Part 12
We were aided in our work by a number of volunteer laborers, who, one after another, remained a few days or weeks, as they had opportunity. Among these were Colonel Barnes, Messrs. Bayley and Wallace, of Detroit; also, Messrs. Thompson, Moses, Pierce, Horton, Willcox, and Green. Each day’s work was full of incident, sad yet interesting. One morning, accompanied by Mr. Horton, I went with supplies to one of the hospitals, which I found in a most destitute and neglected condition. It was filled with wounded, brought in the night before. As yet they had eaten nothing, neither had they been visited by a surgeon, consequently their wounds remained undressed. The hospital was filthy beyond all comparison. After dishing out our soup and crackers to those poor half-starved men, Mr. H. began the work of dressing wounds, while I started in search of a surgeon, or some one, to assist him. At the Cavalry Corps Hospital--more than a mile distant--I secured the services of Steward Smith; and, as we were hurrying back to that abode of wretchedness, we were overtaken by Steward Dennis, of the Sixth Cavalry, who volunteered to assist us; and very soon both were at work in good earnest, while I hastened “home” to replenish our supply of rags, bandages, shirts, drawers, pillows, and handkerchiefs; and then, assisted by the nurse, began the work of cleaning the hospital. Before leaving, all had been fed, wounds dressed, clean clothing provided, the worst of the filth and dirt removed, and a large quantity of lemonade made for the “boys.” One poor fellow died during the day, and three more before morning. In a few days, those who survived were removed, and the hospital again filled with others. Thus they continued to come and go, until the last wounded were brought from the field.
The next day I made another visit to the hospitals on the “Heights.” Mr. Marvin, A. C. C. delegate, accompanied me. The heat was oppressive. The perspiration dropped profusely from our faces while climbing that long hill with our loaded baskets. We found a large number of new arrivals. In the open air, near one of the hospitals, amputations were being performed, and, from the pile of dissevered limbs near by, it was evident that the number was fearfully large. A young man in one of the wards, who had just been brought from the amputating-table, and had sufficiently recovered from the effects of chloroform to realize his loss, was most bitterly deploring it. To him his loss was irreparable. All efforts to pacify him were made in vain; he gave himself up to weeping, lamenting his great misfortune.
But his was an exceptional case. The language of the wounded was oftener in accordance with the spirit of the following touching poem:
“The knife was still; the surgeon bore The shattered arm away; Upon his bed, in painless sleep, The noble hero lay. He woke, but saw the vacant place Where arm of his had lain, Then faintly spoke: ‘Oh! let me see My strong right arm again.’
“‘Good-by, old arm!’ the soldier said, As he clasped the fingers cold; And down his pale but manly cheek The tear-drops gently rolled. ‘My strong right-arm, no deed of yours Now gives me cause to sigh; But ’tis hard to part such trusty friends-- Good-by, old arm! Good-by!
“‘You’ve served me well these many years. In sunlight and in shade; But, comrade, we have done with war-- Let dreams of glory fade. You’ll never more my sabre swing In battle fierce and hot; You’ll never bear another flag, Or fire another shot.
“‘I do not mourn to lose you now For home and native land; Oh! proud am I to give my mite For freedom, pure and grand. Thank God, no selfish thought is mine, While here I bleeding lie; But bear it tenderly away. Good-by, old arm! Good-by!’”
I often wondered at the cheerfulness and fortitude with which they bore not only their great losses, but so much pain. If they were heroes amid the fierce conflict of battle, they were equally so when suffering in hospitals. On our return from this sad visit we were joined by Captain Williams, of the Seventh Michigan Infantry, who pointed out to us the battlefield of December 13th, 1862, and the very places where Michigan regiments were stationed; also the line of works charged on and carried. As I gazed upon those long lines of fortifications, “rising one above the other, tier upon tier,” upon which rebel batteries were planted that mowed our men down so fearfully as they advanced in solid phalanx, facing those unyielding guns which continually belched forth their missiles of death, I did not wonder that they were compelled to fall back. It seems like madness to have attempted to carry such works by direct attack. It was done at a fearful loss of life. The blood poured forth on that eventful day quenched the light in many a home. The battle work of thousands was that day completed, and they left sleeping upon the “green couch of our final rest.” By how many, ere the heart grew still, might not the confession and the earnest appeal expressed in the following have been made?
“I’m no saint! But, boys, say a prayer--there is one that begins ‘Our Father,’ and then says, ‘Forgive us our sins;’ Don’t forget that part, say that strongly, and then I’ll try to repeat it, and you’ll say ‘Amen!’ Ah! I’m no saint!”
