Reminiscences of an Army Nurse (2024)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74812 ***

ADELAIDE·W·SMITH
INDEPENDENT
VOLUNTEER

GREAVES PUBLISHING COMPANY
New York
MCMXI

and to those brave women who, with smiling facesand breaking hearts, sent them forth to save theircountry and their homes, while they themselvestoiled in fields and elsewhere, waiting to welcomehome too many who never returned; and to thatband of heroic devoted women, many of whom leftluxurious homes for the discomforts and privationsof hospital life, and died, self-sacrificing patriots ofthe war, this true story is affectionately dedicated.

A. W. S.

COPYRIGHT 1911
BY
ADELAIDE W. SMITH

YORK PRINTING COMPANY
YORK, PA.

Contents

Foreword

This story, devoid of literary pretensions, isa simple narration of day by day experiences,as they came to me, during five years of volunteerwork in hospitals of the Civil War.

At the risk of some slight repetition, it has beenthought best to include “Recollections of Lincoln”and “Love in Camp” practically as they werewhen published separately.

I wish to express my high appreciation andthanks for the confidence and encouragement ofthose friends who thought the book should be writtenthat the younger generations may know somethingof the work done by women during the war.

To the Rev. W. M. Brundage, of Brooklyn, I amespecially indebted for practical suggestions thathave made the publication possible.

With some limitations, during two summers, Ibetook myself to the unique Seventh-day-BaptistUniversity town of Alfred, New York, where thestory was written on the picturesque campus, in apure atmosphere free from all disturbing elements.

It has been a labor of love and pleasure to reviewthe old scenes, replete though they were with sufferingand death, for the thought of the comfort wewere able to give to the “Boys” and the remembranceof their gratitude remain. In no otherbenevolent work of my life was the reward so immediateand so inspiring as in this ministration. Ihave given real names and literal words as nearlyas possible, except in cases where there was somethingunpleasant to relate; and I may truly addthat, even to be young again, I would not havemissed those years of incessant care and anxiety,given in the hope of saving brave soldiers for theircountry and their homes.

A. W. S.

CHAPTER I

A VIEW OF THE SITUATION

It is not my intention to write history, but itseems advisable to mention in a few brief notesor extracts, for the benefit of the present generation,the sentiments held during the Civil War.

When the first Confederate shot was fired uponthe United States flag, then floating over FortSumter in Charleston Harbor, many months of unrest,foreboding, and apprehension of a comingterror were experienced by the people of the North.This fatal shot caused the separation of hithertodevoted families; fathers and sons were arrayedagainst each other, some in hate, some in sorrow;and even mothers, wives and sisters shared this unholyanimosity. All took pronounced sides withNorth or South, except the “copperheads,” whomall loyal Northerners despised.

General Winfield Scott, the hero of many a hardfought Mexican battle, though quite superannuated,was still in command of the United Statesarmies. Imperative, supercilious, an austere disciplinarian,usually adorned with all the ornamentationof his rank, with chapeau and white plumes, hewas, especially when well mounted, a conspicuousfigure, quite justifying his sobriquet of “Fuss andFeathers.”

In consequence of the secession of South Carolina,on December 20th, 1860, General Anderson,commander of the forts of the harbor of CharlestonBay, evacuated Fort Moultrie six days later.

The “Star of the West,” bringing reinforcements,was fired upon by the Confederates, thuspreventing the landing of United States troops.

On April 11th, 1861, General Anderson refusedan order to surrender to General Beauregard, who,during the 12th and 13th, ordered a furious bombardmentfrom the surrounding forts upon FortSumter. Being unprepared for the attack, GeneralAnderson was compelled to capitulate and to takerefuge, with his garrison, on ships outside the harbor.On April 14th, 1861, however, he saved theNational flag, which is now carefully preserved inthe Museum of the War Department at Washington,no casualties having occurred.

The fort was held by the Confederates till theevacuation of Charleston, February 17th, 1865.

On April 14th, 1865, General Anderson had thehappiness to raise the old flag once more, with hisown hands, over the demolished fort.

The following extracts from an unpublished letterof John White Chadwick were selected andkindly given me by Mrs. Chadwick.

SOME EXTRACTS FROM AN ACCOUNT OF A TRIP
TO CHARLESTON AND BACK
ON THE OCCASION OF THE RAISING OF THE FLAG
ON FORT SUMTER AFTER THE CIVIL WAR.

The Government called for seventy-five thousandtroops on April 15th to put down the rebellion “inninety days,” according to Secretary Seward’s confidentannouncement.

On April 19th, the Sixth Regiment of the MassachusettsBrigade, first to respond to the call, wasfired upon by a mob while passing through Baltimore,and a number were wounded and some killed.

The Ellsworth Zouaves were enlisted chieflythrough the enthusiastic patriotism of youngColonel Ellsworth, who, on arriving at Alexandriawith his regiment, saw a Confederate flag flyingabove a small hotel, and at once ordered the flaghauled down. This was refused, and the indignantboy rashly rushed to the roof, and dared to pull itdown himself, when he was shot dead by the rebelowner. Colonel Ellsworth was killed May 24th,1861. Lincoln’s grief at the death of this daringboy was overwhelming. Ellsworth had studiedlaw with him for a time in his office, and he lovedhim as a son; and as a son and early martyr of thewar, he was laid in state at the White House forfuneral services.

War with its untold horrors had begun.

Meanwhile it was becoming evident that PresidentBuchanan had permitted, or had at least becomestrangely blind to the introduction of foreignammunition into Southern ports, while the traitorSecretary Floyd, still under oath to the Union, heldhis office until the last possible moment, encouragingand assisting the South in building forts and, inmany ways, accumulating almost openly materialsof war.

At last the people awoke to the fact that manysouthern regiments and garrisons were wellequipped for the conflict, while the unsuspectingNorth was almost wholly unprepared. People hadbecome so accustomed to “fire-eaters’ bluster”and their threats and boastings of the superiorprowess of the South that, if they listened at all, itwas considered mere political bombast whichpassed unheeded until war was actually begun.

In November, 1861, General McClellan supercededGeneral Scott, who then retired from activeduty, at the age of seventy-five, and died later atthe good old age of eighty.

General McClellan began a slow thorough systemof discipline, which was very trying to the enthusiasmof volunteer recruits, who soon discoveredthat to use the pick and shovel were as essentialduties as carrying a musket, and were now compelledto work in swamps and trenches throwingup earthworks and entrenchments for many longmonths.

The impatient public claimed that egotism andambition prevented General McClellan from moving“on to Richmond,” thus prolonging the war,and his army settled down before the enemy “inmasterly inactivity.” During this time many disgruntledsoldiers climbed hills and trees and sawthe city of Richmond practically defenseless “forthree days.” Still he did not move. This largearmy had lived and worked in earthworks for manyweary months, until malaria and dysentery had senthundreds of incapacitated soldiers North to becared for. They were among the first bitter fruitsof the terrible struggle scarcely yet begun.

Not long after the defeat at Bull Run—​Manassas,—​bothsides claimed the victory,—​didwe for a moment believe that Southern couragewas equal to Northern valor in an open conflict, orthat the rebellion could not be put down within afew months; and so we stood aghast when the attackunder General McDowell failed to put downthe rebellion in a single battle.

General Horatio C. King, in his address beforethe thirty-seventh reunion of the Army of the Potomac,repeated these potent words of GeneralGrant:

“As I recall the interview General Grant spokein substance as follows: ‘I cannot imagine whyany one should conceive for a moment that I wouldnot be glad to work in any capacity with GeneralMcClellan. I have known him but little personallysince we served together in Mexico, but I havealways admired him both as a man and as a soldier,and I am probably under greater obligations toGeneral McClellan than to any one man now living.General McClellan was called to a great command,unfortunately for him too early in the history of thewar, when many difficult military and politicalquestions remained unsettled. He and his actswere the subject of wide discussion and unjust criticism,but General McClellan was the man whocreated the great instrumentality with which I hadthe honor of closing out the rebellion. GeneralMcClellan organized, trained, disciplined, led, andinspired the Army of the Potomac. General McClellanmade that army the finest fighting machineof our day, if not of any time. It was his goodwork in creating that army which enabled me inmy turn to accomplish the things for which I receivedthe glory, and for all of which I am gratefulto General McClellan.’”

CHAPTER II

LONG ISLAND COLLEGE HOSPITAL,BROOKLYN

In July, 1862, one hundred and twenty-five patientsfrom the Army of the Potomac were sentto the Long Island College Hospital. No adequatepreparation had been made to provide forthese sick men. Through the press a public callwas sent out for volunteers. Many ladies and gentlemenat once offered to help care for the sick,and to supply food for their emaciated bodies.

An endorsement of the distinguished physicianof Romson Street, Dr. Burge, made me quite happyby affording me the privilege of helping to care forthe soldiers in our city.

Among the large number of our best Brooklynpeople to volunteer their help and support was oursaintly Mrs. Richard Manning, who continued herministration throughout the long duration of thewar, and for many years after gave substantial helpto the destitute families of soldiers; and also Mrs.Anna C. Field, chief organizer and president of theWoman’s Club, as well as of the Woman’s SuffragistAssociation. Both of these clubs celebrated,during the spring of 1909, in the new BrooklynAcademy of Music, the fortieth anniversary of theirorganization. I believe that, in modern Brooklyn,no other woman has done so much, in her long lifeof benevolence and charity, as this Mother ofBrooklyn Clubs, for the elevation and encouragementof women especially in ethics and literature.

Watches of four hours each during the day wereassigned to the women, and at night the same numberof hours were allotted to men volunteers.

Owing to the astonishing liberality of the citizensof Brooklyn, the hospital donations seemed like agreat cornucopia overflowing the larders of the improvisedkitchen. Tender, motherly care, combinedwith the best of diet, at once restored many apoor, hungry homesick boy. Most of them recoveredand returned to their regiments or were senthome.

My first patient was a bright, cheerful youngman, Allan Foote, of Michigan, who had been dangerouslywounded by a shot that passed throughthe left lung and out at his back. Such woundswere then supposed to be fatal. He was, however,convalescent, and later was discharged. When hereturned to his home in Michigan he again enlisted,raised a company, and went out once more to thefront as captain. This time he served till the endof the war, when he returned to his native Statesafe and well.

A lady, wishing to say something flattering ofhim to a visitor, remarked: “Why, he was shotright in his back.” Seeing the boy wince at thisinnocent imputation, I explained that he had receivedthat shot in the breast while facing theenemy in battle.

Among many incidents of his early army life,Allan Foote told me the following:

“I shall never forget his expression when myfather gave his written consent to my enlistment inthe army in April of ’61, as he handed it to me andsaid, while tears were running down his cheeks,‘My son, do your duty, die if it must be, but neverprove yourself a coward.’ We can hardly imagineat what cost that was given, and it is now a sourceof much satisfaction to me to know that God in Hismercy so guided me while in the service that noaction of mine has ever caused a pain to my father’sheart, and when I returned at the close of the warhe seemed as proud of my scars as I was.”

John Sherman was a remarkable case of lost identity.He was eighteen years of age, six feet inheight, with broad shoulders and a Washingtonianhead, and seemed like some great prone statue ashe lay perfectly helpless but for one hand,—​a gentlefair-haired boy to whom we became much attached.He was evidently refined, and perfectly clear on religiousand political subjects. Though without awound he had been completely paralyzed by concussioncaused by a cannon. He could take onlyinfants’ food and drank milk, which was all thenourishment he could retain. The mystery wasthat he claimed to come from Cattaraugus County,N. Y., but when I wrote letters to every possiblelocality, nothing could be learned of such a boy;nor could the officers of his regiment trace him duringthis time. Some scamp who claimed to comefrom his town, was admitted through the carelessnessof the hospital attendants, and so deceived thepoor boy that he gave him ninety dollars army payjust received, to send home to his father. Of coursethe scamp was never heard of again. My theory isthat he enlisted under an assumed name and town,and had, after the concussion, forgotten his realname and identity. He was sent to the Fifty-secondStreet hospital, where I saw him a year later,walking alone and quite well,—​a finely developedphysical form. Though he knew me, he held tohis old statement. Later he was cruelly persuadedto ask for a discharge which left him homeless, withno refuge but the poor house.

Soldiers’ homes were then unknown; and I fearthat, at least for a while, he was cared for as apauper. About this time I went to the “fieldwork” and lost sight of him, though I have oftenwondered what his fate has been.

A miserably thin, gaunt boy, whom we knew as“Say,” came under my observation. He wasnever satisfied, though he ate enormously, andwhenever we passed through his ward he invariablyshouted: “Say! ye ain’t got no pie nor cake, norcheese, nor nuthin’, hev ye?” When he reachedhome, his father, a farmer, sent to the hospital thelargest cheese I ever saw. This the men all craved;but it was a luxury denied them by the doctors.Patients often had it smuggled in. One poor fellowwas found dead, one morning, with a packageof cheese under his pillow.

As the “L. I. C. H.” was a city hospital, emergencyand other cases were often brought in. Apathetic case was that of a little boy about six yearsold, who had been run over by a street car. As helay, pale and mangled, awaiting the time to have hisleg amputated, his mother, in broken English,crooned and mourned over the unconscious child,saying, “Ach, mine liddle poy, he will nefer run mitodder poys in the street and haf not any more goodtimes.” I saw that the child would not live throughthe operation, and tried to comfort the poor motherwhile it was going on. When the mutilated, starklittle form was returned to her, her grief knew nobounds, though she still believed he would revive.

In another ward poor Isaac was slowly dying ofdysentery, gasping for a drink of cool water, whichthe rules of the profession at that day denied tosuch patients. Day after day he lay helpless, whilea large water cooler dripped constantly day andnight before his feverish eyes and parched body.

One day he called to me and said: “Won’t youplease sit on my cot so I can rest my knees againstyour back? They are so tired and I can’t holdthem up,”—​poor fleshless bones that had noweight. Somewhat relieved while I sat there hewent on: “Now, Miss Smith, you think I am dying,don’t you?”

“Well, Isaac,” I replied hesitatingly, “we fearyou are.”

Then with all the strength of his poor skeletonbody, he exclaimed, “O then, give me a drink ofwater that I may die easier. You know I am dying,so it can do no harm.”

Could I refuse a dying man a drink of water,even in the face of orders? He wanted “just apint.” Watching my chance I went quickly to thecooler and brought a glass of cool water. Withunnatural strength he raised himself and, reachingout for the glass, grasped it and swallowedthe water with one great gulp. Then returningthe empty glass he cried: “There, that was justhalf! O, give me the other half.” This I did,rather fearfully. After greedily drinking the waterhe dropped back with a sigh of relief, saying—​“NowI can die easy.” I arranged quietly withmy patients in the ward so that he could have wateras long as he lived; but not many days after I foundhis empty cot.

The hospital, at that time, was little known, beingquite obscured under the limitations of twoconservative, retrogressive old doctors, whoshowed no favor or sympathy for the sick men,and seemed to see them only as probable “subjects.”

Many just protests from the kindly women workerswere utterly disregarded by these doctors. Dr.Colton, a handsome young man then an interne,though not of age or yet graduated, found himselfoften between the “upper and nether millstones”of the urgency of volunteer workers, and the immovable,implacable heads of the hospital. Dr.Colton, now a successful retired physician, occupiesa prominent position in this hospital which, in lateyears, is ranked among the very best of Brooklyn’sinstitutions.

Meanwhile the people grew tired of the continualdemand for supplies, toward which the hospitalcontributed very little, though it drew regularlyfrom the government “rations” in the form ofthirty-seven cents per day for each man. Consequentlypublic contributions became very meagre.

Then in the autumn came ninety-one sick andwounded soldiers, who stood—​or dropped—​onthe grass plots surrounding the hospital whilewaiting to be enrolled. A procession of grey skeletons,they were ghastly, dirty, famished, withscarcely the semblance of men. One of themstared at me rather sharply and, seeing that I observedit, said, “Excuse me, ma’am, I haven’t seena white woman before in many months, an’ it seemsgood to look at you.”

It became difficult to get proper food in the hospitalfor the men. Some of the volunteers, likemyself, could still give their whole time and thoughtgratuitously, and we continued bringing suppliesfrom our homes for special cases. My mother sentgallons of shell clam juice,—​the most healing ofall natural tonics when boiled in the shell,—​whichbecame popular in the hospital. My mother alsoinvited companies of four or five convalescents at atime to “a good square meal,” when they alwayschose for their suppers, coffee, buckwheat cakesand sausages. Two gallons of batter would becomehot cakes; and it took the combined help ofthe whole family and the cook to keep them supplied;but the hungry boys were at last satisfiedand happy. I had no difficulty in obtaining passesfor them, as they felt in honor bound to returnpromptly to the hospital.

One poor fellow, dying of typhoid, was so irritableand profane to the ignorant, heartless men-nursesof the hospital, that they would not care forhim during the night. Realizing that the end wasnear, and feeling certain that he would otherwisedie alone, I decided one night to remain with himuntil his last breath. Just before he died, evenwhile the pallor of death overspread his face, hestruck at the nurse whom I had compelled to staynear to help him. At last the poor dying mangasped: “Lift me up higher! higher! higher!!”We raised the poor skeleton as high as we couldreach,—​and it was all over. His family refusedhis body, saying, “He was no good to us in life,why should we bury him?” It is not difficult toimagine that his home influences had been unfavorableto the development of moral character.

Clancy, then a fine looking, kindly policeman,had waited to take me home near morning, as hedid on other occasions of this kind.

Some months later, being almost the only youngwoman still visiting the hospital, I felt obliged toreport to that rarely good man, Mr. McMullen,—​whosebenevolence and generosity had at firstbrought the patients to the hospital and to the careof the people,—​the neglect of soldiers, who werethen treated like charity patients. He immediatelyreported these conditions to the medical department,and the men were removed to the governmenthospitals, which were by this time systematizedand in good running order.

After the patients had been transferred from theLong Island College Hospital, I secured a pass onthe steamboat Thomas P. Way, to visit hospitalsof the “Department of the East,” in charge ofSurgeon McDougall, a thorough disciplinarian,and a just, kind man.

David’s Island, on the Sound, had a finely conductedhospital, with a diet kitchen in charge ofladies. There I saw hundreds of well-fed, happyConfederate patients, so many, indeed, that theycould not be supplied at once with proper clothing,and so made a unique appearance as they walkedabout in dressing gowns, white drawers, and slippers.They were soon to be exchanged for ourown poor skeleton “Boys” who were coming homeslowly and painfully, some dying on the way, to bemet by kindly hands and aching hearts eagerlyawaiting them.

Fort Schuyler Hospital, on the East River, wasformed like a wheel, the hub being headquartersand the spokes extending into wards for patients.One young man of much refinement had been atone of our home suppers, and afterwards the companymade a pact that if we were alive one yearfrom that date we should hear each from the other.He exclaimed—​“Dead or alive, you shall hearfrom me!” Being a spiritualist he believed thispossible. He was sent to Fort Schuyler and onemonth later died of small-pox. At the appointeddate and hour a year later, I thought of this pactand tried to put myself in a receptive state. I didnot, however, see him nor feel any manifestationof his spirit.

CHAPTER III

BEDLOE’S ISLAND (NOW LIBERTY)

A number of influential ladies of New YorkCity had formed a society named “ParkBarracks Association.” By permission of theMayor, barracks were put up in the City Hall Parkfor temporary accommodation of soldiers. Butof that particular work I knew very little. Theseladies had, however, extended their benevolence toBedloe’s Island. They had, somehow, heard of mywork, and a committee waited upon me with an invitationto accompany them, by the Thomas P.Way, on its regular trip to the department hospitalson the river, including Bedloe’s Island, three and ahalf miles down New York Bay, where they wishedme to take charge of their “diet kitchen.” FortWood still stands on one side of the island, littlechanged since 1862. At that time twenty wardswere filled with about eighty patients.

The first floor of the square brick building on theNew York side was used as a dispensary, and thediet kitchen was also located here. On the secondfloor were the quarters of sick officers, occupied atthat time by only one officer who had been woundedat Antietam. Comfortable rooms on the thirdfloor became my apartments.

Each lady had a different opinion concerning themanagement of the kitchen, and urged the wisdomof her particular plan. I soon discovered, however,that Surgeon Campbell, in charge of the hospital,had been so annoyed by the irregular work of theseladies, that he had threatened to close the kitchen.Small wonder, when a different lady came eachweek and spent most of her time in undoing thework of her predecessor! They were extremelyanxious to have me take charge at once, but Iasked for twenty-four hours in which to consider,though my mind was already made up. This beinga volunteer work, I wrote the next day, saying thatI would take charge of the kitchen on one condition—​namely,that I should have no interferenceor direction from any member of the Association.This they thought rather severe, but it was myultimatum. They were glad to accept my terms,however, in order that they might continue theirbenevolent work on the island.

The day after I took charge, Surgeon Campbellcame into the kitchen for inspection and stoodaghast at the “confusion worse confounded.” Iwas standing on a chair in a closet, throwing inheaps on the floor endless packages from theshelves. I laughed at his despairing expression,and said, “Doctor, do not expect any order withinthree days, till these incongruous piles are classified.”There were shoes and cornstarch, “trigger”finger gloves and dried apples, shirts andbeans, “feetings” and comfort bags, and so on adinfinitum.

The clothing supplies I now separated from thefood donations, and had them sent up to my rooms,where, later, the men came with their demands, orwith written orders from the ladies, one or more ofwhom came every day. I soon discovered that,owing to a lack of system, some of the men hadsucceeded in getting four shirts instead of one; butI concluded that they were four times colder thantheir warmer-hearted comrades.

At last out of confusion came order. With thehelp of Surgeon Campbell I planned a printed list,lacking only the addition of the date, name of surgeon,and number of ward to which were to beadded each day’s orders. I went over this at night,frequently adding extras, and in the morning it wassent to the different wards when the ward masterscame for breakfast. The doctors then selected theproper diet for their patients, and the list was returnedbefore ten o’clock.

Four detailed soldiers acted as cooks and helpers.Andrew, a practical, kindly Scotchman, becamehead cook; and altogether we were muchgratified by our good fare. Our success along thisline was made easier by liberal government supplies,and the generous donations of the Association,which gave me “carte blanche” for specialcases. Our system worked admirably. When thedinner bugle sounded, the ward masters ran withtheir trays and pails; the first in order calling outhis ward number as he entered. I read aloud fromone of the twenty lists, which varied slightly eachday, and were kept hanging in a row. For example:

The cook served meats and vegetables, oneserved tea, coffee or milk in pails, while I managedthe jellies, stimulants, etc. We soon reduced thetime of distribution for eighty patients to fifteenminutes.

When Surgeon McDougall, in charge of the department,came with his staff to inspect our kitchen,they waited till all was served to the ward masters,and then he said: “Miss Smith, you have the bestconducted kitchen in the Department.” Havinghad little experience in cooking, this was a verypleasant surprise. The inspection was continuedby a member of the staff passing his white-glovedhand over the range and sides of the iron kettles,etc., which the men kept so clean that they left notrace. The men were also made happy by the approvalof the inspectors.

In addition to this we made large puddings forthe twenty wards, ten each day being all that ourovens could hold.

At the suggestion of Surgeon Campbell, a courteousScotch gentleman and strict disciplinarian, Iwore a dress of officers’ blue with infantry buttons,medical cadet shoulder straps with green bandsand gilt braid in the centre.

The Thomas P. Way came daily at 10 A. M.bringing ladies of the Association and many othervisitors. Andrew had learned to make “perfectcocoa,” which I had served to the guests in myrooms, where, from the large windows, they enjoyedthe fine view of Long Island, New Jerseyand New York shores.

This was before the days of “Liberty Island,”which later was made immortal by the gift of theFrench people and the great sculptor Bartholdi,whose heroic statue was to have been completedfor the great centennial fair of 1876. Failing toaccomplish this in time, he sent to Philadelphia thearm holding the torch which now lights the bay,and is a well known signal light to incoming vessels.While in Philadelphia, attending the exposition,with seven friends I climbed the narrow ladderin the arm, and all were able to sit in the circleof the great torch, now upheld by “Liberty.”

DAILY ROUTINE

Each morning I awoke at George’s call—​“Ha’f-a-pas-seex.”Andrew would send up a good breakfastfor two, as there was always some lady friendor one of my younger sisters to keep me companyat night. No other woman except the wives andfriends of the officers at the fort were allowed toremain on the island. The cooks soon learned tomanage the men’s breakfast without me.

At eight o’clock A. M. a dozen or more men cameto my door with orders from the ladies for underwearand many comforts. George, who did thework of a chambermaid, having cleared up my receptionroom (I did my own sleeping room) I thendescended into the kitchen and immersed myself inthe work of making jellies and other delicacies,while I had four disabled soldiers preparing meats,vegetables, etc.

At ten A. M. came the boat, bringing guests forluncheon, when we had officers, sisters of charity,clergymen, and friends of the patients to entertain,all of whom needed advice or a pleasant word.This caused many interruptions; but was a pleasantbreak in the monotony of hospital life.

The visitors left on the four P. M. boat. I theninspected the various wards and discovered manydelinquencies on the part of the men nurses ofwhich the patients were afraid to complain. Occasionallythere was time for a walk around the seawall, and then came the men’s supper at five P. M.

At six dinner was served in my reception roomfor my friends and myself, and Andrew insistedupon its being a good one. After that officers andtheir ladies sometimes called.

When the wind howled and the waves dashedhigh against the sea wall, we could see the twinklinglights of the city while we sat talking and restingtill “taps.” Then came George to attend tohis wonderful coal fires in very large open grates,which never burned low or dropped ashes on thebright polished hearth. His greatest reward wasa pleasant word about the fires and he would smilein happiness. Then he brought a bucket of saltwater fresh from the bay for my nightly bath, afterwhich we retired to our comfortable cots, wherewe slept restfully till awakened by the usual “Ha’f-a-pas-seex.”

I remember an incident in which human perversitystrongly asserted itself. General Wool,then Commander of the Department of the East,sent an order that “No one be allowed to leave theisland till further orders.” It was suspected thatspies were stealing information from the forts. Noone was permitted to go even aboard the boatwhich brought daily supplies.

At once we felt ourselves prisoners, and an irresistibledesire to escape to the city haunted meevery hour of the day. I was actually planning toelude the guards and to be rowed in a little boat tothe city,—​three and one-half miles from theisland,—​when the order was revoked, and I suddenlydiscovered that I had no urgent object formaking the trip.

The post chaplain drew very few to his services.One patient remarked “We can sleep much betterin our cots than in the chapel.” One Sunday afternoon,after considerable effort, I succeeded inraising a quartette among the non-commissionedofficers. I then went to all the wards, urging themen to come to our services, promising them somegood old-time hymns. The chaplain was muchsurprised and gratified at this sudden increase inhis congregation, and this improvement was maintainedtill most of the patients had left the island.

At last orders were read for all convalescents toreport to their regiments. This quite emptied thewards and took my staff of domestic helpers. Ihad a busy time supplying the Boys with necessaryarticles and luxuries, and “comfort bags” containingsewing material were in great demand! Insome of these were found letters that led to correspondenceand in many cases to romance.

As the “Way” left the wharf, these gratefulmen expressed their thanks by rousing cheers tothe surgeons and nurses who had taken such goodcare of them. Then came three more cheers forthe kind ladies who had given them so many luxuriesand comforting words. Being the only ladypresent I waved a hearty good-bye for all thesekindly women.

My work there was practically over, as the fewpatients who were left could be supplied from theregular mess hall, so I returned to my home inBrooklyn.

Some days later I crossed Fulton Ferry and, tomy surprise, found Broadway deserted. The draftriot was spreading. From the 13th to the 16th ofJuly, 1863, the streets were practically given overto a crowd of hoodlum boys brandishing clubs andsticks, rushing wildly and howling “Niggers, niggers!Hang the niggers!” They did hang someto lamp posts. Negro shanties were fired and occupantsdriven into the flames. A colored orphanasylum was attacked and burned. One poor fellowwas chased for miles, and at last he jumped into apool of water, preferring to drown rather than tobe hanged or beaten to death. This riot, the mostdisgraceful and cowardly of all horrible crimes thatever disgraced modern New York City, resulted inthe death of nearly one thousand people, mostlynegroes, and was incited by two copperheads whosenames should be abhorred forever.

