THE HOSPITALS AT FREDERICKSBURGH.
The journey from the battle-field--Sufferings of the wounded--A
surgeon's letters--Rebel hatred--Assistance from the north--A
father in search of his boy--The wounded sent to Washington.
Let us turn now from the field of battle to Fredericksburgh, that great
depot for wounded men.
It will be recollected that, from Piney Branch church, the trains, with
the wounded from the Wilderness, were sent to Fredericksburgh. Over a
rough road, nearly fifteen miles, these unfortunate men, with shattered
or amputated limbs, with shots through the lungs or head or abdomen,
suffering the most excruciating pain from every jar or jolt of the
ambulance or wagon, crowded as closely as they could be packed, were to
be transported. Already they had been carted about over many miles of
hard road, most of them having been carried from the old gold mine to
Chancellorsville, and now again loaded and brought to Spottsylvania.
They were worn out with fatigue and suffering, and yet there was much
misery in store for them. Slowly the immense train labored over the
rough road, now corduroy, now the remains of a worn out plank road, and
anon a series of ruts and mud holes, until, at three o'clock on the
morning of the 9th of May, the head of the train arrived in
Fredericksburgh.
The train had been preceded by some three hundred men who were wounded
but able to walk. Mayor Slaughter and other rebel citizens surrounded
these unarmed men, made them prisoners and delivered them to some rebel
cavalry, who took them to Richmond.
The process of unloading the wounded at once commenced; all the churches
and other public buildings were first seized and filled. Negroes who
could be found in town were pressed into the work, yet, with all the
help that could be obtained, it was a slow process. All night and all
the next day the work went on. The churches were filled first, then
warehouses and stores, and then private houses, until the town was
literally one immense hospital.
The surgeons were too much engaged in transferring the men from the
wagons to the houses to find time that day to dress many wounds, and
many an unfortunate soldier whose stump of an arm or leg had not been
dressed since the first day of the fighting, became the victim of
gangrene, which set in as the result of this unavoidable want of care.
No sooner were the men removed from the ambulances than surgeons and
nurses addressed themselves with all the strength that remained to them
to relieve the immediate wants of the sufferers. Never before had such
herculean labors been thrown upon so small a body of men, yet nobly did
they accomplish the task. All the buildings in town were full of wounded
men, the walks were covered with them, and long trains of ambulances
were filling the streets with more. Yet to relieve the wants of all
these thousands of suffering men not more than forty surgeons had been
sent from the field.
It was one grand funeral; men were dropping away on every side. Large
numbers of nurses were detailed as burial parties, and these plied their
work day after day with hardly time for their needed rest.
Surgeons were completely worn out, and many of them, had to be sent to
Washington, fairly broken down with their labors.
The following extract from a letter of a surgeon at Fredericksburgh to
his wife, written on the 11th, may convey something of an idea of the
experience of the medical officers during those terrible days. He says:
"We are almost worked to death; my feet are terribly swollen; yet we
cannot rest for there are so many poor fellows who are suffering. All
day yesterday I worked at the operating table. That was the fourth day
that I had worked at those terrible operations since the battle
commenced, and I have also worked at the tables two whole nights and
part of another. Oh! it is awful. It does not seem as though I could
take a knife in my hand to-day, yet there are a hundred cases of
amputations waiting for me. Poor fellows come and beg almost on their
knees for the first chance to have an arm taken off. It is a scene of
horror such as I never saw. God forbid that I should ever see another."
Again, the same officer writing a day or two later, says, "It is
fearful. I see so many grand men dropping one by one. They are my
acquaintances and my friends. They look to me for help, and I have to
turn away heartsick at my want of ability to relieve their sufferings.
Captain Walker of the Seventh Maine is dying to-night. He is a noble
good man, and he looks in my face and pleads for help. Adjutant Hessy
and Lieutenant Hooper of the same regiment died last night. All were my
friends, and all thought that I could save them. General Sedgwick is
dead, and General Getty and General Torbert are my patients.... Mrs.
Lewis has just come; what a blessing her presence will be to the
colonel, who bears the loss of his arm so bravely. Colonel Barney of the
Sixth Vermont died yesterday, and Major Fryer of the Forty-third is
dying. The major says, 'Doctor, can nothing be done?' Major Dudley lies
in the room where I am writing, seriously wounded.... I have to-day sent
sixty officers of the Sixth corps to Washington.... Oh! can I ever write
anything beside these mournful details? Hundreds of ambulances are
coming into town now, and it is almost midnight. So they come every
night."
For a time it was almost impossible to obtain sufficient supplies either
of food or dressings. Everything that could be spared from the field had
been sent, but in the field they were still fighting terrible battles,
and there was little to spare. Food was obtained in very limited
quantities in town, and men went to the houses of citizens and demanded
sheets, which were torn into bandages.
But large supplies were sent from Washington by the government in a few
days, so that all necessary articles were furnished in abundance, with a
profusion of lemons, oranges and canned fruit. The Sanitary Commission
was also on hand with large supplies of delicacies, which were joyfully
received by the wounded heroes, who not only relished the luxuries, but
remembered that they were the gifts of friends at home, who had not
forgotten the soldiers.
Many of the people of Fredericksburgh exhibited the most malignant spite
against the "Yankee wounded;" but others, while they claimed no sympathy
with our cause, showed themselves friends of humanity, and rendered us
all the assistance in their power. No men, except negroes and white men
unfit for military duty, were left in town, but the women were bitter
rebels. Some of them made fierce opposition to the use of their houses
as hospitals, but they were occupied notwithstanding their
remonstrances.
