LAST OF CITY POINT
In some early chapters on the good work of the Sanitary Commission I
wrote of the denuded hospital camp, belated sick soldiers, etc. After
the departure of the Second Corps hospital officers, I was the only
white woman in camp, and I took possession of their headquarters, in
a rustic cottage of one story built by the engineer corps in pretty
artistic style with boughs and branches cut from the woods near by.
Four rooms, with central entrance, made a comfortable homelike
shelter where “Aunty” also stayed and looked after my interests. The
colored guard detailed by General Russell marched their steady beat
daily and nightly, while a stack of muskets stood before my little
door. A circular lawn was often occupied by negroes anxious for a
word with “De bressed white Yankee lady,” while their picanninies,
rolling on the grass, made the place quite lively, despite the
warnings of Auntie to “Dem black niggers dat ain’t got no manners
no-how.”
This kind-hearted old mammy always, somehow, managed to have a
bright bandanna turban and a fresh white apron. She took that rare
possession of me, known only to house servants of southern families.
[Illustration: MY QUARTERS AT THE CLOSE OF THE WAR]
Mrs. Russell remained in her husband’s headquarters at the Point, and
afforded me many pleasant social courtesies. General Russell invited
me for a buggy ride to Petersburg, still under command of General
Willcox.
As we rode by the deserted earthworks and former lines in front of
Petersburg,--the field of the last battle being still strewn with
empty canteens, broken muskets, etc., its earthworks upturned and
great chasms torn as if by an earthquake,--General Russell pointed
to a wrecked fort saying “That was the Burnside mine, the ‘Crater’
where I lost three hundred of the bravest soldiers that ever went
into battle. They were the negro hero martyrs of the Burnside mine
explosion, where many a brave Yankee white boy also gave up his life.”
General Russell’s brigade included a number of regiments, among them
the Tenth Colored Regiment, with Major William Baker, of Maine,
commanding. At the close of the war it was ordered to Texas to subdue
the turbulent element and to protect helpless citizens. We met many
destitute negroes still flocking to City Point.
As soon as the front lines were abandoned, hundreds of negroes ran
from Petersburg to beg our chaplains to marry them. Some were very
young; and a grey-haired old man said, “Me and Belinda has just stood
by each other ever since we was a’most boy and gall; our chillun
is sol’ away, and we wants to get married like white folks, so we
can’t be separated no mo’.” This seemed the ultimatum of their
understanding of freedom.
Conversions and immersions filled most of their time. These ragged
homeless freedmen were gaining some glimmering of morality and
religion; but it was a motley crowd that assembled on the shore of
the James River, shouting and singing in their childish way, as they
were immersed one by one, by their own preacher or leader,--then
rising and shouting hallelujahs as they sprang up and down in the
water in a frenzied manner, quite ludicrous to observe.
Contrabands were spying out the desolate land, and looking for jobs.
Surgeon Thomas Pooley was put in charge of this denuded hospital, and
joined my mess in the little cottage where Auntie made some palatable
southern dishes with our remaining supplies.
The Christian Commission and State Agencies had “struck their tents”
and vanished almost in a night. Happily the Sanitary Commission,
with their larger work and supplies, had been detained until the
arrival of the stranded regiment, (of which I wrote earlier) when
with a detail from General Russell’s brigade, still in command
of the deserted United States quarters at the Point, they were
enabled to reconstruct a sheltered ward into a degree of comfort
for the exhausted men. Lack of discipline and policing soon
resulted in disorder and untidiness in these formerly perfectly
systematized camps. Quantities of unportable home-made furniture,
etc., and general debris were left, to the delight of the destitute
contrabands. All government tents and property had been “turned in”
and strictly registered.
I well remember my farewell glance at the demolished hospital, as
I rode for the last time to City Point to take the transport for
Washington. Tent roofs gone, only stockade sides remained intact;
bunks stripped and bare, much was abandoned that would now be useless
to the army. Negroes swarmed like bees around these treasures, and
some improvised roofs and shelter from abundant material lying about,
and seemed happy in this temporary home with little thought of the
future, or knowledge of the Freedmen Bureau then under General
Howard’s management, devising means to save them from starvation.
I took leave of my faithful, tearful old Auntie, evidently a leader
among the irresponsible bewildered contrabands, who felt perfectly
happy and safe as long as the Yankees were there to protect them.
At City Point, where little remained to show the old site of General
Grant’s Headquarters of the United States Armies, as I went aboard a
government transport bound for New York, I showed for the last time
my pass, that had given me protection and much independence, and as
I look back I am surprised as I think of my perfect freedom from
restraint in choosing my patients and my work in the hospital and
State Agencies.
As the shore receded, leaving a broken outline of the hospital and
Point, a feeling of homesickness, followed by thoughts of trials,
discomforts, pleasures, and hopes in our active life among the
sick and dying,--as well as the thought of the many recovered and
sent home to their friends by army women,--all these passed in
kaleidoscopic changes, as, almost alone on board the transport,
I turned my face toward Washington, and the months of hospital
work waiting for me there. The very last object that attracted my
attention, as I looked back, was on a hill just outside the hospital
grounds. A great leather army shoe that, on the horizon, looked about
the size of a small row boat or canoe, stood out in bold relief. This
set me laughing as I remembered the night attempt of the owner to
steal from our little house, and the fact that in his flight, months
before, he had lost his shoe, not daring to return for it lest he be
captured and punished. This monument of his failure remained.