?”
“Tell her that the surgeons think that I may live a week or two yet.”
“Oh! but you may get well.”
“No; I can never recover. I have a fatal disease.”
“Shall I ask your mother to come to you?”
“No; she cannot come. She is too poor, and she can’t leave the younger
children; but she is praying for me.”
“Would you like to have me to pray for you?”
“Yes, miss, if you will.”
Lizzie B---- took one of his thin, cold hands in her own and knelt
beside his cot, and offered up one of those low, sweet, sympathetic
prayers that come from the heart and ascend straight to the throne of
mercy.
When she arose, every man who could leave his bed was standing about
the cot, and many were wiping away the tears they could not restrain.
“Would you like to have me sing something?” she questioned, looking
kindly into their faces.
“Oh! do--please do,” they all urged; and she sang one of the sweet
songs of the gospel that she could sing so well.
Of course they were all delighted, and begged that she would come
again.
“I have a melodeon,” she said, as she left them; “and I’ll come
to-morrow and have that brought into the ward, if the surgeon says I
may.”
As they looked wistfully after her, one of the soldiers, wiping the
tears from his eyes, said,--
“She looks like a woman, but she sings like an angel.”
The next day the little melodeon was carried into that ward, and Lizzie
B---- sang for them, and the surgeon in charge was one of the auditors.
He was so delighted with the influence of her singing, that he gave
orders that she be allowed to sing in all the wards of that hospital.
From that time on, she devoted her time to the service of song, till
all the hundreds in that hospital had been cheered again and again by
her tender words and sweet, sympathetic voice.
The effects of her singing were so uplifting and comforting that I
extended her field, and had an ambulance placed at her command that she
might visit other hospitals. After that she made the rounds among the
hospitals at Washington, going day by day from one hospital to another.
Everywhere her coming was hailed with joy. Mothers and wives who were
watching hopelessly beside their dying ones were lifted in heart and
hope towards God and heaven. Men who had been strong in battle to do
and to dare, but who now lay sorely wounded and weak, and heart and
flesh well-nigh failing them, were lifted on billows of hope and faith
and felt strong to live and to do, or to suffer and die.
Thousands were cheered and saved from despair by this wonderful singer
of the hospitals.
I found her afterwards in other work, equal to the management of large
interests. She could have taken charge of a special-diet kitchen, but
I have always thanked God that her time was given instead to songs in
the hospitals. She has changed her name since then. She is now the wife
of a Congregational minister; but her voice still holds, by its sweet,
sympathetic cadences, the listening congregations.
A YOUNG NURSE AT GETTYSBURG.
Little Sadie Bushman, who was not quite ten years old at the time of
the battle of Gettysburg, proved herself a little heroine. Mr. and
Mrs. Bushman, learning that the battle would rage in all probability
on or near their premises, sent this child with her brother to her
grandmother’s, two miles away, while the parents gathered up the other
children and undertook to follow.
Sadie took hold of her brother’s hand, and they hurried on as fast as
their feet could carry them. But it was not long before their pathway
led them into the thick of the fight along Seminary Ridge. The roar of
the artillery was continuous, but they could not retreat. There came
a blinding flash and a deafening roar. A shell whizzed past them. A
gray-haired officer seized the children, and hurried them down the
ridge toward their destination.
But scarcely less danger awaited them there, as their grandmother’s
house and yard was converted into a hospital. The first work of the
child when she reached this place was to hold a cup of water to a
soldier’s lips while one of his legs was sawed off.
She was separated from her parents two weeks before they knew she
was alive, but all that time she was ministering to the wounded
soldiers. She carried soup and broth, and fed those who could not
help themselves. She worked under the orders of the surgeons, and
was furnished with supplies by the Christian Commission as long as
the hospitals were kept open in Gettysburg. She is now a married
woman--Sadie Bushman Junkerman--and lives near Oakland, Cal.; but the
scenes of the Gettysburg battle years ago are vividly remembered by
her.
A BUT’FUL GUV’MENT MULE.
After the fall of Richmond it was found that the people were in a very
destitute condition, many of them being almost in a state of starvation.
Every agency was at once used to furnish them with food.
The government issued rations as they came in, and the Sanitary and
Christian Commissions distributed large supplies.
Among those who assisted in distributing the supplies of the Christian
Commission was the Rev. John O. Foster, now living in Chicago, Ill.
Each day the supplies would be issued according to the amount on hand
and the number standing in line.
Slowly the procession would march up with baskets to get what was
offered; black and white, rich and poor, old and young, all fared and
shared alike.
