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[Illustration: (FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY WASHBURNE.)
MNEMOSYNE
(The Goddess of Memory.)]
MEMORIES.
A RECORD OF PERSONAL EXPERIENCE AND
ADVENTURE DURING FOUR YEARS OF WAR.
By
MRS. FANNIE A. BEERS.
Press of J.B. Lippincott Company,
Philadelphia.
1888.
Copyright, 1888, by Fannie A. Beers.
TO
"THE BOYS WHO WORE THE GRAY,"
WHETHER THE LOFTY OR THE LOWLY; EQUALLY TO THE SURVIVING HEROES WHO
STAND BEFORE THE WORLD IN THE LIGHT OF A GLORY NEVER SURPASSED, AND
TO THE MARTYRS WHOSE PATRIOT BLOOD AND SACRED GRAVES HAVE FOREVER
SANCTIFIED THE LAND THEY LOVED,
THESE "MEMORIES"
ARE RESPECTFULLY AND LOVINGLY DEDICATED.
PREFACE.
For several years my friends among Confederate soldiers have been
urging me to "write up" and publish what I know of the war. By
personal solicitation and by letter this subject has been brought
before me and placed in the light of a duty which I owe to posterity.
Taking this view of it, I willingly comply, glad that I am permitted
to stand among the many "witnesses" who shall establish "the truth,"
proud to write myself as one who faithfully served the defenders of
the Cause which had and has my heart's devotion. I have tried to give
a faithful record of my experiences, to "nothing extenuate nor aught
set down in malice," and I have told the truth, but not always the
whole truth. A few of these "Memories" were originally written for the
_Southern Bivouac_, and are here republished because my book would
have been incomplete without them.
I am very inexperienced in the business of making books, but relying
with confidence upon the leniency of my friends, and feeling sure that
I have no enemy who will savagely rejoice that I have written a book,
I make the venture.
CONTENTS.
Introductory
PART I.
CHAPTER I.
Alpha
CHAPTER II.
Alabama
CHAPTER III.
Buckner Hospital, Gainesville, Alabama
CHAPTER IV.
Ringgold
CHAPTER V.
Newnan, Georgia
CHAPTER VI.
Omega
CHAPTER VII.
Confederate Women
CHAPTER VIII.
An Incident of the Battle of the Wilderness
CHAPTER IX.
Fenner's Louisiana Battery
CHAPTER X.
"Bob Wheat"
PART II.
FOR YOUNG PEOPLE.
CHAPTER I.
Nelly
CHAPTER II.
Brave Boys
CHAPTER III.
The Young Color-Bearer
CHAPTER IV.
Bravery honored by a Foe
CHAPTER V.
Sally's Ride
CHAPTER VI.
High Price for Needles and Thread
CHAPTER VII.
Bunny
CHAPTER VIII.
Beauregard
PART III.
AFTER TWENTY YEARS.
CHAPTER I.
"My Boys"
CHAPTER II.
The Confederate Reunion at Dallas
CHAPTER III.
Camp Nichols
CHAPTER IV.
The March of Time
CHAPTER V.
A Woman's Record
INTRODUCTORY.
Among those who early espoused the Southern Cause, few, perhaps, were
more in earnest than my husband and myself. Our patriotism was at the
very outset put to a crucial test. The duties of a soldier and a
civilian became incompatible. Being in ill health, it was thought best
that I should go to my mother at the North for awhile. My husband,
after preliminary service with the "Minute Men" and the State troops,
as a member of Company A, Crescent Rifles, was, with this company,
regularly mustered into the Confederate service in April, 1861, and
left for Pensacola, Florida, where the Crescent Rifles, with the
Louisiana Guards, Orleans Cadets, Shreveport Guards, Terrebonne
Rifles, and Grivot Guards, were organized into the Dreux Battalion. It
was then supposed that "the affair" would be "settled in ninety days."
From my house of refuge I watched eagerly the course of events, until
at last all mail facilities were cut off, and I was left to endure the
horrors of suspense as well as the irritating consciousness that,
although sojourning in the home of my childhood, I was an alien, an
acknowledged "Rebel," and as such an object of suspicion and dislike
to all save my immediate family. Even these, with the exception of my
precious mother, were bitterly opposed to the South and Secession.
From mother I received unceasing care, thorough sympathy, surpassing
love. During this troubled time a little babe was born to me,--a tiny
babe,--who only just opened its dark eyes upon the troubled face of
its mother to close them forever.
The guns of Sumter, reverberating throughout the North, "stirred a
fever in the blood of age" and youth alike. Fanatics raved more wildly
than ever, while those who had hitherto been lukewarm hastened to
swell the cry of horror and fury which everywhere arose at this
"insult to our flag." This feeling found vent in acts of oppression,
met by prompt and determined resistance, and thus was inaugurated the
fratricidal strife which was for four years to desolate the land.
Rumors of an engagement in Virginia intensified my suspense until it
seemed unbearable. One day I received a kindly warning from an old
friend concerning a small Confederate flag which had been sent to me
by my husband. It was a tiny silken affair, which I kept in my
prayer-book. This harmless possession was magnified by the people of
the town into an immense rebel banner, which would eventually float
over my mother's house. I had still a few friends whose temperate
counsel had hitherto protected me. The note referred to warned me that
while I retained possession of the flag I might at any time expect the
presence of a mob. I would not have destroyed my treasure for worlds,
and how to conceal it became a subject of constant thought. The
discovery one day of a jar of "perpetual paste" in mother's secretary
suggested an idea which was at once carried out. Applying this
strongly adhesive mixture to one side of the flag, I pasted it upon
the naked flesh just over my heart. One morning the mail brought
certain news of a Confederate victory at Big Bethel. This so
exasperated the people that on their way from the post-office an
excited crowd halted under my window, crying out, "Where's that rebel
woman?" "Let's have that flag," "Show your colors," etc. Carried away
by intense excitement, I threw open the blinds, and, waving the
newspaper above my head, shouted, "Hurrah! Hurrah for Big Bethel!
Hurrah for the brave rebels!" A perfect howl of rage arose from below,
and greater evil might have befallen but for the timely appearance of
the venerable village doctor, who now rode hastily in among the
excited men, and, standing up in his buggy, cried out, "Friends, she
is but a frail, defenceless woman. Be thankful if your morning's work
be not her death." Slowly and sullenly the crowd dispersed, while the
good doctor hastily ascended to my chamber. I lay with fevered cheeks
and burning eyes among the pillows where my mother had placed me. The
terrible excitement under which I labored forbade all blame or any
allusion to my act of imprudence. I was soothed and tenderly cared for
until, under the influence of a sedative, I fell asleep.
Early next morning the doctor appeared at my bedside. Meantime a
change had come over me. I seemed to have lost the nervous
excitability of a girl and to have become a woman, full of courage and
hope. Dr. ---- regarded me steadily for a moment; then,--"Ah! better
this morning? That's my brave girl." Meeting his gaze fully, I
replied, "I shall try henceforth to be brave, as befits the wife of a
soldier." A frown appeared upon the doctor's brow. Tenderly placing
his hand upon my head, he said, "My child, I fear your courage will
soon be put to the test. Your own imprudence has greatly incensed the
town people. Danger menaces you, and through you, your mother.
Fortunately, the friends of your childhood still desire to protect
you; but your only safety lies in giving up the rebel flag which it is
said you possess. Give it to me, Fannie, and I will destroy it before
their eyes, and thus avert the threatened danger." I only smiled, as I
replied: "Dr. ----, since the rebel flag has existed, I have cherished
it in my heart of hearts. You may search the house over; you will find
no flag but the one I have here," placing my hand on my heart. The
good man had known me from childhood, and he could not doubt me. He
questioned no further, but took his leave, promising to use his
influence with the incensed villagers. They, however, were not so
easily convinced. They had been wrought up to a state of frenzied
patriotism, and declared they would search the house where the
obnoxious flag was supposed to be. Dire threats of vengeance were
heard on every side. At last a committee was appointed to wait upon
"_the traitress_" and again demand the surrender of the flag. It was
composed of gentlemen who, though thorough and uncompromising "Union
men," were yet well known to me, and were anxious, if possible, to
shield me. They were admitted to the room, where I calmly awaited
them. I reiterated the assertion made to the doctor, so calmly, and
with such apparent truth, that they were staggered. But they had come
to perform a duty, and they meant to succeed. They convinced me that
the danger to myself and to the house of my mother was real and
imminent, but I only repeated my assertions, though my heart throbbed
painfully as I saw the anxiety and trouble in mother's face. Suddenly
I remembered that I had in my possession a paper which, just before
all mail communication had ceased between the North and South, had
been sent to me for the purpose of protection. It was simply a
certificate of my husband's membership and good standing in a Masonic
lodge, and had a seal affixed. As I called for the portfolio, all eyes
brightened with expectation of seeing at last the "rebel flag."