A handsome boy patient of about seventeenyears attached himself to me, much to my annoyance,and I found it difficult to give him the attentionhe desired. At last, however, to my great relief,he was ordered to report to his regiment,whence he wrote frequently. About six monthslater, to my astonishment, he came to my home,saying, “I was so homesick I just had to come,and I ran away without asking for a furlough.”Of course he was liable to arrest as a deserter, andit cost me much persuasion and insistence at militaryheadquarters, to convince them that the boywas ignorant of the treachery of his act. Butfinally, after much advice, he started for his regimentwith a return pass. About a year later hewrote asking my advice as to his marrying “a verynice girl,” as he thought “an economical wifecould help him to save money,”—​on twelve dollarsa month, forsooth!

CHAPTER IV

THE GREAT MANHATTAN FAIR OF THEU. S. SANITARY COMMISSION, 1864

While the devastations of Civil War weresending thousands of our brave men todie, and to sleep in distant graves, inadequaterelief for sick and wounded soldiers alsocaused much unnecessary suffering and loss of life.Lacking more prompt means of assistance, supplies,surgeons, nurses, et cetera, could reach them onlythrough the slow process of military regulations.

With the hope of supplying this most urgentneed, the great Manhattan fair of the United StatesSanitary Commission was suggested, and later organizedby the efforts of the Rev. Doctor Bellows ofNew York City. He became its president, and,with other gentlemen as a committee, went toWashington to consult military and hospital departmentsas to some feasible manner of supplementingthis most necessary branch of the UnitedStates service.

The congregation of All Souls’ Church, of whichDr. Bellows was pastor, at once voted that the$40,000 that had been appropriated for a churchsteeple should be donated to the great Fair. Thesteepleless church stands to-day, a monument totheir practical benevolence.

Their beneficent intention resulted in the erectionof an immense wooden building at Union Squareand Fourteenth Street, New York City, for a greatbazaar. The opening took place on April 14th,1864, the Honorable Joseph Choate delivering anaddress. An original poem by Oliver WendellHolmes was sung by a union of many volunteerchurch choirs, before a vast multitude. The versesat the head of this chapter are selected from thepoem.

The building was practically overflowing withthe number of enormous donations that had noprecedent, nor has any later benevolence in ourcountry ever equalled this cheerful, spontaneousoutpouring of money and salable goods, from allclasses and individuals, merchants and dealers ofevery grade. These gifts of every descriptionwere piled high on shelves and in beautifully arrangedbooths, where charming young girls andearnest bright-eyed women competed in the sellingof them to hundreds of eager buyers. Wealthy,generous patrons vied with one another in liberalpurchases and donations, while those of smallermeans were also happy in giving their mites toswell the enormous sums that astonished even thesanguine organizers. Many others, having nomeans to spare, volunteered their entire time andservices to any department needing them, howeverlaborious or unpleasant. And here they workedcheerfully every day until midnight during thethree weeks of the fair, unconscious of weariness.Probably in no other bazaar were there ever suchtireless workers, generous donors, or enthusiasticbuyers. The united beneficence, patriotism andgood will of these people poured into the treasuryof the Sanitary Commission the enormous amountof two million dollars. This great sum for thosedays enabled the Commission to perfect an organizationunparalleled in scope and efficiency, with acorps of faithful, honorable workers.

Like the Red Cross, which came to us later fromSwitzerland, this commission was immune fromattack after battles. Often following the armyclosely, its representatives were able to set uptemporary hospitals more quickly and efficientlywith their independent supplies, army wagons andeven transportation for special duty, than could bedone by the regular army routine. Later my opportunityfor knowing their work for soldiers wasunusual. Being the only person in the hospitalcamp in the field working independently, withoutpay for any service, and provided with a pass fromUnited States Army’s Headquarters, the commissionclaimed that I was entitled to my living andany supplies I might require for the sick.

The relation here of an instance of personal experiencewill give some idea of the capability andprompt action of the commission immediately afterthe close of the war, and at almost the last momentof its field work, at City Point, Virginia.

The armies of the James and Potomac wereordered to Washington as speedily as transportationwould permit. They were to take part in thegrand review and were to be mustered out ofservice. The sick were also carried to Washingtonhospitals as soon as they were able to sail onthe transports now crowding the docks of CityPoint. The headquarters of the United StatesArmies in the field had some time previously beentransferred to Washington, where, still later, Ioften saw General Grant, always silent and smoking,except when in the presence of ladies.

General Russell, with his colored troops, wasleft in command at City Point to finish up theGovernment work there. Surgeon Thomas Pooley,later a distinguished oculist, of New York City,had been left in charge of the almost abandonedfield hospital. Barracks and tents were dismantled,canvas roofs were removed and “turnedin” to the Government, leaving only stockadewalls, much useless camp furniture, and debris ofall sorts that it would have been unprofitable toship north.

Into these roofless wards swarmed crowds ofdestitute “contrabands” from the surroundingcountry and from Petersburg, eight miles distant,and settled down like flocks of crows. They foundmany things that were treasures to them amongthe abandoned supplies and rations upon whichthey subsisted until the government could devisesome plan to save these helpless wanderingcreatures from starvation.

The word contraband as applied to negroes wasfirst used May 23d, 1861, by General Ben Butler,soon after taking command of Fortress Monroe,when three slaves escaped from work on a Confederatefort, near by, and came across the river in aboat asking protection. The owner sent for themby flag of truce. General Butler decided that thonot strictly legal that as a war measure he wasjustified as they were property to their owners andthat with all other property used against the Unionthey were “contraband of war,” and refused togive them up. The number of runaway slaves tothe fort “increased to $60,000 worth of negroes,”who were put to work for the Union army,—​manyof whom enlisted and served faithfully tillthe end of the war.

At that time I was the only white woman incamp, waiting for orders to report to the NewYork State agency in Washington. A kindmotherly old colored “auntie” seemed to considerme merely a child, and constantly followed meabout, watched over me, and became my generalguardian. General Russell kept a guard of fourcolored soldiers, with stacked arms, night and day,about my quarters for my safety.

I was about to start for Washington when wewere surprised by a belated regiment,—​of the6th corps, I think,—​of sick men toiling wearilyinto the deserted hospital camp, now in confusionas if a raid had torn everything asunder. Therewas not a furnished bed or bunk for these poorsick discouraged men to lie upon, nor was thereany food for their famished bodies as they droppedupon the bare ground exhausted, almost fainting.

I still had the use of an ambulance, and in thisemergency hastily ordered the driver to take meto City Point, one-half mile distant, for help.Fortunately the Sanitary Commission barge,loaded with surplus supplies, had not started, butwas just about to cut loose, when I informed themof the destitution and helplessness of the sickstranded soldiers.

Mr. J. Yates Peek, formerly of the 147th NewYork Infantry, at once reversed orders, unpackedsupplies, and put his men to work. By night thebarracks were covered with canvas roofs; comfortablebeds were made of fresh hay, and the menwere fed. The “contrabands” cheerfully assisted mein preparing food and caring for thefamished men. I think Doctor Pooley was theonly surgeon in camp. Contrabands helped, intheir rude way, to nurse the helpless, and a littlecamp sprang up and remained until the men wereable to travel and get transportation to Washington.There was probably no better work done bythis great organization than that by the belatedcompany of agents of the United States Commissionin that emergency. Without their help andsupplies these men must have suffered keenly, andperhaps have died before relief could have beensent back from Washington on an unprecedentedrequisition, and the necessary “red tape” regulationscomplied with.

Another personal experience comes to mind.Months after the war, at their New York CityHeadquarters, when all liabilities of the SanitaryCommission had been met and field work disbanded,there was still a considerable balance inthe treasury. The money had been collected fora specific purpose, namely—​for the benefit ofsick soldiers. This need was now supplied by theGovernment in various hospitals and in temporaryhomes, but the surplus money could not legally orhonorably be applied to any other benevolence.Finally it was agreed that soldiers’ families werethe legitimate heirs to this soldiers’ fund. ThereforeMrs. Baldwin, a woman of great tact andcapability, with myself, was asked to visit theirfamilies and judiciously assist the needy. Throughthat unusual bitterly cold winter of ’65 and ’66 wevisited and assisted many of them. With the adventof warm weather the last dollar was expended,and the official life of this great beneficent workended. Through it thousands of lives were saved,and many cheered and made comfortable.

At the Brooklyn Sanitary Fair over $400,000were raised, and in Chicago and the West, that hadled in this great movement, chiefly through theefforts of women, the amounts were astonishing.Through the great heart of the people, from allsources over $25,000,000 came into the treasuryof the Sanitary Commission.

CHAPTER V

NEW ENGLAND ROOMS

Colonel Frank Howe, of the NewEngland Rooms, on Broadway near FultonStreet, New York City, was the director ofthat Rest for stranded and sick soldiers, as well asfor many helplessly wounded. Here I found manyof the most interesting cases of my experience.Colonel Howe felt that their contribution ofwounded to the Sanitary Fair would be a moreeffective object-lesson and incentive, than inanimatewar emblems and relics displayed in theArms and Trophy Department. Some of thesecrippled men were now waiting for Governmentto provide homes for those incapable of self-support.

Colonel Howe thereupon secured free passes fora number of convalescents, and I consented to takecharge of them during the fair. Consequently,one bright day, the New England ambulance wascrowded with the following passengers, namely:one man without legs, two men without arms, oneblind from a shot passing through his head, a one-leggedboy, the famous John Burns of Gettysburg,and a colored woman to assist. I sat on thefront seat with the driver. We drove up Broadwayto the fair grounds, quite regardless of thecurious crowd that followed.

These brave martyrs were received with outstretchedhands and cordial sympathy, and giventhe freedom of every department in the wonderfulexhibition. In a splendid restaurant I volunteeredto act as waiter, that I might be certain that theBoys had good meals and attention, for which theSanitary Commission made no charge.

A crowd followed armless Berry who carried onhis strong back legless Smith,—​who in turndressed and fed Berry. These two had becomegreat friends and, like the Siamese twins, were inseparable.Always cheerful, they seemed to enjoylife. Smith was a good penman and wrote me interestingletters, of which I still have some, generallysigned “Berry and Smith.” Berry oftencarried the legless man about the large building tosee the wonders which they greatly enjoyed.

Another armless soldier, a sergeant always inuniform, travelled about alone, and when in cars orboats was rarely asked for fare, or if so, he wouldsay: “Help yourself from my pockets.” Few hadthe heart to do this, so he usually travelled free.

McNulty, a refined young man, who had lost anarm in an early engagement, but was now quitewell, was also of our party, though he was quiteindependent and asked no help, having alreadylearned, like General Howard, to use his left armfor writing and to serve double duty.

Famous John Burns was included with thosementioned above in the freedom of the wholebuilding, and at seventy years of age called himselfone of my “Boys.” The following is copied froma card which he had printed to “save so muchtalk,” and which he claimed was a true history ofhis experience and help in the renowned battle ofGettysburg. This card he gave me personally.

JOHN L. BURNS’ ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF

“I was born in Burlington, New Jersey, on the5th day of September, 1793. I served in the warof 1812. At the outbreak of the Rebellion, I wentwith Captain McPherson to Camp Wayne, Westchester,where I enlisted, but was discharged at theend of a fortnight on account of my age. I returnedto Gettysburg (my home at that time),then went to Hagerstown and served as assistantin the wagon camp for two weeks, after which, asa teamster, I joined the three months’ boys underPatterson, with whom I remained a month. Ithen went to Frederick, and obtained the positionof police officer in General Banks’ division. I waspresent at the battle of Edward’s Ferry, and sawColonel Baker carried across the river. I remainedwith Colonel Banks for six months, and then returnedhome, where I was at the time of the battleof Gettysburg. On the first day of the fight Imet General Reynolds, who had been out reconnoitering,and was asked to show him the Emmettsburgroad. After doing this, I obtained amusket from a soldier who had been woundedwhile on guard, and went off to the army ‘to shootsome of the damned rebels’. I fell in with a Wisconsinregiment, and fought sometimes in line, andsometimes on my own hook. About one P. M.,during an intermission, while lying in the woods,I saw a Missouri man fall from the shot of a rebelconcealed in the bushes. I stepped behind a tree,and seeing the rebel about to reload, I shot him.I also shot a tremendous great rebel who wouldnot get out of my way. I myself received sevenballs on the first day of the fight, the last of whichwounded me severely in the leg. I lay on thefield all night, and a rebel surgeon gave me waterand a blanket. In the morning I crawled to ahouse near by, and about two P. M. succeeded inbeing taken to my own house, which I foundoccupied by the rebels as a hospital. Their doctordressed my wound. On Friday, at two P. M. Iwas closely questioned by two rebel officers as towhere I got my musket.”

I have also his photograph which he gave me,and from which, I believe, the life size figure of hisstatue was made. I saw him many times at myhome in Brooklyn, and elsewhere, always wearingproudly the shabby old coat with bullet holes inthe front corners. This is not given in the life sizefigure of the old hero on his monument at GettysburgCemetery, where he stands without a coatwith bared head, musket in hand, as if starting forthe field of action.

CHAPTER VI

ARMS AND TROPHY DEPARTMENT OF THESANITARY COMMISSION FAIR

This department was beautifully draped withbunting, Revolutionary, Mexican and otherold war flags, and also a few Confederateflags, captured by regiments, still in the field, thathad yet many a bloody battle to fight. A numberof distinguished, elegantly-gowned women toiledhere indefatigably, brimming over with excitementand patriotism, quite regardless of the unusualfatigue of standing and working so many hoursdaily, in their anxiety to allow no one to passwithout contributing in some way to the fund, nowreaching thousands of dollars.

Here was to be decided the “sword test,” thatwould indicate the most popular general, by thenumber of votes cast at one dollar each. Thesword was to be presented to the winner of thelargest number of votes. How these attractiveladies worked for their favorites! A magneticthrill pervaded this room, where men of fashionand reputation crowded, ostensibly to learn howthe vote was going.

Mrs. Grant, a noble-looking woman, acceptedgraciously, but without solicitation, all who offeredvotes for General Grant, of whom she invariablyspoke as “Mr. Grant.” Mrs. McClellan, withelegant society manner, lost no opportunity ingaining a vote for General McClellan; her vivacity,personal charm, and courteous flattery won manya vote for her husband. I think if her son, ourex-mayor, could have seen his mother at the heightof her matured beauty he would have been justlyproud.

The polls were to close at midnight on the lastday of the fair. Excitement ran high as the hourapproached. At ten minutes before the hour theMcClellan vote was far ahead, and that party wasalready exulting, confident of success; but at fiveminutes before the final closing of the polls, theUnion League, of Philadelphia, telegraphed,ordering “five hundred votes for Grant,” and thesword was his.

Indignant Democrats pronounced this an act oftreachery; an ominous dissent spread over therestless crowd, and for a time it seemed as if theremight be some dangerous demonstration. Onlythe general refinement and restraint of the surging,self-respecting crowd prevented an outbreak.

Mrs. McClellan was pitifully disappointed, as hervision of the White House grew dim; and after thepopular election of Grant, and the defeat of McClellan,she indignantly declared that she would notlive in such an ungrateful country. She actuallylived abroad for some years but, like all goodAmericans, she was happy to return to enjoy thefreedom of her own native land.

In the month of February, 1909, I had the pleasureof seeing again, in the Smithsonian Museum atWashington, the veritable sword of that memorablecontest, which had been presented in April,1863. Other swords and equipments of GeneralGrant were preserved in a large glass case. Asilver head of Liberty formed the handle, set withdiamonds, garnets and turquoises, the hilt andshield in bas-relief of a helmeted knight, the bladeand scabbard highly wrought in oxidized silver andgold. The Chattanooga is the largest and finestof six or eight swords, all highly wrought andjewelled, which were presented by admiring friendsat different dates to General Grant.

At the beginning of the Fair I had obtained permissionfor the three men, Smith, Berry andMudge, to remain in the trophy department, where,each day, many greenbacks were crowded intotheir pockets. I had asked Mesdames Grant andMcClellan to head subscription lists and to solicitmoney for the three helpless soldiers. Both ladiescheerfully and effectively urged people to subscribeat one dollar each, and at the close of thelast evening they were happy to hand over to me,to be divided among these living martyrs of ourcruel war, the sum of about five hundred dollars.

A citizen, employed by the New EnglandRooms, had charge of the finances and of the safe.He came every night with the ambulance to takeme and the mutilated men back to the New EnglandRooms to sleep. On this last night I handedhim the great roll of five hundred one-dollar billsto carry home and put into the safe. Instantly,however, an impulse came to me, and I said: “Justlet me look at that money to see if it is all right.”Grasping it firmly, I did not return it to the man,but carried it safely to the Rest, and kept it duringthe night. Before morning the scamp had robbedthe safe and vanished, and of course was nevermore heard of. Was it telepathy or a finer psychicperception that saved the boys their money?

A unique incident occurred at this Rest, to thegreat amusement of the Boys. I frequently stayedhere all night with the capable matron, Mrs. Russell,in her apartments on the top floor of thisformer store-house. One evening we were startledby unusual hilarity among the patients on the floorbelow. A great “well” was open through themiddle of the building for the purpose of raisingmerchandise to the upper floors, and now it servedas a fine ventilator. On stepping forward to therailing we saw to our astonishment three boys,each having lost a leg. They were great chums,always together, and sometimes the group wascalled “Three Legs.” Each was on a crutch,carrying in one hand an artificial government leg,and they were having a grotesque dance with theselimbs and crutches. To the men it seemed veryfunny and caused roars of laughter, but I failed tofind amusement in the gruesome antics of theseboys, scarcely of age, crippled for life.

Colonel Mrs. Daily, whom I met at the NewEngland Rooms, enjoyed the unique honor ofhaving been appointed adjutant on the staff ofGovernor Sprague, of Rhode Island. ColonelDaily had just returned from a tour of inspectionof Rhode Island regiments stationed near the frontand had also visited sick soldiers in different hospitals.She had prepared and published a generaland statistical report of the condition of the men topresent officially to Governor Sprague.

After my success in collecting funds for Mudge,Smith and Berry at the Sanitary Fair, I concludedto take them to the great exposition thenbeing held at Philadelphia, but for some unexplainedreason my efforts to secure financial aid forthem met with comparative failure.

A handsome ambulance of the Wicacoe fireengine company had met us at Camden boat landing,Philadelphia, whence we were driven to thefamous Union Volunteer Refreshment Saloon andHospital, where a few cots for special cases hadbeen set up in the private offices. Here thesethree men were warmly welcomed and made comfortableduring their visit.

Mrs. Lincoln called there one day, and, after apleasant talk, gave twenty dollars to each of the“Twins.” They seemed to appreciate her kindlywords even more than her practical gift.

When troops were approaching the city of Philadelphia,the great “Liberty Bell” rang out a welcometo coming regiments. Hundreds of kindlywomen, laden with good things, hastened to thislarge building, which was a cooper’s shop, quicklyset up rough tables, and spread their generous suppliesready for the hungry men. During the warthousands of men and many regiments halted herefor “a good square meal,” while passing throughthe city to the front. When the hungry Boys wererested and satisfied, they fell into line and marchedaway to the music of the jolly fife and drum,cheering and shouting their thanks, only exceededin sound by the deafening applause of thepatriotic people waiting to see them off. This“shop,” by the generosity of its owners, and theunflagging patriotism of the women, becamehistorical. Many full regiments remembered thegood things freely given by those who had notalways an abundant living for themselves.

The following is a verbatim copy of a letterwritten by one of the “Twins” from the UnionVolunteer Refreshment Saloon and Hospital, generallyknown as the Cooper Rest Hall, referred toabove:

On our return to New York, as in going toPhiladelphia, every one wished to lend a helpinghand, but Smith clung to Berry, who carried himwith ease, while the crowd cheered the courageous,independent fellows. On returning them safely tothe New England Rooms, I longed to rest for afew days at my home in Bedford Avenue, Brooklyn,but I found at the Rooms a slowly dyingwoman who greatly excited my sympathy. Shehad been brought from Washington, where she hadcontracted dysentery while nursing her son, whodied soon after she reached him. She was on herway to her home in Worcester, Massachusetts.There was no proper place for the poor soul, andColonel Howe was anxious to have her reach herhome before she died, so I took charge of her, andwe went by the Fall River Line. I sat beside herstretcher all night in the ladies’ cabin, watching herpulse and constantly giving her stimulants or nourishment.At daybreak we reached Worcester.The man sent to assist me found an express wagonon which the stretcher was placed, and we all droveto a plain comfortable-looking house. Finding noresponsible person about the place I took possessionof the parlor on the second floor, ordering abed from another room. The feeble woman wasthen carried up and placed comfortably at rest inher own home. The doctor came and, against myearnest protest, insisted on stopping the stimulantsat once, saying he knew her constitutionbetter than I. When her husband appeared heshowed no particular interest save to take possessionof her pocketbook, and I did not see him again.

A Mr. and Mrs. Green showed much interest forthe woman. They kindly took me to their homefor rest. Later in the day I went back to see thefast failing woman, who died two days later, avictim to the conceit of an ignorant doctor. I enjoyedfor a day or two the hospitality of theGreens, and I shall never forget their home-grownstrawberries and cream.

CHAPTER VII

THE UNIQUE CASE OF WILLIAM MUDGE OFLYNN, MASSACHUSETTS.

This narrow-breasted, delicate boy of abouttwenty-one years, enlisted in the Thirty-thirdMassachusetts Infantry, and, with hisregiment, went into the battle of Chancellorsvilleon Sunday morning, May 2d, 1863. After once regainingthe field they were defeated with considerableloss in prisoners and many wounded. Mudgefell by a shot passing entirely through his head,cutting both optic nerves. A friend in the regimentfrom his city, tied a handkerchief about hishead and left him to die, then ran to join his regiment,fearing capture by the enemy. As soon asa chance offered he wrote to Mudge’s father, whowas president of a Lynn bank, telling him that hisson had been left dying on the battlefield.

Mr. Mudge started at once to find the dead bodyof his son, and succeeded in reaching the Confederatelines, where they began to search for thebody, which could not be found on the battlefield.The boy was at last discovered alive, lyingneglected in the Confederate field hospital.

It was often impossible for the surgeons and detailednurses to care for all the wounded, and sothey gave their time to those having a chance ofliving, which poor Mudge certainly did not seem tohave. The gunshot wound had caused his face toturn quite black, so that his father, in huntingamong the hopelessly wounded, did not recognizehim; but the boy knew his father’s voice and calledout, and so was rescued from a slow death. Mudgetold his story to me essentially as follows:

“I lay all night on the field, drenched by ashower (which often happens after a battle). Inthe morning Confederate soldiers were detailed tobury the dead, and were preparing to carry me tothe open trench near by. When I spoke to themfeebly they gave me water from a canteen, and leftme, feeling sure I would die before morning.Imagine what a night that must have been! Thebrushwood near where I was lying took fire, andI narrowly escaped being burned to death. Whenthe men came on the third day to bury the dead, Ihad become so weak I could only move my littlefinger to show life. The Johnnies then said—​‘Thisfellow is good stuff, let’s take him in.’”

It was easy for the father to get permission totake away this apparently dying prisoner. Goingby easy stages to Washington, it was found on examinationthat the boy was permanently blind andhad lost an eye. His skull was said to have beenfractured so that there were not two inches of solidcranium, the jaw bones and teeth were destroyed.

Surgeons with much skill trepanned a hole in theskull with a silver plate, and with the assistance ofskilled dentists, they manufactured jaw bones andteeth. They had fitted him with a glass eye, andgreen glasses to cover the defects, so that somemonths after, when I met him at the New EnglandRooms, he had the appearance of a well-dressed,refined, though rather frail blind man.

During the fair I had taken care of him andwalked him about the great halls explaining manythings that he could not, of course, see or understand,and he came to consider my opinions final.He carried to his home in Lynn about threehundred dollars from the fair subscription andother benevolent sources.

A few weeks later his mother wrote me, sayingthat William had become so unhappy and irritablethat they could not manage him, and he had sooften said that if Miss Smith were there, she wouldknow what would make him more contented.Mrs. Mudge begged me to come, if only for a shortvisit. This I could not well refuse; and I found apleasant refined family in a comfortable home oftheir own. Mr. Mudge, William’s father, was agentleman and a bank president. I will digresshere for a few words on an observation, quite surprisingto me. Early on Sunday morning I sawMr. Mudge and several other gentlemen coming upthe street, each carrying a newspaper and twolarge bundles. This seemed quite strange, butwas explained at breakfast by the inevitable down-eastbaked beans in a crock, and a loaf of hot brownbread which had been at the bake shop all night.It was the custom for gentlemen to bring themhome on Sunday morning. Certainly they weredelicious. Being of New York blood, I was not“au fait” on the customs regarding baked beansand brown bread.

William’s mother told me that he was almosttransformed when under my influence. His was arestless nervous temperament, and this, added tohis blindness, made life miserable. His fastidioustastes and conventionality continued. One Sunday,in church, he whispered, “Is my back hairparted straight?”—​this being the style for menat that time. And again, “Am I holding myprayer-book right side up?” He needed occupation;but what could the blind boy do?

Accidentally I saw in a newspaper an advertisementfor young men to sell a book of the earlyhistory of the war, and I proposed to Mudge thathe could sell this book. But his aristocratic ideaswere hard to overcome, until I insinuated that hemight have a valet to carry the books and take careof him. This modified his ideas on my suggestion.

His memory of locality was surprising. Whenhe escorted me to Boston “to see the town” hewould say, “Now over there is the bird-cage (ashop) and there is the flat-iron sign, so we must gothis way.” Only once he failed, and then he saidwe must go back to the bird-cage, after which westarted again all right.

I went with him to Boston, and had an interviewwith the agent, who was greatly pleased tohave a martyr of the war to sell the book. I imperativelyurged Mudge to start at once, which hedid with his valet the next day; when I also leftLynn. He wrote from memory in a good clearhand, with a little slat to guide his pen, of hisphenomenal success, which was such as we expected.During his tour about Massachusetts hecalled at the home of the poet Longfellow, whosent me a much prized photograph with his autograph.

Many bought of the poor boy, out of sympathyand patriotism, this very imperfect book, which,doubtless, they never read. In the course of a yearhe again wrote that he had opened a stationerystore in Lynn, and was doing a good business; andlater he employed four clerks. Still later I wasdumbfounded on receiving an announcement of hismarriage.

Three years after, when I visited their prettycottage on Lynn Beach, near that of Fanny Davenportthe actress, William was not at home, but Isaw his charming wife and their handsome,healthy boy of sixteen months.

CHAPTER VIII

THE START FOR THE FRONT

My work for sick soldiers began early in1862, in the “Department of the East,”which included Long Island Hospital,Willett’s Point, David’s Island, Fort Schuyler andBedloe’s Island (now Liberty); all of these hospitalsbeing in charge of Surgeon McDougall.

This extensive experience prepared me for workat the front, which, after many futile efforts, Icould now reach through a society known as“Masonic Mission,” by which a pass was securedfrom General Ben Butler for myself and three assistantnurses, and which gave me the anxiouslydesired privilege and authority of going to the“front,” with these nurses, who were quite unknownto me.

We sailed July 24th, 1864, on the Patapsco, agovernment transport that had carried sick soldiersto New York, and was returning to City Point fororders, and were the only passengers on board.

Fatigue and the odor of bilge water induced intense“mal de mer,” which, added to insubordinationon the part of two of my assistants, causedthe usual distress and despair.

The atmosphere of my state room was intolerable,and the captain kindly ordered a mattressplaced on deck for me, where I was comparativelycomfortable until I was obliged to stagger belowon hearing of unseemly conduct on the part of thetwo nurses. I threatened, with good effect, tohave the captain put them ashore at the first islandwe came to. Fortunately they did not know thatwe would sight no island on that short voyage.The third assistant, good Mrs. Dunbar, in herkindly, motherly way, was my only comfort.

The captain had tried, in vain, to arouse me byan alarm that the Alabama was chasing us. Butsea-sickness knows not even the law of self-preservation,and I replied, “I’d as lief as not go downby the Alabama or in any other way.”