One evening after the issue had been made and the room cleared, an old
colored man, who had been sitting off in one corner on a box, arose
and shuffled along towards Mr. Foster. Taking off his old torn hat he
made a low bow.
“Why, you’re too late; why didn’t you come up when the others did?”
“No, massa, I izent. Ben’s done gone and got my rashuns. I’se cum har
on bizness.”
“Well, what can I do for you?”
“I’ze mos’ ’shamed to tell you, Capt’n,” and he put his old hat to his
face and chuckled heartily. Then continued, “You see, Capt’n, day’s
sellin’ lot uv guv’ment mules cheap, mighty cheap, mos’ as cheap as
dirt, and I cud make a fortin if I could buy one; day’s sellin’ for
twenty dollars, massa--but’ful guv’ment mules.” Then there was an
awkward pause.
“Well?”
“I thot mebbe you’d len’ me de money.”
Foster laughed heartily.
“How would you ever pay me back?”
“By haulin’; dar’s a big speculation in it; make a fortin right off.”
“Where will you get a wagon?”
“Oh, I’ze got a wagin; one ole massa throde away and I mended up. An’
I’ze got ropes and ebery ting ’cept de mule; dat’s all I want now.”
“You think you will pay me back?”
“Sartin, massa. If I don’t pay, I guvs up de mule.”
Again Mr. Foster laughed at the thought of that mule coming back on his
hands.
“Well, I think you ought to have the mule now,” was Foster’s generous
reply; “and here is twenty dollars to buy one, but you must pay it
back,” and he handed him a ten-dollar and two five-dollar bills.
“My Lor, massa! Neber had so much money ’fore in all my life. If I dun
fail to pay it back, de mule’s yourn, sure.”
“Now, don’t allow yourself to be robbed or cheated out of it.”
“No, massa; I hain’t goin’ to let nobody know I’ze got nuthin’ till I
git hole on de mule.”
Two days passed, and he saw nothing of the colored man. On the evening
of the third day the colored man came in late, and took a seat in the
corner on a box. But after all had left the room he came close up to
Foster with his hand on his pocket.
“Well, did you get the mule?”
“Yes, massa; I got de most beautifullest mule dat you ever seed--de
bes’ kind uv government mule.” Then he took from his pocket two clean,
crisp five-dollar bills, and handed them to Mr. Foster. “’Fore Sat’day
night I gwine to pay all, I ’spects; I’ze doin’ a busten bus’ness.”
The next Saturday evening the colored man was there; and as soon as the
room was cleared he came forward, and, making sure that no one else
would see, he took out quite a roll of bills, and from them selected a
clean, crisp ten-dollar bill and handed it to Mr. Foster.
“How in the world did you make so much money?”
“I tole you, massa, der war a speculashun in it, an’ der war. Me and de
mule and Ben arned ev’ry dollah. He’s the beautifullest mule you ever
seed. Ben brung him round so as you could see ’em.”
Mr. Foster went to the door. There, sure enough, stood a good, strong
mule, as docile, as quiet and sedate, as though he had not hauled the
artillery into the fight, and stood near the big guns amid the thunders
of battle; for Ben said, with great pride,--
“Dis mule is one uv dem best mules dat pulled de big guns ober de
hills. Oh, he’s an awful strong hos!”
Little Ben sat on a board placed as a seat at the front of the wagon,
his white, even teeth showing from ear to ear, and his eyes sparkling
with gladness. Ben managed to buy a lot on a back alley and build
himself a shanty and a little stable for the government mule.
Judging from his thrift, he is, no doubt, if alive, one of the wealthy
colored men of Richmond now.
COULD YOU GET ME A RAW ONION AND SOME SALT?
A little company of my best workers were sent to Wilmington, N.C., in
charge of my secretary, Mary Shelton, in the spring of 1865, to care
for the sick being gathered there, and the half-starved prisoners being
sent in for exchange.
The dangers and hardships of the journey were very great; but after
many delays they finally reached there and were able to render valuable
service.
Among these chosen workers was Amanda Shelton, now Mrs. Stewart of
Mount Pleasant, Ia., who, strong of body and courageous of soul,
was untiring in her ministrations. One day, as she walked among the
hundreds of the sick and half-starved men, ministering to them as best
she could, the surgeon of the ward called her attention to a soldier
who lay as one dead.
“That man,” he said, “is starving to death. We can’t get him to eat
anything. If you can tempt him to eat he may possibly recover.”