Drawing forth from its envelope the fateful document, I said, "I was
told to use this only in dire extremity; it seems to me that such a
time is at hand. If there be any virtue in Masonry, let it now protect
me and the roof which is at present my only shelter!"
Thus speaking, I handed the paper to one whom I knew to be a prominent
Mason. The certificate was duly examined and, after a short
conference, returned. "We will do our best," said the spokesman of the
party, and all withdrew. The day passed without further trouble, and
as I sank to sleep that night there came to me a feeling of safety and
protection, which was indeed comforting.
Weeks passed, during which I slowly but surely gathered the strength
and health necessary to carry out the resolution lately formed, to
join my husband, and, if might be, to labor for the cause so loved.
The unceasing ministrations of my mother strengthened alike soul and
body, but as I read in that dear face a love and devotion which could
never fail, my heart felt many a bitter pang at the thought of the
parting that must be.
One evening, having found the courage necessary to tell mother of my
plans and hopes, to my surprise the noble woman heard me calmly. "I
had expected this," she said. "It is right--you must, go; but, oh! not
now--not soon," and in uncontrollable agitation she left the room.
Two days later the subject was resumed. Ways and means were discussed.
The mother's face grew paler as that of her child brightened and
glowed with returning health and hope. She pleaded to keep my little
boy, but fearing lest his young heart might receive, among the enemies
of Southern liberty, impressions which could not be effaced, I decided
that he must not be left.
Upon the eve of the battle of Manassas we started on our hazardous
journey. The utmost secrecy had been observed. No baggage could be
allowed. My thoughtful mother converted quite a large sum into gold,
which, stitched into a broad belt, was sewed around my waist. One
bright morning mother and I, with my boy, seated ourselves in the
carriage as if for our usual drive. There was no leave-taking, no
appearance of anything unusual. Once on the road, we were rapidly
driven to a railroad depot in a distant town; there I took the train,
while my poor mother returned homeward alone.
Arrived in Baltimore, we found ourselves among those whose hearts were
filled with ardent love of "the Cause," and bitter hatred for the
soldiers who had, in spite of their heroic resistance, so lately
passed through the streets of the city on their way to subjugate the
South. "The rebel" was enthusiastically received. All were ready to
assist her, but at this juncture it seemed impossible to pass the
Federal lines.
The great battle of Manassas had been decided. The wildest excitement
prevailed. Flying soldiers were everywhere. Almost every hour the
sound of fife and drum was heard, as shattered regiments and decimated
battalions marched through the streets. Although all expression of
feeling, among the citizens, was sternly repressed, the mask of sullen
indifference was known to be _but_ a mask. Hearts beneath were
bounding with pride and joy and hope. Almost without exception, houses
were closed and devoid of all appearance of life. Yet behind those
closely-shut blinds women embraced each other with tempestuous joy, or
paced the floor in uncontrollable agitation, or knelt in earnest
prayer, mingling thanksgivings with agonized petitions for those whose
fate was yet unknown. Mothers, sisters, wives, strove, with trembling
lips, to comfort each other, bidding the voice of patriotism be heard
above the "tempest of the heart." In the midst of all this excitement
my interests were never lost sight of. Secret meetings were held, and
various plans discussed. At last, one day a note was received inviting
me to spend a social evening at the house of "one of the faithful." A
casual observer would have discovered nothing more than a few lines of
invitation, still the paper bore a private mark which made my heart
beat with hope.
Arrived at the house indicated, where seemed to be only an ordinary
gathering of friends, I found it difficult to appear at ease, and
watched eagerly for developments. Not a sign or a word was given,
however, until after supper, when the ladies repaired (as usual) to
the dressing-room up-stairs to rearrange their toilets. Instead of
entering with the rest, the hostess, by a slight pressure of the hand,
indicated to me that I was desired to pass on and up a second flight
of stairs.
We did so unnoticed, and soon entered a small room in the third story,
where were found waiting a few friends, among them a captain and clerk
of a steamboat which was expected to leave in three days for Newport
News with United States troops to reinforce Colonel Phelps at that
point. Here appeared to be a chance, but a hazardous one, since the
officers of the boat must not evince any interest in their passenger,
and could afford no assistance or protection among the rough soldiers
who would crowd every available foot of room. They must appear as good
Union men, engaged in transporting troops to assist in quelling "the
rebellion." In case of any rough treatment of the "rebel woman," they
could only appeal to the officers in charge of the troops, and the
result of such an appeal, in the present state of feeling, would be
doubtful. The boat was not a passenger steamer, and had only two or
three small staterooms, occupied by its officers. These might be
required by the military commanders. Instantly, and unhesitatingly, I
decided to make the trial. We ladies then descended to the parlor,
while one by one our friends were conveyed out of the house.
A new difficulty at once arose; a friend had applied to General Scott
for a pass--unsuccessfully. The precious hours were passing, and
failure seemed imminent. This difficulty was increased by the fact
that I had undertaken the charge of Jemmy Little, a boy of ten, who,
having lingered too long at school in Baltimore, had been cut off from
his family in Norfolk, and being desperately unhappy, had implored to
be included in the plans formed for me. He was to pass as my brother,
and, having once promised, I could not disappoint him, especially as
his waking hours were spent by my side, his hand often nestling into
my own, his large wistful eyes questioning my face, as if dreading to
find there some evidence of hesitation or change of purpose.
One day passed. At evening, as I was anxiously pacing my room, my
hostess hurriedly entered, exclaiming, in agitation, "Your brother
awaits you in the drawing-room. I _could_ not welcome him. I _will
not_ see him. Only for your sake would I allow a Federal soldier to
cross my threshold; but he is your brother; go to him."
Trembling with excitement, I descended to the parlor, where I found my
brother,--a mere boy yet,--wearing the uniform of a Federal officer.
"Sister!" "Charles!" each cried, and no further greeting passed
between us. The boy stood with folded arms, looking proudly, yet
tenderly, at me, his only sister, all the brave ardor of a soldier who
believes in the cause he serves revealed in his handsome young face. I
sank into a chair and covered my face, that I might shut out the sight
which so pained me. The interview that followed was long. Finding that
my brother not only approved the determination to join my husband, but
was able and willing to assist in obtaining the necessary pass, I told
him of my wish to have it in possession by the next day, and received
his promise to send it, if possible. He was going to "the front," and
overcome by the thought that I might never see him again, I threw my
arms around his neck, while tears fell fast upon the blue uniform, and
so, with a last embrace, we parted.
The pass, embracing "Mrs. Beers, _brother_, and child," was
forthcoming next day, and the same afternoon I, with my boys, set
forth unattended for the boat. No sign of recognition passed between
the captain and ourselves as we were conducted to the upper deck, and
seated under the awning. Soon the sound of drum and fife announced the
approach of the troops. A regiment of blue-coated soldiers appeared on
the wharf, and directly they marched on board. Witnessing their
embarkation, I could not repress a feeling of extreme uneasiness,
which increased as officers and men appeared on every side. They were
so many: I was the only woman on the boat. Sitting motionless, with
veil closely drawn, holding my boy on my lap, while poor Jemmy nestled
close to my side (valiant in feeling, but of boyish appearance, and
looking even smaller beside the tall soldiers), I hoped to pass
unobserved, but soon after the boat left the wharf found myself
subjected to rude stares and ruder remarks, and at last was forced to
seek the clerk to beg that I might find shelter in one of the little
state-rooms. All were taken by the officers, who seemed utterly
indifferent to the forlorn condition of "Madam Reb." At last the clerk
(after a short consultation with one kindly-looking officer, who,
however, seemed half ashamed of the kindness of heart which contrasted
so finely with the rudeness of his comrades) led the way to a room
below,--small, and close, _but a shelter_. Here he placed us, having
locked us in to prevent intrusion. The boys soon fell asleep, but I
passed the night in listening to the ceaseless noises outside.
