Part 11

Before leaving the Wenonah, it was suggested by some one that we have a prayer-meeting, and that those wishing to attend would assemble in the cabin, which in a few moments was filled to its utmost capacity with delegates from both the Sanitary and Christian Commissions, the ladies on board, and officers and soldiers. Among the number present were many eminent Christian men and ministers of the gospel, the names of a few of whom I obtained, viz.: Drs. Smith, Castle, Porter, McLaughlin, of Philadelphia, Dr. Howlett, of Washington, and Dr. Dobbins, of Trenton, New Jersey. Among the ladies present was one whose name has become a household word in thousands of homes throughout our land, because of her untiring efforts in behalf of the sick and wounded. I refer to Miss Clara Barton, of ----, Massachusetts. The meeting was a most solemn and impressive one. The afternoon was dark and gloomy, the sky overcast with clouds, and the rain falling; while ever and anon our ears were saluted with the boom of the cannon, which plainly indicated that the conflict was still raging, and every moment new names were added to the long list of sufferers. The solemnity of the occasion, and the deep impressions then made, must--it seems to me--follow each of us through life.

Nine o’clock next morning we were taken into a barge and carried ashore. The wounded were arriving by hundreds, and I may say thousands, to await transportation to Washington. The two great Commissions and a few State Reliefs were there with abundant supplies of food; so all hands went to work feeding those poor, suffering, half-starved soldiers with crackers, hot coffee, and light bread--which we cut into slices and spread with apple-butter. Thus we worked on, wading through mud to the top of our boots until noon, when, in company with Mrs. Johnson, I started with part of our goods for Fredericksburg--transportation being furnished us through the kindness of Lieutenant Chase, of the Ambulance Corps. The mud was deep and the roads badly cut up; but fortunately we did not share the fate of some of the wounded, whose ambulances were overturned on their way to Belle Plain. It was after dark when we reached the Rappahannock, which we crossed on pontoons, and nearly eight o’clock when we arrived at the head-quarters of the Christian Commission in the “bloody city” of Fredericksburg. On our way we met several thousand prisoners captured by the Second Corps the day previous. Among these were Generals Edward Johnson and George H. Stewart. It was said that General Johnson was so affected as to shed tears when General Hancock extended to him his hand after he was taken, declaring that he preferred death to captivity. But the other, with an air of haughtiness, replied: “I am General Stewart, of the Confederate army, and under present circumstances I decline to take your hand.” General Hancock’s dignified reply was: “And under any other circumstances, General, I should not have offered it.”

We, with three other ladies who were on a similar mission, found quarters for the night in the parlor of the worthy (?) ex-Mayor Slaughter’s fine residence, upon whose carpet we had the honor of sleeping!! Being very tired, we slept soundly, in spite of our hard bed. Part of the building was used for a hospital. Mrs. Slaughter was still there, but her husband, not caring to fall into the hands of the “hated Yankees,” had left for parts unknown.

I will again add a few extracts from my journal.

_May 10th._

Early this morning the Provost Marshal obtained for us a house to which our goods were soon removed, after which we were ready for duty. The building had once been a store; the counter and shelves being left, we occupy them with goods. The family in an adjoining room consists of an old lady and one daughter, who, of course, claim to be loyal. However, they are very kind, and gave us a large upper room with good beds, and otherwise comfortably furnished for a sleeping apartment. No one could listen to their story without feelings of pity. They have suffered much during the war, being obliged to share their hospitality with both friend and foe, exposed to dangers from the missiles of destruction and death which have made such wide-spread desolation, and left in ruins this once beautiful city. Their own building, and even the room in which I write, bears testimony to the terrible effects of shell and ball.

A stove was furnished us in the morning, the “boys” supplied us with wood, and we went to work with a right good will, Mrs. Johnson to cooking, and I to visiting hospitals and distributing as fast as she could cook.