Miss Shelton went to the soldier, and tried to get his attention; but
he lay with closed eyes, in seeming indifference. She tried to tempt
him by mentioning every delicacy she could think of; but he shook his
head and moaned impatiently.
As she remained standing beside his cot, trying to think of something
else, he opened his eyes, and, looking her earnestly in the face, asked
in pitiful, appealing tones,--
“Say, miss, don’t you think you could get me a raw onion and some salt?”
“Yes, I think I can,” she answered, and hastened away to try to find
some onions.
Fortunately, a lot of supplies had just come in, and a sack of onions
was among the goods received.
She hastened back with an onion in her hand and a cup of salt. He
seized the onion eagerly, and began eating it as one would eat an apple
or a peach, dipping it in the salt cup each time as he ate greedily.
The onion and salt was the balm of life to him; and from that time
he began to amend, and was soon able to be about the ward and eat
everything the surgeons would allow him to.
“Oh, that onion did the business for me! If I ever get home I will
raise a big lot of them,” he said.
Shortly afterwards he was shipped North, and as the war soon afterwards
closed, no doubt he reached his home safely.
MEN WHO COMMANDED THEMSELVES AND DID NOT SWEAR.
The Mississippi River was very much swollen in the spring of 1863,
and a bayou near Helena offered a possible channel in the direction
of Vicksburg. It was broad and deep enough to admit the passage of
steamers and gunboats, but too narrow for a boat to turn around.
A fleet of steamers, bearing a well-chosen force, and accompanied by
gunboats, was sent down this bayou. The fleet of boats had not gone far
till the way was found blockaded. Large trees had been cut down, so
that in falling they bridged the narrow stream from shore to shore. But
determined men can overcome almost any obstacle.
They did not stop to cut the trees to pieces, but loosened them from
the stumps, attached ropes and chains to them, and with their hands,
by main force, pulled them out onto the dry land. Overhanging branches
had to be cut away, and yet all the outworks of the boats were torn
to pieces. Finding that this channel of approach was impracticable, a
retrograde movement was made. There was but one way to get the boats
out, and that was to back out stern foremost.
But while they were pushing on, the enemy had been felling the trees
behind them, and the same hard work of pulling them out by human hands
became necessary; and it was done.
It was my privilege to see the fleet of boats as it came in to join the
force opposite Vicksburg, and a more dilapidated, ragged-looking lot of
boats and men was never seen on the earth.
They looked as though they had been through a dozen battles. Little
was left of the boats but the substantial framework. The flags hung in
tatters; the smoke-stacks had been carried away; the pilot-houses torn
to pieces; the guards and outworks were gone; the wheel-houses torn
away, and the broken wheels left bare.
As heroes returning from battle, the soldiers of that expedition
were welcomed by hearty cheers, as boat after boat came in, by their
comrades. One boat, the first to enter the bayou, was the last to come
in, and arrived about ten o’clock at night.
The landing was made alongside our Sanitary boat, where the agents and
workers of the Sanitary and Christian Commissions were quartered. There
were a number of ladies there; and their sympathies were deeply moved,
that men who had been out on such hard service should be marched out
through the rain and mud at so late an hour to make their camp.
“Why can they not stay under shelter where they are till morning?” was
the indignant question that passed from lip to lip, as we stood out on
the guards looking down upon them.
By the flambeau that burned with a weird, lurid light, we could dimly
see them fall into line and march away, with their knapsacks on their
backs and their guns in their hands. But they were a jolly set; and
as they plunged into the mud, which was nearly knee-deep, some wag
among them cried out, in imitation of boatmen taking the depth of the
channel, “No bottom! no bottom!” Every soldier seemed to instantly
join in the chorus; and “No bottom! no bottom!” rang out from hundreds
of throats, which was soon varied to “No chickens!” “No coffee!” “No
’taters!” as they plunged on in the darkness.
Of course such conduct was not consistent with military dignity, and
so the colonel tried to stop them. But the noise was so loud that he
failed at first to make himself heard.
“Halt!” he cried in thunder tones.
Immediately there was entire quiet; every man stood still just where he
was to hear what his commanding officer had to say; not a foot moved.
“Soldiers, you forget yourselves,” said the colonel. “I know it is
raining, and the mud is deep, and the fare and the work have been hard;
but you are in the midst of a great army, the commanding general’s
quarters are near; what will be thought of such noise and confusion?
You misrepresent yourselves; we will march quietly to camp. Forward,
march!”
Not a passionate or profane word was spoken. We were all curious to
know who the officer was who could command himself as well as his men.