Not far from the 20th of the month, tent hospitals were erected about a mile and a half from the city along the south bank of the Rappahannock, to which many of the more seriously wounded were removed, as the atmosphere, being so much purer than in the city, would greatly favor their recovery. To one of these tents Mr. Waters--whom I had previously mentioned--was taken. The evening before his removal, when I took him his supper--consisting of tea and custard, which he had requested--I found him in great distress of mind. He had heard it rumored that he was to be removed, but knew not whither, and anxiously inquired, “What does it all mean?” He was well aware that frequently, when soldiers were given up to die, they were taken into what was called the “death ward,” and the poor man thought that was where he was to go; but when he learned where he was going, and the reason therefor, the tears started from his eyes, and, with quivering lips, he exclaimed, “Oh! I thought my death-warrant was sealed.” “Well, what if it were; are you afraid to die?” I asked. “Oh, no,” he replied, “for my trust is in Jesus. I feel that all would be well with me were I to die; but I have a large family who need me so much; for their sakes I hope my life will be saved.” When about to leave him he extended his hand, saying, “Now be sure and find me at the other hospital, won’t you?” The promise was made and kept, but I found him fast sinking into the grave. He expressed little hope of recovery, but a good hope in Jesus. He was soon after removed to Washington and taken to Armory Square Hospital, where he lingered until the 26th of June, when he exchanged his suit of blue for a robe of white, and laid him down to rest. After I had taken my leave of Mr. W.--the evening in question--and as I was hastily leaving the hospital, my attention was attracted to a soldier who was weeping and sobbing as though his heart would break. On going to him I recognized one to whose wants I had frequently ministered. On inquiring the cause of his trouble, “Oh, dear!” he exclaimed, “the doctor isn’t going to let you bring anything more into the hospital; but, if you don’t, I shall starve to death.” I could scarcely convince him that it was only a rumor, and that I should continue my visits as before, but he would not relinquish his hold on my hand until he had exacted a positive promise that I would surely come again; and not until my next visit was he fully reassured that all was right. In a few days my poor one-armed boy was sent off, and I saw him no more. The same evening I again visited “Planter’s Hotel.” Edward Fisher, whom I found in the afternoon peaceful and happy, was now raving with delirium. Approaching his bed and calling him by name, I asked if he knew me; for a moment he appeared rational, looked up and smiled, but the next he was wild and delirious again. He had already given an arm for his country, and now he was about to offer his young life a sacrifice upon the same altar. Ere the morning’s dawn he was enrolled in the army of the “Boys in White.”
Upon one of my visits to the Paper Mill Hospital I found seventy men who had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours. Although late in the afternoon, I promised the “boys” that they should have something to eat before I slept that night; so hurrying home I made farina and corn-starch puddings for these seventy hungry men. But, before returning to the hospital, rations had been issued, which, together with the puddings, they declared just made a good meal. At that late day I knew of no excuse for being short of government rations, and there must have been great neglect on the part of some one; though when we first occupied Fredericksburg it was almost impossible to procure transportation sufficient to convey supplies from Belle Plain, a distance of twelve miles from the city, and twenty-five or thirty from the army. Much suffering and many deaths were the unavoidable result.
Presently it began to be rumored that the city was about to be evacuated. It was thought by many that either Bowling Green or Port Royal would be the new base of operations--though all was conjecture. But soon the order to evacuate was received; consequently our supplies, not yet disposed of, were packed, transportation procured, passes obtained, and everything put in readiness for a move. Wednesday, the 25th of May, all the Michigan delegation, except myself, went on board transports bound for Washington. As I had a promise of transportation to the “new base,” I greatly preferred going there to returning to Washington. Our tent hospitals were not broken up until the 27th, though the last of the wounded (in the city) were removed the 25th. That morning I visited the Amputation Hospital--so called from the fact that nearly all the wounded there had been subjected to the amputating knife. This, I believe, was the last hospital in the city broken up. Most of the patients in it at this time were from Michigan. Among the number was a brave Indian chief, who had received a mortal wound, and died soon after arriving at Washington. The others, as far as I know, recovered. The afternoon of the same day I made another visit to our tent hospitals, taking sundry articles for distribution, among which was a bottle of sherry brandy, for Mr. Waters, who, I knew, would greatly need stimulants during his tedious journey to Washington. That day I took my farewell leave of him. In one of the wards was a man in the agonies of death, alone and unconscious. Taking a fan, I stood by his cot and brushed away the flies, which were buzzing and swarming around him like bees. But the struggle was soon over; he died without returning to consciousness. I deeply regretted afterwards that I did not obtain the address of some member of his family, and write the anxiously awaiting friends, whose dreadful suspense, perhaps, was not relieved until the official announcement of his death reached them.