Such scenes of wretchedness and of terrible suffering I have never before witnessed. I found the wounded lying upon the hard floor without pillows, and many without a blanket, so closely crowded together that there was scarcely room to pass between them. Officers and soldiers are lying side by side. There, if never before, they are all on a common level. To the untold suffering experienced from broken bones and shattered limbs, is added that of hunger, many having eaten nothing for three and four days previous to their arrival here; and thus they are dying not only of wounds, but of starvation.

In the six hospitals to-day visited, I found many Michigan soldiers, and among these are several of the Twenty-Sixth volunteers, from whom, only a few weeks since, I parted at Stevensburg, when imagination was so busy picturing these horrid scenes. Among this number is Colonel Saviers, wounded in the lungs; Captain Johnson with a foot amputated; Lieutenants Grisson and Dopson severely, though less seriously wounded; Mr. Waters with amputated thigh, and many others whose names I do not recall. The food which I have to-day distributed consisted almost entirely of chicken-soup and crackers, in dealing out which I made no distinction, but gave to all as far as my supplies would go.

Early this evening I went out again in company with Mrs. Johnson, and remained until twelve o’clock, dressing wounds and doing what I could to relieve the suffering of our poor boys. Among the many incidents to-day observed worthy of note, I will mention but two. While distributing my crackers and soup to the inmates of a large church, where there are perhaps a hundred and fifty or two hundred poor sufferers lying side by side upon the floor, nearly all seriously and many mortally wounded, my ears were saluted with the voice of song, and, looking around to see from whom it came, I saw a poor fellow with a severe wound in both arms, whom some one had raised up from his hard bed. He was sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall, singing as cheerfully, and apparently as joyously as if he were seated at the social hearth with his own dear family. It was a scene which brought tears to my eyes, for the voice of song strangely mingled with dying groans, and I thought that one who could shut his eyes to the scenes of distress around him, and so far forget his sufferings as to attune his heart and voice to singing, must indeed have experienced the blessedness of the Christian’s hope. In this hospital is another with eight wounds. He lies on a stretcher entirely helpless. While feeding him I entered into conversation with him, when, to my surprise, I found that he entertained hopes of recovery--which seems to me would be almost miraculous.[4] The rest of our party arrived this afternoon with the balance of our goods.

[4] Some two years ago, to my great astonishment, I met this man, who, though having recovered, is badly crippled for life.

_Sunday, the 15th._

Another busy day. It has seemed but little like the Sabbath. After taking supplies to four different hospitals, and distributing, and working among the wounded until late in the afternoon, I came home and prepared chicken-soup, and carried to Planter’s Hotel--assisted by Mr. Green--sufficient for nearly four hundred men. Michigan soldiers of the Ninth Corps are here largely represented. Among these are many seriously wounded. My attention was particularly called to two such by Chaplain May--viz., Captain Donohue of the Eighth volunteers, and Lieutenant Joss, of the Second, each with an amputated thigh. But little hope is entertained of their recovery. I tried to speak encouragingly to them, having been requested to do so by the surgeon, Dr. Fox; yet it seems almost wrong to endeavor to inspire with hope of recovery those for whom nearly all hope has fled. Promising to see them often and do all I could for them, I left, feeling that it would be only a short time that they would need anything, except the soldier’s blanket and a few feet of earth.

In this hospital I found several wounded in the face, among whom is Sergeant Clark, also of the Eighth. The ball lodged somewhere in the mouth, and has not yet been found. It is very distressing to see him; his tongue is swollen to an immoderate size, and protrudes from his mouth. He is unable to speak, or take nourishment, except liquids. There are hundreds of cases, each peculiarly sad, and each presenting itself as an object of sympathy.