Morning found the boat at Fortress Monroe, whence, after a short
delay, she proceeded to Newport News.
Under pretence of guarding well the "female rebel," the good clerk
escorted us to the officers' quarters. Here my pass was examined
closely; many questions were asked and answered. Still, the result
seemed doubtful; means of transportation were wanting. The colonel in
command was inclined to be suspicious and sternly unsympathetic. While
standing tremblingly before those whose adverse decision would, I
knew, crush all my hopes, one of the officers espied around my neck a
slender black chain, and demanded to know what it held. Instantly hope
returned: I drew from my bosom a small case enclosing the Masonic
document before mentioned. As at my mother's house, it was examined
and returned without comment. An hour later, however, a plentiful
repast was set before us, after which a covered ambulance appeared, in
which was placed for my comfort the only arm-chair the camp contained.
Soon, attended by an officer and a guard of Federal soldiers, our
little party entered upon the last stage of our journey to the
Confederate lines.
The route lay amid scenes of desolation sadder than anything I had
ever dreamed of. Fields, which a few short weeks before had given
promise of a rich harvest, were laid waste. Here and there tiny
columns of smoke arose from the smouldering ruins of once happy homes.
The heat and dust were almost insufferable, but as the sun declined a
cool breeze sprang up, and later a flood of moonlight clothed the
landscape with a mystical beauty. It shone coldly on the few deserted
homes which the hand of the destroyer had spared, and to me it seemed
that its silvery rays were like the pale fingers of a mourner who
places white wreaths upon the grave of love. In the soft wind I heard
only moans and sighs.
The children slept soundly in the straw at the bottom of the
ambulance, and soon the steady, monotonous tramp of the guard lulled
me also to rest. We approached the Confederate lines just at sunrise.
A flag of truce was unfurled, and at once answered by an officer on
picket-duty. A short parley ensued. At a word of command the Federal
guard fell back and were replaced by Confederates. A moment later, I,
with my charges, descended, to be greeted with enthusiasm, tempered
with the most chivalrous respect, by the "boys in gray," who proved to
be members of the battalion to which my husband was attached, and who
at once relieved my fears by assurances of his safety. It was a
supreme moment, such as comes seldom in a lifetime, and yet a time for
stern self-repression.
The emotions of a heart at rest, after trials so sore, were too sacred
to find expression.
I gazed around me in silent ecstasy. It seemed to me that the sun had
never shone so brightly, or on a scene so lovely. Noting the manly
faces and noble bearing of those who wore the gray, I felt that the
purple and ermine of kings could not have clothed them half so
magnificently. And, oh I how delicious and appetizing seemed "the
rations," which, though simple, were served under those green trees
with the earnest, genuine hospitality which is so well described by
the term "Southern."
The camp being several miles distant, nothing remained but to wait
patiently for some means of transportation. It was near sunset when
the loud singing of a negro driver was heard. Soon he appeared upon a
novel conveyance,--a rough, unplaned board or two on wheels and drawn
by a single ox. Unpromising as this "_turnout_" appeared, we were
informed that it was a "Godsend," so we joyfully mounted the cart, a
soldier being detailed to accompany us. My little son was made
supremely happy by being invited to sit upon the lap of the driver,
whose characteristic songs beguiled the way through the shadowy woods.
Within a few miles of camp the challenge of a sentry was heard; half
an hour later we found ourselves among the tents of the Dreux
Battalion.
My husband was "on guard," perhaps thinking sadly of his absent wife
and boy, certainly never dreaming they were so near. As the ambulance
drove into camp it was at once surrounded by soldiers, both officers
and privates. As soon as my name was known, some one who evidently
appreciated the situation rushed off in hot haste to notify and
relieve the soldier most interested. Meantime a dozen hands clasped
mine in kindly greeting. To whom they belonged I could not tell, for
the dense shade shut out the moonlight, and seen by the light of the
camp-fires, disguised as each one was in the rough garb of a soldier,
my quondam city friends wore quite unrecognizable.
I will leave to the imagination of the reader the happy meeting
between long-parted ones and the many caresses showered upon our
child.
I had expected nothing better than to spend the night in the ambulance
or under a tent, and would have taken great pride in "camping out,"
but the chivalrous officers in command would not hear of such a plan.
Their quarters (two rooms in a little log house) were instantly
vacated, and I had scarcely descended from the vehicle when a negro
man appeared, to bring a message. "De Major's compliments, mistis, and
_de room am ready_." I could not have been bidden to a luxurious
apartment with more ceremony.
The next morning the shrill sound of the fife and the drum beating the
"reveille" aroused us, and we were up with the sun.
The scene was entrancing; to me particularly so, for the white tents
gleaming among the trees reminded me that I was among _Southern
soldiers_. As they strode to and fro with martial air, fully armed and
equipped to answer roll-call, or bent over the camp-fires preparing
breakfast, it seemed to me that no such splendid soldiers were ever
before seen. Several invitations to breakfast were received; that of
the officers' mess, having been first, was accepted.
Major ---- came in person to escort his guests to a lovely spot near
the cabin, where, under a large shady oak, upon a table of rough
boards covered with a nice white cloth, a delicious meal was set,
consisting of broiled chickens, omelet, fragrant coffee, buttermilk,
corn bread, and batter-cakes. A likely young negro boy attended at
table, industriously flourishing a green branch to keep away the
flies, and seemingly delighted to show off his company manners.
After breakfast I sat long upon the little gallery of the log cabin
entertaining soldier visitors and enjoying the situation with all my
heart. I soon discovered, however, an air of sadness and restraint
which was unaccountable until my husband told me of the death of the
gallant Dreux, the first martyr of the war. Ah! then I knew. Struggle
as they might, their brave hearts were wrung with anguish, for their
gallant leader had succumbed to the only conqueror he ever knew. The
impassioned oratory that had never failed to fire the hearts of men
was hushed forever. The ardent patriotism ever prompting to deeds of
daring was now only a memory. The brilliant intellect and
administrative ability so early recognized, so highly valued, were
lost to the Confederacy.
I no longer wondered that manly brows were clouded, or that the eyes
of soldiers moistened, as, even amidst pleasant conversation, a sudden
remembrance of their loss overcame them. For them the memory of that
death-scene was fresh. The echo of his last brave words had not yet
died away: "_Steady, boys_, steady," as if he would have said, "Let
not my fate appall; _still_ do your duty."
Before the sun was high the ambulance reappeared to convey our party
as far as Williamsburg, where young Little was to remain until he
could hear from his father; I and my boy were to go on to Richmond. My
husband was granted a furlough of two days that he might escort his
family as far as Williamsburg. As may be imagined, the ride was most
delightful. Although often oppressed by thoughts of the parting hour
so rapidly approaching, we were at times charmed into forgetfulness,
and keen enjoyment of the beautiful scenery and the incidents of the
journey. I now, for the first time, began to use from my little store
of gold and silver, and it proved the "open sesame" to much enjoyment.
Watermelons and other fruit, roasting ears, buttermilk, etc., were
purchased without stint, also a chicken. At noon the little party
camped in a grove by the roadside, where my soldier-husband proudly
showed off his new attainments in the way of cooking. The dinner was
pronounced "just splendid" by the appreciative guests. Our boy having
gorged himself, fell asleep upon the grass; the negro driver was sent
off to buy a few dainties to send back to friends in camp, and the two
so lately reunited--so soon to part--enjoyed for the first time an
uninterrupted talk relating to the adventures that each had met with
since our parting in New Orleans. I unfolded my plans for the future,
receiving the full permission and sympathy of my husband.
Soon after the journey was resumed two horsemen appeared on the road
coming from the direction of Williamsburg. I was quite unprepared to
recognize a Confederate officer of high rank in either of the riders
who now approached, as neither were very handsomely uniformed.
The one who most attracted my attention appeared of middle age, was
rather stout, of florid complexion, and (as I thought) looked very
cross. He wore a sort of fancy jacket or roundabout, profusely trimmed
with gold lace.