The next day I was at General Grant’s quarters; and I inquired as to
who the officer was, and told the story.
“I do not know him,” I said earnestly, “but I am sure he ought to be
promoted. A man who can govern himself as he did last night ought to
wear a general’s shoulder-straps.”
“That was Colonel Legget. He is a good man, and a very fine officer,”
was the general’s reply.
“Do you know, General, that there is a great deal of profanity among
the officers and men?”
“Yes, I know; I am sorry that it is so.”
“I am glad to hear you say that you are sorry.”
“I never swear.”
“Indeed! It is encouraging to hear a man of your influence say that. I
am glad you have so much moral principle.”
“It is not moral principle,” he answered quickly. “I never contracted
the habit of profanity. I should not utter an oath if I knew what
I was about; and, not having the habit, I would not likely do so
unconsciously. Profanity does not comport with the dignity of the
military service.”
“No; nor with Christianity, which lifts a higher standard. I wish you
could have said that Christian principles furnished an added restraint.”
“I believe in the Christian system, and have great respect for
Christian people. They are doing a grand work in the army; but I am not
a Christian as you understand it.”
“I wish you were. You walk amid dangers, and many of us feel anxious
about you--many prayers go up for your safety. I would feel that you
were safer for both worlds if you were a Christian.”
“I would like to be a Christian.”
Just then General Rawlins, one of the grandest men of the war, who was
his chief of staff, came forward with some documents for examination,
and the close conversation was interrupted, and I took my leave. I am
glad to know that afterward he professed faith in the Divine Redeemer.
HE DIED CHEERING THE FLAG.
A. M. Shipman, an Ohio volunteer, who was confined for eight months as
a hostage, was in Vicksburg jail during the siege, and was released
when Pemberton surrendered.
For a time he had a fellow-prisoner named John B. Marsh, who had been
forced into the Rebel army. Marsh made an attempt to join the Union
forces, but was recaptured, and condemned to be shot. Just before his
execution he managed to get the following note into Mr. Shipman’s
hands:--
“KIND FRIEND,--If ever you reach our happy lines, have this put in
the Northern papers, that my father, the Rev. Leonard Marsh, who
lives in Maine, may know what has become of me, and what I was shot
for. I am to be shot for defending my country. I love her, and am
willing to die for her. Tell my parents that I am also happy in the
Lord. My future is bright. I hope to speak to you as I pass out to
die.”
One of the guards told Mr. Shipman afterward, that when young Marsh was
placed in position ready to receive the fire of his executioners, he
was told he could speak if he desired to do so. Looking calmly upon
the crowd for a moment, he shouted out in strong, clear tones, “Three
cheers for the old flag and the Union!” There was no response to his
patriotic sentiment. He paused for a moment, and then shouted at the
top of his voice, “Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” A volley of musketry struck
him in the breast, and stopped the beating of his brave, loyal heart.
HOW PRESIDENT LINCOLN RECEIVED THE NEWS OF SHERIDAN’S VICTORY.
I was personally acquainted with President Lincoln, and sat talking
with him in his public office when the telegram was brought in
announcing General Sheridan’s second victory in the Shenandoah Valley,
which resulted in the defeat of General Early.
When the messenger came in, Mr. Lincoln was talking very earnestly; and
although he laid down the telegram with the announcement, “An important
telegram, Mr. President,” Mr. Lincoln took no notice of it.
The messenger went as far as the door of the room, and seeing that Mr.
Lincoln had not taken up the telegram he returned, and laying it a
little nearer to him on the desk, repeated,--
“An important telegram, Mr. President.”
But as the president kept on talking, and took no notice of it, the
messenger retired.
He was at that time talking of the sanitary condition of the army; the
relation of food to health, and the influence of the special-diet
kitchen system in restoring the soldiers to health, and its effect in
lessening the number of furloughs.
I, too, talked earnestly; as, while pushing the work of the
special-diet kitchens, I believed most heartily in furloughs.
But earnest as I was, I was exceedingly anxious to know the contents of
that telegram.
There was during that interview, that far away look in his eyes, that
those seeing could never forget.
At last he paused and took up the despatch, and after looking over it
read it aloud.
“This is good news indeed,” he said, and a smile lit up his rugged
features as he went on with his comments.
“This Sheridan,” he said, “is a little Irishman, but he is a big
fighter.”
Soon after I arose to take my leave. He, too, arose and stood like a
giant before me, as he extended his hand, and said, “Well, success to
you. Come in again.”