At night I refused to go below to my stateroomand bilge water odor, quite regardless of the captain’sperplexity. After some hesitancy, however,he gave me the only stateroom on deck. This wasfilled with the accoutrements of a Confederateofficer whom, as a prisoner of war, the captain hadjust delivered over to the government prison atFort Lafayette, in the narrows of New York Bay.I awoke at night in such perfect peace and comfortthat for a time I imagined the Alabama had reallyrun 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 nomotion or sound, save a soft ripple of water againstthe bow. A full perfect moon cast a broad silverypath across the quiet waters, so intense that itseemed quite possible that Jesus had indeedwalked upon the Sea of Galilee. There was noone in sight, nor was there a sound of anythingliving or moving, though the “watch” probablysaw me leaning over the railing. We had anchoredat the mouth of the James River, waiting for thepilot.

On the morning of July 29th, we again anchored,this time before City Point, Virginia, at the junctionof the James and Appomatox Rivers, headquartersof the United States armies in the fieldunder 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. Thecamp appeared rather shabby. There were only afew wooden buildings, used by army officers, anumber of large tents and negro cabins, withguards and officers running from one tent to another.City Point was a barren, almost treelesscountry of untilled land. The United States flagfloated over a small house used by General Grantas headquarters.

A small narrow, cigar-shaped, back-wheel boat,the “Gazelle,” returned with me to the “Patapsco,”and taking on board the three nurses westeamed up the narrow Appomatox River, amonotonous sail of six miles between low bluffsand sparse foliage, to the hospital tents at Point ofRocks, which were pitched on the very brink ofthis malarious stream. This was General Butler’sHospital Department of the James.

For the first time I realized my strange position,and felt, when the “Patapsco” was out of sight, asif “I had burned my bridges behind me.” Therewere 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 verycourteous. I remarked on my apprehension of thestrangeness of the situation, and said if I could feelassured that the surgeon in charge of Point ofRocks Hospital was a gentleman, I should havenothing to fear. I asked the Major if he knew thatofficer; he replied that he did, and thought I wouldfind him a gentleman.

On reaching Point of Rocks Hospital, the Majoroffered to go ashore and send an ambulance for us,and this took us a short distance to the hospitaltent wards, and to a small frame house near to theHospital Headquarters.

I called a passing orderly and reported at oncewith my Butler pass, to the officer in charge, andfound, to my consternation, while the color rose tothe roots of my hair, that this man was the veryMajor to whom I had spoken on the boat. Risingand bowing politely he said, “Miss Smith, I trustyou will always find me a gentleman.”

It was well for me that he was a gentleman, for Ifound myself in a very anomalous position, havingbeen sent by the Masonic Mission to take the placeof Clara Barton, who was already in charge of thiswork, but away at the time. I soon discoveredthat the Masonic Mission had taken advantage ofMiss Barton’s absence and—​quite without authority—​hadsent me to take her place. TheMajor, Surgeon Porter, however, courteously invitedme to remain until her return.

Meanwhile he had ordered a large tent put up formy assistants and, as a compliment, assigned me toa room at headquarters. But sleeping with astrange fat woman on a feather-bed, with windowsclosed on a hot July night was too much honor;so the next morning I asked to be allowed to gowith the nurses in their large new tent, where, witha cot in each corner, we were quite comfortable.A small tent was attached for my mess-room, whilethe nurses ate at the “patients’ mess.”

General Butler’s army headquarters of the Departmentof the James, was across the Appomattox,at Bermuda Hundreds, whence the rumbling ofwagons and tramping of troops over pontoonbridges could be heard through the silence anddarkness of the night. Of course I slept little onmy first night in camp.

The next night I was greatly distressed bygroans and cries in the distance and, much excited,I went directly to Surgeon Porter, as early as allowablethe next morning, to ask if I could dosomething for the suffering soldiers. Seeming surprisedat my question he replied that he was notaware of such suffering in camp. He asked wherethe sounds came from, and as I indicated the directionhe said with a curious expression: “Well,Miss Smith, you may try if you wish, but the criescome from the mules in the corral, and I fear youwill not succeed.” That joke followed me whereverI went.

Surgeon Porter gave me charge of the officers’ward, of perhaps forty or more patients. Eachofficer having his own orderly in attendance, andthe hospital being in very good running order,there was no unpleasant work for me to do. So atfirst I saw only the romantic side of “bathingfeverish brows,” and giving comforting words,with some specially prepared diet.

Not caring for society, or mere sentiment, I soonresolved to ask for a ward of private soldiers, whodid not presume upon equality, though many ofthem were as truly gentlemen as were their officers.

Meanwhile the three nurses, though untrained,like most nurses of that time, did good work in thewards of the regular soldiers.

CHAPTER IX

SOME PATIENTS

Point of Rocks Hospital consisted ofabout a dozen tents, each perhaps fifty feetlong, pinned as usual to the ground withwooden pegs. These contained bunks and cots oneither side, for about forty or more patients to eachtent, and sometimes, when crowded, patients hadonly straw or hay bags with a blanket on the bareground, all of which the men nurses were expectedto keep in perfect order and cleanliness.

To enter at one end of these tents and see therows of sick and suffering, despondent men, at oncearoused an earnest desire to help them to a littlecomfort and cheer.

One day, passing through a long ward, I wasstartled by the sight of a little pinched face withgreat dark eyes, that looked as if its owner mightbe about ten or twelve years old. Stepping quicklyto the cot I said, “Why, who are you, and wheredid you come from?”

A feeble voice replied, “I’m Willie, I was hereyesterday when you passed, but you didn’t look atme.”

“But where did you come from?”

“I belong to the 37th New Jersey Infantry, incamp a few miles off, and I got sick and theybrought me here.”

“How could you be enlisted? How old areyou?”

“I’m fifteen. I lied, and swore I was eighteen,and my parents wouldn’t let me go, so I ran away,an’—​an’ I guess, I’ll never see mother any more.”

The soldier nurse said he was a typhoid case,with a chance of living, if he could have good care,but that he would not be persuaded to eat. I returnedto him at once, saying, “Willie, I hear thatyou don’t eat anything.”

“I can’t eat.”

“O, but you must. Now, Willie, can’t you thinkof something you’d like?”

“Well,” with a suppressed sob, “if I could getanything like mother used to make, perhaps Icould.”

“Now tell me, Willie, what it was, what did itlook like, and how did it taste?”

The sick boy’s description was not very clear,but I said cheerfully, “O, I can make that,” andran off to my tent and soon prepared somethingwhich, with a silver cup, spoon, and a tidy serviette,at least looked inviting in contrast with the batteredtin cups and plates of camp life. He showedsome interest as I said, “Here, Willie, is just whatmother used to make.” And he took a few spoonfulsquite cheerfully as I fed him. I asked if it didnot taste something like mother made. He thoughtit did.

Feeling sure that only the greatest care wouldsave him, I went at once to Surgeon Porter, saying,“Doctor, I’d like to have that boy, Willie, for anorderly.”

“What, another?” he replied, laughing. “Youhave more orderlies now than General Grant himself.”

“This is true, doctor,” I said, for I had four whohad been assigned to me by the doctor that theymight have special care, “and not one of them canstand alone for one hour.”

“Well, you may have him, and I wish you success.”

I then asked Willie if he would like to be myorderly, and he seemed quite delighted. I directedthe nurse to dress him early next morning, and tolet him lie down till I came for him. The poor boystaggered to his feet, but we almost carried him tomy tent, where I removed his army shoes and puta pair of my slippers on his poor, little thin feet. Ithen laid him on my cot, bathed his hot head, neckand hands, gave him nourishment, and told him totry to sleep while I was away caring for other patients.All this was repeated for several days, andthus he escaped the sight of dying and sufferingmen. Each night I took him back to his tent,where he slept soundly until morning. He improvedslowly.

One day, while taking my dinner alone in mylittle mess tent, I was surprised to see him standingat “attention” beside me. “Miss Smith,” he said,while the fever burned his cheeks and brightenedhis dark eyes, “I’ve been here five days, and it’stime I did something for you.” The fever hadburned out for the time, and, turning quickly Icaught his falling, emaciated form. Realizing hisown helplessness, the poor child wept bitterly.

Meanwhile his youthful officers had come to seehim, which greatly pleased the poor boy. He improvedvery slowly, but evidently would not quiterecover in these surroundings. I decided to makean effort to send him home as soon as possible.With permission of Surgeon Porter, and with hisambulance and an orderly, I rode a few miles to acamp of the 37th New Jersey Infantry, in thewoods, which was composed entirely of boys andofficers of not more than twenty or twenty-fouryears of age.

The little “dog” or A tents allowed only one tocrawl in on either side of the tent pole, and lie onhis blankets on the bare ground with knapsacks forpillows. No wonder malaria made havoc in theirranks!

While I was there, an order came to send forwarda small detachment of men for picket duty.All clamored to go, shouting in a most informalmanner, quite regardless of discipline. “Say, Cap,let me go.” “I say, Maj, you know me.” “Cap,let me go, won’t you?” etc., etc. A dozen menwere selected, not one fully grown, and these boysstaggered off in high spirits, each carrying a knapsackweighing sixty pounds, a gun and an overcoat.

The colonel and captain of this regiment verycheerfully made the necessary application for a sickfurlough, and on my return to camp Surgeon Porterat once endorsed it. Then, having waited a fewdays for some one to take charge of Willie, I hadthe satisfaction of seeing him start in an ambulancefor the boat at City Point, supplied with brandyand nourishment. His head lay on the knee of anofficer who was going to Fortress Monroe, andthere was a happy boyish smile on his face as theydrove away.

In a few weeks came the good news that he hadreached home and mother and was fast recovering.

In the same ward with Willie were a number ofOhio “ninety days selected men,” chiefly farmers,nearly every man six feet or more in height. Theywere typhoid cases, who were really sufferingmore from nostalgia than from fever. They hadalready served half their term, yet nothing couldarouse them from despair and homesickness, fromwhich many of them actually died, while the wiry,irrepressible city boys generally recovered.

One day, while I was trying to bathe away thefever from the head and hands of a young officer,General Butler entered the tent with some of hisstaff, and thanked me for my care of this favorite,asking that I would do all in my power to make himcomfortable.

Another patient, Chaplain Eaton, of a Connecticutregiment, was recovering from typhoid, and,though not very ill at this time, still claimed a gooddeal of my attention. I felt, however, that it wasa waste of time to spend many minutes talking withhim, or in reading the Bible to him, while so manyothers were really suffering and needing specialcare. But I wrote to his wife and did what I could.He was very grateful, and wished to prove it bypresenting to me a handsome black horse, that hisorderly brought daily to the tent for inspection andpetting. The animal was so intelligent that heseemed really to recognize me. The chaplain’s insistenceupon my accepting the horse was quiteannoying; and at last I said to him that “it wouldbe a great pity to turn such a beautiful creature intoan ‘elephant’, which he would certainly become onmy hands.”

CHAPTER X

EXPERIENCES AT POINT OF ROCKS

On Miss Barton’s return I found myself verymuch “de trop,” though she treated mekindly. I saw very little of her work, buther extreme deliberation, when one day I had runto her quite breathless from the operating tent forbandages, etc., for the surgeons who were waiting,was very irritating. She asked about my health,urged me to take a seat, and very slowly rummagedabout for the necessary supplies. The only time Isaw her actively engaged was on a day when therehad been a skirmish at the front, and she startedfor the field with the ambulance and an orderly, anda small box of bandages, condensed milk, etc.

One bright moonlight night, I was startled bystrange sounds of melodious singing in the distance,and, with an orderly, I went to ascertain itsmeaning. We soon came upon a large fire surroundedby a circle of perhaps forty negroes, menand women, crooning and singing. They wereoften led by a high falsetto, then sinking to a lowmonotone, when suddenly another voice would risechanging to a new refrain, while not one lost thetime or pitch or made discords. They danced handin hand in a slow rythmic circle, while one, moreexcited than the rest, would spring up to a remarkableheight shouting, “Glory! bress de Lawd!”“I’s a-comin’ Lawd!” etc. All “eyes in a finefrenzy rolling,” shone like great black beads in thefirelight, while their white teeth gleamed brightly.All were in solemn seriousness as they sang simplecouplets like the following:

They continued on in childish simplicity till theirecstasy broke into shouts of “Cum down Lawd!”—​“I’sa comin’ Lawd! Look out for me!”—​“I’sa-waitin’ Lawd!”—​while the circle whirledin dizzy speed until they sometimes fell exhaustedto the ground. All feared the “Voodou-Cunger”woman, and were anxious to propitiate her with arabbit’s foot and various incantations.

Eloquence, rhythm, oratory and harmony seeminborn among this strange people, who have givento the whole South the soft voice and accent somany of us like to hear.

Under existing conditions it was a relief whenMrs. E—— came from the Masonic Mission in NewYork and claimed that a mistake had been made insending me to Point of Rocks, and informed methat I would find work to my liking at City Point.

The following day Mrs. E——, with an ambulance,took me for a day’s rough travel over corduroyroads and ditches and through woods to GeneralBurnside’s 9th Corps headquarters in a clumpof trees before Petersburg. The General came outof an inner tent, putting on his coat and apologizing,saying he had been sleeping.

“Why, General, how can you sleep with theshells screaming and exploding so near?”

“Oh,” he replied, laughingly, “this is when Ican sleep comfortably. It’s only when I hear musketrythat I fear there is mischief brewing.”

A very courteous, handsome, soldierly gentlemanwas General Burnside.

We then drove a short distance to General O. B.Wilcox’s headquarters, so near Petersburg that,with the General’s glasses, I could distinctly see thepeople in their houses at their daily work, thoughthe cannons on both sides were replying with aformality as if war was a matter of etiquette.There seemed to be only women in the town, goingabout their home duties, quite unconscious of shellsfalling into their doomed city. The General wasquite elated at having that day moved his lines forwardthree-quarters of a mile.

Seeing a number of barrels piled before his tent,I asked why they were there. He smiled and said,“I was sitting here awhile ago when a bulletpassed over my shoulder, and the boys were afraida sharpshooter might pick me off, so they piledthese barrels up for protection.”

General Burnside commanded the 9th ArmyCorps and General Wilcox the second division ofthat Corps. Both were gentlemen of refinementand great kindness to the men, who were veryproud and fond of their commanders. I observedthat both Generals treated me with more courtesythan they showed to Mrs. E——, although she wasa much older woman.

The next day on leaving the hospital at Point ofRocks, after thanking Surgeon Porter for hisfriendliness and attention that had made my staypossible and pleasant, and bidding Miss Bartongood-bye, I went with Mrs. E—— on board the“Gazelle,” (then well known in New York Bay),—​andreturned to City Point.

We went directly to the tent of a Miss Nye, onthe Agency Row, whom I recognized as havingseen in the office of the Masonic Mission in NewYork City. Miss Nye at once took me aside saying,“You had better take off that badge,”—​thebadge of the Masonic Mission, which I had wornfor protection,—​“it is not respected here, andyou may stay with me as long as you wish, but thatwoman cannot stay another night in my tent.”

About midnight a terrific storm arose and threatenedto sweep Miss Nye’s tent into the ravine quitenearby. She called for help from the next tent,where slept some Christian Commission agents.While Miss Nye held on to one side of the tent, Ithrew myself across my cot and, with all mystrength, held on to the other side. Mrs. E—— ina short gown and petticoat of the olden time, heldthe tent flaps as the wind rushed through, nearlycarrying us all away with the tents. However, themen soon hammered down the tent pins securely,and all was quiet again. Altogether we made acomical picture and would have been a fine groupfor the present day kodak.

Mrs. E—— left City Point the next day, and sopassed out of my life.

While I was yet with Miss Nye, another night ofalarm ended rather amusingly. We were sleepingsoundly on opposite sides of the tent when MissNye screamed out that some one had reached underthe tent and touched her hand. We got upand, after talking loudly for a while, thought theintruder was scared off. Then we fell asleep. Hecame back again, however, evidently trying toreach a pocket book under Miss Nye’s pillow.This time, not wishing to disturb the sleepers inthe near tents, we concluded to “arm ourselves forthe fray.” Miss Nye found a hatchet which shewould have used bravely. I could find no defensiveweapon but a big long-necked bottle. We knewthat the thief could hear our threatening talk as hewas hiding in the ravine close by, so we lay downagain, Miss Nye clasping the hatchet on her breast,and I embracing in like manner my big bottle.We soon slept soundly again, when suddenly a terrificcrash caused us to spring up in alarm. Whatcould it be? Then I realized that I had relaxedmy hold on the big bottle, which had rolled acrossthe rough floor and crashed against the tent pole.After indulging in a good laugh over our fright, weslept soundly once more until morning.

Still another incident regarding Miss Nye comesto mind. Years after the war I succeeded in findingher, then a graduate of homœopathy in NewYork City,—​Doctor Frances M. Nye. She hadmet a Confederate soldier, also a graduate of thisschool of medicine, and also bearing the name ofFrancis M. Nye. The identity of names, perhaps,induced a lasting friendship, and when they marriedMiss Nye changed only one letter in her name.They continued to practise together for many yearsand seemed very happy.

CHAPTER XI

DEPOT FIELD HOSPITAL AND STATE AGENCIESAT CITY POINT, VIRGINIA

The hospital was situated half a mile fromGeneral Grant’s headquarters at City Point,at the junction of the James and AppomatoxRivers, and about eight miles from Petersburgfront. The hospital camp, then under the chargeof Surgeon Edward Dalton and medical staff, waslaid out with great precision. This field hospitalwas divided into the 9th, 2d, 6th, 5th corps, andcorps d’Afric, and these again into divisions, avenues,and streets at right angles,—​numbered andlettered. There were many thousands of sick andwounded in these wards, nine thousand or more ata time, I believe.

Convalescent soldiers did police, ward, nurse andkitchen duty. There were hundreds of wards withstockade sides, covered with canvas roofs upheldin the usual manner by ridge and tent poles, eachcontaining probably fifty or more bunks or cots.A perfect system of order and policing by convalescentmen was enforced, and not a particle ofrefuse or any scrap was allowed to lie for a momentupon the immaculate streets or avenues of the“Sacred Soil,” which was generally beaten hardand dry, though in wet weather this was a problemto try men’s souls and women’s soles too. At suchtimes we were obliged to wade through nearly afoot of liquid mud, occasionally sticking fast tillpulled out somehow, perhaps with the loss of ahigh rubber boot.

The wards were wonders of cleanliness, consideringthe disadvantages of field life, and even atthat time sanitation was of a high order and, to agreat degree, prevented local diseases. Mennurses, soldiers unfit for active duty, took pleasurein fixing up their wards with an attempt at ornamentation,when allowed. These men well deservedtheir pay, as they worked cheerfully for thegovernment and for their sick comrades, doingtheir part faithfully during the devastations of war.They were as much needed and as necessary astheir heroic comrades in the field. I never knewof one of these faithful, hard-working amateurnurses being guilty of neglect or unkindness,though chronic growlers and irritable sick menwere often exasperating to the nurse’s unfailingcare and patience. They frequently conveyedsome interdicted luxuries from the sutler, or extrarations, to make life more endurable and comfortablefor the invalids. This was usually winked atby their officers. They were generally appreciated,and little dissatisfaction or complaint couldhave been expressed. Perfect discipline and sympathyseemed to prevail.

During my year in this Field Hospital I did nothear of any enforcement of severe punishment, butI remember, one day, while riding outside of hospitallines, past a post or camp in the woods, seeingin the distance a poor fellow hanging by his thumbsto the branch of a tree. It was said by the men ofhis regiment that “the fellow ought to have beenhanged.”

Just across the road on one side of the hospitalwas a row of State Agency tents. Larger tents ofthe Sanitary Commission,—​that magnanimousgift of the people that so often, even in the farSouth, so nobly supplemented the regular hospitalwork and supplies, sometimes even with its owntransports and its own official corps of workers,—​headedthis row. In the middle of the Agency rowwere the tents of the Christian Commission, supportedchiefly by churches from all over the NorthernStates. They had built a large rough woodenstructure where regular services were held on Sundaysand on many evenings during the week, to thegreat relief and enjoyment of weary men seekingto find a word of hope and comfort, and a changefrom the monotony of ward life. Many ministersand other speakers came to look over the work,and many of them were very interesting andearnest.

Along this extensive row of tents were theAgencies, supported by the liberality of their severalStates, which also supplemented the governmentin giving special care to their own individualmen. Capable men and refined women workerstoiled uncomplainingly to make hospital life moreendurable for the sick.

From Petersburg front sick and wounded weredaily sent to the hospital, often on rough flat sandcars, over badly laid shaking tracks, being broughtas hastily as possible that they might receiveproper care and help. The sight of these cars,loaded with sufferers as they lay piled like logs,waiting their turn to be carried to the wards,—​powder-stained,dust-begrimed, in ragged torn andblood-stained uniforms, with here and there a half-severedlimb dangling from a mutilated body,—​wasa gruesome, sickening one, never to be forgotten,and one which I tried not to see when unableto render assistance.

Not only were the sick and wounded from nearby brought there, but large numbers came frommore southerly points of the army of the Potomac.Many seriously or permanently injured were senthere to wait until able to be forwarded to Washington.Some came en route on sick furloughs, orto be discharged, or when fit returned to their regimentsin the field. Every grade of suffering orweariness found temporary shelter and care here.All incurable cases were hurried forward as soonas possible to make room for the multitude stillcoming.

One day while I was passing through a largeward, a number of sick and wounded men werebrought in. Suddenly one of them,—​a boy ofabout eighteen,—​stood before me at “attention.”Signs of typhoid were only too evident, asquite wildly, he struggled to express himself, muchlike the following:

“Oh, Miss, won’t you just take my name? It’sJohn C. Guffin; and write to my parents and tellthem about me?” Controlling himself with aneffort he continued: “And Oh, do write to my employer,Mr. Gibson, in Albany, and now, now bequick, won’t you?”—​always prepared for suchemergencies, I quickly took down these addresses,—​“forin a minute I won’t know anything, justlike I was when they brought me in.”

With a painful struggle he controlled his mind,saying: “Just take these” (small articles) “andthis little watch and wear it until I get well.”This intense strain exhausted the last gleam of intelligence,and he fell unconscious on a cot near by.Many weeks he lay, raving and incoherent, till thefever had spent its malign power. During theseweeks I had many times stopped to glance at thepoor fellow, with burning fever and his eyes rollingwildly; but I could do little for him. The soldiernurses, always kind to their sick comrades, did allthat was necessary or possible.

At this crisis Dr. O’Maugher came to me in theMaine State Agency saying, “Do you rememberthe boy Guffin? Well the fever has spent itself,and he is now lying in a critical state of exhaustion,refusing all nourishment. I know you are over-worked,but he is at a point when only a woman’scare can pull him through. Can you make a placefor him on your list?”

I went as soon as possible to the emaciated patient,whose mind was not yet quite clear, thoughhe seemed at once to have confidence in me andwished me to stay by his side. Losing no time, Isaid: “Why, John, I hear you will not eat anything,and now if you will not eat you will certainlyrelapse and die.”

“I can’t eat, I can’t eat,” he continued to repeat.

“Why not?” I asked. “Why can’t you eat?”

“Why,” he said, “these ain’t John C. Guffin’steeth, and I can’t eat, I can’t eat.”

Here was a problem. The boy must not beforced against his own will. “Why, my boy,that’s nonsense, because you have had a bad fever.”

He repeated, “Can’t eat, can’t eat; these ain’tmy teeth, and I can’t eat with another man’steeth.”

Experience had taught us many devices while inour daily care of irresponsible patients, so I repliedquickly, “O, that makes no difference, don’tyou know you can eat just as well with anotherman’s teeth as with your own?”—​a fact painfullytrue to many. He turned and looked at mevery doubtfully while I repeated and urged him totry. “Now, John, I’m going to make somethingreal nice for you, and you are going to eat it.”

Very soon I brought my little tray, with silvercup and spoon and a pretty doily, in which for refinedpatients I had much confidence, and which atonce diverted their attention. When I sat downbeside him he said once more to me rather quietly,“Can’t eat, can’t eat.”

“Now, John, I made this just for you; it’sawfully good, taste it.”

Taking advantage of an open-mouthed objection,I slipped in a spoonful which he was obligedto swallow, greatly to his surprise; and so I quicklyfollowed it with two or three more spoonfuls, andleft the little tray for him to look at, and to helphim to reason out why he could eat with anotherman’s teeth.

Daily I fed him until he was able to take theregular hospital diet. While convalescent, andwhen quite himself, we had almost a quarrel. Iwished to return the little silver watch, and he insistedupon my keeping it, this I refused until hedeclared that it was not good enough, and if Iwould not keep it he would send me a handsomegold one when he reached home. At last I consentedto accept it as a keepsake from a boy friend,saying I would rather have it than a gold one. Tomy great regret, while galloping with a partythrough Petersburg, just after the capture, I lostit from my belt, with a bunch of rings made frombuttons, and little tokens made by the boys fromthe bones of the meat in their rations.

Meanwhile I had written to his family and to hisemployer, Mr. Gibson, who wrote that if the boycould be taken home he would come for him. ImmediatelyI wrote and explained to him what wasnecessary to procure a discharge or sick furlough.The former was soon obtained, as he was even thenbut a boy. Mr. Gibson came at once, and took thelad home in a most generous manner.

When, later, I went to Albany for an interviewwith Governor Fenton, I was entertained by hisfamily; but John was not at home, and I havenever seen him since.

During this period of the great Rebellion themost terrible battles of any recorded in modernhistory, were fought. After one of them, duringwhich the same ground had been fought over repeatedly,now with success on the Southern side,now on the Northern, a flag of truce was sent infrom the Confederate Army, asking for a cessationof hostilities that its soldiers might be allowed tobury their dead. The following poem, written byAmanda T. Jones, author of “A Psychic Autobiography,”commemorates the heart-breaking incident.It will be found among her collected worksentitled “Poems: 1854-1906.”

A REBEL FLAG OF TRUCE

I found plenty of work to do, and attached myselfto the Ninth Corps especially, though visitingall the wards and corps. I was invited by Mrs.Mayhew to work with her for some weeks in theMaine State Agency. While there I was askedlater, in the absence of Miss Gilson, of Lynn, Massachusetts,to take charge of the Corps d’Afric, butI soon found that the work was chiefly to look afterrefugee negroes, and to give them employment inlaundry work, etc. Doctor Thomas Pooley wasthen in charge of that corps, and is now a distinguishedoculist of Manhattan. I still see him,a very young man, resplendent in a new uniformwith bright buttons, red sash, etc., as officer of theday.

Miss Gilson had come with Mr. Fay, GeneralSuperintendent of the Sanitary Commission, in thefield, and formerly Mayor of Chelsea, Massachusetts,and she chose to work for the Corps d’Afric.That was quite as well conducted as any othercorps. Miss Gilson was a dainty young woman,and, while in camp, wore a short pretty dress ofgrey cloth and a white kerchief tastily arrangedover her dark hair and one about her neck. Shehad a pure soprano voice, and frequently sangarmy songs and hymns to the men, making themquite happy, and with a sort of reverence, theyseemed to find her an angel of peace. In herearnest devotion, Miss Gilson remained too longministering to typhoid patients from whom shecontracted the fever, and at last was compelled toleave her chosen work and go to her home, stillhoping to recover and to return to the patients ofher corps. Her strength was not equal to thewaste of that burning fever, however, and she diedin her early womanhood, a sacrifice to her benevolenceand patriotism as truly and honorably as themen who died on the field of battle.

I returned to the Maine State Agency, andfound more special cases in the hospital than couldbe cared for by all the ladies. The United StatesSanitary Commission was under the direction ofthe late J. Yates Peek, of Brooklyn, New York.The absence of sectarianism in their work gavethem greater freedom than was found in the workof the “Christian Commission,” which was conductedon “religious” principles. The latter,however, did a very large work under the directionof the late Mr. Henry Houghton, a distinguishedoculist of Manhattan.

The large wooden chapel accommodated manyhundreds, and here came preachers from all overthe country, whose churches had contributed suppliesand were anxious to know how their contributionswere applied. Some ministers, from remotelocalities, were a great annoyance, having tobe entertained by the Christian Commission, andwanting to regulate their donations according tothe ideas of their own little parishes.

In the Maine State Agency the “mess” was atthat time composed of Mrs. Mayhew and her ladyassistants, with two or three convalescent officers.This pleasant party I was invited to join.

Surgeon William O’Maugher, of the 69th NewYork Infantry, late coroner of New York City, ajolly Irish gentleman, and Lieutenant Stanwood, ofMaine, with their wit and jolly talk were a greathelp to us, when we sometimes actually staggeredto our tents, completely discouraged and exhausted.It was impossible to help all the sick“Boys,” who were happy if we could give themonly a pleasant word of cheer in passing. Wefrequently sat on the rough seats, leaning wearilyon the plank tables supported on empty barrels;but their Yankee and Irish jokes, after a goodmeal, soon raised our spirits and we were ready tostart again on the endless round among the sick.