"There is General Magruder!" exclaimed my husband, and, as the
officers came near, saluted. Bringing the ambulance to a halt with an
imperious gesture, the general sharply questioned him as to his
absence from camp, his name, command, destination, length of time he
expected to be absent, etc. I was then introduced, and began to
express my pleasure at the meeting, etc. The grim visage of the
general did not relax. My pleasant talk was cut short by another
question, this time, of importance. I then found myself subjected to a
series of questions so searching that all I had seen or heard while
passing through the enemy's lines was imparted to General Magruder
before I quite realized the situation.
What woman, denied the pleasure of talking, would not have felt and
expressed, as did my discomfited self, great indignation in view of a
deprivation so severe. But upon being reminded of the heavy
responsibility resting upon the mind and heart of the patriot who
could not withdraw his attention from the great and all-absorbing
interests committed to his guidance long enough to think of, much less
to practise, the amenities of life, I felt ashamed of my hasty anger,
and remembered only that I had been permitted to see and converse with
the hero of the battle of Bethel, the first Confederate victory of the
war.
At Williamsburg, under the roof of the queer, old-fashioned, but
comfortable inn, excellent accommodations were found, and here the
soldier partook heartily of the "square meals" which he knew were his
last for many a day.
A few hours of happiness was all that could be accorded to us. A
battle seemed imminent. My husband must return to his post. I, with my
little boy, proceeded to Richmond, where unbounded kindness and
hospitality awaited me.
Here began the realization of the dream which had haunted me while yet
compelled to linger among the foes of the South. Joining at once the
noble army of women who untiringly ministered to the sick and wounded,
I entered upon the performance of a vow to devote myself to this work
if only the opportunity were accorded me.
MEMORIES.
PART I.
CHAPTER I.
ALPHA.
_Richmond in 1861-62._
Who that witnessed and shared the wild excitement which, upon the days
immediately following the victory at Manassas, throbbed and pulsated
throughout the crowded capital of the Southern Confederacy can ever
forget?
Men were beside themselves with joy and pride,--drunk with glory.
By night the city blazed with illuminations, even the most humble home
setting up its beacon-light,--a sure guide to where loyal, devoted
hearts were throbbing with patriotism.
In the general rejoicing the heavy price of victory was for a time
unheeded. But Richmond had sent forth to battle her best beloved, and,
alas! many were the "unreturning braves."
The dazzling light fell upon many dwellings only to reveal the utter
darkness that reigned without and within. No need to ask why. All knew
that in each darkened home stricken hearts filled with an agony of
desolation struggled in vain to remember that they were mothers and
wives of heroes, but could not yet lift their eyes from the ghastly
wounds--the bloody graves of their dead.
Ah! the lovely, joyous, hopeful, patriotic days of that summer of
1861. The Confederate gray was then a thing of beauty,--the outer garb
of true and loyal souls. Every man who wore it became ennobled in the
eyes of every woman. These boys in gray were strangers to none. Their
uniform was a passport to every heart and every home. Broad Street was
thronged with them all day long.
Officers of all grades rode hither and thither, or congregated on the
steps of the hotels. Squads of soldiers promenaded, gayly chatting
with acquaintances whom they chanced to meet. Occasionally the sound
of drum and fife or the fuller music of a brass band would herald the
appearance of a company or regiment, perhaps just arrived from some
distant State, eager to reach the front. On more retired streets, at
their homes, humble or luxurious, sweet young girls welcomed with
kindly words and sunny smiles officers and private soldiers, extending
equal courtesy to both. The elegant mansions on Clay Street and
elsewhere were never without soldier guests. Impromptu meals were
served whenever needed. In elegant dining-rooms stately servants
supplied the wants of soldiers. No one asked who they were, whence
they came. They were Confederate soldiers--that was quite enough.
In the cool drawing-rooms pleasant chat beguiled the summer hours,
sweet songs floated out upon the air, or the more stirring notes of
"Dixie" or "The Bonnie Blue Flag," played with a spirit and vim which
electrified every listener.
If these warriors who lingered here could have chosen for themselves,
they would never have thus quietly rested upon the laurels won at
Manassas. Contrary to their wishes, they had been recalled from the
pursuit of the flying foe and consigned to temporary inactivity.
As the new companies or regiments came in they were marched into camp
in the suburds or temporarily provided for in the immense tobacco
warehouses which were numerous all over the city. Passing one of
these, at every window appeared laughing or discontented faces of
soldiers newly arrived, full of ardor, ready and expecting to perform
prodigies of valor, yet ignominiously shut up within four brick walls,
with a sentinel guarding every door.
The evening drills at the camp-grounds were attended by hundreds of
ladies. So enthusiastic were these, so full of pride and admiration
for the braves who had come to defend their homes and themselves, so
entirely in accord with the patriotic spirit which burned in every
manly heart, that not a soldier, no matter how humble, came near or
passed before a group of these animated beauties who was not literally
bathed in the radiance of kindly smiles,--transformed into a demigod
by the light of gloriously flashing eyes.
No pen can do justice to the scenes I would fain describe. Language is
quite inadequate to express the feeling which then lived and had its
being in the hearts of all Southern women towards the heroes who had
risen up to defend the liberties of the South. Exalted far above mere
sentiment, holding no element of vanity or selfishness,--idolatrous,
if you will, yet an idolatry which inspired the heart, nerved the
hand, and made any sacrifice possible. No purer patriotism ever found
lodgment in human breast. No more sacred fire was ever kindled by
human hands on any altar than the impulse which imperatively called
men from the peaceful avocations of life to repel the threatened
invasion of their homes and firesides. They were actuated by no spirit
of hatred or revenge (_then_). They sought not to despoil, to lay
waste. But, when justice was dethroned, her place usurped by the demon
of hate and prejudice, when the policy of coercion and invasion was
fully developed, with one heart and voice the South cried aloud,
"_Stand!_ The ground's your own, my braves."
Swift as a meteor, yet clear and unwavering, flashed and burned the
beacon-light first kindled in South Carolina. A million torches
lighted at this flame were borne aloft throughout the Southland.
And now the invader had been met and foiled in his first attempt to
conquer and desolate the homes of Virginia. Who can wonder that their
brave defenders were the idols of a grateful people? Their valor,
having been fully tested, had far surpassed the expectations of the
most sanguine. "Hope told a flattering tale." Alas! _too_ flattering,
for the confidence begotten by this first success inspired a contempt
for the foe quite undeserved.
Meanwhile, the summer sun still brightened the unharmed capitol. The
summer wind still bore aloft on the dome in Capitol Square the flag of
the new Confederacy, the "stars and bars." Here, after sunset and in
the moonlight, came young men and maidens, matrons and children. Old
men, too, who, baring their silvery heads to the cool breeze, gazed
upward at the bonnie flag, with a look half triumphant, half sad; for
the love of the "star-spangled banner" had grown with their growth and
strengthened with their strength, and it had been hard to tear it from
their hearts.
To young eyes the new flag seemed an emblem of glory. Young hearts
glowed with pride as often as they looked upon it. The story of the
eventful hour when it first replaced the "stars and stripes" and
floated over the capitol building in full view of the whole city,
hailed by acclamations from many thousand voices, is still told with
pride by the citizens of Richmond.
The moment it was known that Virginia had passed the ordinance of
secession, the cheering, enthusiastic crowd which had for hours
surrounded Mechanics' Institute, made a rush for the State-House to
"haul down" the old flag, and run up the "stars and bars." Upon making
the attempt, it was found impossible to move the United States flag,
some one having either nailed or driven it with staples to the staff.
Two boys, burning with zeal, started for the cupola to cut loose the
flag. One of these, although a lad of eighteen, was a member of the
Richmond Howitzers. Hoping to outstrip the other, he climbed hand over
hand up the lightning-rod. Just as he reached the goal of his
ambition, however, the staples securing the rod pulled out and the boy
was left swaying back and forth in mid-air, while the crowd upon the
top of the capitol and on the ground below looked on in horror. The
lightning-rod was one of the old-fashioned sort, and more than an inch
in diameter. One after another the staples gave way under the weight.