The Slaughter estate, on which these tents were pitched, was a lovely place. The site of the mansion was delightful. A beautiful flower-garden, in which various kinds of roses blossomed abundantly, making the very atmosphere heavy with their fragrance, gradually sloped toward the river. But the old house was deserted; it bore fearful testimony to the destructive effect of balls, of both friend and foe. I never saw a building more completely riddled with shot and shell.
The afternoon of the 26th, in company with four other ladies, who were also waiting transportation, I paid a visit to the tomb of Mrs. Mary Washington. The monument had evidently been struck by a cannon-ball, as the top was broken off, and lay in fragments on the ground. We gathered up a few pieces as sacred mementoes of the spot where repose the ashes of that noble woman--the mother of the “Father of his Country.” As we stood in silence, gazing with solemn awe upon her grave, we could not help thinking of her son--that little boy, who once, perhaps, played in childish glee upon the very ground where we were standing, and who with his little hatchet cut the favorite cherry-tree, growing, as some affirm, upon the spot where that monument now stands. Then the beautiful lesson taught by his truthful simplicity, and the deep impression it made upon our minds in early life, were recalled; also the purity of his after life, his noble record, his philanthropic deeds, his peaceful death. With reflections like these we leave this venerated tomb, and slowly wend our way to the soldiers’ burying-ground, and pay our last tribute of respect to the hundreds of brave men who were there resting from their labors, and “whose slumbers will not be broken until the reveille of the resurrection morn shall awake them.”
“Soldiers’ graves are thickly scattered O’er the valley and the lea; They are sleeping on the mountains, They are sleeping by the sea.”
The morning of the 27th, a detachment of cavalry was sent out to the “wilderness” to recapture some of our wounded who had been for several days in the hands of the rebels. Before night they returned with forty of those poor half-starved men, whom I assisted in feeding after they were taken on board the steamer “George Weems.” About nine o’clock that evening I went aboard the same boat. It was filled to its utmost capacity with the wounded, nurses, agents, officers and refugees. Next morning--as we had not left Fredericksburg--while waiting for the tide to come in, I went ashore and returned to our old quarters, nearly a mile and a half distant. Mrs. Mayhew and Mrs. Samson of Maine accompanied me. Having found the forgotten articles, which I was in search of, we retraced our steps; but, supposing we had plenty of time, we strolled leisurely along, gathering flowers, and stopping a moment to gaze upon the lonely, deserted hospitals that we passed, in which so many distressing sights had been witnessed, and so much suffering experienced.
On our way, several “Secesh” women greeted us with, “Good-by, Yanks; glad you’re going--reckon you won’t get back here again.” We most heartily responded to their expressions of joy. If they were rejoiced to have us go, we were no less so to leave. When within a few rods of the landing, the whistle blew, the plank was taken in, the water-wheel began to revolve, and the boat to shove out from the shore. If we never before knew the meaning of the phrase “double quick,” I think we then learned it; while the thought of being left in rebeldom every moment accelerated our speed. Hands extended to aid us were eagerly grasped, and with a desperate leap, as for life, we jumped on board. Had we been left, no alternative would have remained to us, except that of marching the overland route with the troops, the last of whom were then slowly filing out of town; for this was the last boat of any description that left Fredericksburg, and all communication with the place that day ceased. At ten o’clock we bade farewell to the “bloody city” with its hundreds of sleeping braves. But we could not forget the sad experiences of the previous two weeks.
The weariness, the fatigue, the oppressive heat, the care and anxiety, the sick, the wounded, the dying, the dead; the long trains of ambulances freighted with human suffering, the bloody scenes, the torn and mangled bodies, the newly-made graves, were all fresh in mind, and, being securely locked in the halls of memory, can never be forgotten.
_CHAPTER XV._
PORT ROYAL--FROM PORT ROYAL TO WHITE HOUSE--ARRIVAL OF AGENTS WITH SUPPLIES--BATTLE OF COAL HARBOR--SICK AND WOUNDED SOLDIERS--MAJOR LEWIS--A MASSACHUSETTS SOLDIER--EVACUATION OF WHITE HOUSE--A SAD ACCIDENT--THE DELAY--LAND AT CITY POINT--ARRIVAL OF MR. HOWARD WITH SUPPLIES--A CALL FROM GENERAL GRANT.