One day at dinner, when I was particularly depressed,Doctor O’Maugher began with an extrabrogue—​“Yees all think a deal of Miss Smith,don’t yees?”

“Well, I guess we do,” said Lieutenant Stanwood,“and no one had better say anything againsther.”

“Well, if yees knew what I know about her y’dchange yer mind.” I was too tired to raise myhead, and he went on: “Yees know about thatGuffin boy she tuk care of? Well, she saved hislife to be sure, but if ye knew the rist of it.”

At last I said, “What’s the matter with you,O’Maugher?”

“Well,” he went on, “do ye know whin Iwanted to put a fly blisther on the back of theboy’s head, she wouldn’t allow it, and for why doye think? Well, she said it would spoil his looksfor a corpse.” This of course was followed witha shout of laughter which happily relaxed thetension of fatigue, and gave us courage to go on.

One morning when Doctor O’Maugher came tohis “mess” he looked a picture of misery. “Why,Doctor, what’s the matter?”

“Oh, it’s a poor miserable cuss of a biped I amonyway.”

“What makes you so unhappy?”

“Oh, it’s just a miserable toothache that I have.”

“Is that all? Well then, Doctor, you are onlya bicusped after all.”

“Be garry, it’s right ye are,” he laughed.

Mrs. Mayhew, a lady of much refinement, possesseda sweet soprano voice, and a few of usformed a chapel quartette. The singing wasgreatly enjoyed by the convalescents, especially aswe took care to select good old time choruses inwhich they joined heartily. Planed planks on logsmade tolerable seats, and a rough platform and adesk, lighted at night with lamps or candles, completedthe arrangements of the great square roomof unplaned boards, where, as Miss Nye remarked,we sometimes literally “sat under the drippings ofthe sanctuary.”

Many evenings while resting from the fatigue ofthe day we sat outside the Maine Agency tent andsang army and other patriotic songs. Mrs. Mayhewwith her rare sweet voice led the singing, andthe chorus followed in our favorite songs of“Picking the Lint,” “Tenting To-night,” “WeShall Meet but We Shall Miss Him,” “StarSpangled Banner,” “Home, Sweet Home.” Thelatter, however, caused many stealthy tears amongthe listening patients, so we often closed withsomething cheerful like “Yankee Doodle” or“John Brown’s Body,” etc. Owing to the quietof the great hospital after dark the singing couldbe heard all over camp.

I was urged to take charge of the 2nd corps’ dietkitchen in the absence of Miss Hancock, whichmeant to direct the soldier cooks, see to supplies,regulate hours and kitchen diet, etc., for fourhundred convalescents.

Late one morning the head cook came to me saying,“It’s time to begin dinner, and we havenothing but one little shoulder of lamb. TheCommissary has not sent any meat or vegetables.What shall we do?”

This was a dilemma certainly. Four hundredhungry men must somehow be fed. All throughthe army at every camp, I believe, a temporaryoven was set up during the halts, and excellentfresh bread was served daily. The governmentalso supplied the very best of coffee, but this wasnot dinner. One must be equal to any emergencyin the army. Telling the cook to get out his largecauldron and put into it the little allowance of meatto boil, I took an orderly with a wheelbarrow, andstarted on a forage among the agencies.

At Maine I begged some fresh vegetables.Ohio gave some canned meat, Indiana onions, NewJersey more canned goods. I sent the orderlywith these to the cook, directing that everythingbe put into the cauldrons. We got another barrowload from the Pennsylvania, the Christian andthe Sanitary Commissions. This miscellaneouscollection, when cooked and well seasoned, made“the best stew we ever ate,” said the satisfiedfour hundred.

While at this diet kitchen some one stole myjournal, money, and pass,—​the latter the mostserious loss, as no one could remain in camp withoutwritten authority. Happily, and to my surprise,when I applied to Surgeon Dalton as towhat I must do, he said, “As I know of your goodwork in New York, Miss Smith, I will be happy tohave you remain, but hope you will get a pass assoon as possible. The Provost Marshall, GeneralPatrick, has authority higher than mine.” TheGeneral was a strict disciplinarian, and had heknown that my pass was lost he could haveordered me to “report to Washington at once.”

Many strange things occurred in our daily work.While I was helping at the Pennsylvania Agency,a wild-eyed, simple-minded woman found her wayto our tents. Twice before she had somehoweither eluded the guards or had worried officersinto giving her a temporary pass. She had comefor “the bones of her son” who had died at WhiteHouse Landing and was supposed to have beenburied there in the early skirmishes of the war.Hoping to satisfy this persistent woman, Mrs.Painter, whose pass gave her authority, ordered atransport to take her with a detachment of men tothe golgotha of her hopes.

We took the short sail and landed at WhiteHouse Point, where it was thought the boy mightpossibly have been buried, as the men had been ina skirmish there. They tried to locate the bodyby driving down in many places a long slenderiron bar, but no trace of it was found. The half-dementedwoman continued to declare that shewould “yet hold those dear bones in her arms.”She was finally persuaded to go home and comeanother time, which was the only way of relievingthe hospital of her presence.

According to army usage everything movablemight be taken from a deserted point. The WhiteHouse was still standing in good order, with greenlattice shutters, and Mrs. Painter directed the mento take them off and bring them to our tents, and asmall summer house was added to our army property.

CHAPTER XII

CITY POINT, VIRGINIA—A DAY IN THE ARMY

From a letter written Nov. 8, 1864

November 8th (Election Day) dawnedupon a cloudy sky and misty atmosphere aspeculiar to Virginia as is also the renownedand “Sacred Soil,” after a few days’ rain. Thishowever, we observed after we had risen from ournarrow hospital bed, which stood close by the sideof the tent, that flapped in the face of the sleeper(or waker) as the wind rose or fell. The raindescended in torrents during the night, and all wasdamp as usual in our rag houses. Our sleepingapartment, or tent, the second one of the MaineAgency, was well stored with boxes of goods anddelicacies for the sick, leaving little moving space.Late as was the season our tents were made comfortablywarm with army fireplaces, and stoves,though the floors, made of broken boxes, weresometimes covered with mud. “Oh, were youever into an Irishman’s shanty?” I can not heredescribe our excellent agency which did more forthe relief of soldiers, and more fully realized theidea of an army home, than any agency or commissionon the field.

I accepted a pressing invitation from the NewJersey State Agent, Doctor Hettie K. Painter, tojoin a pleasure excursion. She, by the by, was aliving example of the usefulness of a lady in thearmy, who can frequently effect more good bypersonal influence than would be allowed throughregular channels.

Our pass being sufficient, we started in an ambulancewith a clever driver, who drove around thecamp and gave us an opportunity to see the extentof our hospital, having a capacity of over 9,000,and covering an area of twenty-five acres. Wethen crossed the Petersburg railroad, to which hadbeen added a branch running directly into the middleof our camp for the more direct and comfortableconveyance of the sick and wounded.

We splashed on in the mud, through an openingin the fortification which protected the base. Thisdefense extended about fifteen miles from the AppomatoxRiver to the James River, and was a high,heavy earthwork, further protected by a deepditch; earthworks having been found to be superiorto stone fortification. How little did those athome know of the immense amount of labor herenecessary! The pick and spade still played an importantpart in the warfare of our country.

Virginia was stripped of her artificial culture andbore on her bosom the scourge of war in the formof burned and felled woods, torn and altered roads,plantations deserted and laid waste, deeply furrowedfields turned into stony roughness andcorduroy unevenness, which resisted even theindentation of wheels, and threatened frequentoverturns. With all these marks of desolation,waste and destruction, Virginia was still beautifulin her woods and varied trees, now gorgeous in theoriental splendor of fall,—​crimson, orange andpale yellow, with a background of the darkestgreen, fading into tan or sere and yellow,—​withblended colorings indescribable, and hills recedingin the distance. Near us—​beyond the windingriver and bayous, the dells and ravines and bluffs,which give to the quiet and beautiful scenery ofthis section its greatest variety and charm—​wasthe Point of Rocks.

On we jogged in our springless ambulance, herepassing an army train of supplies, or a load of logsfor building winter quarters. Further on we ranour wheels into a loaded army wagon, drawn by sixmules, but a dexterous turn brought us upon anevergreen bank, and we rode safely along, followinga cavalry force. After riding about four miles,we came to Broadway Landing, (why so called Ican not surmise), a depot at which General Butler’ssupplies were received and forwarded. Herewe crossed the pontoon bridge, formed by placingflat-bottomed boats sidewise about ten feet apart,and fastening these by ropes and beams laid acrossfrom one boat to another, and heavy planks laidtransversely across the beams. This makes a verysimple, portable and strong bridge. The river atthis point is less than a quarter of a mile in width,having a steep bank on either side.

On the eminence of the James River side of theAppomattox we came upon the marine artillery performingtheir drill. The rapidity with which theydismounted, and took to pieces and reconstructedtheir cannon seemed wonderful to an ordinaryspectator. To the left we passed the spot said tobe the veritable and memorable site of the historicalincident of the saving of Captain Smith’slife by Pocahontas. Her direct descendants, theRolfs, give this as the locality, and the stump of alarge oak tree at the extreme end of the Point ofRocks as the identical one,—​now felled andlying down the bank,—​under whose shade mighthave perished John Smith. And what then wouldthe world have done for a scapegoat?

Still further to the left of us was the 18th ArmyCorps Hospital, and in the background, on theriver bank, rose one of General Butler’s greatsignal stations, 125 feet in height, to which werecommunicated from the smaller and hidden stations,the results of their observations, and whencethey were transmitted to General Butler’s headquarters.While at one of these smaller stations,we saw through glasses a train of nine empty cars,passing on the rebel road, which fact was immediatelyconveyed by a singular numerical motion of asignal flag. The flagman who gave this communicationwas remarkably expert in his motions.

After riding some three miles further we reachedGeneral Butler’s provisional camp, then in commandof General Graham. Only a part of the supplieswere now forwarded to this point, the restbeing conveyed by way of the James River. Herewe stopped at the Hatcher farm. Judging fromthe number of barns and small houses scatteredabout, this must have been quite an extensiveplantation. The owner and present occupant hadtaken the Oath of Allegiance, and having sent hisslaves farther south, lived here quietly with hiswife and three pretty children. But General Butler’svigilance would not allow him to leave hishouse or to speak to any one without the immediateattendance of a guard, who constantly walkedbefore his door. Our cook supplied this rustycavalier and family with the necessities of life, as ifhe were a northern “mud sill.”

On the farm was quite a large negro cabin, builtof logs, consisting of two rooms, one above theother. This was the telegraph station of thissection and was under the supervision of the sonof Doctor Hettie K. Painter, a lad of less thanseventeen summers, who conducted the business asthoroughly as if it had been under the guidance orexperience of grey locks. What strange storiespassed over the lines from that mysterious littleinstrument, quietly working away on a side tableas if only an ornament! These boy employees,—​forour young friend Painter had assistance,—​wereall able to read by sounds which, to unpractisedears, seemed all alike.

In a large fireplace, over a log fire, Mrs. Paintermade a camp kettle of cornstarch pudding, andGeorge Washington, the contraband, boiled potatoesand fried the mutton chops; and with the additionof a few delicacies and good Java coffee,which we had carried with us, we had as good adinner as hungry mortals could wish.

Dinner over, we gathered some of the beautifulautumn leaves, and rode on our way until wereached the renowned original “Crow’s Nest”signal station. This was a huge tree seventy-fivefeet high, surmounting which was the “Crow’sNest,” reached by rude ladders from one platformto another. This “Nest” resembled a thatchedbird’s nest on a large scale, about four feet square,and it was almost hidden by surrounding trees. Anew skeleton station erected on the opposite sideof the road left unused the “Old Nest.” Severalgunboats were lying in the river, below the banksof the James, ready for action.

Entering the ambulance, we continued our rideover hills and through ravines, at the risk of anupset, until we safely reached Dutch Gap, GeneralButler’s famous canal. This was nearly completedat the cost of much time and labor, and onlywaited the blasting of a rock at the other end, tocomplete the work which would form an island ofthe narrow peninsula dividing the River James intotwo branches, to be connected by the canal.

Along both shores were heavy guns and strongfortifications, quite formidable, showing muchlabor and ingenuity. Despite the almost constantcourtesy of interchanging shells passing overhead,the “Johnny Rebs,” on one side of the river, andthe Yanks on the other bank, had many quiettalks across the narrow stream. Talks like thiswere quite usual, and were even winked at byofficers.

“Hello Yank, hev u’uns got any good coffee?”

“Well I guess! It can’t be beat. Say, Johnny,how are you off for tobac?”

“O, we’ve got heaps of that. I reckon u’unshad better just float some of that coffee across.”

“All right, Johnny, you get your tobac ready!”

By a little practice in watching the current, theybecame quite expert in floating across many exchangesbesides the tobacco and coffee. Theyeven risked being shot from their own side asdeserters, and swam across after dark to enjoy asupper of “hot pone” on the “Reb” side, or hotcoffee and some luxuries on the “Yank” side,where the sutler often consumed a month’s pay ata time in selling good things to some “Boy inBlue.”

Returning, we stopped only at the embalmer’s,where many bodies were daily prepared to be sentto friends at home. The morbid fancy which ismanifested by so many to possess dead bodies,especially those which have long laid buried, seemsone of the most barbarous customs permitted in acivilized country.

We reached our hospital just as “night drew onher sable mantle and pinned it with a star.” Thecamp fires and chimneys were throwing over thescene a bright and cheering glow. A good supperwas prepared by our contraband Hannah, who,with a broad smile, declared in her own peculiarvernacular: “I’s jes goin’ gib you alls up; t’o’t derebs done got you dis time shoo nuff—​I’se soglad.”

We pressed our collection of leaves, and, after ashort visit to headquarters and the ladies’ tentwhere our stores were kept, we returned to“Maine” and laid away our weary bones, nearlyshattered after a day’s shaking over the corduroyroads. We were soon lulled to sleep by the 6thArmy Corps singing “The Girl I Left Behind Me”and the humming of the singing mice which infectedour tent.

CHAPTER XIII

DOROTHEA DIX

About this time I met Dorothea Dix, thatmasterful woman by whose perseveringenergies insane women were provided withsuitable hospitals, instead of being confined withcriminals, as was usual in the old days. She devotedher time, thought and influence to compellingthe opening of decent asylums for theseoften refined, unfortunate women patients. Hergood work, begun in this country, reached Englandand other countries, and was the beginning of thatcivilizing influence that no longer considered theseunfortunates as subjects of divine punishment.

Miss Dix, a dignified lady, was then organizinga trained nurse corps. There were no trainednurses, or “Red Cross” at that time, but later wefollowed the Swiss movement. Miss Dix askedme to join her corps, but I declined, preferring todo independent work. I was glad, however, toturn over to her nurse corps, my three assistantnurses, knowing that with her they would receivepay for their services, which the Masonic Missionhad falsely promised to us. Several young girlshad been sent, with directions not to take moneyor clothing, as everything would be furnished. Ihad insisted on taking both. Some girls werestranded at Fortress Monroe, two or three ofwhom I succeeded in sending home safely. Threeothers, stranded and penniless, fell under the protection(?) of young officers. I then resigned mysecretaryship of the Masonic Mission, with athreat to expose and have them arrested for falsepretenses, but they disappeared in a night, andwere never more heard of.

On the return of Miss Hancock to the secondcorps’ kitchen, some red tape became tangled up,and, as I was invited to assist in the New Jerseyand Pennsylvania Agency with Doctor Hettie K.Painter, I gladly accepted, and worked for the menof those states, though, each of the Agencies desiringmy help, we all worked in the same spirit forall the “Boys.”

A most interesting Pennsylvania case was thatof a young captain who had received a thighfracture while at the front at Petersburg. Theleg had to be amputated so high that the arterycould not be taken up, and it was impossible toclose it in the usual manner. Consequently menwere detailed to hold or press their thumbs ceaselesslyupon the open artery, each man serving fourhours at a time, although another was alwaysready to take his place in case the strain of holdingso long in a cramped position should cause him torelax or faint. This was continued for weeks tillthe artery actually healed. I believe only oneother such case occurred during the Civil war.While hastily passing through his ward one day,Lieutenant Stanwood called my attention to thisofficer.

Contrary to my intention of caring only foryoung boys, I felt it my duty to do what I couldfor this sufferer, whom I found in a very criticalstate, needing the utmost care to bring himthrough. Being a blonde, he was transparentlywhite from loss of blood, and so weak that hescarcely tried to live. He had no interest in anythingand no appetite. There was no time to belost here, so I said—​“Captain, you do not eat, Ihear, and I want to make you something that youwould like.”

“I have no appetite,” he replied feebly.

“Can you think of something you could relish?”

After a pause he said, “I think it’s hardly worthyour time. I shall not recover, but perhaps I couldeat some barley broth if it is possible to get it.”

Always strong on the optimistic side, Ianswered, “I think we can find some, Captain.”

But where? Perhaps not nearer than Washingtonand forty or more hours away. Here was possiblya life to save. Beginning at the SanitaryCommission, at the head of the agency row, I wentto each State agency in a faint hope of at leastsecuring some substitute, but nothing could I find.Barley was such a simple thing; and now mightsave a life! I racked my brain to find some palatablesubstitute. As a last hope I went to theChristian Commission with my anxious inquiry,“Can’t you remember if on your list of suppliessome thoughtful man or woman has sent this nowinvaluable donation?”

Mr. Houghten said, “I seem to remember thatabout six months ago there was sent a little packagemarked barley, but how can we find it in thisgreat store of supplies?”

“Oh,” I exclaimed, “put on all your men tohunt for it; it may save a life worth saving.”

To my delight, after a long search, a package ofabout four by three inches was discovered. Losingno time, I ran to my tent and started a fewspoonfuls boiling. The surgeon had said not evensalt could be allowed the patient, lest it shouldincrease circulation and thus break open the arteryscarcely healed.

At last with my special attractive little array ofsilver cup, dainty doiley, etc., I went to the poorcaptain. His refined face at once showed his appreciationof the neat service.

“Here’s your barley, Captain,” I said cheeringly;“let me feed you a few spoonfuls now, andI’ll come back and give you a little more bye andbye. And, Captain, I shall leave it all here on thislittle table; don’t let any one carry it off.”

The poor, feeble cripple, who had not been allowedto change his position for many days, said—​“They’dbetter not touch it!” and he fixed hisgreat blue eyes on the tray with an air of defiance,pathetic to see. So his mind had something toguard, and this somewhat diverted his attentionfrom the dying and suffering men about him.Next day the surgeon allowed a little salt, then alittle butter, and at last a little meat. By this timehis digestion would allow stronger food, and thiswas fortunate, for, though I had guarded everygrain of the precious little package, it was almostexhausted.

I have often pictured to myself a kindly, countryold lady in white cap and kerchief, whoseprescience in sending this precious barley probablysaved a life, and I wished that she could know it.

The captain lived, and went to Washington quiterecovered, where he received a government leg(gratis) which fitted so well that he could jump offa moving car. He then went home quite well,having sacrificed a leg to his country. His temperateclean manner of living served him in anemergency and carried him over the crisis.

The mistaken idea of so many men, especiallymilitary men of that time, that liquor givesstrength and courage, cost many an otherwise purecharacter his life in such an exigency.

By contrast with the above I will cite the caseof Colonel Murphy, Sixty-ninth New York Infantry,second corps, a brave officer, worshippedby his men. He was a man of fine physique androbust appearance when I saw him, despite hisfatal wound, a fracture of the thigh, similar to thatof the Pennsylvania captain. To perform theamputation and carry him over successfully it wasnecessary to stimulate him and this was impossible,his body being already over-stimulated by thedrinking habit to the last degree. I never beforebegrudged anything to a wounded man, but I knewthat my choice brandy could not help him. Hedied without even a chance of being saved,mourned and regretted by his whole corps.

CHAPTER XIV

AN UNEXPECTED RIDE

On a beautiful clear night, while still in theCorps d’Afric, a party of ladies and officerswalked a short distance to a cabin where anegro preacher drew a large crowd. This man,though uneducated, was a wonder of natural oratoryand eloquence. In addressing his admiringaudience his vocabulary was remarkable, as he usedsome extraordinary sentences such as—​“All theenglomerated hosts of heaven.”

While at this meeting an orderly came for mesaying that a couple of officers from the front desiredto see me at my tent. I found there twouniformed, mounted officers awaiting me, one ofwhom proved to be my old friend Captain FrankDexter of the Engineer Corps.

The night was perfect in a mild atmosphere anda full orbed moon, and I was reminded of James’old time “Solitary Horseman,” though here weretwo rarely handsome men of fine physique; and asthey stood, holding their fiery steeds, they formeda romantic picture.

After a pleasant talk of home and friends theyremounted, and with raised sombreros, theirspurred horses dashed away to the clinking ofsword and hoofs, while the bright moon raysglinted uniforms and accoutrements, till theypassed under the shadow of the distant woods.

Captain Dexter had raised Company L of theFiftieth Volunteer Engineer Corps early in thewar, and still commanded that company at Petersburgfront, and during many battles. After theclose of the war, he became a successful physician,and in addition to his practice in New York Cityhe held for many years the position of PoliceSurgeon.

As some patients needed fresh milk, I started outboldly one afternoon, with an orderly carrying anempty pail and a basket of extracts and small supplies.We rode through the woods beyond ourlines to a secesh house quite near. On the piazzawere a pretty young girl and a young Confederateofficer in full grey uniform. With them were twoor three ladies. At first they were suspicious lestit was a ruse on our part to capture the young“reb,” but a pleasant talk followed, and theywere glad to exchange some quarts of milk for thesmall luxuries that they had been so long unableto secure, and to arrange an exchange of milk forsuch articles in the future.

We gave the sick rebel prisoners the same attentionas our own boys. One asked why we were sokind to them, and I replied—​“Why, don’t youknow we’re feeding you up to make you well andthen send you back so we can fight you overagain.” This greatly amused them.

A rumor spread through the camp that the rebelgunboats were coming down the James to capturethe hospital. Much excitement followed as towhat we women would do; should we try to escapeor should we remain with the sick? Wepromptly decided to remain with our boys; buthappily the gunboats did not come.

My only recreation was an occasional horsebackride, accompanied by a mounted orderly. Asthere was only one lady’s saddle in camp, it wasdifficult to secure it. Two or three high cavalrysaddles were altered so that women could ride, uncomfortably,on them. I once rode a horse fromGeneral Russell’s headquarters at the Point, andfound the animal quite unmanageable. He at oncestarted for a run and it was impossible to checkor hold him. I barely managed to hold on, windingthe reins about my hands, and bracing myselfin the too small saddle. We passed a hotel on theroad where many officers were sitting, then GeneralGrant’s tent, and then dashed down the roadover a pile of logs, nearly upsetting some soldiersat work there. With a sudden stop that nearlysent me over the horse’s head the animal stoodquietly in front of General Russell’s open officewindow, where the General and his staff were consulting.They sprang up at the clatter and, gaspingfor breath, I said, “General, I didn’t come tosee you because I wanted to, but because I couldn’thelp it.” And there was a general laugh. Thecheck rein had been forgotten.

Another horse took me back very quietly, butfor many days the strained muscles stood out likethose of an athlete, and there was pain enoughthrough my entire body to make me sympathizewith a chronic “rheumatic.”

We sometimes rode to U. S. Headquarters tosee the drill and inspection of General Russell’scolored brigade. General Grant often stood besidehis magnificent black horse at these inspections,and was very proud of the perfect drill ofthe negro infantry, whom he complimented, totheir great happiness. These were the first coloredtroops I had seen.

According to General Butler’s autobiography“The first regiment of colored soldiers wasmustered in at New Orleans on August 22d, 1862.Better soldiers never shouldered a musket. Theylearned to handle arms and to march more readilythan white men.”

How little thought and justice has been given tothe fact that, when enlistments began, and as thedemand for Confederate troops became more imperative,even old men and boys were drafted intothe Southern army,—​for light duty perhaps. Insome cases there was not a white man within manymiles, and to the care and honor of these negroes,plantations of hundreds of acres were left thatthey might continue to raise food and supplies fortheir army. Despite the fact that thousands ofthese negroes had practically no restraint to fear,they cheerfully labored against a cause that evenat that early day they felt was for their emancipation,and yet I never heard of an uprising thatcould not have been checked by helpless women.There was not a case of robbery, destruction ofproperty or rapine among the faithful workers whobecame the protectors of Southern women andchildren.

In a sketch of the life of General Charles Halpin,(Private Miles O’Reilly) occur the followingverses. “Sambo’s Right to Get Kilt” was writtento accustom the Northern soldiers to the presenceof the negro. They had so strong a prejudiceagainst the negro that they did not like himeven to be killed in the company of white soldiers.Its effect was astonishing and its argument wasunanswerable, and negro soldiers were ever afterheld in the respect due to their orderly conduct.General Butler considered them a necessity ofNorthern success, mainly due to the wonderfullyskilled pen of General Halpin, who died at theearly age of thirty-seven, at the height of literaryhonor.

SAMBO’S RIGHT TO BE KILT

CHAPTER XV

TWO FIANCÉES

We were all much interested in the case ofa young lieutenant who had lost a leg andwas slowly recovering. He had writtento his fiancée that he was disabled, and would giveher up if she so desired. He was now awaitinganxiously her reply.

Quite coincidently, at the other end of the wardwas Major Hemlock, of the Forty-seventh NewYork Infantry, who had lost a leg and he, too, hadwritten his fiancée offering to release her from herpromise. As time went by without bringing areply the lieutenant became very despondent.One day in passing I saw an unopened letter lyingupon his breast and exclaimed: “Oh, lieutenant,your letter has come after all; but it is not opened!Shall I open it for you?”

“No,” he answered in a despairing voice. “Iknow what it says.”

Unable to persuade him to read his letter, andfeeling quite sure that it must be favorable, I ranquickly to Mrs. Mayhew, of his State agency,telling her of the letter. She went at once to him,and in her sweet sisterly way at last induced himto consent to open the letter. His intuitionsproved only too true. “Perhaps,” the girl hadwritten, “it would be best; we could still befriends.”

Our indignation knew no bounds. The poorfellow sank rapidly and died a few days later of abroken heart. He was carried by his comrades,led by the funeral march of the shrill fife and thedrum, to his soldier’s grave in the woods, overwhich they fired the farewell salute.

During this time I was greatly surprised oneday on visiting this ward to find Major Hemlockdressed and sitting up, looking happy and like anotherman. After a second glance I saw the causeof this change, for beside him sat a charmingyoung girl who, in reply to his letter offering hera release, had started at once and succeeded inreaching him safely. The Major was soon ableto travel and the happy pair returned to their homein Philadelphia where they were married.

My friend Mary Blackmar, a medical student,enlisted as nurse, that she might serve her year inthe field work with its wider experience, instead ofin some regular city hospital. A year after thewar she graduated from the Woman’s MedicalCollege, in Philadelphia, and assisted for a year inthe dispensary with those wonderful pioneerwomen doctors Mary and Elizabeth Blackwell, inNew York City. Miss Blackmar married, andfinally, owing to ill health, was obliged to live inFlorida, where she still practises medicine as DoctorMary Blackmar Bruson.

In the winter of 1909 I found a little notice inthe newspaper stating that Doctor ElizabethBlackwell was still living near London at ninetyyears of age. About the same time I met a gentlemanof my native city whose father (this name hasescaped me) was the first reputable doctor to holdconsultation with these remarkable women. Thisrequired courage, for at that time women doctorswere considered bold intruders, “unsexed”—​whateverthat may mean—​and why? Becausethey thought that it was time for women to knowsomething about their own bodies and diseases.

One morning Miss Blackmar, quite excited, herdark eyes dancing with pleasure, ran into my tentexclaiming, “O, Colonel” (meaning me) “such abeautiful girl is in camp, you must see her! Idon’t know how she got here; but I can’t stop amoment, I must run back to my patients.”

