WASHINGTON AND NEW YORK STATE AGENCY
Arrived in Washington I went directly to the home of my army friend,
Doctor Hettie K. Painter, to remain until I decided upon my next
move. The following day I reported to Colonel Goodrich, head of
New York State Agency in Washington, and found that he wished me
to remain and assist him in the closing up of the Washington work.
This meant the visiting of the several hospitals scattered at long
distances over the city and suburbs. Army Square, Douglas and
Harewood Hospitals sheltered most of the New York men. I listened
to their many complaints at being so long detained when they seemed
quite able to travel, but were delayed for various reasons. The work
was chiefly of a clerical form, viz.: to find out what difficulties
detained the men, and why, when they were entitled to a discharge, it
could not be obtained. Some could not get their pay, some had lost
their descriptive lists, a few were waiting for their friends to take
them home, while still other disabilities interfered.
Owing to the great distances between hospitals which involved a
great deal of walking, considerable time was lost and much fatigue
followed. I therefore determined to go to Medical Headquarters
and ask for an ambulance on the strength of the pass that I still
held from General Grant. This authority, of course, was good only
during the war, but after some explanations the medical authorities
courteously offered to give me the use of a medical headquarters
ambulance, though all ambulances had been “called in.”
The next morning one came for me, and I was driven to the New York
Agency, greatly to the surprise of Colonel Goodrich, who gave me
a list of hospital soldiers to visit. At the close of the day I
was able to make a complete report. The time saved in driving was
considerable, and I was able to accomplish much more than those who
had to walk long distances from hospital to hospital, as other agents
had then to do.
The following day, on calling at the agency for my list, the Colonel
said: “Miss Smith, you may visit the near by hospitals to-day, and I
will use the ambulance for other work.”
“I beg pardon, Colonel,” I replied, “I am responsible for the
ambulance and no one can use it except by my invitation. If any agent
would like to be dropped at any hospital I shall be very happy to
accommodate him.”
The New York Agency ambulance had been called in, which was rather
irritating. The Colonel never quite forgave me this independence, and
some time later he remarked, regarding the failure to put through a
troublesome case: “Perhaps Miss Smith, with her usual pertinacity,
might accomplish it.”
“If you can not succeed, Colonel, it is no reason why I should not,”
I replied quickly. “Please give me the case.”
Putting my whole interest and energy into the work, I soon had the
satisfaction of reporting the case as settled satisfactorily.
[Illustration: SERGEANT BOSTON CORBETT]
During a visit to Harewood Hospital, I observed a very sleek-looking
young man, apparently absorbed in reading the Bible. This man I found
was the notorious Boston Corbett who had disobeyed orders to capture
Booth alive. He had shot him in the barn, then burning, and which
was surrounded by a cordon of troops. For this disobedience Corbett
had been imprisoned, but ill-health had brought him to the hospital.
I asked him why he had disobeyed orders, and he replied that Booth
was about to get away, and he thought it better to shoot him than
to run the chance of having him escape. I then asked how he came to
have such a remarkable name. He replied: “When I was born my father
could not decide upon a name for me, so being a very religious man,
he asked the Lord, and the Lord said ‘Call him Boston’.” I still have
the photograph he gave me in his favorite Bible-reading pose.
The piazza of Mrs. Painter’s house was separated from that of the
adjoining house only by a railing. Here lived a Southern family
consisting of father, mother and a beautiful daughter. The father had
been secretary to Jefferson Davis, and from a social point of view,
was an elegant courteous gentleman. I greatly enjoyed his Southern
accent and refined conversation. He had been obliged, through
poverty, to rent a part of his house to some Northern politicians.
One day I saw going up the steps, a fine-looking man, Colonel
Forney, a prominent politician of that day. He asked politely of
this Southern gentleman, then seated on the piazza, if he could
see Mr. B., whereupon the owner of the house flew into a rage, as
if insulted, and said: “I don’t know, suh, ring the bell for the
servant!” As the servant opened the door for the Colonel to pass,
the irate gentleman said to him, quite childishly,--but in fierce
tones,--“Bring me my cut glass carafe of cold water instantly.”
A few days later, as we were again sitting on the piazza, having a
pleasant chat, this same gentleman told me, with great indignation,
of the insults they were now compelled to take from free niggers. He
said that a servant maid had become so independent that she would not
answer her mistress’ bell. “I determined to stop such presumption and
ordered my wife to continue ringing while I went down and hid myself
behind the kitchen door. The bell rang and rang again while the wench
laughed and said to another servant: ‘She can just keep on a ringin’,
an’ when I gets good and ready I’ll come!’ This was too much,” he
said. “I went quickly forward into the kitchen and slapped her black
face twice! The insolent hussy had the temerity to have me hauled to
court and bound over to keep the peace!” This was the saddest effect
I had yet seen of the influence of slave-holding.
While boarding with Mrs. Painter I met that eccentric yet anomalous
woman, Doctor Mary Walker, pleasant, refined and interesting, despite
the semi-masculine garb she had then adopted. Her husband, an army
surgeon, was, I think, then living, but died soon after the war.
In speaking of her dress, her arguments and logic were unanswerable.
She wore loose, long trousers to boot tops, a skirt below her knees,
a close-fitting jacket and cape, much like an officer’s, high collar
and soft hat, all rather becoming for her petite style.
“You,” she said, “with long skirts, sweep up and carry home with you
samples of all sorts of filth from the streets, and besides you are
not modest, for when you must lift your skirts there is always a
suggestive display of hosiery, while I go home free from extraneous
matter and never have to expose my ankles.” This was perfect hygiene
and logical; and many times in my army work I wished I could go about
without drabbled skirts.
Doctor Walker was, I think, a graduate physician and did much good
among sick soldiers. But she gradually grew more pronounced in her
mannish attire, and was many times arrested for that infringement
of the law. She always pleaded her own case so logically that she
was generally dismissed with a reprimand, and cautioned not to do
so again. But to this warning she paid no regard; and at one time
entered the court-room bearing the United States flag and claiming
her rights as an American citizen.
The last I heard of Doctor Mary Walker was from a friend who, in
1908, saw her,--then grown old,--in a Brooklyn car. She was dressed
in full male costume,--trousers, collar, tie, dress coat, high silk
hat, and held a gaudy little cane.
It was reported that, at a recent Suffrage Convention in Albany,
Doctor Walker claimed that New Jersey’s early constitution included
Women’s Suffrage,--that this part of the constitution was never
finally repealed, though abrogated in some way, and that therefore
New Jersey is a Suffrage State.