Among the hospitals I have visited to-day, is the Old Theatre, where I saw so many terribly mangled bodies last evening. I took a quantity of pillows, chicken-soup, and crackers. The moment I entered the hospital, oh, what begging for pillows came from all parts of the room! “Please, give me a pillow, I’m wounded in the head, and my knapsack is so hard,” said one. Another wants one for the stump of his arm or leg. “I don’t think it would be so painful if I only had a pillow, or cushion, or something to keep it from the hard floor; there, that small one will do for me; please lady, let me have that.” “Oh,” said another, “if I only could have one of those pillows for my back; it is all raw from lying on the hard floor; Oh! can’t you spare me one?” For a few moments I stood with the pillows in my arms, unable to decide what to do. I could not supply all, and to whom should I give? The calls did not cease until the last one was given out, and then the cry was, “Can’t you bring more?” Concluding they were as needy as any, I came home, got another armful, and returned, thus supplying the worst cases in that room. While there, an incident occurred, to which I can never refer without weeping. As I was busy dishing out my broth, a friend of mine, Lieutenant Grisson, who was himself wounded, said: “I wish you would see if you can’t do something for that captain who lies the third from me; he is dreadfully wounded.” On going to him, I inquired if there was anything I could do for him, and if he would like a little broth. “Just a little, if you please,” he said. After placing a pillow under his head, and another under his back, I fed him as much as he wished, then asked what more I could do for him? He looked up with tearful eyes, and said: “Oh, you are so kind, I don’t know what to call you, unless it be sister.” “Very well,” I replied, “I’ll be your sister; but tell me, Captain, is there nothing more I can do for you before I go.” “If you will please write a few lines to mother.” Taking her address, I inquired whether there was anything in particular he wished me to write. I shall never forget the expression of his countenance as he looked up and said: “Oh! give her _some_ encouragement, but tell her I’m trusting in God.” He hesitated a few moments, and then added: “It will be so hard for mother, for she is a widow, and I am her only son.” I tried to speak a few words of comfort, telling him that if his trust was in God all would be well, for his hopes were anchored upon a sure foundation, and the one in whom he trusted would be the widow’s God. In a moment the thought of the anguish that would soon pierce that lone widowed mother’s heart, rushed upon my mind, and poor, weak human nature was overcome, and I could only bow my head and weep. The poor fellow seemed fully conscious of the fact that he must die; and while he would have his mother know the worst, he wished the sad intelligence to be gently broken. The language of his heart seemed to be, “Who will care for mother, now?”

* * * * *

After giving out the rest of my supplies, I bade the “boys” good-evening, with a promise to see them again soon, and left this wretched hospital only to visit another nearly, if not quite, as bad. This was formerly a large grocery-store, only a short distance from our quarters. Mr. Green and Mrs. Johnson accompanied me to this abode of misery. As we entered the building, oh, what a sight met our eyes! A small piece of candle was burning upon the counter--it being about nine in the evening--which but dimly lighted the large room, making the bloody scene before us all the more horrifying. There lay the wounded, stretched upon the floor side by side, in close proximity, weltering in blood and filth.

They were faint and hungry, some having only a short time before arrived from the battle-field, with wounds still undressed, their blankets and clothing saturated with blood, and not unfrequently covered with vermin. It was a sight well-calculated to appal the stoutest heart; but, nerving ourselves for the task, we went to work feeding those poor sufferers, bathing and dressing their wounds. While busy, a call from behind the counter attracted my attention, and on going to ascertain who was there I found two soldiers, who said they were nearly starved, and wished to know if we hadn’t something for them too. “Certainly,” I replied, and, taking a large cup, I filled it with hot broth, and crept along on my hands and knees to where they were lying, for I did not dare trust myself to walk, fearing I should stumble over them, as it was so dark, the candle having been removed to another part of the room, and the space between them and the counter so narrow.

I learned that one of them belonged to the Eighth Michigan. When I told him that I too was from Michigan, the poor boy burst into tears and wept aloud. “Oh,” said he, “can’t you get me out of this filthy place? for it seems as though I shall be eaten up alive.” But, as every spare foot of space was occupied, we were obliged to leave them there for the night, but requested the nurse to remove them in the morning, even if they had to be taken out of doors. I came home late in the evening, weary and foot-sore. Since then, have written several letters for soldiers, and the midnight hour finds me still with pen in hand.