Soon after, a graceful blonde was sent to us fromheadquarters to be entertained. She stated that,though English, she was in Edinboro when thenews reached her that her brother was woundedat City Point, and she lost no time in sailing onthe first vessel to America, where, perhaps owingto her good looks and persistence she succeeded inreaching our hospital. Meanwhile the brotherhad returned to his regiment, the Thirty-seventhWisconsin, before Petersburg. I found means,however, to communicate with him, and in a fewhours he pulled rein at our tent, having riddenmany miles without a halt.

It soon developed that he was something morethan a brother; though the girl claimed that thisdashing, handsome young Englishman, CaptainRobert Eden, was an adopted brother. He oftengot leave of absence that he might spend an hourwith his fiancée, Miss Annie Bain, who becameour friend and companion and, though taking nopart in our work, remained with us during somemonths.

About this time our hospitality was taxed stillfurther. An orderly brought a pleasant-lookingwoman and presented a note from Hospital Headquarterswhich read—​“Please entertain MissMason, who is on her way South by ‘flag oftruce’…. She is secesh. Watch her.”

Miss Mason remained a few days, and wentSouth by first detachment of paroled rebel patientswithout any incident of interest.

CHAPTER XVI

THE STORY OF MY PASS

We were often annoyed by the calls ofofficers who, having little to occupy theirtime, could not understand how it waspossible for us to be too tired to entertain them.They frequently called on me when I had manyletters to write, and I would say to them: “Well,gentlemen, if it’s any satisfaction to you to sit herewhile I write letters, I’ve no objection, but thesehome letters for the Boys are my first duty.”They thought I should feel complimented by thecalls of headquarters’ officers, but I assured them Iwas quite aware that they had come to me only tokill time, when they had exhausted all otheramusements.

It was really too much honor, and too much ofa good thing when forty-five officers called on mein one week, some coming in from the front onshort leave when all was quiet on the James, othersfrom Grant’s Headquarters, and from our HospitalHeadquarters.

One evening I was very tired and three of theseofficers, fine looking men in full uniform, butslightly under the influence of liquor, annoyed megreatly. At “taps” I said significantly—​“It’staps, gentlemen!”

“That does not concern us,” one replied, “wecan stay as long as we wish.”

“General Grant himself could not stay in mytent after taps,” I retorted indignantly.

They made no move to go, however. I aroseand simply pointed to the tent opening, decliningany reply to their remarks. They at last passedout in great indignation, and immediately one ofthese doctors began a petty persecution. Knowingthat I had lost my pass he tried to have mesent to Washington. This soon became known incamp, and my friends set themselves to work tocircumvent his unmanly spite.

He obtained an order from the Provost Marshall,General Patrick, by which all persons incamp not having passes should report at once toWashington. It was necessary, however, that heshould notify personally any one so unfortunate asto have no pass. When he called at my tent Iwas never to be found, for whenever the doctorapproached some one would say “Here comes C!”and I began a system of remarkable evolutionsfrom one tent to another in the row, gliding backand forth, until he had to give up the search forthe day.

Fortunately my good friend, Mrs. DoctorPainter, had made such a favorable report of meto General Grant’s Headquarters that a pass waspromised. The utmost diplomacy was necessaryto gain time, but at last the pass was handed tome, secretly, on Thanksgiving eve, as we weredecorating the mess hall for the coming feast.

The next day I was at home when Doctor C.called. I received him with much courtesy andsaid: “I hear, doctor, that you have called severaltimes when I was not in. To what am I indebtedfor so much attention? Be seated.”

The florid face grew redder, but I gave him nochance to speak, and in my most agreeable mannerI talked and talked of everything I could think of,despite his many efforts to get in a word. FinallyI grew tired of the fun, as were also some friendsand listeners in the adjoining tent. Then, as ifjust remembering his attempts to speak, I said,“O, doctor, had you something to say to me?”

Growing still redder, if possible, and sitting uncomfortablyon the edge of the barrel chair that Ihad insisted on his taking, he said, “O, only thatan order is received that all persons not havingauthority must report to Washington. Er— er—​haveyou a pass?”

“Doctor, you know that my pass was stolen.”And I asked demurely what I should do.

With an air of exultation he sprang up and said—​“Unfortunately,Miss Smith, you will have toreport to Washington to-morrow.”

Then slowly taking the pass from my pocket, Isaid hesitatingly, “Well, Doctor, here is a paperthat perhaps will help me,” and I handed him theGrant pass.

I watched him in silence till he finished reading.His face was crimson and he said with a nervousgiggle, “O, yes, er—​I’ll fix you up at medicalheadquarters all right!”

“Will you, indeed?” I replied, “I think I havefixed you. Now you may go,” and he lost notime in going.

The laughter in the next tent must have reachedhim as he darted out and across the road to thehospital headquarters, where he exclaimed breathlessly:“D—— that Miss Smith. When I thoughtI had her all right she kept me on nettles for anhour, and then showed me an order from GeneralGrant ranking me.”

This soon became camp gossip, and he wasjeered from one side to the other of the hospital.

CHAPTER XVII

THANKSGIVING, 1864

UNDER FIRE AT DUTCH GAP, VIRGINIA

Greatly needing a day’s rest from hospitalwork, I ordered an ambulance, goodgovernment horses and driver, and invitedmy guest, Miss Bain, and two reliable officers ofthe Corps d’ Afric, stationed at General Grant’sheadquarters, City Point, to accompany us, andaccept an invitation to dinner.

We started for the renowned “Dutch Gap,”which had been excavated under the supervision ofGeneral Benjamin Butler, then in command of theArmy of the James, and it was intended to compelthe enemy to make a complete change of base.

A ride of seven or eight miles, through woodsand over bumping corduroy roads and ditches,brought us to the James River, where we had beeninvited to a Thanksgiving dinner of goose (savethe mark) on a commissary barge then anchoredopposite the Gap. To my annoyance and MissBain’s consternation, as she was interested only inCaptain Eden, then at the front, we found ten ortwelve officers in full dress waiting to receive usformally on the barge, when we arrived. It tooka great deal of courage and not a little tact to getthrough that dinner creditably, while every mancraved special attention.

After dinner we rowed on the narrow river tothe monitor Onondaga and another war vesselnear by. On board the Onondaga we encounteredanother crowd of naval officers, and were urgentlyinvited to inspect these wonderfully constructedvessels which were stationed here to protect theGap, and to prevent the rebel gunboats comingdown the river.

We landed near this great excavation called“Dutch Gap,” which was to be Butler’s chefd’œuvre, viz., a channel cut across a long peninsuladividing the river at the end into two branchesrunning almost parallel; in front of which theformidable Confederate mortars were continuallysending shells all about this locality. A shell haddropped directly into the dredging machine, shatteringit completely and it now lay on one side likea huge black mastodon. The channel lacked abouttwenty-five feet of successful completion, but owingto “orders” no further work was accomplished,and thus ended the great Dutch Gap strategy ofBen Butler.

The small row boat landed us on the muddyshore where little foliage remained to cover thedenuded ground of the rough camp of an engineeringcorps and its guard. Despite the almost constantwar courtesy of interchanging shots andshells, roaring on either side from the forts, andgenerally passing safely above the heads of“Yank” and “Johnnie” alike on each side of theriver, they enjoyed many friendly talks across.Thus they broke the monotony of picket duty andgopher holes, while telling camp stories, true orotherwise, as the occasion suggested.

A story was told me that bears out on its facethe imprint of possibility during the last days of therebellion. A daring young “Reb,” tired of lifein the swamp and woods, with insufficient rations,while waiting for orders to advance, one darknight swam boldly across the narrow stream andwas cordially received.

After enjoying a jolly evening around the campfire, and especially, a good “square meal,” he saidto the Yankee boys, “You uns have plenty of goodgrub any way, and I’m about starved out. I say,Yanks, suppose you uns just surround me and captureme and march me up to headquarters as adeserter? I’d rather stay on this side and havegood rations than to starve in the swamp on theother side.”

This the “Yanks” did very cheerfully, and soanother deserter was added to the Union army.

Our party started to walk around what was tohave been Ferry Island, where the tortuous rivermade a sharp turn at the end, almost doubling onitself. An officer walking with me constantlychanged from one side to the other. This surprisedme and on my asking why he did this hereplied “O nothing!” ignoring the question,though he continued changing sides as we walkedon the uneven path. I insisted at last upon anexplanation. He replied: “Well, you know therebs are just across this narrow water in thewoods, and it wouldn’t look well if a lady shouldget a stray shot!”

“So you’re making a target of yourself, Major,to gratify my curiosity!” I was insisting ongoing back, when a “Johnny Reb” called acrossthe stream in a pleasant tone, “Better take thoseladies away!”

Mounting the great hill to look into the abandonedditch where so much time and labor had beenlost, we made a strikingly conspicuous group withthe officers in uniforms,bright withthe sun’s reflections.Suddenlyin the midst ofwitty talk andbadinage a shellfrom the Rebelmortar shriekedover our heads,followed quicklyby a second onewith a deafeningfrightful explosion,and for a secondwe werestunned and almostparalyzed.

But not a momentwas lost.An officer oneither sidegrabbed the handsof Miss Bain andmyself and “sansceremonie,” ranus quickly downthe hill until wewere safe in alarge bomb-proofgopher hole, where we stopped for breath. Thesegallant officers carried a quantity of “Sacred Soil”on their spotless white trousers and polished boots.Here we waited while the shells continued to fallat some distance.

A large hole had been dug in the side of the hillwhere a plank floor and roof had been made toprevent falling in. This served as a mess room,while around the side of the high bluff, in smallgopher holes, men hived like ants in their earthhills.

Hospitality suggested that a supper be preparedfor us, and it was spread on planks with newspapertablecloth, tin cups and plates, and two-tinedforks. An old aunty cook waited on us, andserved some rather weighty biscuit. The “piècede résistance” at this supper and also at the bargedinner, was a rather opaque tumbler filled withpeppermint sticks, which had been procured fromthe sutler.

The firing continued, and shells struck the waterin the only channel by which we could return.Night was coming on, and I was at a loss to knowwhat to do. Not wishing to alarm Miss Bain, Itook an officer aside and consulted him.

They would do the best they could for us withonly gophers for shelter, if we wished to pass thenight there. If we attempted to cross the river itmust be at our own risk, as the firing would probablycontinue until nightfall.

I decided at once for myself, but Miss Bain wasmy guest and must be given a choice. Theagency people had always been careful to avoideven an appearance of evil. “Should we bravethe comment of staying all night in a strangecamp, or must we risk our lives in attempting toescape the shells falling on our route?” Withouta moment’s hesitation the courageous girl saidfirmly and briefly, “I’d rather risk the shells anddrowning.”

A boat was ordered at a pistol’s point, and thepoor pallid rower was so frightened that he couldscarcely hold the oars. We got in with only ourtwo escorts; the others were evidently not at alleager to accompany us back, but stood behind thehill anxiously watching our dangerous passage.

As we passed close by the Onondaga and hercompanion nothing living could be seen on thesefully manned monitors. They had closed downtheir steel decks while the shells struck, ricochetedand fell harmlessly into the water like greatmarbles, as we passed by. A few feet farther onwas the barge where we had dined with our militaryescort and where busy hands had helped usinto the boat. It was now as deserted as if neveroccupied, the men had fled for safety to the woods.As we neared the muddy bank one shell struck afew feet astern of our boat, sending up a columnof water like a geyser; another passed close overheadwith its uncanny blood-curdling shriek, andstruck the shore just ahead of us, where it exploded,driving pieces of shell and mud in everydirection.

On reaching the mud shore, it was almost impossibleto mount the rough improvised dock orfloat. However, our escorts pushed and weclimbed up, with no formalities, and without lossof time. At first I could not see my ambulance,but soon it came out of the woods with thefrightened horses dashing down the hill. Thedriver as he turned, shouted, “I can’t stop, youmust get in somehow!” Certainly it was “somehow”that our officers tumbled us into the rockingambulance as it turned and dashed wildly back intothe woods.

No word was spoken until the driver checkedhis mad race and we were out of range of the stillfalling shells, and could congratulate ourselves onour narrow escape. We reached camp at twilight,a little excited by our adventure, but quitethe heroes of the day; and we resolved that itwould be a long time before we again wanderedout of camp.

Since writing the above experience I have foundin General Butler’s autobiography, the only historicalstatement of that strategical attempt on theJames River, and it confirms my memory. Thiswork was considered of the greatest military importancethen, and if accomplished as designed, itwould, without doubt, have given to our navy andland forces the control of the river almost directlyin front of Richmond. This would have shortenedby several months the acute warfare by whichhundreds of lives were sacrificed.

That it failed when all was prepared to blow outthe bulk head, and admit our monitors throughthe canal, was due to the fact that the originalCommander (Smith) was ordered elsewhere, andthat the new Commander begged CommodoreLudlow not to open Dutch Gap because he fearedthat the enemies’ fleet would come down, and hedid not know that he could sustain the attack, etc.This Commander was dismissed for cowardicelater, when he took fright while the enemies’ fleetattempted to come down the river, and, withoutany attempt at defense, ordered the Potomac tomake all speed, and only stopped when he knewthat an accident to the Confederate vessels hadprevented an assault on the United States Headquartersat City Point, which might have destroyedthe camp and involved an entire change ofbase.

That one finds little allusion to this engineeringattempt is doubtless due to the fact that mosthistories of that time were written by West Pointofficers, who gave few details outside their ownpersonal experiences; and regard for the gallantvolunteer service was seldom admitted and toooften entirely ignored.

General Butler often fell under this ban, and helost no opportunity, when possible, of publiclyshowing the superior education in tactics of thevolunteer officers and men under his commandduring the war.

In this personal sketch I do not attempt to writehistory; but give only a few selections regardingthe expectations then known to many in that localityof the James River. I have given only a fewselections from “Butler.” These any one mayverify, and in doing so will come across many otherdetails of interest.

“Captain Melantha Smith, of the navy, assuredme that it was impossible for his monitors, drawingsixteen feet of water, to get up further thanTrent’s Reach. We made a reconnaissance to devisea plan by which he might ascend the Jameswith his vessels, then lying at a point called DutchGap.

“Here is a peculiar formation, the river runningup by Trent’s Reach, bends very sharply to theright and returns again, in an elongated horseshoe,so directly that while it has passed over a distanceof over seven miles, the waters of the river at adepth of twenty-five feet, approach so nearly, thatthere is only about four hundred and twenty-fivefeet from the water on the other side across theneck at Dutch Gap to twenty-five feet of water onthe lower side, so a canal wide and deep enough forour gunboats to get through, would require a cutless than four hundred feet long, sixteen feet deep,sixty feet wide at the bottom and ninety feet at thetop.

“After having made a reconnaissance with CaptainSmith, then in command of the naval forces ofthe James River, I went down to City Point andasked General Grant and Chief Engineer Barnardto come up with us to examine the premises. Thisthey did and made a careful examination of thepoint. This was known as Dutch Gap for the reasonthat some enterprising German had cut quite agap in undertaking to build a waterway through,many years before. We came to the conclusionthat it was a desirable thing to do, and GeneralGrant directed me to undertake it.

“Exploration proved it to be of very hard limestoneand gravel; in it was imbedded petrifiedwood, whole trees being turned into a very friablestone, easily broken.[1]

“The enemy, appreciating the importance of thisstrategic undertaking, and finding that we could notbe reached by direct fire of their artillery, erectedsome mortar batteries on the other side of theJames River. At a mile and a half distance it isnot easy to drop a shell with any certainty into aspace three hundred feet long by ninety feet wide.

“The first thing to do was to station a couple ofwell instructed men at points from which everyshell could be watched during its wild flight. Theseobservers after a little practice could tell almostprecisely where the missile would land—​whetherit would come into our excavation. While themen were at work, these men were on the watch,and if a shell was likely to fall in our way, thewatchmen would call out “Holes,” whereupon themen would rush into the bomb-proofs, and comeout again and resume work as soon as the shellhad struck or exploded without harm.”

Dutch Gap has since been dredged out and is amain channel for commerce between Richmond andthe outer world. The waters of the James Riverbeing directed by the canal, no longer flow aroundthrough any depth at Trench Reach, and thatwhich was the former channel of the river will soonbecome marsh land. Dutch Gap is the only militaryconstruction of all that was done by our army,which remains of use to the country in time ofpeace;—​a monument to its projector and constructor,—​oneof “Butler’s failures.”

My army friend of 1864, Mr. J. Yates Peek andhis wife, within a few years, have sailed throughButler’s Gap, remembering the days of its intendedstrategy and the great disappointment when thenavy caused its failure.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] I still have a piece of this black stone picked upat this point, at the time of my visit there in the year1864. I have also an excellent cut of the gap at thistime, better in some details, I think, than the picturesin the Butler Autobiography.

CHAPTER XVIII

DOMESTIC LIFE IN CAMP AND OTHER INCIDENTS

In Pennsylvania and New Jersey State quarterscombined, we had three good-sized connectingtents; and later the little New York house wasadded.

Our kitchen was generally run by Hannah, arather incompetent contraband, with great wonderingeyes and slipshod feet. There were manysuch about camp, girls and women as well as menand boys—​anxious to work for shelter and food,but without knowledge of the value of money,which they generally squandered at the sutler’s forsome trifle such as candy, or something to eat.Sufficient for the day was their evil tempter.

A good cooking stove was a great comfort, andDoctor Painter, an excellent cook, made our messappetizing. The agents were expected to get theirsustenance from State supplies, and we could buyfrom the Commissary Department good bread andcoffee. Our table was made of boards resting onbarrels, and sometimes we were quite stylish, havinga white tablecloth instead of newspapers. Ourdishes, mostly of tin, served quite well for hungry,hurried appetites.

Our reception tent, which was the largest, had atfirst a bunk in one corner where the rain sometimespercolated through the canvas walls, and one morning,—​mypillow touching the wet wall of the tent,—​Ifound my head in a little puddle of water. ButI was in better health, if possible, than before. Welaughed at these happenings, also when the rainran in streams over our ground floor and at nightwe were obliged to sit resting, or writing by thelight of candles stuck in bottles, with our feet onlogs to keep them dry. Meanwhile a log fireburned cheerfully in the rough mud and log chimney.A barrel was placed on top for draught. Itsometimes caught fire, but some one always managedto discover it, and knocked it off without settingfire to the canvas roofs. Our barrel chairswere not luxurious, but, like everything in camp,they served their purpose.

Though our tents were not transparent, the candledistinctly silhouetted our forms on the walls aswe sat talking with friends, so that passers couldrecognize visitors and perhaps wait for a morefavorable time to call. During the day our tentflaps were always open hospitably. Agents andofficers often visited and talked of home, friends,comforts, etc., while each was always ready to assistin an emergency. Convalescents often gotleave to come for some luxury or necessity; theycraved fruit and vegetables, especially onions, andone so craved this luxury that he offered me fiftycents for one. Of course it became a gift, and onethat was greatly enjoyed.

The wife of the Ohio agent, a pretty brunettewith long black curls and black eyes, became veryill. Their small tents were not comfortable. Allthe ladies helped in many ways to make her limitationsless trying. We were fearful of a sad endingas she lay helplessly weak for many days, but youthand courage, with good care, at last put her uponher feet again quite well.

An extremely annoying encounter occurred whileI was with Mrs. Painter in my little house attachedto another tent. One evening, with considerableclatter, an officer, followed by his orderly, haltedat my door and knocked for admission. I saw atonce that this otherwise fine young man, fromBrooklyn, was under the influence of liquor. Therewas no escape and I must, if possible, get alongpeaceably with him.

My friends in the next tent could hear everyword and could have helped me to get rid of him,but they thought it a good joke to get me cornered,while they laughed and quietly enjoyed the interview.

“Miss Smith,” mumbled the visitor, “I’m soglad to see you. I told the fer-rers I’d give fiftydollars for an introduction to you, when I saw youon the ch-cha-chapel platform singing just as if youdidn’t care fu-fur any body.”

I could think of no plan to get rid of him, and stillhoped my friends would come to my rescue.

“Oh, Miss Smith,” he went on, “I wish I had aba-ba-badge like yours. Couldn’t you give it tome?”

Thinking to escape his effusions and to hastenhis exit, I took off my precious Lincoln mourningbadge and handed it to him. But he grew morepersistent, saying:

“Wouldn’t you just pin-pin it on?”

In silent indignation and protest I did so, to hisgreat satisfaction. Then as his speech grew moreindistinct, he added: “W-w-when I tell the ferrersthat M-Miss Smith put-put that on, they’ll allbe ravin’ jealous!”

I do not remember how at last I got him out ofthe little house. I saw his orderly help him tomount a superb horse that had impatiently pawedthe ground since he entered.

My indignation passed for little above the shoutsof laughter at my discomfiture that for once I wascaught in a dilemma.

But this recalcitrant young officer received astartling communication on the following daywhich, doubtless, caused a permanent revulsion ofadmiration.

The wife of an officer, with her four year oldgirl, was very anxious to join her husband at thefront. Knowing that I held a pass, she persuadedme to take her to the camp, which might have mademe considerable trouble, as she could not get permissionfrom Headquarters. Being willing to helpher, if possible, I sent for an ambulance and driver,and we started over the corduroy roads, ditches,ruts and mud,—​a foot deep in some places,—​occasionallyin danger of being overturned, as werode at times partly on one wheel or two, rarely onfour. In a sudden lurch this mother so lost herhead with fright that she raised her feet and shotout on one side into the “Sacred Soil” of Virginia,quite up to her knees. I grasped the child andflung myself with her on the opposite side, thusrighting the ambulance, and feeling little sympathyfor the mother who forgot her child, though herfeet were completely covered with mud. Wefound her husband in camp, and I left them quitehappy in their tent before Petersburg.

One of our surgeons owned a superb black horsethat was so intelligent, one could not pass him withoutpetting him. This he greatly enjoyed, and heshowed that he remembered me. His handsomeowner remarked, “I’m soon going to take you fora ride on him.”

“O, you are, indeed. I believe it takes two tomake an engagement, and I have reasons for notwishing to ride with you,” I replied. “Goodmorning!” and so I left him greatly incensed.

Officers were constantly riding about our camp,and among them was Doctor Weir Mitchell of thecavalry, now the distinguished nerve specialist ofPhiladelphia, and author of many scientific worksas well as novels. He often dashed down our rowon a spirited horse, his long hair floating back,while his yellow-lined cape, thrown over his shoulder,made him a conspicuous figure.

Doctor Olmstead, of the 69th Regiment, aBrooklyn man, had received a wound in his footfrom a spent ball, and for some time limped quitecomfortably about camp. We much enjoyed hisoccasional calls and his kindly courtesy. I wear,on occasion, a silver trefoil of the 2d Division, 2dCorps, to which he belonged, made from a silverquarter (scarce in those days) and urged upon meby a grateful boy patient. Doctor Olmstead waskind enough to send it to Washington and have itmade. It is now a much valued relic.

On Christmas Day, 1864, Mrs. Painter, wishingto make a pleasant surprise with home-made cheerfor her son, Hettie K. Painter, who was still incharge of the telegraph at Hatch’s Run, again invitedme to accompany her.

After the usual bumping over corduroy and otherbad roads near the point, we found him in his littleimprovised office and living room. Doctor Painterwith the assistance of a cheerful contraband helpersoon prepared a surprisingly comfortable Christmasdinner, which was greatly enjoyed by our littleparty.

During this homely visit, Hettie Painter remarkedto me, “Miss Smith you are always lookingup some souvenir of the war, here is somethingthat you may appreciate. This is a telegram fromGeneral Sherman, received here this morning enroute, and I immediately forwarded a copy to PresidentLincoln in Washington. It is therefore acopy of the message before it was despatched tothe President.”

Much pleased with this souvenir, now a relic ofthat wonderful conquest, I have preserved it carefully.Some months since I presented it to theU. S. Grant Post of Brooklyn, and by them it wasneatly framed and is now in the fine military museumof that post’s relics. The following is a verbatimcopy:

I mailed it to my home, writing on the back,“This despatch was just received by a telegraphreporter. It is the first reliable original telegram.”

CHAPTER XIX

LOVE IN CAMP

Miss Annie Bain was still with us, andhad become my friend, and my companion,when time permitted. She made a restfulchange in the monotony of daily incessant hardwork when, except for letter writing or in someextreme case when a dying soldier called us out,we remained during the evening in our tents.

Impossible as it seemed for a woman withoutpass or authority, Miss Bain succeeded, with littledifficulty, in reaching City Point. A little tearfulentreaty from a beautiful young woman has oftenmoved the heart of the strictest disciplinarian.Upon reporting at City Point to that ogre of thedepartment to all stragglers and irregulars, GeneralPatrick, he gave her protection and permission toremain until her brother should receive his furlough.

Meanwhile Captain Robert Eden, of the 37thWisconsin Regiment, whose wound was but slight,had returned to his post, and was at the front.There Miss Bain was not allowed to follow. Butword soon reached the Captain, and in a day or twoafter Miss Bain’s arrival he dashed into camp onhis fine bay horse, well dusted after his long ride.He was a six-foot, broad-shouldered, ruddy youngEnglishman, and was brimming over with anticipationand happiness.

The first meeting, however, betrayed the secretthat “Bob” was the lover for whom this courageousgirl had braved the perils of the ocean, andthe dangers and uncertainties of a country at war.Miss Bain explained that “Bob” was her adoptedbrother, and she feared that he might die of hiswounds if left to strangers, and so she had comehoping to take care of him.

Captain Eden was promised a furlough and promotionbut it was long deferred. It was decidedthat when the promised furlough came they wouldgo at once to Washington for the marriage ceremonyand for a honeymoon trip. Bob managed toget an occasional pass from his regiment, then incamp before Petersburg always ready for orders toadvance for action.

It was well that Annie had succeeded in gainingfrom the department of the Provost Marshal General,the privilege of remaining till Captain “Bob”should receive his furlough. And well it was thatthe words took that form, for three months passedand yet no furlough came, while “Bob” stormedand laughed, impatient, though happy in anticipation,while he continued to make flying visits to ourquarters.

At last envy, loving a lofty mark, and not knowingthe goodness and purity that were her guide,sought some explanation of Annie’s quiet reservewhich ungratified curiosity magnified into manyvague surmises, and which were now taking theform of unpleasant rumor. Annie at last becameconscious of the false position in which she appeared,and which was chiefly due to the presencein camp of a handsome young lady having no ostensibleobject for her stay.

Thanksgiving and Christmas passed with gooddinners sent to the soldiers by the liberality of citizens,who also sent agents to assist in the distribution.Some accessories were supplied by the HospitalDepartment, and the ladies in camp, withmuch taste and ingenuity in arrangement and decorationof the stockade dining barracks or “messhall,” produced a really fine display, and gave tothe ever unsatisfied convalescent soldier “a goodsquare meal.”

Meanwhile, though with womanly tact Annieendeavored to hide her anxiety, my sympathysoon discovered “the worm in the bud” that saddenedthe eye and paled the cheek of the fair girl.Something must be done, and that quickly. Abold thought came to me; but extreme cases requireheroic treatment, and after all we can butfail.

With assumed indifference, breaking in upon oneof her reveries, I said, “Annie, you are unhappy.”

“Why no, Miss Smith, I am very happy,” sheanswered trying to believe herself sincere.

“Well, never mind, I know all about it, Annie,and am very sorry too, but mean to help you if youwill allow me.”

With an expectant yet alarmed glance she exclaimed:“Why, what can you do?”

“No matter; but will you answer truly one question?In the first place you know it is necessaryfor me to start for Albany at once to see GovernorFenton, and Mrs. Painter is called home on business;and you cannot be left here alone. You aredistressed and unhappy, and with reason; Bob cannotgo to Washington, as you well know, and nowplease answer without reserve. If Bob should wishto marry you here, in camp, will you consent?”

“Why, we could not be married here,” she exclaimed.

“That can be managed if you will give youranswer.”

“Well, yes, I would,” she replied reluctantly.

But womanly delicacy instantly repented and sheadded, “O, I would not for the world have Bobthink I am in the least bit of a hurry.”

“Don’t think of that! He shall never know ofthis conversation unless you are willing; and youwill have nothing more to do about it.”

In the course of the next hour a letter was writtento Bob, in which her real position was plainlyset forth, adding the very unpleasant suggestion,that should he fall in the expected battle, the poorgirl would be doubly miserable. And further, if,after calm deliberation, he wished to place herrightly in camp, and marry her here in the FieldHospital, it was only necessary to telegraph at onceand come to City Point at five P. M. to-morrow,and it should be done with every arrangementmade.