The rod swayed gently back and forth as if uncertain which way to
fall, but finally lurching towards the up-town side. Every one
expected that the lad would be so disconcerted and appalled when he
struck the edge of the roof, that he would be unable to look out for
his own safety. One of the party resolved to attempt a rescue,
although by so doing his own life would be endangered. Throwing
himself flat on the roof like a bat, he slid down headforemost to the
gutter, which, fortunately, was very wide. Placing himself on his back
in this gutter so as to be able to arrest the other poor boy in his
fall, he waited until the lightning-rod struck the roof, then called
out loudly, "Let go; I'll catch you." The boy obeyed, and as he
slipped down the roof in an almost unconscious condition, his rescuer
in the gutter grasped and held him until he recovered his
self-possession, when both pulled off their shoes and climbed the
steep roof to the skylight. Both boys were gallant soldiers, but
perhaps neither was ever again in greater danger than when excess of
patriotism cost the one that hazardous ride on the lightning-rod, the
other to assume the equally dangerous but noble position of rescuer.
Both are still living,--veterans now. One, occupying a position of
honor and of public trust, is a personal friend of the writer.
To me the Confederate flag was an object of profound love and
passionate devotion. It represented hopes that I thought could never
fail, possibilities so glorious that imagination was dazzled. I used
to go to the square before sunrise, leading my little boy, trying
vainly to make him understand and share in some degree my own
enthusiasm, but instead he only busied himself in trying to steal near
enough to pounce upon one of the many little birds flitting from spray
to spray with happy songs. Approaching the beautiful monument where
the statues are so lifelike as to appear real companions, sentient and
cognizant of one's presence, I chose always a seat where I could gaze
upon the face of Patrick Henry, recalling his stirring words, trying
to imagine what he would have thought and said now, and almost daring
to wish that soul of fire might come, if only for a moment, to animate
the cold form; that the silent lips might speak, the eyes look upward
to where the breeze of morning stirred the sacred flag which my own
heart saluted. Lingering thus until the first rays of the sun came to
glorify its waving folds, I drank in deep draughts of patriotism and
love for the holy cause, sweet, inspiring, elevating; a tonic powerful
and lasting in its effects, bracing mind and soul to persevere in the
course I had marked out for myself, to tread unfalteringly a path
beset by difficulties then undreamed of. Not long afterward the
capitol square became forever sacred to Southern hearts; for here,
standing upon the steps of the beautiful monument, beneath the bronze
statue of George Washington, the first President of the Southern
Confederacy took upon himself the solemn vows of office, and at the
same time the stirring airs of "Dixie" and "The Bonnie Blue Flag"
received the stamp of nationality. Ah! then how overwhelming the
applause. But no one dreamed of a time in the far future when the
Southern Confederacy should have become a thing of the past; of a time
when the first faint notes of "Dixie" would have power to sway the
hearts of thousands, to turn quiet crowds into excited, surging masses
of men who would rend the air with cheers and the dear old "rebel
yell," of women who, unable to control their feelings, would testify
by applauding hands, waving handkerchiefs, and streaming eyes how
precious were the memories awakened.
One moonlight evening I stood again before the statue of that grand
patriot and statesman, Patrick Henry. My companions were Mrs. Frances
Gawthmey, of Richmond, and Commodore Matthew F. Maury, a man whom the
scientific world delighted to honor, and of whom it may be well said,
"We ne'er shall look upon his like again." When Virginia cast her
fortunes with the Southern Confederacy, he held a distinguished
position under the United States Government. Had he sought
self-aggrandizement, renown, the fullest recognition of valuable
services to the Government, the way was open, the prospect dazzling.
But he was not even tempted. Beloved voices called him,--the voices of
love and duty. He listened, obeyed, laying at the feet of the new
Confederacy as loyal a heart as ever beat,--a resplendent genius, the
knowledge which is power.
In the days of my childhood I had known _Captain_ Maury, and had been
taught to revere him. When we met in Richmond, _Commodore_ Maury was
still my friend and mentor. His kindly offices were mine whenever
needed, and his care followed me through all vicissitudes, until,
after many months, the varying fortunes of war separated us, never,
alas! to meet again in this world.
On the evening referred to above, Mrs. Gawthmey and myself, escorted
by Commodore Maury, passed through the square on our way to the hotel,
where we expected to meet a brilliant circle of distinguished
Southerners. Arrived in front of the monument, we paused
involuntarily. The same thoughts which had before come to me seemed to
possess all our minds. Mrs. Gawthmey remarked, "If Patrick Henry had
been living, I reckon Virginia would have stepped out of the Union
side by side with South Carolina." "Well," replied Commodore Maury,
"he would have acted as he thought. There would have been no 'pros and
cons,' and his irresistible eloquence would have carried all before
it." Then baring his head, while the moonlight seemed to glorify his
grand intellectual countenance, he repeated a portion of that grand
oration of Mr. Henry ending, "Give me liberty or give me death." As
those immortal words fell from his lips all remained silent, though
wrought up to the highest pitch of patriotic excitement. After a
moment we walked on very quietly, until, passing out of the mellow
moonlight, we entered the brilliantly-lighted parlors of the
Spottswood Hotel.
The hum of conversation, the sound of careless, happy laughter, the
music of a band playing outside, soon brought us down from the heights
of enthusiasm to the delightful realities of the present. For, spite
of battle and death and perplexities, even certain trouble ahead,
Richmond was gay, hopeful, and "all went merry as a marriage bell."
The gaunt spectres of privation, want, disease, death, of ruined
homes, starving families, and universal desolation, were shadows which
fled before the legions of hope pressing so gladly and gayly to the
front. Here in one corner laughing girls bewitched and held in thrall
young soldier boys,--willing captives,--yet meeting the glances of
bright eyes with far less courage than they had shown while facing the
guns upon the battlefield. Thrilling tales of the late battle wore
poured into credulous ears: "_We_ were _here_. _We_ were _there_. _We_
were everywhere. Our company accomplished wonderful deeds of valor;"
and if Beauty's smile be indeed a fit reward, truly these young heroes
received it.
Our party exchanged greetings with several groups, seating ourselves
at last within the brilliant circle surrounding Judge and Mrs.
Hopkins, of Alabama. Here were several ladies, wives of distinguished
officers in the Confederate service, members of the Cabinet, and
others, and splendid-looking officers in handsome uniforms were
constantly coming and going, exchanging courteous greetings, lingering
for a few moments in conversation, grave or gay. Here, perhaps, a
stately form strode up and down the large rooms so engrossed in
thought as to be regardless of all that was passing. There, in deep
converse, stood a group equally regardless of their surroundings,
whose grave faces and earnest questions showed the importance of the
subject under discussion. Among those who upon that evening and
afterward, "many a time and oft," were met together in those brilliant
rooms there was not one heart untouched by the fire of patriotism,--a
flame fed by every thought, word, and action, burning ever with
steadily-increasing brightness.
I fail to recall many of the illustrious names which on that night
sounded like stirring music in my ears; but as often as memory reverts
to that scene, the forerunner of repeated pleasures, I seem to feel
anew the pressure of friendly hands, unforgotten faces appear through
the mists of the past, still aglow with "the light of other days."
Judge Hopkins was rather an invalid, but his high position, fine
appearance, his pleasant conversational powers, marked him as one
worthy of attention from all.
To Mrs. Hopkins had been entrusted the duty of caring for the sick and
wounded soldiers from Alabama. Two State hospitals had already been
established by her, and she had full power to control all matters
connected with these hospitals, except such as came within the
province of the surgeon in charge.
I have never seen a woman better fitted for such a work. Energetic,
tireless, systematic, loving profoundly the cause and its defenders,
she neglected no detail of business or other thing that could afford
aid or comfort to the sick or wounded. She kept up a voluminous
correspondence, made in person every purchase for her charges,
received and accounted for hundreds of boxes sent from Alabama
containing clothing and delicacies for the sick, and visited the wards
of the hospitals every day. If she found any duty neglected by nurse
or surgeon or hospital steward, her reprimand was certain and very
severe. She could not nurse the sick or wounded personally, for her
whole time was necessarily devoted to executive duties, but her smile
was the sweetest, I believe, that ever lit up a human face, and
standing by the bedside of some poor Alabamian, away from home, and
wretched as well as sick, she must have seemed to him like an angel
visitant. A more decided woman in dealing with all who came within her
influence or control I never knew, yet she was kindly withal, though
never expecting or brooking opposition. To her husband alone she
deferred in all things, and was gentleness itself.
On meeting her for the first time she called me to her side, saying,
in her abrupt way, "I like you, you are so in earnest; do you really
mean to nurse our sick soldiers during the war, as Mr. Maury tells
me?" I replied, as I distinctly recollect, with great fervor, "I do,
God helping me."
