HOSPITAL SERVICE.
Wounded arriving. -- Care of my own Men. -- Appointment as
Assistant-surgeon. -- Discharge from Rebel Army. -- Dreadful
Scenes. -- Sickness. -- Nurses. -- Stoicism. -- Military
Murder of a Deserter. -- No Pay. -- Go to Mobile. -- Spirit
of the People on the Way. -- Met at Depot. -- No Means of
Escape. -- The Stagnant City. -- Surveillance of the Press.
-- Forced Charity. -- In charge of a Hospital. -- Selma. --
Kindness of Ladies. -- Piano. -- Artesian Wells. -- Model
Hospital. -- Furlough to Richmond. -- Rigid Discipline. --
Disappointment. -- Bitter Thoughts. -- Crinoline and
Volunteering. -- North asleep.
The wounded were now arriving in large numbers, but so exhausted by
the loss of blood, the jolting in rough wagons, and the exposure of
the fearful night, that many were too far gone for relief.
As I had, while at school in New York, frequented the hospitals, and
also attended two courses of medical lectures, I had gained a little
knowledge of wounds and their treatment. This fact, and a special
fondness if not aptitude for that study, decided my future course.
My first care was for the members of the company I had commanded
during the long retreat from Nashville; hence I went out to seek
them. Meeting them a short distance from Corinth, I had them taken
to a hospital established in an unfinished brick church in the north
end of the town, and here I remained, giving them all possible care
and attention.
Next morning, Dr. J.C. Nott, Surgeon-general of the Western division
of the Confederate service, appointed me as assistant-surgeon on his
staff. The scarcity of surgeons to meet the immense demand, and,
perhaps, a little skill shown in dressing wounds, secured me this
appointment. On the following Saturday, April 12, 1862, I obtained
an honorable discharge from the army, on account of my wounds,
but retained my position of assistant-surgeon, as a civilian
appointment.
During the ten days I remained at Corinth the town was a perfect
_aceldama_, though all was done that could be to save life and
alleviate suffering. Many of the best surgeons in the South arrived
in time to render valuable assistance to the army surgeons in their
laborious duties. Among these may be named Surrell of Virginia,
Hargis and Baldwin of Mississippi, Richardson of New Orleans, La
Fressne of Alabama, with many others of high reputation. During the
week following the battle the wounded were brought in by hundreds,
and the surgeons were overtasked. Above 5000 wounded men, demanding
instant and constant attendance, made a call too great to be met
successfully. A much larger proportion of amputations was performed
than would have been necessary if the wounds could have received
earlier attention. On account of exposures, many wounds were
gangrenous when the patients reached the hospital. In these cases
delay was fatal, and an operation almost equally so, as tetanus
often followed speedily. Where amputation was performed, eight out
of ten died. The deaths in Corinth averaged fifty per day for a week
after the battle. While the surgeons, as a body, did their duty
nobly, there were some young men, apparently just out of college,
who performed difficult operations with the assurance and assumed
skill of practiced surgeons, and with little regard for human life
or limb. In a few days erysipelas broke out, and numbers died of it.
Pneumonia, typhoid fever, and measles followed, and Corinth was one
entire hospital. As soon as possible, the wounded who could be moved
were sent off to Columbus, Okalona, Lauderdale Springs, and
elsewhere, and some relief was thus obtained. We were also comforted
by the arrival of a corps of nurses. Their presence acted like a
charm. Order emerged from chaos, and in a few hours all looked
cleaner and really felt better, from the skill and industry of a few
devoted women. A pleasant instance of the restraint of woman's
presence upon the roughest natures occurred in the hospital I was
attending. A stalwart backwoodsman was suffering from a broken arm,
and had been venting his spleen upon the doctors and male nurses by
continued profanity; but when one of his fellow-sufferers uttered an
oath, while the "Sisters" were near ministering to the comfort of
the wounded, he sharply reproved him, demanding--"Have you no more
manners than to swear in the presence of ladies?" All honor to
these devoted Sisters, who, fearless of danger and disease,
sacrificed every personal comfort to alleviate the sufferings of the
sick and wounded after this terrible battle.
An instance of most heroic endurance, if not of fool-hardy stoicism,
such as has few parallels in history, occurred during the contest,
which deserves mention. Brigadier-general Gladden, of South
Carolina, who was in General Bragg's command, had his left arm
shattered by a ball, on the first day of the fight. Amputation was
performed hastily by his staff-surgeon on the field; and then,
instead of being taken to the rear for quiet and nursing, he mounted
his horse, against the most earnest remonstrances of all his staff,
and continued to command. On Monday, he was again in the saddle, and
kept it during the day; on Tuesday, he rode on horseback to Corinth,
twenty miles from the scene of action, and continued to discharge
the duties of an officer. On Wednesday, a second amputation, near
the shoulder, was necessary, when General Bragg sent an aid to ask
if he would not be relieved of his command. To which he replied,
"Give General Bragg my compliments, and say that General Gladden
will only give up his command to go into his coffin." Against the
remonstrances of personal friends, and the positive injunctions of
the surgeons, he persisted in sitting up in his chair, receiving
dispatches and giving directions, till Wednesday afternoon, when
lockjaw seized him, and he died in a few moments. A sad end was
this, for a man possessing many of the noblest and most exalted
characteristics.