A rare chance had brought to our tent that dayan officer of Captain Eden’s regiment, by whomthe letter was at once dispatched. Little suspectingits importance, he delivered it at midnight tohis comrade, as he dreamed by his camp fire of thelong deferred day when Annie should be all hisown. Astonishment and indignation, at thethought of an injustice to the brave girl who haddared all in her devotion to him, at once clearedaway the mists of romance that had surroundedhis bright visions of the future.

By the first trembling of the morning wires camethe telegram, “All right, on the way to City Pointon horseback.” This was shown to Annie, whotrembled with anxiety and mortification lest heshould think her deficient in maidenly reserve; butwe laughed away her fears and said nothing. StillI would not take any decisive action in this emergencyuntil he came and assured me of his earnestwish. So the morning wore slowly on until nearlynoon, when Hannah “the great-eyed” stumbledinto the tent,—​her usual manner of entering,—​saying,“Lor, Miss Smith, Mass Bob dun comeridin’ way down de road, ready to broke him neck.”

I slipped quietly out of the tent as he dashed upon his fine horse, well flecked with foam, and pulledrein for the first time in fifteen miles of Virginiaroad! Covered with dust, but without a thoughtof fatigue, he sprang to the ground and, with ahearty grasp of my hand, exclaimed, “Colonel,you’re a trump! Never would have thought itpossible!” and with a significant gesture he whispered,“Do you mean it?”

“Certainly!” was the suppressed reply, for tentsare all ears.

Laughingly he continued, “Couldn’t get a passso came without it. Ha, ha! must be back to-night!”

“Well, there’s no time to lose; go and persuadeAnnie, and be ready at five P. M. sharp. It is nownearly noon, and all is yet to be done.”

With a bound, Bob was by Annie’s side, whileshe, half alarmed, was yet too happy in his presenceto speak the thoughts that caused her heart to leapwith a strange emotion.

It must have been like some wild dream when Isaid “Annie, Bob has something to say to youalone; so for once he may enter our sanctum.”And unpinning the flap of the little tent attached toa larger one, they disappeared within.

Gathering my scattered thoughts, I ejaculated,“Let’s see, what first? Ah, here comes MaryBlackmar. I want you to put on your other dressand be here at five P. M.”

Her fine hazel eyes dilating in wonder, she exclaimed,“What ails you, Colonel?”

“Nothing, only we are going to have a weddingin camp, and you’re to be second bridesmaid forAnnie.”

“Impossible!”

“Can’t be helped. Manage your work somehow.You must come just the same, and Mr. Peekis to stand with you. Good-bye,—​we’re off forthe clergyman. Remember, five P. M., and, onemoment,—​not a word in camp.”

Meanwhile Sister Painter had sent for her orderlyand ambulance, into which I quickly sprangwhile she called out with cheery significance,“Good luck! Good luck!” and the impatient pairof grey horses dashed off through camp to theCavalry Corps Hospital nearly a mile distant, tosecure the services of Chaplain Mines, the onlyEpiscopal clergyman in that department.

An unusually cold air chilled us as we drove upto the tasteful little office of the Chaplain. Hisorderly saluted, and awaited my order. “Pleaseask the Chaplain to step here as quickly as possible.”

To my consternation he replied “Chaplain Mineswent North this morning!”

Dumbfounded at this news, and greatly distressed,I hardly knew what to do next. The driverwas shivering, and evidently in doubt too, as heasked “Where shall I drive now?”

“To—to—O, I don’t know—​that is, driveback.”

What could be done? Away we sped and myperplexity increased, for I well knew that none butthe Church of England service could give sanctionto this pair in matrimony. “O, I have it, drive tothe Christian Commission.”

In fifteen minutes we found Mr. Houghton, headof this commission. “Do you know,” I criedbreathlessly, “you are to be best man at a weddingthis afternoon, and I’m to be first bridesmaid, and—​well—​thereis no Episcopalian clergyman inthis camp? You must help us out of this dilemma.Will you not ask one of your ministers to performthe service by the Episcopal form?”

With a twinkle in his keen gray eye he remarked“I think I shall order a straight jacket, and—”

“Never mind! Order what you like, but not aword in camp, or we shall have more assistancethan we desire. Though this must not be done in acorner, yet one from each post will suffice. If itgets out we might have hundreds. We ladies willrepresent the States, Mr. Peek the Sanitary Commission,and you, Mr. Houghton, the ChristianCommission, and—​at five P. M. you’ll know therest, for there is yet much to do. I’m off now forGeneral Patrick.”

Again we dashed off over the rough frozen roads,this time in the direction of General Grant’s Headquarters,near the James side of the Point. Theday was intensely cold, and only a guard was visible,marking his frozen beat. As we approachedhe called an orderly, who immediately appearedand received the message “Ask General Patrick ifhe can be seen.”

“General Patrick went North yesterday!”

“How long will he remain?”

“Till to-morrow night.”

Match-making was becoming a doubtful experiment.“Has everybody gone North?” I dubiouslyinquired.

The orderly suggested “The General’s adjutant,Captain Beckwith is here.”

“Oh, indeed, I don’t know him except by sight;a young man and good-looking. If only he wasn’t.Wonder what General Grant would say if he wereasked!” But a consideration of the cares of thatoverworked public servant saved him.

At last, in desperation, I said, “Ask the Adjutantif he will please step here for a moment,” inwardlyadding “If we do not perish with cold in this attempt,we might hereafter make our headquartersat the North Pole!”

Captain Beckwith came out of the office and politelywaited my request. A poor attempt at indifferencewas not helped by my hesitating words—​“Captain,I—er—I wish to speak to youprivately. Is your office occupied?”

He replied gravely and politely, “There areofficers now in my tent.”

“Well then, will you please step into the ambulance,as it is necessary to have your advice andassistance.”

Apparently anticipating a torpedo, when only aflag of truce was offered,—​rather dimly to besure,—​he cautiously took his seat without a word.

How shall I quickly explain? Why doesn’t hesay something—​not a word—​one or the othermust drop preliminary caution, or the words willfreeze on our lips. So I blundered out “Are youengaged at five P. M.?”

He replied that he thought he was. WhereuponI told him the whole story, and he soon changed hisplans.

“As General Patrick is away,” I said, “will youcome and witness the ceremony?”

“But I’m afraid it——”

“Nonsense, Miss Bain has remained by permissionof General Patrick. We wish you, as his representative,to give your countenance and endorsementto the affair.”

Now he was interested, and finally agreed to beon hand. Away we hurried back to the ChristianCommission, and found we had only two hours left.

After returning from the Cavalry Corps HospitalI found Bob within the tent standing alonewith a gloomy and discontented expression uponhis face. I took the alarm and said quickly:“There is something wrong, Bob. If you are intendingto marry Annie because you think youmust, don’t do it, she’s too good a girl to be forcedupon any man in that manner. Now is your timeto retreat. What is the matter?”

With a merry laugh, Bob said soothingly:“There, there, Colonel, you are wasting ammunition.Why, don’t you know that nothing in theworld could make me so happy as to marry thedear girl, and if we succeed I can never repay thisgreat kindness, so don’t waste time or thought onthat point!”

But the cloud once more passed over his face.What did it mean? Half repenting the new role, Iwas hurrying away, when a neglected messagecame to my mind, and I called out, “O, Bob!Major Baker, before going North, requested me tosay he had left forty dollars for you with the sutlerat the Point!”

The cloud vanished, as he sprang up and exclaimed:“Did he? Bless his old heart! I mustrun down and get it.”

“Why, how delighted you seem; one would thinkit was a fortune.”

“O no,—but you see—​er well, it is—​allright now.”

The cloud was explained! How mortal we are!The poor fellow was “dead broke” and of coursehad no fee for the clergyman. This seemed a smallmatter, but for several months that ever-welcomeindividual, the Pay-master, had not reported to theconsequently bankrupt “front,” so there was nothingto borrow, for as long as a dollar remained incamp, it was the common property of the “Boys.”

On the road shortly after, we met Bob beamingas a sunflower, radiant in a brand new pair of yellowbuckskin gauntlets, high cavalry boots, freshlyblacked, hair and beard barbered, dust swept offhis faded uniform, and with a clean paper collar.The owner of this elegant wedding attire called outmerrily—​“How are you progressing, Colonel?”

“Finely,” was the brief though hardly conscientiousreply, which was scarcely verified on reachingthe Christian Commission again, when Mr. Houghtonsaid: “I can find no one willing to performthat ceremony!”

Descending from the ambulance and passing intothe quarters occupied by Rev. Mr. and Mrs. A., Iasked the former to assist in giving away the bride,which he at once consented to do. But the mostimportant character was still wanting.

“Ah, Rev. G., will you not as a home friendkindly perform this service?”

“With pleasure by the Methodist form, but Ihave conscientious scruples about using anotherservice!”

“Well, please send some one else.”

This one had scruples too. This seemed anabsurd prejudice to stand in the way of so muchhappiness. The fourth or fifth minister was “perfectlywilling” but hadn’t the least idea of an Episcopalservice. Verily this was the pursuit of happinessunder difficulties. But I rejoiced then thatall obstacles seemed to be at last overcome. Gratefulto this liberal Methodist minister I thanked himand said: “If you are willing, please wait a moment.”

Running quickly to Mr. Houghton, he soon founda prayer book and a key,—​not of the book butof the chapel door. How the time flew! Fourhours and thirty minutes gone; only twenty-fiveminutes left! The minister and I entered thechapel, where I explained to him the form of theEpiscopal service, and to save time enacted the partof the groom, the bride and the other necessarycharacters. Much delighted with this service, hewas proceeding finely when we came to the givingof the ring. “Oh, how about the ring,” he asked.Here was another dilemma. Shades of the Goddessof Matrimony! A ring! and in camp, wherejewelry was conspicuous only by its absence! Myonly ring, a garnet cluster, would not serve for awedding ring, yet a ring must be had. Leavingthe reverend absorbed in his part I ran to the tentagain and rushed in upon Bob and Annie, happyand quite oblivious of time, forgetting almost mypresence, and that it was for their marriage, that Ihad stirred up every department in the great hospitaland the U. S. Headquarters.

In a tone of dismay I exclaimed: “What shallwe do for a ring? It is impossible to find one inthis last moment.”

But to my intense amazement and great reliefMiss Bain in a most matter of fact manner replied,“Why, I have a plain ring in my valise.” This sheplaced in my hand, and I gave it to Bob, who depositedit safely for the auspicious moment. So Isped happily away, calling back, “Be ready in fiveminutes!”

And now we must marshal our forces and preparefor the silent wedding march, for which noMendelssohn or Lohengrin could give sweet music,and which must be under cover to avoid attractingattention. At this moment an orderly hastily enteredsaying, “Mr. A. is very sorry, but a telegramhas ordered him directly to the Point, and Mr. Peekis nowhere to be found!”

“Perhaps he has taken a telegraphic shock, too!”

“All the rest here?”

“Yes; but now, Captain Beckwith, you must bepromoted to second groomsman.”

Ignoring his objections in this latest emergency,I turned to Mrs. Painter, asking: “Will you giveaway the bride, thus standing for her mother?”

Equal to any emergency she replied: “WeFriends do not understand thy services, but whatwill thee have me to do?”

“There is no time now to study up, but when thePastor asks ‘Who giveth this woman to be marriedto this man?’ just step forward and say, ‘I do’.”

There was no danger of failure there. “Nowwait until I run again to the chapel, to see if ourminister is sufficiently coached, and then let theconquering victims come!”

The good man was ready, and quite delightedwith the beautiful service. When we disagreedabout the positions to be taken, he good-naturedlyallowed himself to be backed against the roughlittle pulpit, and with an expression of amused curiosityprepared for the now waiting couple.

Perhaps a dozen camp friends had quietly enteredand seated themselves to witness the ceremony,and all was ready. Hastily returning oncemore to our tent, and finding every one ready, andfearing that our little secret might be discovered,we ordered “Double quick.” Bob and I went firsttogether, the two groomsmen and bridesmaid enteredfrom different directions. Sister Paintercame next with the bride, and even in her wellworn, patched brown ‘every day’, with travellinghat and pretty collar, she seemed quite beautiful.Hannah covered the retreat.

As we arranged our little wedding procession,the solemnity of the occasion became impressive,while the shades of evening struggled through thebare windows of the large chapel, and the gleam ofhalf a dozen candles cast a glow over the Pastor’sform as he stood, book in hand, awaiting the firstsight of the twain, now slowly approaching. Allfell, quietly and orderly, into position. And there,far from home and dear friends, in the roughlyboarded, unplaned, unpainted structure where “theBoys in Blue” so often gathered to hear the wordsof love and truth, was solemnly performed thebeautiful ceremony, without a pause or interruption,which joined two loving hearts as one in holybonds, never to be severed on earth. “Whom Godhath joined together, let no man put asunder.”

More than one silent tear of thankfulness fell asthe last prayer died away on the lips of the goodman, who had so beautifully solemnized this institution.

Night had now fallen as all joyfully congratulatedthe noble looking, happy pair. They walkedarm in arm, man and wife, back to our tents, wherewe quietly followed, no rumor having reached thealert ears of the poor weary fellows, anxious for abreak in the monotony of hospital life.

The guests at the reception in our large tent consistedonly of our own little party, and the refreshmentswere composed of a couple of bottles of SisterPainter’s home-made wine, and a “wolverine”cake, hastily made by Mary Blackmar’s willinghands.

Rev. —— wrote the certificate, and we had amerry time in witnessing it; while our tent was illuminatedwith two extra candles in bottles, andthe wind made sweet music above our laughter onthe swaying canvas roof. The great black logblazed brightly, now and then snapping out a sharpshout of joy, and all went merrily as the traditionalmarriage bell.

Bob, of course, was obliged to return at once tohis regiment; leaving his bride for a day or twowhile he cleaned up his regimental quarters, andobtained permission to go to housekeeping wherebullets rained and shells stormed, and thither hetook his happy bride.

About two weeks later came the furlough, andthe Major’s commission. On my return from myinterview with Governor Fenton in Albany, I metthe wedded pair in Washington, going North,where their festivities were continued among theirfriends with suitable formalities.

CHAPTER XX

NEW YORK STATE AGENCY

Quite unknown to me, the State Agents andthe two Commissions had formulated an appealto have me supersede Mrs. Spencer,then New York State Agent in the field, and urgedthat I go at once to Governor Fenton at Albany tohave it confirmed. So the day after the wedding Istarted for New York on a government transport.

Mr. Houghton was also going North. Therumor of a wedding had already spread over camp,and Mr. Houghton and I were congratulated as thehappy couple on our wedding trip. This caused agreat deal of merriment.

Captain Blackman of the transport, was verykind and made the trip on the shabby boat quitepleasant. My little cabin was suffocating at night,and I left my door open with a light burning in thenarrow passage-way, while the engineer and hiswife slept opposite. Quite exhausted with preparationsfor the wedding and for my trip North, Ifell into a heavy sleep. Some time during the nightI was awakened by heavy hands passing up anddown my body. I awoke in total darkness, andwas too dazed at first to comprehend the situation,but at last I managed to exclaim “Who are you,and what do you want?”

A coarse voice, in broken English, said, “I wanta place to sleep!”

I called for a light and help, when in a very calmmanner the intruder said: “O, don’t put yourselfin a stew!” On his hastily retreating footsteps Iquickly closed and locked the door. The engineerhad doubtless extinguished the light in the passagebefore he closed their door.

The next day we stopped at Fortress Monroe,and were allowed to examine the interior of theFort, and that great mounted black gun called“The Swamp Angel” which was reputed to throwa shot of four hundred pounds!

In Washington we met our old friend MajorBaker; and when we walked up Pennsylvania Avenuetoward the Capitol we saw the effect of anunusual freak of the wind. A large flag was flyingat the top from either wing of the great buildingand both flags blew in towards each other, standingout immovable without a fold as if held by somematerial background. The effect was peculiar.

But I spent little time sight-seeing, and took theafternoon train for New York.

Upon arriving at my home in Bedford Avenue,Brooklyn, there were many matters to attend to,and I had little time to spend with my family. Ithen started for Albany. At Troy we crossed theriver in a sleigh on thick ice. I had been invitedto stop at the home of my former patient John C.Guffin, where I met his father, mother and brother.The parents reminded me of Abraham and Sarah.They seemed to have dropped out of the Old Testament,as they talked in Scripture language quitedifficult for me to understand.

The hilly streets of Albany were covered withice, and although a natural climber, I could not keepmy footing, and so I simply sat down and slid tothe bottom of those hills. Governor Fenton wasaway when I arrived, and I was obliged to remainthree days waiting for him. During this time thesehospitable patriarchs gave me, three times a day,only buckwheat cakes and tea, which peculiar dietcaused a severe headache. I was very glad when Icould get away. I never experienced such cold asduring that visit.

Governor Fenton was very courteous, and, afterexamining the appeal made by all the State Agencies,the Sanitary and Christian Commissions, hesoon granted the request and gave me the Commissionof New York State agent, with directionsto report to Mr. Morgan, head of New York StateAgency in Washington.

On my return to Washington I met Mr. Morgan,and received from him the following commission:

Mr. Morgan directed me to report to City Pointand to relieve Mrs. Spencer.

On my return to City Point I met Major andMrs. Eden. Having received his promotion and afurlough, they were on their wedding trip North.I was glad to return to City Point camp life andduty, with congratulations on all sides. The nextday, with an ambulance and a friend, I went to Mrs.Spencer’s quarters and showed her my commission,saying, “I would like to take possession in a fewdays.”

Mrs. Spencer had been charged with partialityto McClellan men, and refusing Republican soldierstobacco, etc. Politics, even in the army, causedmany somersaults, and were quite beyond my management;and through some strategy my commissionwas revoked at City Point, though I retainedthe commission as New York agent in general!

There were then some indications of the collapseof the Confederacy, and that when this frightfulwar was over the agencies would also collapse.However, I kept on working in the old way, whilemy indignant Republican friends threatened, andtried to storm the New York State Agency. Politicsran high and many lost their heads politically.Many convalescent copperheads and Democrats,enlisted men, were allowed to go home to vote forpresident.

Doctor Painter, a strong Republican, incurredthe displeasure of General Patrick, a Democrat, bysome manipulations which enabled her to getenough passes for Jersey soldiers to go home tovote and so balance the Democratic vote.

Many one-armed and one-legged men were movingabout camp, waiting orders to report to Washington,where the Government would supply themwith artificial limbs and discharge them. It wassurprising how many were well fitted with theselimbs, and that many could walk so well that only aslight limp betrayed them; while others with neatlygloved hands, which they could sometimes usequite well, were seldom observed in passing.

A young lieutenant from Maine, had lost a leg,and was lying, weary and helpless, on his hospitalcot. He had written, as had many another poorfellow crippled for life, to his fiancée, offering toresign his claim, and he was now feverishly awaitingher reply. Day after day passed, and still noanswer, while we tried every device to encouragehim. He said “I know how it will be!” He becamebitter and scornful and made no effort to live.While it was scarcely possible in any case that hecould recover from this usually fatal thigh fracture,we still hoped that he might at least receive someword of comfort before he died.

I seldom went into the wards after nightfall, butthe dying boy sent for me quite late one night.Hoping that some kind word had come at last, Ihastened to his side. None had come and, consciousthat his life was fast ebbing away, he hadonly bitterness for his former sweetheart and diedwith these cruel thoughts.

I wrote his friend, simply announcing his death;but a few days later came her reply, full of grief.She had received no letter, nor knew anything ofhis wounds. They had been friends from childhoodand she could not believe she would never seehim again. “Had he not mentioned her or leftsome word?” My reply was the saddest and mostdifficult of all sad letters, for—​“It might havebeen.” I tried to think of some word which hehad dropped which might be happily construed,and I certainly strained a point to give this poorheart-stricken girl some little comfort to rememberfrom the boy lover of her childhood.

A few days later his comrades carried him to amournful tune of fife and drum, and fired a lastsalute over his lonely grave.

CHAPTER XXI

A HOUSE MOVING

General Collis, then in command of thecolored brigade at the Point, on abandoninghis adjutant’s little frame house or officeabout fifteen feet by ten, kindly gave it to me. Alarge army wagon on which it was raised, for removal,supported by a squad of soldiers on eitherside, and hauled by six mules, made quite an impressioncoming up Agency Row, especially as itcarried away the telegraph wires over the road.One of our large tents was moved to give it space,and the real door and little glass window in it madeus quite the envy of the Row. It was divided intotwo rooms, having a tent roof. The front roomwas for business purposes. The smaller, whichhad a window about a foot square, was largeenough only for a bunk with a straw bed, a packingbox for a dresser, a hand glass and a barrel chair,and so New York was added to Pennsylvania andNew Jersey Agencies.

This recalls a night incident somewhat later,when Mrs. Painter and I were sleeping in the bunk.I was startled by Mrs. Painter springing up on tothe dresser and screaming loudly, “Murder!Thieves! Help!” almost in the face of a scampat the window, who was evidently trying to reachthe wines hidden under the dresser. Mrs. Painterwas a very small woman of the old time Quakerstamp, and she wore a little white night cap, andthe proverbial short gown and petticoat. As thepoor fellow took to his heels and the neighbouringtents were aroused, I could only lie still and laughat the ludicrous scene. He lost a great army shoewhich rested conspicuously on a rise of ground,quite distant.

Another amusing incident comes to my mind inconnection with my little house. One night therecame a thundering knock on the door, on whichremained the word “Adjutant.” On opening Ifound a soldier standing at attention and more than“half-seas-over,” so that he could not distinguisha woman from an officer. He had been on furlough,and insisted on my taking his pass, but atlast I succeeded in starting him for the properoffice.

An incident occurs to me of a New York newspaperreporter who was invited to the mess of GeneralGrant and staff. While drinking was morecommon than now, no one so far forgot himself asto become intoxicated in the presence of the General,whose self-control and rigid discipline all respected.But this man so demeaned himself as to“get under the table,” and the officers presentwere excited to the utmost contempt and indignationat this breach of etiquette in the presence ofthe commander of the United States Armies. Ifintoxication had been common at Headquarters,camp gossip would certainly have travelled the halfmile to the state agencies and brought us news ofit. General Grant, however, was unhappily addictedto the excessive use of tobacco, whicheventually caused him much suffering, and, later,his life.

MISS JONES, OF PHILADELPHIA

How few, even of the army veterans, rememberthe sacrifices of the “Women of the War” in hospitals,homes and elsewhere! In the many G. A.R. annual Memorial services held since the war,when they are received in churches to hear theirheroic deeds extolled, never have I heard a chaplainor minister give a thought of the women workers,by whose faithful care many of these brave soldierswere nursed back to life, and restored to theiranxious families and to the country.

Miss Jones, of Philadelphia, was one of theserare, forgotten workers. Accomplished, refined,though delicate, she left her luxurious home withits order and comforts, to give her time, strengthand means to the principles of national liberty, inbredinto the life of every citizen of Philadelphiaby the frequent sight of the old cradle of theAmerican flag, the little home of Betsey Ross,where, under the direction of General Washington,Lafayette and others—​she sewed into the buntingthe thirteen stars and stripes of our nationalemblem. A million subscribers, at ten cents each,have enabled the Association to make it a nationalor State reservation in the densest business sectionof the city, where it has become a national Meccato thousands yearly visiting the City of BrotherlyLove.

Miss Jones, on arriving at City Point Hospital,at once took up the rough camp life in an armytent with earth floor,—​often damp and wet,—​alittle cot, an apology for a table, barrel chairs, theusual chimney built roughly of logs and mud withbarrel top, the plain and sometimes distasteful food,and the atmosphere of the sick wards. Here, however,she worked for many weeks in that enthusiasticardor which inspired her kindly heart, feelingthat she was giving help, comfort, and perhaps life,to the sick who came under her care.

Thoughtless of self, and with failing strength,she continued to work ceaselessly, till, contractingtyphoid fever, she collapsed quite suddenly, butstill hoped that rest in the bare lonely tent mightrestore her to her hospital work.

I had been too much occupied with my sick Boyseven to see Miss Jones, though much interested inher, having lived near her in Philadelphia someyears before the war; and the sad news came witha shock that this frail, devoted soul had sacrificedher life to her country and died in the field, likemany a true soldier and patriot, far from friendsand the home where every tender luxury was awaitingher.

Doctor Painter and I volunteered to sit besideher slight form during the night, which was intenselycold, while a full moon shed its silvery raysover the phantom of midnight silence in camp, andglittered like rare crystals on the pure white snowthat seemed to reach the distant horizon, whencethe brilliant stars looked down in love and pity.Mrs. Painter and I sat on rough chairs with ourfeet on logs, while the fire logs in the crude chimneyburned brightly. Mrs. Painter, who had beenamong the first women to reach the front, meanwhiletold me many a tale of her strange experienceswhen system had not reached the improvisedtemporary hospital tents, where many suffered forhelp and nourishment then unattainable. So thenight passed, while the moaning wind sang “Rest,sweet soul,” often slightly swaying the white sheetthat covered the pallid body. More than once westarted quickly to the seeming motion of life,hoping it might be real, but the pure spirit hadpassed on, while the frail body rested with a pleasantsmile, calmly, as if tended by the friends ofhome and the formalities of a last funeral servicefor the dead.

Her brother, Horatio, came for the body, and atlast it was laid away among her ancestors in thefamily lot near Philadelphia.

Recognition of her services has been given inPhiladelphia by the naming of one of the G. A. R.Posts “the Hetty Jones Post.”

The only other post that I have ever heard ofnamed after a woman is the Betsey Ross Post, alsoof Philadelphia.

From Harper’s Weekly
Saturday April 30th, 1864
(By Private Miles O’Reilly)
Gen. Chas. Halpin.

CHAPTER XXII

THE LAST PARADE OF CONFEDERATEPRISONERS

“I am quite confident that Love was the only ropethrown out to us by Heaven when we fell overboardinto life.”—​Sidney Lanier.[2]

General Grant had ordered a grand attackall along the lines from Appomattox toHatches Run. This was the fateful movethat crushed the Confederate Army, and opened theway to Petersburg and Richmond on April 3d.

The paroled and surrendered Confederate prisonerswere at once marched forward from Petersburgon the road beside the hospital. It was a strange,sad sight, this long line of Confederate prisoners,3,000 strong, officers and men without arms,—​someby habit reaching for the forfeited sword,belt, or gun,—​worn, tired, begrimed figures ofdespair. They were clothed in every degree ofshabbiness, from the dulled tinsel of the uniformedofficers, to the worn, faded, ragged grey that theyhad so confidently donned at the beginning of thewar. They were on their way to City Point underguard, many to be forwarded to some Northerncamp, where at least their starving bodies would befed and made comfortable.

There was no sound of exultation over the conqueredenemy among the Northern men andwomen standing quietly near to see them pass.Some even saluted the defeated Confederateofficers. None showed the slightest disrespect tothose unfortunates who had not only lost, in afutile war against their own nation, the “Flowerof their Chivalry,” but their broad acres were devastatedand had become battle fields of frightfulcarnage and struggle, and their homes were alsowrecked, leaving many without shelter, and thusdepriving hundreds of any present means of support.As they marched slowly by, in painful silentdejection, did they realize the folly of an ill-advisedrebellion, to which they had sacrificed lives, homesand sustenance to an illogical, unethical romanticideal?

Crowds of barefoot, ragged negroes, nearly nude,who had been shut up for years in Petersburg, nowcrowded by hundreds along the road. One excitedold woman, her head covered with a fadedbandana, exclaimed: “Lor, dere goes ole Mars, Iknows him shore. Can’t tech me now. I’se a freenigger.” Another shouted to us, “I knows youalls Yankee ladies, de Lord bress you.”

It seemed like a funeral procession, without fifeand drum, as it wound slowly past the hospital toCity Point United States Headquarters, there totake their parole.

About this time, at City Point, I saw GeneralCuster, who lost his life soon after in the Indianraids. He was a small, spare, nervous man, wearinga scarlet-lined cape thrown over his shoulder,and his long light hair floated back, making astriking picture of a cavalryman as his spiritedhorse dashed from one headquarters to another.

FOOTNOTES:

[2] Sidney Lanier, later musician, poet, writer, on thesecession of Georgia at once enlisted in the Confederateinfantry and served through the war except while aprisoner at Point Lookout. He afterwards rejoiced inthe overthrow of slavery; and knew that it was beliefin the soundness and greatness of the American Union,among the millions of the North and the great NorthWest that really conquered the South. He said “Assoon as Lee invaded the North and arrayed the sentimentagainst us our swift destruction followed.”—​EdwardMims.