"But you are not strong enough, and you are too young."
Again I replied, "I feel that I am called to the work, and strength
will be given me."
She laid her hand kindly upon my shoulder, smiling as she said, "I may
put you to the test some day; be ready."
This conversation occurred on the evening of my visit to the hotel
with my friends. On the way home an earnest protest against my
"quixotic idea" was made by both, which ended in a truce of a few
days, during which it was hoped I would repent and rescind my
determination.
On the corner of Clay and Twelfth Streets stood the pleasant and
commodious residence of Mr. and Mrs. Booker.
My friend Mrs. Gawthmey resided here, and here the greater part of my
time was spent when "off duty" (of which more anon).
This model Virginia household was so true a type of the homes of
Richmond as they were at that time, that its description will present
to the reader _all_, for the same spirit pervaded every one. As in
almost every case, the young men of the family were in the Confederate
service (the sons of this household were of the Richmond Howitzers).
The father, in feeble health, yet lavished his means and his little
strength upon every patriotic duty which arose. The mother, far more
youthful, active, and energetic, full of enthusiasm for the cause,
exceeding proud of the brave boys whom she had freely sent out to
battle, loving and serving all soldiers with heart and hand, was
seconded with equal ardor and wonderful ability by her sweet young
daughters. The spare sleeping-rooms were always daintily prepared, and
at the service of any _soldier_ who needed care and rest. _Soldiers_
feeble from recent illness were encouraged to recline awhile in
restful arm-chairs in the cool flower-scented parlors, while the girls
often entertained them with music or pleasant conversation.
Not a meal was set in that house unshared by one or more _soldiers_.
The table was always as attractive as finest linen damask, elegant
china and glass, and handsome silver could make it. The meals were
abundant and nourishing, but plain. Delicacies of all kinds were
prepared constantly in that "Virginia kitchen," and daintily arranged
in the pantry by the ladies' own hands, but only to be sent to the
sick and wounded strangers lying in the numerous hospitals.
Opposite to the home just described arose the spacious but
unpretentious residence of President Davis, the Confederate "White
House" (in this case only in a figurative sense, for the executive
mansion was of dark brown stone or stucco). As nearly as I can
remember, the main entrance was on Clay Street. On one side the
windows opened on Twelfth Street, on the other lay a beautiful garden
extending quite to the edge of "Shokoe Hill," which overlooked the
classic valley of "Butchertown," through the midst of which ran
"Shokoe Creek." The boys of this region, from generation to
generation, had been renowned for exceeding pugnacity. Between them
and the city boys constantly-recurring quarrels were so bitter that
sometimes men were drawn in through sympathy with their boys. The law
seemed powerless to put an end to this state of things.
Regular arrangements were made, definite challenges were given and
accepted, and fights took place between successive sets of boys as
they grew old enough to throw down or take up the gauntlet. Richmond
was at that time considered a law-abiding city, and had only a few
policemen, whom the boys found it easy to elude. The appearance of
officers Chalkly and Tyler, however, generally served to close the
fight _until next time_.
Within the Presidential mansion was no magnificence of furniture or
appointments,--nothing in the style of living calculated to create
dissatisfaction or a sense of injustice in the minds of those who,
equally with their chosen leader, had already sacrificed much, and
were willing to give their _all_ to the cause. No pomp and
circumstance chilled loyal hearts.
Jefferson Davis, the _statesman_ to whose wisdom had been entrusted
the destinies of the South; the _patriot_ who merged his ambition, his
hopes, _himself_, in his devotion to the right; the _Christian_, who
humbly committed his ways unto the Lord, whose dignity enhanced
prosperity, whose fortitude conquered adversity,--Jefferson Davis, the
chosen exponent of undying principles, was yet in his own house simply
a Southern gentleman,--a kindly, genial host, extending genuine
hospitality to all.
Of Mrs. Davis my recollections are very pleasant. Always meeting from
her a cordial reception, admiring the unaffected courtesy which put
her visitors at their ease, I yet became distinctly conscious that in
her the feelings of wife and mother were stronger than any other; that
no matter into what station of life it should please God to call her,
devotion to these womanly duties would be paramount.
From the very first there was among the people of the South an earnest
dependence upon God, a habit of appeal to His mercy and
loving-kindness, and a marked attention to religious duties. On
Sundays the churches were crowded with devout worshippers. Every
service was attended by more or less Confederate soldiers, generally
in squads, but sometimes even in companies, marshalled by some of
their officers.
The first Sunday after my arrival in Richmond, kneeling in St. James's
Church, I heard for the first time the _changed_ prayer for the
"President of the _Confederate_ States and all others in authority." A
death-like silence prevailed during the most solemn and impressive
reading of the prayer. Then from every mouth welled forth a fervent,
heartfelt "Amen!" The earnest, manly voices of the soldiers added
depth and volume to the sound which thrilled every pulse of one's
being. It did not seem to us that we were merely going through a form
of prayer for one of "those in high places," but that our President
was one of ourselves, and all hearts went out toward him, earnestly
desiring for him heaven's choicest blessings,--the all-wise guidance
he was so sure to need.
Scattered all over the city in many a shady nook were cosey, pleasant
retreats, where wounded or sick soldiers were gladly welcomed,--private
hospitals presided over by ladies, sustained by their constant
attention and unbounded liberality. One lady generally had direction of
the affairs of one particular hospital, assisted by others whose duties
lay just there, and who devoted each in turn on successive days their
entire care and attention to this labor of love. For instance, on
Monday certain ladies sent in all the cooked food needed by the
patients. Others personally nursed the sick. Still others attended to
the distribution of the food or superintended the servants, and so with
all duties required. On Tuesday another set of ladies were on duty, and
so on.
My whole heart and soul went out toward the sick soldiers. My days
were mostly spent in visiting the hospitals.
At first the larger ones attracted me, because there seemed to be so
many sufferers and more need of nurses. My timid advances (never
amounting to a direct application, but only a suggestion as to my
qualifications as a nurse) were condescendingly smiled down by the
surgeons in charge. My youthful appearance was against me. Besides,
there really was no need for other nursing in many of the State
hospitals, notably that of Louisiana, than the angelic ministrations
of the Sisters of Charity, whose tireless vigils knew no end, whose
skill and efficiency, as well as their constant devotion, environed
the patients committed to their care. Occasionally I was allowed the
blessed privilege of fanning a sick hero or of moistening parched lips
or bathing fevered brows. But somebody always came whose _business_ it
was to do these things, and I was set aside. One day, however, by a
happy chance, I found in a ward of one of the hospitals a poor fellow
who seemed to have been left to die. So forlorn, so feeble, so near
death did he seem, that my heart yearned over him, for he was only a
boy, and I knew he was _some_ mother's darling. He had, like many
other soldiers, been unwilling to go to a hospital, and remaining in
camp while broken out with measles, took cold and provoked an attack
of pneumonia. In addition to this, terrible abscesses had formed under
each ear, and his eyes were swollen and suppurating. His surgeon said
there was little hope of his recovery; none at all unless he could be
removed to some more quiet place, and receive unremitting care and
watchfulness as well as excellent nursing. "Can he be removed if I
promise to fulfil all these conditions?" said I. "It is a risk, but
his only chance," replied Dr. ----. "Then I will go at once and
prepare a place." As I spoke, the suffering boy grasped my hand with
all his feeble strength, as if afraid to let me leave him. Reassuring
him as well as I could, I rushed off to the "Soldiers' Rest," where I
knew I should find friends ready and willing to help me. My tale was
soon told to the ladies in charge, who at once and with all their
hearts entered into my plans. One vacant cot temptingly clean and
white was moved into a secluded corner and assigned to me for the use
of my "sick boy." The loan of an ambulance, readily obtained,
facilitated his removal. That same evening I had the satisfaction of
seeing him laid carefully upon the comfortable bed so kindly prepared
by the ladies of the Soldiers' Rest, exhausted, but evidently not
worse for the change.
Right here began my career as a nurse of Confederate soldiers. This
was my first patient,--_my very own_,--to have and to hold until the
issues of life and death should be decided. All facilities were
accorded me by the ladies. Dr. Little gave his most careful attention
and his greatest skill, but the nursing, the responsibility, was mine.