Two days thereafter, on the 11th of April, there was perpetrated one
of the most diabolical murders ever sanctioned by the forms of law.
It illustrates the atrocious wickedness of the rebellion, and the
peril of sympathy with the Union cause in the South. Patriotism here
wins applause, there a culprit's doom. The facts were these: When
the Rebels were raising a force in Eastern Tennessee, two brothers
by the name of Rowland volunteered; a younger brother, William H.
Rowland, was a Union man, and refusing to enlist was seized and
forced into the army. He constantly protested against his
impressment, but without avail. He then warned them that he would
desert the first opportunity, as he would not fight against the
cause of right and good government. They were inexorable, and he was
torn from his family and hurried to the field. At the battle of Fort
Donelson, Rowland escaped from his captors in the second day's
action, and immediately joined the loyal army. Though now, to fight
against his own brothers, he felt that he was in a righteous cause,
and contending for a worthy end.
In the battle of Pittsburg Landing he was taken prisoner by the very
regiment to which he had formerly belonged. This sealed his fate. On
the way to Corinth several of his old comrades, among them his two
brothers, attempted to kill him, one of them nearly running him
through with a bayonet. He was, however, rescued from this peril by
the guard. Three days after the retreating army had reached Corinth,
General Hardee, in whose division was the regiment claiming this man
as a deserter, gave orders to have Rowland executed. The general, I
hope from some misgivings of conscience, was unwilling to witness
the execution of his own order, and detailed General Claibourne to
carry out the sentence. About four o'clock P.M., some 10,000
Tennessee troops were drawn up in two parallel lines, facing inward,
three hundred yards apart. The doomed man, surrounded by the guard,
detailed from his own former regiment to shoot him, marched with a
firm step into the middle of the space between the two lines of
troops. Here his grave had been already dug, and a black pine coffin
lay beside it. No minister of religion offered to direct his
thoughts to a gracious Saviour. I fear he was poorly prepared for
the eternity upon which he was just entering.
The sentence was read, and he was asked if he had any thing to say
why it should not be executed. He spoke in a firm, decided tone, in
a voice which could be heard by many hundreds, and nearly in the
following words. "Fellow-soldiers, Tennesseans, I was forced into
Southern service against my will and against my conscience. I told
them I would desert the first chance I found, and I did it. I was
always a Union man and never denied it, and I joined the Union army
to do all the damage I could to the Confederates. I believe the
Union cause is right and will triumph. You can kill me but once, and
I am not afraid to die in a good cause. My only request is, that you
let my wife and family know that I died like a man in supporting my
principles. My brothers there would shoot me if they had a chance,
but I forgive them. Now shoot me through the heart, that I may die
instantly."
Such were his fearless, even defiant words, and I recall them with
the distinctness of a present thought, for it needed little
imagination to place myself in his stead. Had I succeeded in
escaping at any former period and been retaken, this would have been
my fate. While I saw the hazard, I was none the less resolved to
make the attempt, and soon.
After Rowland had ceased to speak, he took off hat, coat, and
necktie, and laying his hand on his heart, he said, "Aim here." But
the sergeant of the guard advanced to tie his hands and blindfold
him. He asked the privilege of standing untied; the request was not
granted. His eyes were then bandaged, he kneeled upon his coffin,
and engaged in prayer for several minutes, and then said he was
ready. The lieutenant of the guard then gave the word, "Fire," and
twenty-four muskets, half of them loaded with ball, were discharged.
When the smoke lifted, the body had fallen backward, and was still.
Several balls had passed through his head, and some through his
heart. His body was tumbled into the rough pine box, and buried by
the men that shot him. Such was the fate of a Tennessee patriot. His
blood will be required of those who instigated the Rebellion.
General Hardee said afterward, when the scene was described to him,
"I think the man was half crazy from brooding over his _fancied
wrongs_. His execution was necessary to prevent others from
deserting, but no sum of money could have induced me to witness it."
General, were they "fancied wrongs!"
This scene strengthened my purpose to disconnect myself from the
South as soon as I could get my pay, which was now many months in
arrears. I could not travel many hundreds of miles without means,
and in a direction to excite suspicion in the mind of every man I
might meet. But the paymaster was not in funds; and while he
approved and indorsed my bills, he said I must go to Richmond to
receive the money. I had not means to go to Richmond. My horses, of
which I owned two, I was determined to keep, to aid me off; hence I
was forced to continue in my position as assistant-surgeon for a
time.