* * * * *

The wounded have been arriving since early this morning; new scenes of distress await us on the morrow. “As we look around, we see the work of death on every side. Rank after rank is falling on the battlefield of life, and the cold earth on which we tread is arched with graves.”

_CHAPTER XIV._

WRETCHED CONDITION OF OUR HOSPITAL--A REBEL FAMILY--HOME DUTIES--ARRIVAL OF THE WOUNDED--SAD SCENES AND INCIDENTS--BATTLEFIELD OF DEC. 13TH, 1862--TENT HOSPITALS--MR. WATERS--PAPER MILL HOSPITAL--THE CITY EVACUATED--THE SLAUGHTER ESTATE--MRS. WASHINGTON’S MONUMENT--NINTH CORPS BURYING-GROUND--FAREWELL TO THE BLOODY CITY.

_Monday, 16th._

Early this morning I started out, accompanied by one of the “boys” detailed to assist us, for an old four story factory, situated in the outskirts of the city, with beef-soup, crackers, and pillows. Another revolting scene, one from which the mind instinctively turns, was there witnessed. I found the wounded, as in other hospitals, lying upon the hard floor, some with but many without even a blanket. Everything in the shape of knapsacks, haversacks, canteens, and even boots, are used for pillows. For one to stand and look in upon them in all their destitution and suffering, and to hear the begging for pillows upon which to rest aching heads, wounded limbs, and broken bones, and to see the empty cups held up for a little soup--“just a little, please,”--would be a soul-sickening sight! A mere spectator could not live here; not if he had a heart to feel for others’ woes. There must be something to stimulate; and the hope of being able, though in a small degree, to alleviate the suffering seen on every hand nerves one for the work and enables him to labor on week after week composedly, it may be, amid scenes the most revolting, with ghastly death staring him in the face at every turn. This is no place for idlers or the faint-hearted. Strong nerves, brave hearts, and willing hands are needed. My next visit was to the hospitals on the Heights, where I found a large number who have, to-day, arrived from the battlefield. Many of these were wholly unprovided for; some were lying upon the ground, others sitting upon old boxes, benches, and even the wood-pile, while the hot sun was pouring his searching beams upon them. Among these seemingly neglected ones was a poor fellow who had lost part of his lower jaw; his swollen face was bound around with an old blood-stained bandage, and the bloody water was running from his mouth. He could not speak, but looked, oh, so imploringly for help! I resolved to do something for him. My first thought was to provide for him a bed; but where was the bedding to come from? It was suggested that I should go to a “Secesh” family, living about eighty rods from there, and try and beg some. I readily yielded to the suggestion; but, on making known my errand, the woman--I can not call her lady--of the house utterly refused to let me have any, saying that they needed what little they had for themselves. I did not doubt her word, but told her she must try and divide with me, even if it were no more than a couple of quilts or blankets, as I wished to fix a bed for a soldier who was very badly wounded. But she still refused. “Very well,” I replied, “I shall report you to the Provost Marshal,” and turned to leave, when an old gentleman--her father, I concluded--said, “I reckon we can spare a couple of blankets and a mattress;” and, without waiting for her consent, went into an adjoining room and brought them out. This was better than I expected, and more than I had asked for; but, on seeing the blankets, I recognized them as belonging to “Uncle Sam.” The look of gratitude the poor boy gave, as he lay down to rest upon his new bed, with a clean bandage about his face, will never be effaced from memory.