I may as well state that I came off with flying colors, earning the
precious privilege, so ardently desired, of being enrolled among those
ready for duty and _to be trusted_. My patient recovered, and returned
to his command, the ---- Mississippi Regiment. His name was D. Babers,
and twenty years after the war I met him once more,--a stalwart,
bearded man, as unlike as possible the pale young soldier who had
lived in my memory. His delight and gratitude and that of his family
seemed unbounded, and so I found the bread once cast upon the waters
very sweet when returned to me "after many days."
Finding that my desultory wanderings among the larger hospitals were
likely to result in little real usefulness, and that the ladies
attached to the Soldiers' Rest would be glad of my help, I became a
regular attendant there. This delightful place of refuge for the sick
and wounded was situated high up on Clay Street, not very far from one
of the camps and parade-grounds. A rough little school-house, it had
been transformed into a bower of beauty and comfort by loving hands.
The walls, freshly whitewashed, were adorned with attractive pictures.
The windows were draped with snowy curtains tastefully looped back to
admit the summer breeze or carefully drawn to shade the patient, as
circumstances required. The beds were miracles of whiteness, and clean
linen sheets, in almost every case, draped and covered them. Softest
pillows in slips of odorous linen supported the restless heads of the
sick. By the side of each cot stood a small table (one or two
old-fashioned stands of solid mahogany among them). Upon these were
spread fine napkins. Fruit, drinks, etc., were set upon them, not in
coarse, common crockery, but in delicate china and glass. _Nothing was
too good for the soldiers_. The school-house contained three rooms.
The school-room proper was quite large, and here were ranged about
thirty beds. One of the recitation-rooms was set apart for patients
who might need special attention or seclusion. The other was occupied
by the ladies whose duty it was to receive and distribute the delicate
and nutritious supplies of food which unfailingly arrived at stated
hours, borne by aristocratic-looking colored servants, on silver
waiters or in baskets covered with snowy damask. During every hour of
the day, gentle women ministered untiringly to the sick. They woke
from fevered dreams to behold kindly faces bending above them, to feel
the touch of soft hands, to receive the cooling draught or welcome
food. Every evening brought carriage-loads of matrons and young girls
laden with flowers or fruit, bringing books, and, better than all,
smiles and pleasant words. The sick soldiers were objects of interest
to all. All hearts yearned over them, all hands were ready to serve
them. As night came on, the ladies who had served during the day were
replaced by others. No one ever failed to meet her self-imposed
duties. No patient was for a moment neglected.
I cannot recall the names of all the ladies who attended at the
Soldiers' Rest. Those whom I knew best were Mrs. Gawthmey, Mrs.
Booker, Mrs. Grant, Miss Catherine Poitreaux, Mrs. Edmond Ruffin, and
Miss Susan Watkins.
A few steps below, between Ninth and Tenth Streets, was another
private hospital, similar in almost every respect to the one just
described, organized and presided over by Mrs. Caroline Mayo. She also
was assisted by several ladies, but had entire direction, and threw
herself into the work with all her soul. Her patriotism was boundless,
her courage and endurance unfailing. Not only at that time, but for
three years, every hour of her time, every thought of her heart, was
given to the sick and wounded Confederates.
Sometimes, alas! the care and nursing lavished upon the sick was
unavailing. Death often invaded the "Rest." In every case the rites of
burial were accorded. Women remembered tenderly the far-distant mother
or wife, and therefore honored their dead.
For a few days after my patient had ceased to need special nursing I
continued to serve with, the ladies attached to the little hospital on
Clay Street, still longing, however, for a larger sphere of
usefulness.
One morning, just as I had arrived there and was preparing to begin my
daily duties, a carriage stopped at the door, from which Mrs. Judge
Hopkins descended, and, hastily entering the hospital, announced to
the ladies that she had "_come for Mrs. Beers_." They strongly
demurred, and I felt at first great hesitation in obeying so hasty a
summons. But Mrs. Hopkins was very much in earnest. "Indeed, you
_must_ come," said she, "for I have great need of you. A large number
of sick and wounded Alabamians will arrive this morning. I have found
a place to put them, but some one must be there to prepare for their
accommodation, to receive hospital supplies, and direct their
arrangement, while I make purchases and attend to other matters.
Come," holding out both hands towards me; "no _hireling_ can fill the
place. Come, _now_; with me: we have no time to lose." I hesitated no
longer, but entered the carriage. We were at once driven down-town,
stopping to order cots, mattresses, etc., then to the corner of ----
and ---- Streets, where stood an immense tobacco factory, owned by
Messrs. Turpin & Yarborough.
Arrived here, a pitiful sight met our eyes. Perhaps fifty sick men had
arrived unexpectedly, and were sitting or lying about in every
conceivable position expressive of feebleness, extreme illness, utter
exhaustion. Mr. Yarborough, having given up the keys to Mrs. Hopkins,
was impatiently pacing in and out among the prostrate men. Coming upon
this scene, both Mrs. Hopkins and myself at once realized all that lay
before us, and braced our nerves to meet the emergency.
The men were soon under shelter, but no beds had yet arrived. Mrs.
Hopkins led me into the factory, introduced me to Dr. Clark, who had
come to take charge as surgeon, and placed me under him at the head of
affairs as her deputy. A corps of nurses, hastily summoned, were
ordered to report to me.
Meantime immense boxes arrived from the depot, sent by the people of
Alabama. These contained pillows, comforts, sheets, as well as wines,
cordials, and every delicacy for the sick, also quantities of shirts,
drawers, and socks, old and new. The boxes were wrenched open, pillows
placed quickly under the heads of the sickest, and cordials
administered. As the beds came in they were placed, made up, and the
worst cases first, others afterward, were transferred to them, until
all were lying comfortably between clean sheets and clad in clean
shirts and drawers. There was no lack of food, both substantial and of
a kind proper for the very sick.
I do not believe that a squad of sick soldiers arrived in Richmond, at
least during the first year of the war, who were not discovered and
bountifully fed shortly after their arrival. In this case waiter after
waiter of food was sent in, first from the house of Mr. Yarborough and
afterward by all the neighborhood. Hospital supplies having been
ordered as soon as it was known the sick men were expected, all
necessaries were soon at hand, while the boxes referred to supplied
many luxuries. The large room into which all these were huddled
presented for days a scene of "confusion worse confounded." The
contents of two of the largest boxes were dumped upon the floor, the
boxes themselves serving, one as a table for the drugs, the other as a
sort of counter where the druggist quickly compounded prescriptions,
which the surgeons as hastily seized and personally administered.
Carpenters were set at work; but of course shelves, etc., could not be
magically produced, so we placed boards across barrels, arranging in
piles the contents of the boxes for ready use.
Mrs. Hopkins, sitting upon a box, directed these matters, while I had
my hands full attending to the poor fellows in the wards where they
had been placed.
Four of our sick died that night. I had never in my life witnessed a
death-scene before, and had to fight hard to keep down the emotion
which would have greatly impaired my usefulness.
At the end of a long, large wing of the factory were two excellent
rooms, formerly the offices of the owners. These were comfortably
fitted up, the one as a bedroom for myself, and the other as a
sitting-room and private office. A female servant was specially
assigned to me, who slept on a mattress on the floor of the
sitting-room, and whose duty it was to accompany me through the wards
and render any special or personal service required. A long hall ran
along this wing, connecting the offices with the main building. The
long, broad room opening out of this hall was fitted up as a ward
specially mine, for the reception of my own friends and very ill
patients who needed my special attention day and night. This favor was
granted me because I had shown some unwillingness to place myself in
any position where I could not nurse any Louisiana soldier friends or
others who might desire or be permitted to come to me. As soon as
matters were somewhat settled, my little son joined me in my new
quarters, and thus the Third Alabama Hospital became our home for many
a month. The little fellow spent very little time there, however. My
Richmond friends never lost sight of me for one day during my service
in that city. Nearly every day my little boy was sent for to play
among happy children, far away from the impure atmosphere of the
hospital, which was soon filled with patients suffering from almost
every form of disease.
As the demand for more room became pressing, the three stories of the
main building were successively utilized, as well as a large
storage-room in the yard. The ground-floor contained the surgeons' and
steward's offices, store-rooms, etc., while the second and third
formed two immense sick-wards. The first floor of the long wing before
mentioned was occupied by the kitchen and sleeping apartments for
servants.