At one fine mansion a surgeon rang the door bell, and in a moment saw
the door open just enough to show the nose and a pair of small twinkling
eyes of what was evidently a portly women. "What do you want?" snarled
out the female defender of the premises. "We want to come and see if we
can place a few wounded officers in this house." "You can't come in
here!" shouted the woman slamming the door together. A few knocks
induced her again to open the door two or three inches. "Madam, we must
come in here; we shall do you no harm." "You can't come here; I am a
lone widow." "But I assure you no harm is intended you." Again the door
was closed, and again at the summons was opened. "Madam, it will be much
better for you to allow us to enter than for me to direct these men to
force the door; but we must enter." The woman now threw the door wide
open and rushing into the yard with as much alacrity as her enormous
proportions would admit, threw her arms out and whirled about like a
reversed spinning top shouting for help. She was again assured that no
harm was intended her, but that unless she chose to show us the house we
should be obliged to go alone. Concluding that wisdom was the better
part of valor, she proceeded to show us the rooms.
At another mansion, one of the finest in Fredericksburgh, a red-haired
woman thrust her head out of the side window, in answer to the ring of
the door bell:
"What do you want here?"
"We wish to place some wounded officers in this house."
"You can't bring any officers nor anybody else to this house. I'm all
alone. I hope you have more honor than to come and disturb defenseless,
unprotected women."
"Have you no husband?"
"Yes, thank God, he's a colonel in the confederate service."
"Well, if your husband was at home, where he ought to be, you would not
be a defenseless woman."
The woman refused to unbolt the door, in spite of all persuasion, but
while she railed at the "detestable Yankees," a soldier climbed in at a
window in the rear, and unbolted the door. Her splendid rooms and fine
mattresses furnished lodgings for twenty wounded officers. Day after
day, the gloom of death hung over the town. Hundreds of our brave
fellows were dying. Some of the finest officers of our army were daily
yielding to the destroyer.
Among the severe losses to the Sixth corps were, Colonel Barney, of the
Sixth Vermont, who had been shot through the head. He died on the 10th.
He was one of the noblest of the sons of Vermont, a pattern of a brave
soldier and Christian gentleman, respected for his ability as a
commander, and loved for his social virtues; he was lamented by the
whole corps. Major Fryer, of the Forty-third New York, one of the most
promising young officers in the corps, died on the 12th, from wounds
through the left arm and lungs. Captain Walker and Adjutant Hesse, of
the Seventh Maine, and Lieutenants Hooper and Vining, of the same
regiment, all died within a few hours of each other. Lieutenants
Follensbee and Cook, of the Thirty-seventh Massachusetts, and Captain
Kirkbride, of the One Hundred and Second Pennsylvania, were also among
those who died. Major Dudley, of the Fifth Vermont, after suffering
untold agony for many days, finally yielded, and died in the embraces of
his youthful wife, who had arrived in Fredericksburgh just in time to be
present during his last hours. The major had gone into the fight sick
with a fever, but his determined bravery forbade him to remain quiet.
Receiving a severe wound while thus depressed by disease, he gradually
sunk, until his brave spirit took its departure.
These were a few of the sad, sad scenes, which brought sorrow to our
hearts day after day, of the hospitals at Fredericksburgh.
Physicians and nurses from civil life came to our assistance in large
numbers. Some were earnest men, wholly devoted to the object of
relieving the distress which they saw on every side. Others had come for
selfish purposes.
Physicians who had never performed an important surgical operation came
armed with amputating cases, and seemed to think that there was but one
thing to be done, _to operate_ as they said.
Distressed fathers and brothers wandered about the town, in search of
information regarding some son or friend who had been wounded, or
perhaps, as they feared, killed.
The following is but an example of many sad incidents of this kind: H.
A. Bowers, of the Seventy-seventh New York, a young man much beloved and
respected in his regiment, was wounded through the chest on the 5th of
May, and with the other wounded brought to Fredericksburgh. His father,
who resided in Albany, received the intelligence that his son was
dangerously wounded, and hastened to Fredericksburgh in search of him.
He arrived at that immense hospital, and at once commenced his inquiries
after his soldier boy. Failing to learn anything of him, except the
assurance that he had been placed in the ambulances, he sought out the
quartermaster of the Seventy-seventh, who was with the army train just
out of town. The quartermaster readily lent his aid in the search, and
both at once sought the surgeon of that regiment for information, but
he, having the care of a multitude, could tell them nothing of the
object of their search. Thousands of wounded men were here, filling the
city, but, thus far, the important duties of relieving their immediate
necessities had occupied the attention of surgeons and attendants to the
exclusion of everything else; and no record or register had been made by
which a particular wounded man might be found. Unless some friend or
acquaintance could direct to his place, the search was often long. The
nurses were instructed to afford the anxious father every assistance in
finding his son. Two more long weary days were spent in the fruitless
search, when word was sent to the father that his boy might be found in
a certain church. Overjoyed at the thought that at last his search was
to be crowned with success, he hastened to the place. Who shall attempt
to tell the anguish of that father, when, on reaching the hospital, he
found that his son had expired half an hour before!
At length, by the 26th of May, all the wounded men were sent by
transports to Washington, and the hospitals broken up. The surgeons,
escorted by a squadron of cavalry, crossed the country by way of Bowling
Green, and, after a three days' journey, rejoined the army at Hanover.