CHAPTER XXIII

OUR FIRST SIGHT OF PETERSBURG

The advance on Petersburg occurred onApril 2d, 1865. It was about 3.30 A. M.when our troops entered the city, and allwere anxious to see the city so long besieged andcoveted.

Two days later, on the 4th, a party of abouttwenty-five officers and ladies of the hospital, somewell mounted, some in ambulances, started in highexultation for the conquered city. I was happy inbeing mounted on a beautiful white horse, with acrimson saddle cloth, loaned from United StatesHeadquarters. I wore a dark blue habit with infantrybuttons, a fatigue cap with chin strap, ridinggloves, and carried a small whip. The horse actedas if trained for a circus, full of antics as a pet dog.In defiance of rein and whip he walked on everystray log, into ditches, or puddles of water in theroad, first raising his haunches to feel if I were firmin the saddle, and travelled with a “lope” as easyas a rocking chair, so that after twenty-five miles Iwas not in the least tired.

We rode over the fields of the last skirmish, tornground, destroyed entrenchments, the “Cheveauxde frieze,” broken and scattered among clothing,canteens and the general debris of a battle-field.At the outskirts of the city we saw great “gopherholes” dug in the sides of hills, where the inhabitantscrowded daily to escape the shells that wereconstantly falling into the doomed city. In theseholes they were safe until nightfall, when firingusually ceased and the weary women and childrenreturned to their homes to sleep until another day.Shots passed through many houses but it was surprisingthat so little had been destroyed.

Having previously met General O. B. Wilcox,who was then in command of the city, we rode tohis headquarters, where I introduced our party.He received us courteously, giving us a mountedescort, that no trouble might ensue while we madea tour of the almost deserted city. The windowswere all closed, as for some national mourning.There was only one foolish demonstration, by someyoung women on a piazza, who made grimaces atour handsome officers, and gyrated their fingers atthem in a most remarkable manner. I was sorryand indignant for this petty spite, but our bravemen merely smiled without comment.

The houses were generally detached, small andshabby, showing little to interest beside occasionalmarks made by stray shot. While riding throughthe town we saw an old gentleman weeding hisgarden, and I made the excuse of asking for a glassof water, which was politely given. I said to him,“You appear to be taking things very quietly.”

In his strong Southern accent, he replied: “Ohyes; you uns have us beaten, and we might as wellmake the best of it and go to work.”

During this memorable day in Petersburg we hadvisited our old friend Bob Eden, who became editorof the Petersburg Progress, a Confederate paper,immediately after the occupation of the city; andhe, like his comrades, was wild with joy at the turnof things, political and national.

The following from “Grant’s” PetersburgProgress appeared the day after our visit. Thepaper is still in my possession, but it has nearlyfallen in pieces. There was no supply of printer’sblank paper, and the Confederates had been obligedto use one side of wall paper, or anything else thatwould hold print.

I copy from one column the following significantadvertisements:

Surely there was little animosity when our troopscheerfully offered food and sustenance to the destitute,starving whites, as well as to the helplessnegroes.

In this same crude issue appears the following,probably the last notice of a sale of slaves that everdisgraced our nominally free country; now happilythe home of freedom in very truth, though so longpermitting, in the face of our boasted freedom, thesale of human beings.

“THE TWO MINNIES”

By A Rebel Soldier

(Suggested by a letter from Minnie, saying that sheprayed daily that the “Minnie” balls might spare me.)

To see the victorious veterans of the Army returningand marching through Petersburg was anever-to-be-forgotten sight. As we sat, mounted,at the corner of a street, they marched by with easyswinging tramp, by hundreds and thousands, dust-begrimed,in faded threadbare blue uniforms thatthey had worn through many a bloody battle, andin which they had slept many nights, often inswamps, and mud on the battle-fields. The shabbyknapsacks, battered canteens, ragged blankets,their well-polished old guns, the only fresh cleanemblem in sight; and these for the most part wereshouldered as if for a holiday, which in very truthit was, probably the happiest they ever enjoyed.Discipline of the tired host was quite forgotten,while the worn, faded, torn flags floated outproudly.

The Eighth Wisconsin Infantry had some timebefore sent home their mascot “Old Abe,” the heroof twenty battles and many skirmishes. This eaglewas taken from its nest by an Indian and presentedto Company C., where it became the pet of the regiment.During attacks he was carried at the fronton a standard, near the flag,—​sometimes held bya long cord or chain,—​he would rise up flappinghis great wings, and screeching defiance at theenemy loudly enough to be heard along the line.His reputation made thousands of dollars at fairsand elsewhere. His portrait was painted, andhangs in the Old South Church, Boston. TheState pensioned Old Abe and supported an attendantto care for him. He died at last of old age, andhis skin is stuffed and safely preserved in the statearchives at Madison, Wisconsin.

As these men tramped to the music of the shrillfife and drum, that knew no rest that day, theysometimes joined in a great chorus, meanwhilecheering themselves hoarse, to the tunes of“Johnny Came Marching Home,” “Yankee Doodle,”and many an army song.

When some former patients recognized us, surgeonsand nurses who had cared for them, theybroke all bounds, and, with uncovered heads,dipped their tattered flags and fairly roared theirthanks in grateful cheers, while we waved our capsand handkerchiefs in return and also cheered. Themagnetism of a home-going victorious army spreadlike a prairie fire, not only from regiment to regiment,but extended to every individual in theirpresence, while a roar as if of ocean waves spreadover the sea of happy men and women.

This was a day of great rejoicing and enthusiasmamong soldiers and Northerners, never to be forgotten.Taking leave of our polite escort, andthanking General Wilcox for his kindness, themounted party took a spirited gallop back to hospitalcamp.

Strict hospital discipline was relaxed and the menwere singing “Home, Sweet Home,” “YankeeDoodle,” “John Brown’s Body,” “MarchingThrough Georgia,” and many other patrioticsongs, enjoying them equally, until taps ordered“Lights out,” when the whole camp soon fell intopeaceful dreams of home.

TAPS

There were yet many patients, so that our workat the hospital went on as before, while waiting forfurther orders; while all soon became conscious ofa general relaxation of the imperative disciplinethat had made our hospital a model of generalcourtesy, neatness, and order.

CHAPTER XXIV

PREPARING FOR A VISIT TO RICHMOND, THECAPITAL OF THE LOST CONFEDERACY

“In giving freedom to the slave we assure freedomto the free.”—​Abraham Lincoln.

A few days after the evacuation and captureof Richmond, a small party led by Mr. J.Yates Peek, of Brooklyn, still superintendentof the Sanitary Commission at City Point, arrangedto make an early start on the morning of April 11th,to see the smoking city. Everything must be arrangedover night, and I planned so as to jumpquickly into my clothing, placing my only pair ofgood boots on a near-by chair, to lose no time. Butin the morning, almost at the last moment, theboots were missing. When all had joined in thesearch, to no effect, the mystery increased.

We had a boy orderly, named Jack, who wasmore officious than useful, and often much in theway, and he volunteered in the search. Returningto my little room after a moment’s absence, to myastonishment I beheld the boy on the floor with hishead in my trunk, which he had had the temerityto unlock. He was rummaging and disarrangingeverything as if with a pudding stick. I exclaimed:“Jack, what are you doing?” in no pleasant toneof voice.

“I thought the shoes might be in the trunk,” hequite coolly replied, “but I’ve been through everydarned thing in it and they ain’t there.”

Words were, at that hurried moment, quite inadequate.An explanation of the loss of the shoescame later. We had removed a small stove andleft the pipe hole open on the side between twotents, and during the night some ambitious contrabandprobably had squeezed into the small spacebetween the tents, and with a long stick had“gobbled” my only pair of decent shoes.

What could I do? I must go somewhere, as theparty were not willing to go without me. Fortunately,Miss Dupee, assistant in the Maine StateAgency, had a pair which fitted quite well and shevery kindly loaned them to me. One of the pleasantassociations of agency life in camp was thecamaraderie that made all things in common, justas the soldier shared his last ration or his last dollarwith another comrade in the field.

Owing to this delay, we were barely able to catchthe boat as it was pushing off at City Point Dock.A pleasant sail on the James River brought us tothe dock of the Seven-Hilled City, directly into theburned and still smoking district.

The fleeing citizens in their short-sighted frenzy,had determined to destroy the whole city. Butthanks to the efforts of the Federal soldiers, chieflycolored, the greater part of the city was saved forthem, while the factories and warehouses continuedto smoke and burn for many weeks.

It was this same obstructed wharf and destroyeddock over which the President climbed, holdinglittle Tad by the hand. They passed through theburned district, against the protest of a small escort,while jostled by a rough crowd.

Blessed by the grateful negroes crowding aroundthe great Emancipator, some kneeling and kissingthe hem of his coat, he strode fearlessly on amongenemies and friends.

A significant fact to be forever cherished by thefreed race is that General Weitzel, with the 25thCorps d’ Afric, took possession of the conqueredcity; and further that a colored soldier carried thePresident’s United States flag before him into theheart of Richmond, where it was raised over theCapitol, and Richmond was once more and foreverin the Union.

The Capitol, a modest building with white columnsand dome, was uninjured. There were manycomfortable-looking detached houses, with yards orgardens pleasant to see after the bare tent life atCity Point Hospital.

We dined at Spotswood Hotel, still managed bya Confederate host, where we greatly enjoyed freshpeas and corn. We were rather disappointed bythe plainness of the gray mastic front of the three-storieddouble medium house of Jefferson Davis,both inside and out, with only a door yard in front,where I gathered some leaves which are still in mypossession.

We saw the entrance to the tunnel that was dugby starving, desperate Yankee prisoners, almost infull view of the guards, quite near Libby prison, andby which many had escaped to freedom, thus bringingmore deprivation and abuse upon the despairingprisoners left behind.

All was now changed in the city. The inhabitantsfinding they were not pursued or in any waymolested, were gradually returning to their homesand buildings that they had not succeeded in destroying.

Libby Prison remained; a weather-stained bricktobacco storehouse, the former scene of so muchsuffering and indignity. But the tables were nowturned. The brutal turnkey, Captain RichardTurner, by name, I think, was now himself aprisoner. He was a stocky, brutal-looking fellow.All people were allowed to pass and look through asmall open window at the miserable wretch, whilehe defiantly mounted a stool in the middle of theroom to show himself more conspicuously. Thatmorning a former prisoner had cajoled him intocoming close to the small window, where the manstruck through and felled him to the ground as hesaid: “Take that for the pail of filth you threw overme while I was a helpless prisoner.”

It was a fine commentary upon the discipline andforbearance of many liberated victims, that theydid not kill or shoot this monster for his atrocities,instead of merely gazing and glaring at him silentlythrough the small opening.

PEACE

When the formal announcement of the final surrenderof General Lee to General Grant, at Appomattox,on the 9th of April, 1865, was confirmed inthe camp, all knew that at last the “cruel war”was over. There was great rejoicing in the hospital,and all began to prepare to go North, or homeagain, after so many weary years of struggle.Some wept for joy as they wrote to the weary waitingwatchers at home; some were to carry to theirfriends and neighbors the last words and deeds ofthe many who slept beneath the soil of Virginia, orfurther south, while their comrades “went marchingon.” The workers of the Agencies and theCommissions had so long labored in the same spiritthat we were much like a large united family; anduntil we departed one by one for our homes, we didnot realize how close was the bond of sympathy andaffection, that could never be forgotten.

CHAPTER XXV

RECOLLECTIONS OF LINCOLN

“We are not enemies, but friends. We must not beenemies. Though passion may have strained, it mustnot break our bonds of affection. The mystic chordsof memory stretching from every battlefield and patriotgrave to every living heart and hearthstone, all overthis broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union,when again touched, as surely they will be by thebetter angels of our nature.”—​Abraham Lincoln.

During the last year of the war I was stillworking for the “Boys” at City PointDepot Field Hospital, Virginia, half a milefrom the headquarters of the United States Armiesin the field, at the junction of the Appomattox andJames Rivers, when the day of the second inauguraldrew near. This caused a welcome ripple ofexcitement to spread over the daily monotony ofdiscipline in hospital camp life. The fearless Presidentwas to stand once more before the people totake the oath to uphold the institutions and principlesof his country, despite the state policy as wellas humanity that had compelled the passing of theEmancipation Act, that had cut the last thread ofhope for the return of “the good old days” of theSouth.

When Abraham Lincoln, with superhuman courage,made that moral stroke of the pen that gavefreedom to millions of slaves, then was born at lasta free country, not only in name, but in the gloriousfact that had blotted out from our country’s escutcheonthe shame of human slavery that had solong branded our vaunted freedom as a disgrace.The people, the great middle class, the saviours offreedom who in great crises rise to a nationalemergency like a towering Gibraltar, had risen touphold the weary hands of him who loved hiscountry more than life, though so often it hadseemed as if the waves of care and sorrow wouldengulf his tired soul.

Many officers, and others able to secure leave ofabsence or passes, hastened to witness this greatestof our national events. With other State Agencyladies, I was anxious to break the long strain ofcaring for sick and wounded patients amid scenesof the horrors of war and bloodshed. Nine thousandmen, at different times, filled this well-organizedcamp. Mangled bodies were brought directlyin from the battle-fields where they had fallen, bymeans of temporary rails, on rough bare sand cars,on which they were piled like so many logs, oneupon another, so great was the need of haste to getthem to the hospital. All of these were coveredwith dirt, powder, blood, torn uniforms, and seemedan almost indistinguishable mass; while many ahalf-severed limb dangled from a shattered humantrunk.

I was fortunate in being able to go to Washingtonquite independently, without fear of detention,having a pass from General Grant that ordered allguards, pickets, steamboats and government roadsto pass “Miss Ada W. Smith,” and which practicallywould have allowed me to travel free withoutquestion over the entire Northern States, as allroads were then under government control. Thuswas I enabled to accept the invitation of Dr. HettieK. Painter, Pennsylvania State Agent, and her husband,to join their party going to Washington. Onarriving in that city we went to a small hotel, wherewe met some Western friends, and found there alsoa former patient from City Point, Lieutenant Gosper,who had lost a leg in the skirmish before Petersburg,and was now convalescent. He manifestedthe usual cheerfulness of wounded men,while waiting to have an artificial limb adjusted,—​afree gift from the government.

We had secured tickets and good places to seethe official ceremony; but the surging mass of humanitycrowded us quite beyond hearing. On thiseventful morning a raw, threatening gale blew dustand loose debris into our eyes and faces, nearlyblinding us.

“And men looked up with mad disquietude uponthe dull sky,” as we awaited the signal of thePresident’s coming. At last the tall, gaunt formof Mr. Lincoln came forward on to the portico ofthe Capitol, surrounded by officials and attendants.Chief Justice Chase opened the great Bible, andPresident Lincoln stepped forward, placing his handupon the book to take, for the second time, his oathof office. At this moment, the leaden sky, that hadnot lifted during the day, suddenly opened a smallrift, while a strong bright ray of sunshine shotthrough and rested upon the noble head of thesoon-to-be-glorified martyr. A silence of aweseemed for a moment to overspread the startledmultitude, and then the darkening gloom closeddown again as with an ominous foreboding. Butnot a word of that memorable address could wehear above the soughing, cold, gusty wind.

While planning for the reception, our young lieutenant,sensitive and refined, positively declined toaccompany us, repeating only: “It is no place for acripple.”

After we had exhausted all other arguments, ahappy thought came to me: “Well, Lieutenant, ifyou will not go with us I suppose I shall have tostay away also; each of the other ladies has anescort, and, as every lady must be attended, I cannot go alone.”

“Would you go to a reception with a cripple ona crutch?” he replied, sadly.

My answer came quickly and sincerely: “I wouldbe proud of such an escort!”

At last he consented, rather reluctantly, to accompanyus. At the appointed hour we started forthe evening reception. Soon, however, we foundourselves in a frightful crush of people, crowding upthe White House steps, and we quickly closedaround the lieutenant, fearing he might get underfoot. Our party was carried up bodily to the landing,where I found that my arm was quite badlybruised by the crutch.

After getting breath and composing ourselves, wefell into the long procession of couples approachingthe President, where the ushers went through theform of taking our names and introducing us. Inpassing we saw a group of cabinet officers and anumber of ladies with Mrs. Lincoln, who wasgowned in white satin with a deep black thread laceflounce over an expansive skirt, in the style of thatday; and she wore her favorite head dress, a wreathof natural pink roses entirely around her plainlydressed hair.

The President’s band played stirring airs in anadjoining room, while crowds of every grade passedon, some in dashing uniforms, some in evidentlyfresh “store clothes,” others in gorgeous costumes,and the good women from the country in sensibleblack,—​with ill-fitting gloves. It was a motleydemocratic crowd, such as could be seen in no royalcountry, and of which we are justly proud. Followingthe almost endless procession we saw theunmistakable form of Mr. Lincoln, his long arm andwhite-gloved hand reaching out to shake hands, andbowing in a mechanical manner, plainly showingthat he wished this demand of the people was wellover.

Suddenly straightening up his tall form, whilecontinuing the handshaking, he looked eagerlydown the line and, to my surprise, as the lieutenantand I approached, he stepped out before us and,grasping the hand of the crippled soldier, he said inan unforgettable tone of deep sympathy: “Godbless you, my boy! God bless you!” Owing tothe lieutenant’s crutch I was obliged to take his leftarm which brought me on the outside away fromthe President. I attempted to pass with a bow, buthe stood in my way, still holding out his large hand,until I released mine and gave it to him, receivinga warm, sympathetic grasp. Then I saw that wonderfullighting of his kindly beneficent grey eyes,that for a moment often beautified as with a halothat otherwise plain, sad face. As we moved on,the lieutenant exclaimed in happy exultation, “Oh!I’d lose another leg for a man like that!”

Such was the magnetic tone and touch of thatrare spirit that carried hope and trust to the hopelesssorrowing, the great heart that could with truthand sincerity enfold not only his own country, butthe whole human brotherhood of the world, andcaused him to reply in effect to those who wishedhim to subscribe to some special creed: “When Ican find a church broad enough to take in the wholehuman race, then I will join it.”

Once again I saw President Lincoln, after the inaugural,early in April—​that fateful month inwhich occurred the last battle of the rebellion, thesurrender of heroic Lee, the act of the magnanimousGrant, the imprisonment of the Confederateleader, the conference of those great men of warand state.

When Abraham Lincoln had come, in his ownboat the River Queen, to meet Grant and Shermanat City Point, he was so secure in the conclusion ofpeace at last, that he had brought Mrs. Lincoln and“little Tad” to share in the general rejoicing.

I did not see Mrs. Lincoln at that time, and I hadalso missed seeing her in 1863, when I had takento the famous Soldier’s Rest and Hospital in Philadelphiaone soldier blinded by a bullet that passedthrough his head, cutting both optic nerves, onewho had lost both legs, and another who had lostboth arms.

During the war, when the troops were en route tothe front and halted in Philadelphia, the great LibertyBell announced their coming, and hundreds ofwomen and many men hastened with bountiful suppliesto this great Rest, where they set up roughwooden tables. Here many passing regiments hada generous meal, and almost lifted the roof withtheir grateful shouts, exceeded only by those of theoutside crowd as they marched away to the jollytune of the fife and drum.

At City Point the three Titans of war and state—​Lincoln,Grant and Sherman—​met with navyand state officers to conclude the terms of surrenderand peace. There was no desire to confirm thebattle cry, “Hang Jeff Davis,” as in most countrieswould have been inevitable, and even sympathy andmercy inspired the closing acts of this nationaltragedy that had cost the lives of thousands ofbrave Southerners, and of those of the invincibleNorth.

During this mighty conclave at City Point, AbrahamLincoln was occasionally seen riding to thefront and about camp and hospital, and to visit thetents, in his sombre black suit and high hat toweringabove many striking uniforms about him. Itwas a singular fact that while many ministers hadcome down to “overlook the field” dressed in thesame fashion, except that there was always somehowa ministerial dip of the front corners of theirlong frock coats that at once betrayed their profession,they were often ridiculed and guyed by therough soldiers. Yet the thought of ridicule wasnever suggested for this unique man who seemed todignify and honor everything he touched, evenwhen, in the same style, he rode his horse in an ungainlymanner. He could have ridden barebackwithout loss of dignity.

On one of these occasions Mr. Lincoln had riddenup from the Point to visit our hospital, and was, asusual, accompanied by crowds of devoted friends ashe walked through the divisions and avenues of thedifferent camps. There were gathered the sick andwounded of the Ninth, Sixth, Fifth, Second Corps,and the Corps d’ Afric, who were frequently visitedby their regimental surgeons and officers of regimentsthat were encamped before Petersburg.

I shall always regret not speaking to Mr. Lincolnat that time. It would have been very easy to do,but I could not see the coming catastrophe, and Ihesitated to push forward into the surroundingcrowd to be presented. As he passed from tent totent, with many a cheerful word to the sufferingmen, a young man connected with the SanitaryCommission, now Doctor Jerome Walker, a successfulphysician of Brooklyn, said, pointing tosome tents near-by, “Mr. President, you do notwant to go in there!”

“Why not, my boy?” he asked.

“Why, sir, they are sick rebel prisoners.”

With a hasty movement he said, “That is justwhere I do want to go,” and he strode within thetent, shaking hands and speaking such words ofcomfort as only his magnanimous spirit couldprompt, to the grateful surprise and pleasure of theConfederate patients.

ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE DEATH OFPRESIDENT LINCOLN

On the morning of April 15th, 1865, as the sunrose over our quiet hospital camp, I was startled bythe sound of galloping hoofs, that stopped suddenlybefore our tent. Scratching on the canvas indicatedthe usual sign for admission. Hastily untyingthe tent flaps, I found Major William Baker, ofthe Tenth Colored Troops, still mounted, and betrayingmuch agitation and haste, when he said: “Ihave just ridden up to tell you, the first person inthe hospital, the sad news of the reported death ofthe President. All officers were assembled at 2A. M. to a conference, when the reported assassinationby Wilkes Booth was read, but not yetofficially confirmed.” With a sad expression anda salute he put spurs to his horse and dashed backto City Point.

Telegrams were slow in those days, so it was nottill the afternoon that the terrible, cruel tragedywas announced at the hospital camp. The shockwas paralyzing, and a sombre silence spread overthe wards containing the men who had learned tolove this great soul. Men and women as well assoldiers wept together as for a loved, indulgentfather, who had borne his crushing responsibilitieswithout a murmur or a cry for help. A few copperheadpatients dared to approve of the murderousact, but they were soon beaten into silence with thecrutches of the indignant crippled convalescents.

With a vague desire to express in some way theirgrief, men came and begged for a bit of black tofasten over their tents, and if any were so lucklessas to have a black suit they saw it speedily reducedto shreds and flying from the entrances of the wardsor tents. But other men still begged so earnestlyfor some black emblem, that I at last gave to thema full train black skirt that I could illy spare. Thissoon became floating ribbons over many a tent, tothe great satisfaction of the loyal boys, having solittle by which they could express their sorrow. Ina few days some of us were so fortunate as to receivefrom home or from Washington, mourningbadges of suitable designs, which we wore as a markof respect to our dead President.

In making the rounds among my scattered patientsI stopped to speak to Major Prentiss, of aNew York regiment, who had captured his waywardyoung brother—​a Captain in the SixthMaryland Confederate Infantry—​now lying inthe same ward quite near, having lost a leg. TheCaptain, a handsome, cheerful youth, whose happyjokes and stories kept his neighbours quite divertedfrom the tedium of convalescence, was recoveringslowly; but the Major had been shot through thelung, and one could hear the air passing through theunhealed wound. He looked so longingly at thebadge I was wearing, that another brother, whohad come South to take the patients home if possible,said: “He would be so happy if he could havea badge.” It was impossible to ignore the wish ofa dying soldier, so I took off the one I was wearingand pinned it over his heart. He could not speakhis thanks, but a rare smile of intense satisfactionspread over the sufferer’s countenance.

As in most great catastrophes, it seemed for atime as if the world must stand still; but many patientsstill needed care, and we were obliged to goon with our work till all the sick were sent home orto Northern hospitals, and each resumed his dailyduty, while the spirit of sadness hovered over thehospital campus.

O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!

CHAPTER XXVI

A RECENT LETTER FROM DOCTOR MARYBLACKMAR BRUSON

“Jacksonville, Florida,
April, 1910.

MY DEAR ADA:

At your request I send some incidents ofcamp life as they come to mind.

After one of the fearful onslaughts at Petersburg,the wounded came pouring into my tent, which wasnearest to the firing line, so that a drummer-ladhad named it ‘The Half Way House’. One laddropped from the wagon in which he was beingtransported, as they passed my tent. I ran andcried out to the driver. He coolly replied ‘He isdead, what does it matter!’

I knelt by the boy’s side and found a remote evidenceof life, but hemorrhage was so profuse itseemed he could not survive. I called the attentionof surgeons, but all said ‘We must go on’. Sowith my knowledge that life was not extinct, andthat he was so young and had the force of youth,(moreover the hardships of the Confederates hadtoughened him), I remained on the ground at hisside not daring to leave him, but compelled to usemy fingers as a tampon.

I remained with him twenty-four hours before Ifelt safe in having him carried to a ward. Crampedand exhausted from such a strain, in addition toweakness induced by loss of sleep through nightsand days previous, I could hardly crawl into mytent. Being cold I heated a brick, put it in my cotand was soon so deeply sunk in oblivion, it seemedI would have remained so forever, but for my companions,Misses V. and M., who came in at midnight.Soon after they retired they discovered adense smoke filling the tent and were aware ofburning wool. They called me again and again,but getting no reply they jumped up and pulled mefrom the burning cot and finally roused me, so thatI calmly dressed.

Morning found my limbs, from ankles to knees,one solid blister, but this I was at first too stupidto realize, or even the danger which I had escapedthrough my faithful friends. No one knew of theaccident but ourselves, and I went about my workas usual. Nature alone was the healer.

One day I asked a poor exhausted soldier—​sofeeble from disease and exposure that he could onlywhisper—​if there was anything he wished, andsaid that if so I would try to get it for him. Withtears and sighs he replied, “O, Miss, if you wouldonly get me some fried bacon with molasses pouredover it, I would get well!” It was a novel dish tome but was easily attained, and the man’s appetitewas so quickened by the relishable food that hebegan to recover forthwith. In later years Ilearned that very many looked upon it as a specialdelicacy.

I was finally placed in charge of the Confederatewards, and there saw that grandest of men, PresidentLincoln. This was after the last assault onPetersburg, and men horribly wounded and sick,from both armies, were rushed into our camp hospitalat City Point. I was given especial care ofthe private Confederates, and my companion, thatfine, grand woman, Miss Vance, took charge of theConfederate officers. I had only an orderly to assistme—​a boy about sixteen,—​and what withthe cleaning and caring for each sick, torn body,our powers were strained to the utmost limit of endurance.Our patients’ cots were so close togetherthat we could just squeeze between, and our wardso long that it required from three to four tents.

General Grant was at City Point, and PresidentLincoln came down at this time, before our armymarched into Richmond. One day both of themwere coming slowly down my avenue. The orderlyrushed in and cried out—​‘President Lincoln’scoming!’ I was at the extreme end of the hospitaltent, but, girl-like, started forward that I might seehim. At that instant, oh, such a puny, helplesswail, as of sick and dying infants, issued from everythroat: ‘Oh, don’t leave us, Miss! He is a beast!He will kill us!’

I replied: ‘Oh, no! He is a grand good man!’Again and again came forth that puny wail, ‘Don’tleave us, Miss!’ till I finally said, ‘Well, I’ll notleave you, don’t fear!’ but by that time I had gotto the front of the tent and the orderly had pulledback a flap on my request so that I peered out.Within about fifteen or twenty feet were both men.General Grant with the inevitable cigar, and PresidentLincoln, so tall, so lank, giving evidence ofmuch sorrow, looming over him. I heard GeneralGrant say distinctly, ‘These are the Confederatequarters’. President Lincoln immediately said,‘I wish to go in here alone!’