Mrs. Hopkins and I thought exactly alike regarding the disposition of
the delicacies continuously sent from all points in Alabama for the
sick and wounded. None but the sick should have them. Nothing but the
simple though plentiful rations were ever served at the meals, which
the resident surgeons and druggists shared with me. Yet, by the
never-ceasing kindness of friends outside, I was well supplied with
luxuries enough for myself, and to share with my messmates each day.
Having the care and responsibility of so many sick, my time was fully
occupied, I seldom went out. I could not stop to talk to visitors, but
often led kind ladies to the bedsides of those whom I knew would enjoy
and be benefited by their bright presence and kindly words, as well as
by their offerings of flowers, fruit, or dainties.
Amid disease and suffering, battling always with death (too often,
alas! the conqueror), I was yet happy and content. The surgeons were
skilful and devoted; the means at hand to supply the wants, even the
caprices of my patients, as soon as expressed.
I loved very dearly these heroes whom I served, and felt that I was as
well beloved. Welcoming smiles, eager greetings, grateful words,
blessed me as unfailingly as the sunlight and dew the earth. Every
hour of toil brought its own rich reward. These were Confederate
soldiers. God had permitted me to work for the holy cause. This was
enough to flood my whole being with content and deepest gratitude.
Next to Commodore Maury one of my most faithful friends was Dr.
Little, of Richmond. He was surgeon of the Soldiers' Rest, and also
attended the sick soldiers at many private houses in the city and at
some of the larger hospitals.
Small in stature, in extremely delicate health, he was yet a giant as
far as skill and work were concerned. An earnest Christian, a polished
gentleman, of quiet and unassuming yet elegant manners, interesting in
conversation, a true, firm friend, an unflinching patriot, what more
could be added to indicate an almost perfect character? His care and
watchfulness, combined with rare skill,--directed by the All-merciful
Father,--saved the life of my little boy, who was brought to death's
door by an attack of typhoid fever during the fall of 1861.
Meantime, as the months rolled on, it became evident that the victory
at Manassas could not be considered as a criterion of future success.
Everywhere there was fighting. Varying fortune attended the
Confederate arms. _Un_varying glory, unsurpassed, magnificent bravery
so dazzled the eyes of the nation that none saw or admitted defeat
anywhere. Yet valuable territory had been surrendered. Homeless
refugees flocked into Richmond, but even these were hopeful and
defiant, almost proud of their early martyrdom, ready to serve the
cause by "doing all their hands found to do with their might."
If anything had been needed to inspire hope, to arouse patriotic
pride, the appearance of Johnston's army as it passed through Richmond
on its way to the Peninsula to foil once more the "On-to-Richmond"
plans of the enemy would have more than sufficed.
Oh, what days were those, which came _unheralded_, to write their
history in letters of fire upon the records of the city of Richmond!
General Johnston had kept his own counsel. Says Pollard: "With such
consummate address was this move managed, that our own troops had no
idea of what was intended until the march was taken up." Soldiers had
been continually passing through the city, but by companies or
regiments, each in its turn admired and enthusiastically cheered. Now,
when seemingly countless legions swept by with martial tread, their
resounding footsteps and splendid appearance equally with the roll of
many drums and the clash of regimental bands stirred the hearts of the
multitude thronging the sidewalks, crowding every door-way and
gallery, "mounting wall and battlement, yea, even to chimney-top;"
not, indeed, to see a "great Cæsar," but to hail with wildest delight
a magnificent army, of which the humblest soldier was a "greater than
Cæsar," inasmuch as he was ready to sacrifice upon the altar of
patriotism all that the Roman conqueror held most dear first of
all,--_personal ambition_.
Among the crowd, side by side with the ladies resident in Richmond,
stood mothers, wives, sisters, from other Southern States, looking
eagerly for the well-known uniform worn by _their own_, proudly
pointing them out as they passed, even to utter strangers, sure of
warmest sympathy, following them with longing eyes until they were
lost to sight, hundreds, alas! _forever_.
Among the gayly-fluttering banners borne proudly aloft some were
ragged and torn by shot or shell. As each of these appeared men
shouted themselves hoarse, women drew shuddering sighs and grew
deathly pale, as if realizing for the first time the horrors of war
and the dangers their loved ones had passed.
For several days this excitement was kept up. All night heavy
artillery rumbled along Broad Street. At any hour of the night I could
see from my window shadowy figures of mounted men, could hear the
ceaseless tramp of cavalry horses. Every day the sun shone upon the
glittering bayonets and gay flags of swiftly-passing soldiery. The air
was flooded with music until the last strain died away, and the calm
which preceded a terrible storm of battle fell upon the city.
The glorious scenes of the past few days had engendered a sense of
protection and security. All felt that this splendid army _must_ prove
invincible.
In the Valley of Virginia brave troops under Stonewall Jackson were
actively engaged in keeping the enemy at bay. Forced marches,
insufficient food, the want of tents to shelter them from the weather
while they slept, continually decimated this army.
The number of wounded in our wards increased daily. Sick men poured
into the hospital. Often they came too late, having remained at the
post of duty until fever had sapped the springs of life or the
rattling breath sounded the knell of hope, marking too surely that
fatal disease, double pneumonia. Awestruck I watched the fierce battle
for life, the awful agony, trying vainly every means of relief,
lingering to witness struggles which wrung my heart, because I could
not resist the appealing glance of dying eyes, the hoarse, whistling
whisper that bade me stay,--because I must try to comfort the parting
soul, must hope to catch some last word or message to comfort the
loved ones at home.
Since then I have witnessed every form of suffering and death, but
none more appalling than the fierce struggle for breath, when the
lungs are filling up by sure degrees, in the last stages of the
disease. Never has the Death Angel seemed to me more merciful than
when he took in his icy grasp the fevered hands wildly beating the
air, closed the starting eyes, silenced the gasping breath.
Fortunately, I then had ample means at my command to relieve
suffering, in many cases even to indulge the caprices of the sick. In
this I only acted as the almoner of devoted, generous women in
far-away homes, who deprived themselves of every luxury to benefit the
sick soldiers. There seemed to be no end to the arrival and unpacking
of boxes.
To nearly every one of numberless pairs of socks and gloves was pinned
a paper upon which was written some kindly message, a few words of
cheer, generally signed with the name of the donor. Strange as it may
seem, it is perfectly true that I found among these (not once, but
several times) the name of one of my patients, and at a venture
bearing the article to his bedside, watched his delight, the eager
grasp, the brightened eyes, the heaving breast of some poor fellow who
had thus accidentally received a gift and message from his own home.
Although relieved of all unnecessary fatigue, having at my command
nurses and servants to carry out my plans for the sick, the burden of
their suffering lay heavy upon my own heart. The already full wards of
the hospital now became crowded. For many of the gallant men who a few
weeks before had marched so gayly to their doom were brought back
bearing horrible, ghastly wounds.
Anxious responsibility murdered sleep. A shuddering horror, a
consuming pity, possessed me as often as dreadful groans from the
operating-room reached my ears. No one could have convinced me then
that I should ever _get used to it_, as I _did_ later.
Mrs. Hopkins watched over me with the tenderness of a mother. But she
also had hands and heart full. Her cautions, with those of other
friends, bore not a feather's weight in comparison with the increasing
demands of my sick. But one day I fell fainting while on duty. Thus
began a severe attack of nervous fever, which brought me very low. Can
I ever forget the tender, devoted nursing of some of the ladies of
Richmond! Truly it seemed as if "God had sent angelic legions," whose
sweet faces bent above me day after day, whose kindly voices pervaded
my feverish dreams. The same care usually given to sick soldiers was
now lavished upon me. After several days I was able to leave my bed,
but, finding myself totally unfit for duty, and being unwilling to
remain a burden upon my kind friends, I decided to go to my husband's
relatives in Alabama, though fully intending to return to my labors in
Richmond as soon as my strength should be restored.
My husband having been transferred to the Army of Tennessee, where he
continued to serve until the close of the war, this plan was changed.
I have never since revisited the scene of my earliest service to the
Confederacy. Perhaps it is as well that I did not, for memory
preserves at least this one picture, more full of light than shadow,
because always softly illumined by the beautiful star which had not
then begun to wane,--"the star of Hope."