THE START FOR THE FRONT
“Woman should take to her soul a strong purpose, and then
make circumstances conform to that purpose.”
SUSAN B. ANTHONY.
My work for sick soldiers began early in 1862, in the “Department
of the East,” which included Long Island Hospital, Willett’s Point,
David’s Island, Fort Schuyler and Bedloe’s Island (now Liberty); all
of these hospitals being in charge of Surgeon McDougall.
This extensive experience prepared me for work at the front, which,
after many futile efforts, I could now reach through a society known
as “Masonic Mission,” by which a pass was secured from General Ben
Butler for myself and three assistant nurses, and which gave me the
anxiously desired privilege and authority of going to the “front,”
with these nurses, who were quite unknown to me.
We sailed July 24th, 1864, on the Patapsco, a government transport
that had carried sick soldiers to New York, and was returning to City
Point for orders, and were the only passengers on board.
Fatigue and the odor of bilge water induced intense “mal de mer,”
which, added to insubordination on the part of two of my assistants,
caused the usual distress and despair.
The atmosphere of my state room was intolerable, and the captain
kindly ordered a mattress placed on deck for me, where I was
comparatively comfortable until I was obliged to stagger below
on hearing of unseemly conduct on the part of the two nurses. I
threatened, with good effect, to have the captain put them ashore at
the first island we came to. Fortunately they did not know that we
would sight no island on that short voyage. The third assistant, good
Mrs. Dunbar, in her kindly, motherly way, was my only comfort.
The captain had tried, in vain, to arouse me by an alarm that the
Alabama was chasing us. But sea-sickness knows not even the law of
self-preservation, and I replied, “I’d as lief as not go down by the
Alabama or in any other way.”
At night I refused to go below to my stateroom and bilge water odor,
quite regardless of the captain’s perplexity. After some hesitancy,
however, he gave me the only stateroom on deck. This was filled with
the accoutrements of a Confederate officer whom, as a prisoner of
war, the captain had just delivered over to the government prison at
Fort Lafayette, in the narrows of New York Bay. I awoke at night in
such perfect peace and comfort that for a time I imagined the Alabama
had really run us down, and that I was now happy in heaven.
My stateroom door had been left open for air, and, stepping out on
deck, I found there was no motion or sound, save a soft ripple of
water against the bow. A full perfect moon cast a broad silvery path
across the quiet waters, so intense that it seemed quite possible
that Jesus had indeed walked upon the Sea of Galilee. There was no
one in sight, nor was there a sound of anything living or moving,
though the “watch” probably saw me leaning over the railing. We had
anchored at the mouth of the James River, waiting for the pilot.
On the morning of July 29th, we again anchored, this time before City
Point, Virginia, at the junction of the James and Appomatox Rivers,
headquarters of the United States armies in the field under command
of General Grant.
I went ashore in a little boat with the captain, and reported to
the Provost Marshall at headquarters, to show my pass from General
Butler. The camp appeared rather shabby. There were only a few wooden
buildings, used by army officers, a number of large tents and negro
cabins, with guards and officers running from one tent to another.
City Point was a barren, almost treeless country of untilled land.
The United States flag floated over a small house used by General
Grant as headquarters.
A small narrow, cigar-shaped, back-wheel boat, the “Gazelle,”
returned with me to the “Patapsco,” and taking on board the three
nurses we steamed up the narrow Appomatox River, a monotonous sail
of six miles between low bluffs and sparse foliage, to the hospital
tents at Point of Rocks, which were pitched on the very brink of
this malarious stream. This was General Butler’s Hospital Department
of the James.
For the first time I realized my strange position, and felt, when
the “Patapsco” was out of sight, as if “I had burned my bridges
behind me.” There were only half a dozen men and officers aboard.
Feeling impelled to speak to a refined-looking man, wearing major’s
shoulder-straps, I found him very courteous. I remarked on my
apprehension of the strangeness of the situation, and said if I could
feel assured that the surgeon in charge of Point of Rocks Hospital
was a gentleman, I should have nothing to fear. I asked the Major if
he knew that officer; he replied that he did, and thought I would
find him a gentleman.
On reaching Point of Rocks Hospital, the Major offered to go ashore
and send an ambulance for us, and this took us a short distance to
the hospital tent wards, and to a small frame house near to the
Hospital Headquarters.
I called a passing orderly and reported at once with my Butler pass,
to the officer in charge, and found, to my consternation, while the
color rose to the roots of my hair, that this man was the very Major
to whom I had spoken on the boat. Rising and bowing politely he said,
“Miss Smith, I trust you will always find me a gentleman.”
It was well for me that he was a gentleman, for I found myself in
a very anomalous position, having been sent by the Masonic Mission
to take the place of Clara Barton, who was already in charge of
this work, but away at the time. I soon discovered that the Masonic
Mission had taken advantage of Miss Barton’s absence and--quite
without authority--had sent me to take her place. The Major, Surgeon
Porter, however, courteously invited me to remain until her return.
Meanwhile he had ordered a large tent put up for my assistants and,
as a compliment, assigned me to a room at headquarters. But sleeping
with a strange fat woman on a feather-bed, with windows closed on a
hot July night was too much honor; so the next morning I asked to be
allowed to go with the nurses in their large new tent, where, with
a cot in each corner, we were quite comfortable. A small tent was
attached for my mess-room, while the nurses ate at the “patients’
mess.”
General Butler’s army headquarters of the Department of the James,
was across the Appomattox, at Bermuda Hundreds, whence the rumbling
of wagons and tramping of troops over pontoon bridges could be heard
through the silence and darkness of the night. Of course I slept
little on my first night in camp.
The next night I was greatly distressed by groans and cries in the
distance and, much excited, I went directly to Surgeon Porter, as
early as allowable the next morning, to ask if I could do something
for the suffering soldiers. Seeming surprised at my question he
replied that he was not aware of such suffering in camp. He asked
where the sounds came from, and as I indicated the direction he said
with a curious expression: “Well, Miss Smith, you may try if you
wish, but the cries come from the mules in the corral, and I fear you
will not succeed.” That joke followed me wherever I went.
Surgeon Porter gave me charge of the officers’ ward, of perhaps forty
or more patients. Each officer having his own orderly in attendance,
and the hospital being in very good running order, there was no
unpleasant work for me to do. So at first I saw only the romantic
side of “bathing feverish brows,” and giving comforting words, with
some specially prepared diet.
Not caring for society, or mere sentiment, I soon resolved to ask for
a ward of private soldiers, who did not presume upon equality, though
many of them were as truly gentlemen as were their officers.
Meanwhile the three nurses, though untrained, like most nurses of
that time, did good work in the wards of the regular soldiers.