On the 17th of April, the surgeon-general to whose staff I was
attached left Corinth for Mobile, nearly three hundred miles
distant, with a train conveying about forty wounded men. The journey
was tedious, and to the wounded, painful, as they occupied box-cars
without springs, and the weather was exceedingly warm. A few of the
men were left under the care of physicians by the way, being unable
to endure the motion of the cars. We proceeded leisurely from
station to station, stopping long enough to receive provisions for
all on board from the citizens on the line of the road, which were
freely and gratuitously furnished. Wherever we stopped long enough
to give the people time to assemble, crowds came to offer
relief,--ladies with flowers, jellies, and cakes for the poor
fellows, and men with the more substantial provisions. One rich old
gentleman at Lauderdale Springs, named Martin, sent in a wagon
loaded with stores. This exuberance of supplies thus voluntarily
furnished, is an index of the feeling of the masses in the South as
to the cause in which they have embarked their all.
At the end of two and a half days we reached Mobile, and were met at
the depot by a large company of ladies with carriages, to take the
wounded men to a spacious and airy hospital, prepared with every
necessary and comfort which could be devised. A large number of
servants were in attendance, to carry those too severely wounded to
ride in the carriages; and whatever water, and clean suits, and
food, and smiles, and sympathy, and Christian conversation, and
religious books, could do for their comfort, was done.
After seeing the men nicely cared for, and resting, I set myself to
investigations as to the possibility of escape from Mobile out to
the blockading fleet, in case I could not get my pay to go home by
land. I met no cheering facts in this search. There were about 4000
troops in and around the city. Fort Morgan was strongly guarded, and
egress was difficult, while the Union fleet lay far out. I gave this
up, as not feasible for the present, at least.
Mobile was stagnant commercially, business at a stand-still, many
stores closed, and all looked gloomy. The arrival from Havana of a
vessel which had eluded the blockading fleet, loaded with coffee,
cigars, &c., produced a temporary and feeble excitement. But so
frequent were these arrivals that the novelty had worn off: though
in this fact I see no ground for reproaching either the heads of
department at Washington or the commanders of the blockading
squadron at that point. The whole coast is indented with bays, and
interior lines of navigable water are numerous; so that nothing but
a cordon of ships, in close proximity along the whole coast, could
entirely forbid ingress and egress.
Another instance of the rigid surveillance of the press maintained
in the Confederate States is suggested by this incident. The city
papers of Mobile made no mention of this arrival, though all knew
it. Early in the year, Southern papers boasted of the number of
ships which accomplished the feat, giving names, places, and
cargoes; but months ago this was forbidden, and wisely for their
interests. Recently I have seen no mention in Southern papers of the
importation of cannon or any thing else, except in purposely blind
phrase as to time and place.
I returned to the hospital, feeling that my destinies were wrapped
up with it for a while yet. Here I witnessed an illustration of the
power of popular enthusiasm worthy of mention. A miserly old
gentleman, who had never been known, it was said, to do a generous
act, and who had thrown off all appeals for aid to ordinary
benevolent causes with an imperative negative, was so overcome by
the popular breeze in favor of the soldiers, that he came into the
hospital with a roll of bank-bills in his hand, and passing from cot
to cot gave each wounded man a five-dollar bill, repeating, with a
spasmodic jerk of his head and a forced smile, "Make yourself
comfortable; make yourself comfortable, my good fellow." I am afraid
he, poor fellow, did not feel very comfortable, as his money was
screwed out of him by the power of public opinion.
The Surgeon-general, a man as noble in private life as distinguished
in his profession, asked me to take charge of a hospital at Selma,
one hundred and eighty miles up the Alabama river, under the
direction of Dr. W.P. Reese, post-surgeon; and on the 21st of April
I left for that place, with twenty-three wounded men under my care.
We reached the town the next day, my men improved by the river
transit. Here we were again met by carriages, in readiness to convey
the wounded to a hospital, fitted up in a large Female Seminary
building, admirably adapted for the purpose, with spacious rooms,
high ceilings, and well ventilated. One wing of this building,
containing a large music-room, was appropriated to my charge. The
sick men of a regiment organizing there, occupied another part of
the building. The school, like so many others in the South, was
scattered by the war.
Here again we were burdened with kindness from the ladies. Wines,
jellies, strawberries, cakes, flowers, were always abundant, served
by beautiful women, with the most bewitching smiles. I had been so
long cut off from refined female society, that I appreciated most
profoundly their kind attentions. So intent were they upon
contributing to the comfort of the men who had been wounded in
protecting their homes, as they regarded it, that they brought a
piano into my ward, and the young ladies vied with each other in
delectating us with the Marseillaise, Dixie, and like patriotic
songs, interspersing occasionally something about moonlight walks in
Southern bowers, &c, which my modesty would not allow me to suppose
had any reference to the tall young surgeon.