I drew myself up into the corner as close as possible,and he bent under the open flap and came in.He went at once to a bedside, and reverently leanedover almost double so low were the cots, andstroked the soldier’s head, and with tears streamingdown his face he said in a sort of sweet anguish,“Oh, my man, why did you do it?” The boy ingray said, or rather stammered weakly, almost in awhisper, ‘I went because my State went’. Onthat ground floor, so quiet was the whole ward, apin could almost have been heard to fall. PresidentLincoln went from one bedside to another andtouched each forehead gently, and with tearsstreaming asked again the question, and againheard the same reply. When he finally passed outfrom those boys, some grey and grizzled, but manyof them children, there came as from one voice,‘Oh, we didn’t know he was such a good man!We thought he was a beast!’

At the close of hostilities, I, with many others,went with the army to Richmond and Washington,and there saw the final parade of 60,000 troopsbefore the White House. I afterward returned tomy college and hospital and completed my studies,and since then have led a strenuous life as a practisingphysician in Florida.

As ever,

Your old Comrade,

MARY.”

CHAPTER XXVII

LAST OF CITY POINT

In some early chapters on the good work of theSanitary Commission I wrote of the denudedhospital camp, belated sick soldiers, etc. Afterthe departure of the Second Corps hospital officers,I was the only white woman in camp, and I tookpossession of their headquarters, in a rustic cottageof one story built by the engineer corps in prettyartistic style with boughs and branches cut from thewoods near by.

Four rooms, with central entrance, made a comfortablehomelike shelter where “Aunty” alsostayed and looked after my interests. The coloredguard detailed by General Russell marched theirsteady beat daily and nightly, while a stack of musketsstood before my little door. A circular lawnwas often occupied by negroes anxious for a wordwith “De bressed white Yankee lady,” while theirpicanninies, rolling on the grass, made the placequite 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 afresh white apron. She took that rare possessionof me, known only to house servants of southernfamilies.

Mrs. Russell remained in her husband’s headquartersat the Point, and afforded me many pleasantsocial courtesies. General Russell invited me for abuggy ride to Petersburg, still under command ofGeneral Willcox.

As we rode by the deserted earthworks andformer lines in front of Petersburg,—​the field ofthe last battle being still strewn with empty canteens,broken muskets, etc., its earthworks upturnedand great chasms torn as if by an earthquake,—​GeneralRussell pointed to a wreckedfort saying “That was the Burnside mine, the‘Crater’ where I lost three hundred of the bravestsoldiers that ever went into battle. They were thenegro hero martyrs of the Burnside mine explosion,where many a brave Yankee white boy also gave uphis life.”

General Russell’s brigade included a number ofregiments, among them the Tenth Colored Regiment,with Major William Baker, of Maine, commanding.At the close of the war it was orderedto Texas to subdue the turbulent element and toprotect helpless citizens. We met many destitutenegroes still flocking to City Point.

As soon as the front lines were abandoned, hundredsof negroes ran from Petersburg to beg ourchaplains to marry them. Some were very young;and a grey-haired old man said, “Me and Belindahas just stood by each other ever since we wasa’most boy and gall; our chillun is sol’ away, andwe wants to get married like white folks, so wecan’t be separated no mo’.” This seemed the ultimatumof their understanding of freedom.

Conversions and immersions filled most of theirtime. These ragged homeless freedmen were gainingsome glimmering of morality and religion; butit was a motley crowd that assembled on the shoreof the James River, shouting and singing in theirchildish way, as they were immersed one by one, bytheir own preacher or leader,—​then rising andshouting hallelujahs as they sprang up and down inthe water in a frenzied manner, quite ludicrous toobserve.

Contrabands were spying out the desolate land,and looking for jobs. Surgeon Thomas Pooleywas put in charge of this denuded hospital, andjoined my mess in the little cottage where Auntiemade some palatable southern dishes with our remainingsupplies.

The Christian Commission and State Agencieshad “struck their tents” and vanished almost in anight. Happily the Sanitary Commission, withtheir larger work and supplies, had been detaineduntil the arrival of the stranded regiment, (of whichI wrote earlier) when with a detail from GeneralRussell’s brigade, still in command of the desertedUnited States quarters at the Point, they were enabledto reconstruct a sheltered ward into a degreeof comfort for the exhausted men. Lack of disciplineand policing soon resulted in disorder and untidinessin these formerly perfectly systematizedcamps. Quantities of unportable home-made furniture,etc., and general debris were left, to the delightof the destitute contrabands. All governmenttents and property had been “turned in” andstrictly registered.

I well remember my farewell glance at the demolishedhospital, as I rode for the last time to CityPoint to take the transport for Washington. Tentroofs gone, only stockade sides remained intact;bunks stripped and bare, much was abandoned thatwould now be useless to the army. Negroesswarmed like bees around these treasures, and someimprovised roofs and shelter from abundant materiallying about, and seemed happy in this temporaryhome with little thought of the future, orknowledge of the Freedmen Bureau then underGeneral Howard’s management, devising means tosave them from starvation.

I took leave of my faithful, tearful old Auntie,evidently a leader among the irresponsible bewilderedcontrabands, who felt perfectly happy and safeas long as the Yankees were there to protect them.

At City Point, where little remained to show theold site of General Grant’s Headquarters of theUnited States Armies, as I went aboard a governmenttransport bound for New York, I showed forthe last time my pass, that had given me protectionand much independence, and as I look back I amsurprised as I think of my perfect freedom fromrestraint in choosing my patients and my work inthe hospital and State Agencies.

As the shore receded, leaving a broken outline ofthe hospital and Point, a feeling of homesickness,followed by thoughts of trials, discomforts, pleasures,and hopes in our active life among the sickand dying,—​as well as the thought of the manyrecovered and sent home to their friends by armywomen,—​all these passed in kaleidoscopicchanges, as, almost alone on board the transport, Iturned my face toward Washington, and the monthsof hospital work waiting for me there. The verylast object that attracted my attention, as I lookedback, 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 Iremembered the night attempt of the owner to stealfrom our little house, and the fact that in his flight,months before, he had lost his shoe, not daring toreturn for it lest he be captured and punished. Thismonument of his failure remained.

CHAPTER XXVIII

WASHINGTON AND NEW YORK STATEAGENCY

Arrived in Washington I went directly tothe home of my army friend, Doctor HettieK. Painter, to remain until I decided uponmy next move. The following day I reported toColonel Goodrich, head of New York State Agencyin Washington, and found that he wished me to remainand assist him in the closing up of the Washingtonwork. This meant the visiting of the severalhospitals scattered at long distances over thecity and suburbs. Army Square, Douglas andHarewood Hospitals sheltered most of the NewYork men. I listened to their many complaints atbeing so long detained when they seemed quite ableto travel, but were delayed for various reasons.The work was chiefly of a clerical form, viz.: tofind out what difficulties detained the men, and why,when they were entitled to a discharge, it could notbe obtained. Some could not get their pay, somehad lost their descriptive lists, a few were waitingfor their friends to take them home, while stillother disabilities interfered.

Owing to the great distances between hospitalswhich involved a great deal of walking, considerabletime was lost and much fatigue followed. I thereforedetermined to go to Medical Headquarters andask for an ambulance on the strength of the passthat I still held from General Grant. This authority,of course, was good only during the war, butafter some explanations the medical authoritiescourteously offered to give me the use of a medicalheadquarters ambulance, though all ambulances hadbeen “called in.”

The next morning one came for me, and I wasdriven to the New York Agency, greatly to the surpriseof Colonel Goodrich, who gave me a list ofhospital soldiers to visit. At the close of the day Iwas able to make a complete report. The timesaved in driving was considerable, and I was able toaccomplish much more than those who had to walklong distances from hospital to hospital, as otheragents had then to do.

The following day, on calling at the agency formy list, the Colonel said: “Miss Smith, you mayvisit the near by hospitals to-day, and I will use theambulance for other work.”

“I beg pardon, Colonel,” I replied, “I am responsiblefor the ambulance and no one can use itexcept by my invitation. If any agent would liketo be dropped at any hospital I shall be very happyto accommodate him.”

The New York Agency ambulance had beencalled in, which was rather irritating. The Colonelnever quite forgave me this independence, and sometime later he remarked, regarding the failure to putthrough a troublesome case: “Perhaps Miss Smith,with her usual pertinacity, might accomplish it.”

“If you can not succeed, Colonel, it is no reasonwhy I should not,” I replied quickly. “Please giveme the case.”

Putting my whole interest and energy into thework, I soon had the satisfaction of reporting thecase as settled satisfactorily.

During a visit to Harewood Hospital, I observeda very sleek-looking young man, apparently absorbedin reading the Bible. This man I found wasthe notorious Boston Corbett who had disobeyedorders to capture Booth alive. He had shot him inthe barn, then burning, and which was surroundedby a cordon of troops. For this disobedience Corbetthad been imprisoned, but ill-health had broughthim to the hospital. I asked him why he had disobeyedorders, and he replied that Booth was aboutto get away, and he thought it better to shoot himthan to run the chance of having him escape. Ithen asked how he came to have such a remarkablename. He replied: “When I was born my fathercould not decide upon a name for me, so being avery religious man, he asked the Lord, and theLord said ‘Call him Boston’.” I still have thephotograph he gave me in his favorite Bible-readingpose.

The piazza of Mrs. Painter’s house was separatedfrom that of the adjoining house only by a railing.Here lived a Southern family consisting of father,mother and a beautiful daughter. The father hadbeen secretary to Jefferson Davis, and from a socialpoint of view, was an elegant courteous gentleman.I greatly enjoyed his Southern accent and refinedconversation. He had been obliged, through poverty,to rent a part of his house to some Northernpoliticians.

One day I saw going up the steps, a fine-lookingman, Colonel Forney, a prominent politician of thatday. 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 thebell for the servant!” As the servant opened thedoor for the Colonel to pass, the irate gentlemansaid to him, quite childishly,—​but in fierce tones,—​“Bringme my cut glass carafe of cold water instantly.”

A few days later, as we were again sitting on thepiazza, having a pleasant chat, this same gentlemantold me, with great indignation, of the insults theywere now compelled to take from free niggers. Hesaid that a servant maid had become so independentthat she would not answer her mistress’ bell. “Idetermined to stop such presumption and orderedmy wife to continue ringing while I went down andhid myself behind the kitchen door. The bell rangand rang again while the wench laughed and saidto another servant: ‘She can just keep on a ringin’,an’ when I gets good and ready I’ll come!’ Thiswas too much,” he said. “I went quickly forwardinto the kitchen and slapped her black face twice!The insolent hussy had the temerity to have mehauled to court and bound over to keep the peace!”This was the saddest effect I had yet seen of theinfluence of slave-holding.

While boarding with Mrs. Painter I met thateccentric yet anomalous woman, Doctor MaryWalker, pleasant, refined and interesting, despitethe semi-masculine garb she had then adopted.Her husband, an army surgeon, was, I think, thenliving, but died soon after the war.

In speaking of her dress, her arguments and logicwere unanswerable. She wore loose, long trousersto boot tops, a skirt below her knees, a close-fittingjacket and cape, much like an officer’s, high collarand soft hat, all rather becoming for her petite style.

“You,” she said, “with long skirts, sweep upand carry home with you samples of all sorts offilth from the streets, and besides you are notmodest, for when you must lift your skirts there isalways a suggestive display of hosiery, while I gohome free from extraneous matter and never haveto expose my ankles.” This was perfect hygieneand logical; and many times in my army work Iwished I could go about without drabbled skirts.

Doctor Walker was, I think, a graduate physicianand did much good among sick soldiers. Butshe gradually grew more pronounced in her mannishattire, and was many times arrested for that infringementof the law. She always pleaded herown case so logically that she was generally dismissedwith a reprimand, and cautioned not to do soagain. But to this warning she paid no regard;and at one time entered the court-room bearing theUnited States flag and claiming her rights as anAmerican citizen.

The last I heard of Doctor Mary Walker wasfrom a friend who, in 1908, saw her,—​then grownold,—​in a Brooklyn car. She was dressed in fullmale costume,—​trousers, collar, tie, dress coat,high silk hat, and held a gaudy little cane.

It was reported that, at a recent Suffrage Conventionin Albany, Doctor Walker claimed thatNew Jersey’s early constitution included Women’sSuffrage,—​that this part of the constitution wasnever finally repealed, though abrogated in someway, and that therefore New Jersey is a SuffrageState.

CHAPTER XXIX

OLD CAPITOL PRISON, WASHINGTON D. C.,1865

Among the unusual cases that often fell tome, was that of an elderly man, who had atone time been a judge in New Jersey, butdrink had been his undoing. He was now servinga Civil Service sentence for petty larceny in OldCapitol Prison. I saw at once that he was a “bummer,”but that he had been a gentleman whilesober. I did not feel much interest in this manpersonally, but he showed me a letter from his son,evidently educated, in which he begged his fatherto come home, saying he would take care of himand they might live together and be happy. Theman had been a soldier for a short time, but hadbeen degraded and discharged, and was now aprisoner of Civil Law. It was a difficult case, butfor the sake of his faithful son I undertook it. Iwent to Judge Carter, of that district, urging him tolet the man go.

“It is of no use, Miss Smith. The old fellow is ascamp and not to be trusted for a moment,” wasthe reply. “He will steal anything, and if I shouldlet him go to-day he would be back here to-morrowon another charge. He was arrested on the chargeof stealing a wheel-barrow.”

“Why, Judge,” I said, laughing, “he did notknow what he was doing. He might as well havestolen a grindstone!”

This seemed greatly to amuse the judge, and hesaid directly: “Well, that settles it; if you will seethat he goes out of the city on the train to his son,he may go. If he gets free he will be back here ina week on another charge.”

Quite pleased with my success, I went to theSanitary Commission, still in Washington, secureda ticket to his home, and wrote to his son to meethim; then I notified the old man to be ready at acertain hour the next day when I would call for him.

When I went to the prison for him he began around of deliberate lying, and tried every subterfugeto evade me and get away, so that he might remainin Washington. Finally I said: “You will go withme to the train where I will put you in charge of theconductor, who will deliver you to your son, and ifyou will not agree to this you may remain whereyou are.”

At last we started on our way down PennsylvaniaAvenue. He insisted that the Government owedhim money, so I took him to General Brice’s office,where his clerks soon found a record of desertion,fraud, and bounty-jumping. I lost no time in gettinghim to the train, threatening to have him arrestedif he attempted to give me the slip. Theconductor took him in charge and promised to deliverhim to his son, and I was glad to get the oldsinner off my hands. A few days after, I receiveda grateful letter from the faithful son.

Some months later I chanced to see a Jerseypaper which stated that my old scamp had been arrestedfor stealing photograph albums, and that hehad formerly been a reputable judge.

On returning from the train I stopped at the WarDepartment for advice in some other cases. ThereI chanced to meet General Winfield Hancock, whogave me his autograph, and, chatting easily, wewalked up Pennsylvania Avenue. And so it happenedthat I had walked down Pennsylvania Avenuewith a miserable old “prison bird” and had walkedup the Avenue with “the handsomest man in thearmy,” whose appearance was greatly enhancedby a spotless, brilliant uniform.

At Army Square Hospital I met again myformer patient of City Point, who had capturedhis young rebel brother, the Captain. Theirfaithful brother had, with much care and difficulty,succeeded in bringing them to this hospital, butthe cheerful young captain had died there fromgangrene,—​perhaps due to carelessness. TheMajor, weaker than when at City Point, unable tospeak, motioned his brother to say that he had notforgotten the Lincoln badge I had given him, andthat he would always cherish it. His devotedbrother had struggled heroically to reach theircity, and the Major had at least his wish to die athome. Thus ended another of the many tragediesof our unholy, unnecessary war.

During my last weeks in Washington, I attendeda session of the trial of Wirz, a Swiss, formerlyturnkey of Andersonville prison, who was laterfound guilty of barbarous treatment of prisoners ofwar and condemned to be hanged, with eight conspiratorsagainst the life of President Lincoln, includingMrs. Surette. I believe, however, thatonly four, including Mrs. Surette, were executed.These were the only traitors that suffered ignominiousdeath. Can any other victorious nationshow such Christian clemency?

Assisted by the Agency and Government Departments,I had great success in difficult cases.After much travelling about from one departmentto another in the interest of a convalescent soldier,I collected for him fifty dollars,—​which was longdue, and which at once enabled him to start for hishome, greatly elated by his freedom.

An erratic, wild Irishman was made almost deliriousby getting his long delayed three hundreddollars, and insisted upon giving me fifty dollarsof it, but I informed him that I did not work forpay. He wrote me from New York later, on adouble sheet of cap, in letters an inch long, with“God bless you!” scrawled all over the page.

Having left Doctor Painter’s hospitable home, Iwas now boarding on K Street, where I met amost charming blonde Scotch girl—​CordeliaAnderson, holding a responsible position in theTreasury Department. She made my evenings delightful,as had my friend Annie Bain in our fieldtent at City Point, after the strain, the work andindignation of almost every day. A few yearslater, this rare young woman, still in Washingtonin July of ’67, sent for me to come to her on myway north on my vacation from Norfolk, Virginia,where I was Superintendent of Colored Schools.She was very ill with typhoid. I nursed her tillthe doctor insisted that for my own health I mustleave her, when a kindly old Auntie took chargeuntil her recovery.

The intolerable heat of Washington at that seasonwas unusual. The streets were not paved, anda fine impalpable dust, continually rising, wassuffocating. At the boarding house where wewere, I saw the most astonishing rats, as large assmall cats; and at night when I went down-stairsto get ice for the sick girl, they ran up-stairs aheadof me, and coolly sat upon their haunches, blinkingat me with their vicious black eyes.

CHAPTER XXX

THE LAST ACT IN MY DRAMA ATWASHINGTON

While still working at high tension I suddenlybecame aware that even my greatvitality and good health demanded a rest,and I was preparing to leave for home, when Mr.Huron, of the Indiana State Agency, who hadnearly lost his pretty wife by typhoid at CityPoint, came urging me to undertake an unusuallydifficult case, an application for discharge. I insistedthat I had not enough energy left to win anothercase. His discharge had been repeatedlyblocked, even though urged by the Secretary ofthe State of Indiana, and there seemed to be nohope of sending this brave soldier home. However,Mr. Huron’s statement of injustice was soexasperating that, in righteous indignation, I determinedto remain and make one more effort atthis last moment. This man, who had served hisfull term of four years honorably, and had lost aleg, was, without consent, placed on the roll of theInvalid Corps, which indignity old soldiers considereda stain on their army escutcheon. Manyappeals had failed to accomplish his discharge.The case was always “referred back” to the hospitalwhere it was duly “pigeon-holed.” Theman’s sister had come to Washington expecting totake him home to Indiana, but for weeks all theirefforts had failed, and now some legal complicationshad culminated which required his presenceat home to save their little property and farm.

The next day I went to the hospital, and afterlistening to the man’s statement I went directly tothe surgeon in charge, and stated the case,—​towhich he replied with some discourtesy. Havingreceived the utmost courtesy and respect and attentionfrom all the departments when I had askedfor help, my temper rose to the occasion when hesaid: “The man has no descriptive list, and I willattend to it when I think best!”

“That will not answer my purpose,” I repliedwarmly. “I wish the man to go at once!” and Imade some strong statements of the urgency ofthe situation. He assumed a dignified silence; onwhich I stated emphatically “The man is going!If you do not help me in the matter, he will gojust the same!” My indignation was then sufficientto put through a half dozen cases.

Going directly to the Medical Department, Imade known to Surgeons Middletown and Abbottthe unjust detention of this loyal soldier. Theyhad always promptly aided me in other cases; andupon hearing my statement they also became indignant,and offered me every help. I had “turnedin” my ambulance with many thanks, when I intendedto leave for home; but Doctor Middletownsaid “You had better have our headquarters’ ambulance,for you have many miles to travel overthe city to put this matter through, and I will go‘over the head’ of this surgeon and order him toorder a descriptive list.”

With this document I was much encouraged,and went next morning to the hospital and my aristocraticsurgeon, who tried not to appear surprisedas he said loftily: “I will attend to it.”

“Excuse me,” I said, “I came directly fromHeadquarters to get your signature, and to deliverthe paper to the Medical Department myself.”

He dared not refuse this order, and sent for thesteward and gave him the paper to fill out theorder. I followed closely on the heels of this manto his office, where he coolly thrust the paper intoa pigeon-hole and sat down. Surmising that hisintention was to make me wait until after officehours, I at last said to him: “Steward, if you donot intend to make out that paper at once I shallreport you to Medical Headquarters.” He soonfound time and made out the paper, and I rodeaway to unravel more red tape. At the MedicalDepartment the doctors signed the paper, and directedme to take it to the War Department.Distances were great and office hours short, andso another day passed. But at the earliestmoment on the following day, we drove to the WarDepartment, where I found Captain Sam Breck,now a retired General, a handsome thoroughbredgentleman who had done me many army favors.

“Why, Miss Smith,” he exclaimed cheerfully,“are you here yet? I thought you were throughwith us.”

“Well, Captain, you haven’t got rid of me yet,and though I am completely tired out, I have takenanother most distressing case, and I’m going to sitright down here and talk until you help me out.”

Jokingly, he said, “Oh, I can’t stand that, so letus see if I can save your breath.”

I stated the case as briefly as possible, and hissense of justice was aroused as he said emphatically,“I will help you with this case.”

“How long does it take to put through a descriptivelist?” I asked.

“Well,” he replied, “about three weeks usually!”

“Oh,” I exclaimed, “that won’t do. I can’tstay so long, and if I leave the papers they’ll bepigeon-holed again.”

He thought a moment, and said, “Let me havethe papers,” and he left me waiting in his office.

On returning the paper he said, “There, MissSmith, that has never before been done in this Department.The descriptive list has been putthrough in fifteen minutes. Take it to yourdoctor, and he will be obliged to sign it; and thenyour man will be free.”

Too delighted and relieved to properly expressmy thanks, I said—​“Good-bye for good thistime, Captain. I promise not to trouble you anymore!”

Again in the ambulance I said to the driver, whowas very much interested, “Now, Orderly, yourhorses can not go too fast for me!” and soon wedashed up to the hospital grounds.

Meanwhile the case had become hospital gossip,and every “Boy” knew of my work. The doctorgave me the slip, but I followed him up throughthe wards till I found him at last in his office. Inpassing through the wards I waved the paper saying—​“Boys,I have it, I have it!” A low cheerpassed round as the good news spread from wardto ward.

On presenting this order I said, “Doctor, willyou please sign this?”

With an effort he controlled his expression, andsaid quite blandly, “Er, er—​when would you like tohave this man go?”

“Immediately, if you please!”—​with extremepoliteness.

“Oh! then I will order the ambulance.”

“Thank you,” I replied, “I have the MedicalHeadquarters’ Ambulance waiting and will take theman with me just as soon as he can be madeready.” I then bowed myself out politely.

In half an hour the happy cripple was placed besideme in the ambulance, and we drove directlyto Mr. Huron’s home, where the now rejoicingsister was waiting. She started at once to take herbrother home by easy stages, and we heard thatthey had reached their little farm in safety. Aletter of appreciation from the Secretary of theState of Indiana was a satisfactory ending to thisalmost impossible case.

In my many visits to this hospital I had discoveredsome “irregularities,” for instance, that anumber of soldiers were detained on various pretextsin order that the requisite number might bemaintained, with their “rations” (thirty-sevencents per diem) to keep open this hospital. Somany men begged me, almost upon their knees, tohelp them. As this was quite beyond my strengthI resolved to report the matter to General Grant’sheadquarters. During my call he listened politelyand silently, laid away his cigar, gave me his attention,and referred me to Adjutant Bowers, whoexclaimed: “Why, that is impossible! Here is anorder sent some weeks ago directing all convalescentsto be discharged at once!”

“Nevertheless, Colonel,” I replied, “the menremain.”

With some excitement he replied, “If you canget me the names of these men, and I find thatorders have not been followed, I will close thathospital, at once.”

This decision and the fact that General Granthad given me his autograph during my visit, mademe very happy. I diplomatically secured a list ofabout twenty men who were being wrongfully detained,and this was at once conveyed to ColonelBowers. This was my “Coup d’ état” in Washington;and I thought it a good time to retire fromhospital work and to return to my home for rest.Two weeks later I saw by a Washington paperthat all patients at this hospital able to travel hadbeen sent home, and a small remainder of thosestill sick had been carried to Harewood Hospital,the former hospital having ended its career.

I had hoped to meet General Grant’s MilitarySecretary, General Eli Parker, who wrote thedraft of the surrender of Appomattox. He wassaid to have been of imposing appearance. Hewas chief of the Senecas and of the Six Nations,and his Indian name was Donehogawa. When athome on their reservation with their father, hissisters, who, when in Washington, were among thecultured society of the Capitol, wore the rich costumesof princesses of the tribe and were treatedwith the homage due to their rank.

Thus ended my work in Washington for the“Boys in Blue.”

CHAPTER XXXI

TRANSPORTATION HOME

The war was over, and government passesand government roads were of the past,only regular army transportation was nowallowed, except to the Medical Department for thepurpose of sending home delayed patients. My“Grant Pass,” that had made me so independent,became at once only a relic. Therefore, being entitledto transportation to my home, I went toSurgeon General Barnes, U. S. A., to receive thatprivilege. After a pleasant conversation with theGeneral, he remarked, “Your name is not on thepay roll, and you are entitled to pay for armyservice. If you will make out your claim I willendorse it.”

To this I replied,—​with more sentiment, as Inow see it, than judgment,—​“General, I thankyou, but I do not wish pay for my services in hospitalwork. If I had been a man I would have enlistedas a soldier. But being only a woman itwas all I could do, and I wish to give that serviceto my country.”

Often, since then, I have thought of the quizzicalexpression of the General’s eyes, though he saidnot a word about an impractical girl who did notthink far enough to see what good she might havedone with that accumulated wage of several years.

At that time, however, I was receiving (duringseveral months) sixty dollars per month as NewYork State Agent,—​the only pay I ever received.But that seemed different. The war was over.

The General then asked how far I wanted transportation.I replied that I lived in Brooklyn, butwould take transportation as far as he would giveit. But as I used it only to my home I still havethe following form of transportation:

Resting only a few days after my return to myhome, I was urged by friends on the Sanitary Commissionto assist, with another, a lady of remarkableability, a Miss Baldwin, in dispensing somesurplus funds for the Sanitary Commission, withHeadquarters in New York City. This surpluscould not, according to their organization, be usedfor other purposes than for the benefit of soldiers.After much discussion it seemed that the soldiers’families should be the natural recipients. Soduring most of that unusually severe winter,1865-6, I went daily from my home in Brooklynto New York, and with my companion found manyfamilies in need of help, who might otherwise haveperished with cold. When spring brought relief,the last dollar of that grand life-saving organizationwas expended.

This was, of course, before the day of pensions.We continued this work until the funds were exhausted.Then I retired finally from the engrossingactivity of hospital life and caring for soldiers’families, in which I was engaged from 1862through 1866.

I had been very happy in this ministration thatdaily brought its reward in the gratitude and appreciationof my “Boys in Blue,” and in thethought that I had done at least what I could inthat fearful struggle to save our Union andglorious country.

No one really desires to grow old, but I wouldnot have missed that call for every heart and handto respond to its duty, even to be young again.

MISS ADELAIDE W. SMITH gave her lecture, “Hospital ExperienceDuring the War,” before the U. S. Grant Post of Brooklyn, on Tuesdayevening, March 9th last, under the auspices of the Entertainment Committee. Alarge audience was present to greet Miss Smith. The subject, itself one of absorbinginterest, was skilfully presented by the lecturer and was received with markedattention and interest.

I take very great pleasure in commending Miss Smith’s lecture to the G. A. R.Posts of New York and vicinity also to Church Societies, Clubs, Schools, and otherorganizations that go to make up the social and intellectual life of a community.Miss Smith’s services to our sick and wounded soldiers from 1861 to 1865 entitle herto the generous recognition of our comrades, and the men and women of America.

(Signed)   ANDREW JACOBS,
Chairman Entertainment Committee,
U. S. Grant Post,
Brooklyn, New York.

Transcriber’s Note:

Words may have multiple spellingvariations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. These have beenleft unchanged, as were jargon, dialect, obsolete and alternativespellings. Four misspelled words were corrected.Extended ellipses within quoted text were left intact.

Footnotes were renumbered sequentially and weremoved to the end of the chapter. Punctuation at ends of quotations and sentenceswas standardized.

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