THE GREAT MANHATTAN FAIR OF THE U. S. SANITARY COMMISSION, 1864
“Yet Thou wilt hear the prayer we speak,
The song of praise we sing--
My children, who Thine Altar seek
Their grateful gifts to bring.
* * * * *
“Lo! for our wounded brothers’ need,
We bear the wine and oil;
For us they faint, for us they bleed,
For them our gracious toil!”
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
While the devastations of Civil War were sending thousands of our
brave men to die, and to sleep in distant graves, inadequate relief
for sick and wounded soldiers also caused much unnecessary suffering
and loss of life. Lacking more prompt means of assistance, supplies,
surgeons, nurses, et cetera, could reach them only through the slow
process of military regulations.
With the hope of supplying this most urgent need, the great Manhattan
fair of the United States Sanitary Commission was suggested, and
later organized by the efforts of the Rev. Doctor Bellows of New
York City. He became its president, and, with other gentlemen as
a committee, went to Washington to consult military and hospital
departments as to some feasible manner of supplementing this most
necessary branch of the United States service.
The congregation of All Souls’ Church, of which Dr. Bellows was
pastor, at once voted that the $40,000 that had been appropriated for
a church steeple should be donated to the great Fair. The steepleless
church stands to-day, a monument to their practical benevolence.
Their beneficent intention resulted in the erection of an immense
wooden building at Union Square and Fourteenth Street, New York City,
for a great bazaar. The opening took place on April 14th, 1864, the
Honorable Joseph Choate delivering an address. An original poem by
Oliver Wendell Holmes was sung by a union of many volunteer church
choirs, before a vast multitude. The verses at the head of this
chapter are selected from the poem.
The building was practically overflowing with the number of enormous
donations that had no precedent, nor has any later benevolence in our
country ever equalled this cheerful, spontaneous outpouring of money
and salable goods, from all classes and individuals, merchants and
dealers of every grade. These gifts of every description were piled
high on shelves and in beautifully arranged booths, where charming
young girls and earnest bright-eyed women competed in the selling
of them to hundreds of eager buyers. Wealthy, generous patrons vied
with one another in liberal purchases and donations, while those of
smaller means were also happy in giving their mites to swell the
enormous sums that astonished even the sanguine organizers. Many
others, having no means to spare, volunteered their entire time
and services to any department needing them, however laborious or
unpleasant. And here they worked cheerfully every day until midnight
during the three weeks of the fair, unconscious of weariness.
Probably in no other bazaar were there ever such tireless workers,
generous donors, or enthusiastic buyers. The united beneficence,
patriotism and good will of these people poured into the treasury of
the Sanitary Commission the enormous amount of two million dollars.
This great sum for those days enabled the Commission to perfect an
organization unparalleled in scope and efficiency, with a corps of
faithful, honorable workers.
Like the Red Cross, which came to us later from Switzerland, this
commission was immune from attack after battles. Often following
the army closely, its representatives were able to set up temporary
hospitals more quickly and efficiently with their independent
supplies, army wagons and even transportation for special duty, than
could be done by the regular army routine. Later my opportunity for
knowing their work for soldiers was unusual. Being the only person
in the hospital camp in the field working independently, without pay
for any service, and provided with a pass from United States Army’s
Headquarters, the commission claimed that I was entitled to my living
and any supplies I might require for the sick.
The relation here of an instance of personal experience will give
some idea of the capability and prompt action of the commission
immediately after the close of the war, and at almost the last moment
of its field work, at City Point, Virginia.
The armies of the James and Potomac were ordered to Washington as
speedily as transportation would permit. They were to take part in
the grand review and were to be mustered out of service. The sick
were also carried to Washington hospitals as soon as they were able
to sail on the transports now crowding the docks of City Point. The
headquarters of the United States Armies in the field had some time
previously been transferred to Washington, where, still later, I
often saw General Grant, always silent and smoking, except when in
the presence of ladies.
General Russell, with his colored troops, was left in command at City
Point to finish up the Government work there. Surgeon Thomas Pooley,
later a distinguished oculist, of New York City, had been left in
charge of the almost abandoned field hospital. Barracks and tents
were dismantled, canvas roofs were removed and “turned in” to the
Government, leaving only stockade walls, much useless camp furniture,
and debris of all sorts that it would have been unprofitable to ship
north.