Selma is a beautiful town of three or four thousand inhabitants,
situated on the right bank of the Alabama river, on a level plateau,
stretching off from the bank, which rises from forty to fifty feet
above the river by a steep ascent. A distinguishing feature of the
place is its Artesian wells, said to be equal to any in the world.
In the main street of the town, at the crossing of other streets,
are reservoirs, five in number, which receive the water thrown up
from a depth of many hundred feet, and in quantity far beyond the
demands of the inhabitants. The water is slightly impregnated with
mineral qualities, is pleasant to the taste, and regarded as
medicinal. The people of Selma are generally highly intelligent and
refined, and no more pleasant acquaintances did I form in the South
than here. Their zeal for the Rebel cause was up to fever heat, and
their benevolence for its soldiers without stint. The provisions for
the hospital were furnished gratuitously by a committee of the
Relief Association, and they appeared grieved that we made no more
demands upon them. That my hospital was a model of neatness and
perfection in its line, was attested by a report of Adjutant-general
Cooper, who visited incognito the hospitals through the South while
I was at Selma. He gave it the preference over all he had seen, in a
publication which appeared shortly after this time in the Southern
papers.
At the end of three weeks of attendance here, I obtained a furlough
for ten days, that I might go to Richmond to secure my pay. Securing
government transportation, I reached Richmond on the 15th of May,
exceedingly anxious to find the quartermaster in an amiable mood and
in funds; for upon my success here depended my hopes of a speedy
escape. Money will often accomplish what daring would not. But here
I was disappointed--at least partially. I secured but one-fifth of
my claim, which was admitted without question; but I was told that
the quartermaster of the Western division had funds, and I must get
the remainder there. My remonstrances availed nothing, and I left
the office in no amiable mood.
I now determined to avenge myself upon a faithless government, by
acquiring all possible information of the _status_ of the Rebel army
in and about Richmond, which might be of use to me and my country.
In this I also failed, from the exceeding, and, I must say, wise
vigilance of the authorities. My pass to enter the city allowed
nothing further--I must procure one to remain in the city, and this
was called for at almost every street corner; and then another to
leave the city, and only in one direction.
Although I appeared in the dress of an assistant-surgeon, with the
M.S. upon my cap, I could gain no access to the army outside of the
city, nor make any headway in my tour of observation; and as they
charged me five dollars per day at the Ballard House, I must soon
leave, or be swamped. I had not been so completely foiled in my
plans hitherto.
I left Richmond for Selma the 20th of May, reflecting bitterly upon
the character of a rebellion which, commenced in fraud, was
perpetuating itself by forcing its enemies to fight their own
friends, and then refused to pay them the stipulated price of their
enforced service. The longer I reflected, the more fully was I
convinced that I never would receive my pay. The conscription act,
which took effect the 16th of May, was being enforced with a
sweeping and searching universality. If I returned to Corinth to
seek the quartermaster there, the payment would be deferred, from
one excuse or another, until I should be forced into the service
again. The thought that the Rebel authorities were breaking their
pledges to pay me, that they might get their hated coils around me
once more, from which I had but partially extricated myself, almost
maddened me. I knew, moreover, that I could not long remain in
Selma, in my present situation. The men were all recovering, except
one poor fellow, who soon passed beyond the reach of earthly
mutilations, and no new shipments of wounded were coming on. And the
force of public opinion in Selma was such, that no man able to fight
could remain there. The unmarried ladies were so patriotic, that
every able-bodied young man was constrained to enlist. Some months
previous to this, a gentleman was known to be engaged for an early
marriage, and hence declined to volunteer. When his betrothed, a
charming girl and a devoted lover, heard of his refusal, she sent
him, by the hand of a slave, a package inclosing a note. The package
contained a lady's skirt and crinoline, and the note these terse
words: "Wear these, or volunteer." He volunteered.
When will the North wake up to a true and manly patriotism in the
defence of their national life, now threatened by the tiger-grasp of
this atrocious Rebellion? Hundreds upon hundreds of young men I see
in stores and shops, doing work that women could do quite as well;
and large numbers of older men who have grown wealthy under the
protection of our benign government, are idly grieving over the
taxation which the war imposes, and meanly asking if it will not
soon end, that their coffers may become plethoric of gold; while the
question is still unsettled whether the Rebellion shall sweep them
and their all into the vortex of ruin and anarchy. _The North is
asleep! and it will become the sleep of death, national death, if a
new spirit be not speedily awaked!_