* * * * *

A few words in regard to our home-duties, perhaps, would not be amiss. We made our coffee in a caldron-kettle, stewed our fruit in a large copper boiler, and made our soups, puddings, and tea over the stove. It took one to attend to the storeroom, one or two busy cooking, and several constantly employed carrying and distributing supplies to the various hospitals. Our rooms were continually besieged with weary, hungry soldiers, who were more fortunate than their comrades in not being wholly disabled. To all such, wherever they hailed from, coffee and crackers were furnished as long as the supply lasted. Among the soldiers detailed to assist us were Leonard Sears and George Taylor, of the Eighth Michigan; James Meade and Frank Phillips, of the Twentieth; Hall, of the Fourth; Lewis Gridley, of the Second; and one whose name I have forgotten, whom we always called “Curly.” Poor boy! he was mortally wounded at the battle of Cold Harbor, and died while _en route_ for Washington. In addition to the above there were three from the Twenty-Sixth, whose names I have not. These were not able-bodied men from the ranks, but convalescents from the hospitals, who were detailed at different times and places during the summer of 1864. They were faithful to duty, and did us excellent service.

_Tuesday, the 17th._

The wounded still arriving. Early this morning a long train came in and parked across the way from us. Among those who assisted in the work of feeding these was Chaplain Way, of the Twenty-Fourth Michigan Infantry, who always seems to know just what, when, and where to do. He is always willing to assist, and always at work.

Many of these had been in the hands of the rebels, and were nearly starved. Most of them were seriously, and many mortally wounded. Death was at work while on their way from the field; his cold, icy fingers had chilled the life-current in the hearts of some. There was one poor man with both thighs amputated. As I handed him a cup of wine, he raised up, drank a few swallows, and, without a murmur or even a groan, lay down again. Instead of complaining at his hard lot, he had a word of thanks for this small favor. “Oh, what bravery this!” thought I, as I passed on to the next ambulance. After all had been fed, the train moved on toward Belle Plain, where they are to be taken on board transports and carried further North. The suffering experienced during that tedious ride, what pen can portray? During the day I have been to several hospitals, with soup, crackers, milk-punch, tea, etc. One of these, formerly a stable, I found in a most deplorable condition. The wounded, terribly mangled and covered with blood, were lying upon the floor. Many of these were rebels. Only a few hours had elapsed since their arrival from the field of battle. A more heart-sickening sight I have not witnessed since coming to this bloody city. I could not pass them by neglected. Though enemies, they were nevertheless helpless, suffering human beings. I deemed it best to act in accordance with the injunction: “If thine enemy hunger, feed him.”

With these few extracts from my journal, something of an idea can be formed, not only of our work while in Fredericksburg, but also of the wretched condition of our hospitals--though, in most of these, great improvements were made before the place was evacuated. Cots were furnished, and other comforts supplied, which it was impossible to have at first; for the wounded were brought in, not only by hundreds, but by thousands. Day after day, long trains freighted with human suffering continued to arrive, until it was estimated that there were at least ten thousand wounded in the city at a time. All the public buildings--the Court-House, churches, hotels, warehouses, factories, the paper mill, theatre, school-buildings, stores, stables, many private residences--and, in fact, everything that could give shelter was converted into receptacles for the wounded, until Fredericksburg was one vast hospital.

Our daily duties were so similar, that an account of one day’s work would be a fair specimen of every day’s. We knew no rest until the wounded were all removed. Night ever found us weary and foot-sore. There was a large number of faithful laborers at Fredericksburg. The different commissions and State associations were there, each with a noble corps of earnest workers. Among these untiring ones was Mrs. General Barlow, whose husband commanded the First Division, Second Corps. Many of the improvements made in our hospitals--especially of the Second Corps--were the result of her personal efforts. She worked on through sunshine and storm, until her overtaxed system yielded to the ravages of disease, and she fell a martyr to the cause she had so faithfully served. But the laurels she won “are unfading, and will be verdant in heaven.” Among the many faithful workers in Fredericksburg, I knew of none who accomplished more than Mrs. Samson, of Maine, and Miss Hancock, of Pennsylvania. They were not only earnest and faithful, but efficient--going where many would not think of venturing, overcoming obstacles to others insurmountable, yielding to discouragements never. Heat or cold, storm or sunshine, distance or danger, were never allowed to interfere with duty. There were many others whose noble deeds are recorded on high.