Into these roofless wards swarmed crowds of destitute “contrabands”
from the surrounding country and from Petersburg, eight miles
distant, and settled down like flocks of crows. They found many
things that were treasures to them among the abandoned supplies and
rations upon which they subsisted until the government could devise
some plan to save these helpless wandering creatures from starvation.
[Illustration: SURGEON THOMAS POOLEY]
The word contraband as applied to negroes was first used May 23d,
1861, by General Ben Butler, soon after taking command of Fortress
Monroe, when three slaves escaped from work on a Confederate fort,
near by, and came across the river in a boat asking protection. The
owner sent for them by flag of truce. General Butler decided that
tho not strictly legal that as a war measure he was justified as
they were property to their owners and that with all other property
used against the Union they were “contraband of war,” and refused to
give them up. The number of runaway slaves to the fort “increased
to $60,000 worth of negroes,” who were put to work for the Union
army,--many of whom enlisted and served faithfully till the end of
the war.
At that time I was the only white woman in camp, waiting for orders
to report to the New York State agency in Washington. A kind motherly
old colored “auntie” seemed to consider me merely a child, and
constantly followed me about, watched over me, and became my general
guardian. General Russell kept a guard of four colored soldiers, with
stacked arms, night and day, about my quarters for my safety.
I was about to start for Washington when we were surprised by a
belated regiment,--of the 6th corps, I think,--of sick men toiling
wearily into the deserted hospital camp, now in confusion as if a
raid had torn everything asunder. There was not a furnished bed or
bunk for these poor sick discouraged men to lie upon, nor was there
any food for their famished bodies as they dropped upon the bare
ground exhausted, almost fainting.
I still had the use of an ambulance, and in this emergency hastily
ordered the driver to take me to City Point, one-half mile distant,
for help. Fortunately the Sanitary Commission barge, loaded with
surplus supplies, had not started, but was just about to cut loose,
when I informed them of the destitution and helplessness of the sick
stranded soldiers.
[Illustration: J. YATES PEEK]
Mr. J. Yates Peek, formerly of the 147th New York Infantry, at once
reversed orders, unpacked supplies, and put his men to work. By night
the barracks were covered with canvas roofs; comfortable beds were
made of fresh hay, and the men were fed. The “contrabands” cheerfully
assisted me in preparing food and caring for the famished men. I
think Doctor Pooley was the only surgeon in camp. Contrabands helped,
in their rude way, to nurse the helpless, and a little camp sprang up
and remained until the men were able to travel and get transportation
to Washington. There was probably no better work done by this great
organization than that by the belated company of agents of the United
States Commission in that emergency. Without their help and supplies
these men must have suffered keenly, and perhaps have died before
relief could have been sent back from Washington on an unprecedented
requisition, and the necessary “red tape” regulations complied with.
Another personal experience comes to mind. Months after the war,
at their New York City Headquarters, when all liabilities of the
Sanitary Commission had been met and field work disbanded, there was
still a considerable balance in the treasury. The money had been
collected for a specific purpose, namely--for the benefit of sick
soldiers. This need was now supplied by the Government in various
hospitals and in temporary homes, but the surplus money could not
legally or honorably be applied to any other benevolence. Finally
it was agreed that soldiers’ families were the legitimate heirs to
this soldiers’ fund. Therefore Mrs. Baldwin, a woman of great tact
and capability, with myself, was asked to visit their families and
judiciously assist the needy. Through that unusual bitterly cold
winter of ’65 and ’66 we visited and assisted many of them. With the
advent of warm weather the last dollar was expended, and the official
life of this great beneficent work ended. Through it thousands of
lives were saved, and many cheered and made comfortable.
At the Brooklyn Sanitary Fair over $400,000 were raised, and in
Chicago and the West, that had led in this great movement, chiefly
through the efforts of women, the amounts were astonishing. Through
the great heart of the people, from all sources over $25,000,000 came
into the treasury of the Sanitary Commission.