After considerable delay, and entertaining many fears lest we should be attacked by guerrillas who were occasionally seen along the shore--until we were joined by a gunboat, under the protection of which we felt secure--we arrived at Port Royal Sunday morning at eight o’clock. Here we left the “George Weems,” which was _en route_ for Washington, and went on board the exchange. While lying at anchor, services were held by the chaplain of the Sixth Wisconsin volunteers. His sermon--from the words, “The Lord is my shepherd”--was full of comfort. Those present upon that occasion will, I am sure, ever love to refer to it as one of the bright spots in their army life. Before arriving at Port Royal a touching incident occurred. A rebel soldier was dying, and, in great distress of mind, he asked to be prayed for. We gathered around his bed--a few professing Christians--and tried to point him to the “Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world.” Precious words of promise were read from the New Testament and prayer offered in his behalf, after which he seemed more composed, but he sank rapidly--as a wound in his neck had broken out afresh and was bleeding profusely--and died, as we hope, trusting in Jesus. Late in the afternoon, learning from Dr. St. Clair, master of transportation, that another boat would leave the next day having better accommodations, I went ashore and put up for the night with a rebel family, which at that time consisted of an elderly lady and a little girl. I learned from the old lady that her husband was dead, and that her two sons were in the rebel army. Her servants had all deserted her. She appeared lonely and disconsolate, not having even the hope of victory to cheer her.
Her house was an old-fashioned vine-clad cottage; the kitchen, with its huge fire-place and massive iron kettles, where the servants had formerly done the work, being separated from the main building, as is customary in the South. A large garden near by was filled with vegetables and flowers and interspersed with shade-trees and shrubbery, the whole being surrounded with a fine boxwood hedge. In one part of the house were the head-quarters of Dr. Snow, of the Ninth Corps. Being detained here, contrary to expectation, until Monday evening, I endeavored to make myself useful by assisting about the cooking for the doctor and “mess.” We got up quite a sumptuous dinner, consisting not only of pork, “hard tack” and coffee, as usual, but, in addition, “flour gravy,” stewed goose, berries, and “hoe-cake.” Our Port Royal dinner will certainly not soon be forgotten by those who partook, for it was a right royal one.
Shortly after sundown we took leave of our kind hostess and went on board the steamer “Ocean Wave,” bound for White House Landing, which place had been decided upon as the “new base.” We anchor and await the tide next morning, when we find ourselves sailing down the Rappahannock. It is afternoon when we enter the Chesapeake bay, ninety miles from Port Royal. The day was extremely warm, but a fine breeze blowing from the bay renders the heat quite endurable. The scenery, portions of the way, was fine. I enjoyed the passage very much, especially as it afforded a good opportunity for rest and preparation for another hard campaign.
About seven in the evening we ran upon a sand-bar and anchored for the night. The next morning we entered the York river, and at five P. M. the Pamunkey.
The waters of this river, unlike those of the York, are dark and muddy, its banks low and marshy; besides, the river is very crooked and the channel narrow; consequently, it was not at all surprising that we ran aground again soon after dark, where we were obliged to remain until the tide came in the next morning. Point Lookout, where we had an extensive hospital, had been passed, also Yorktown--a place of great historical interest, rendered so, not only during our late war, but the Revolutionary also. Here Lord Cornwallis surrendered his sword to General George Washington. Here also, nearly a century later, McClellan’s mighty army encamped for weeks, besieging the fortifications of the rebels, which they finally evacuated in safety, while his own brave men died by hundreds and thousands, of disease contracted in the pestilential swamps of the Chickahominy.
Tuesday, the 2d of June, we land at White House, our new field of labor. No wounded had yet arrived, though a long train of ambulances could be seen, on the opposite side of the Appomattox, waiting for the river to be bridged in order to cross over. At the same time could be heard the booming of guns, warning us to be in readiness to bind up the wounds they were making.
A delegation from the Sanitary and Christian Commissions went over by boat, with supplies for those having already arrived. Our hospitals were not yet established, though, before night, a large number of tents were in readiness to shelter the wounded as soon as they should arrive. Soon after landing I learned of the timely arrival of Messrs. Kellogg, Cater, and Lapand, from Washington, with supplies; but, a cold, drenching rain coming on, which lasted all night, and having no shelter for our goods, they were not taken from the barge until next day, when Dr. St. Clair kindly loaned us a large tent, and a team with which to bring up our goods. In a short time all were hard at work. Mrs. Nowell, of Philadelphia, volunteered to assist us, and remained with us several days. We cooked over a range outside of our tent until a stove was procured--which was already promised me by Dr. Burmaster, Surgeon in charge of the Second Corps hospitals. At night we made two tents of one, by putting in a canvas partition; and for beds, spread our blankets upon the ground, which, if not the best substitute for feathers or mattress, answered very well. My _first_ night at this place I was provided for by Dr. Snow, who gave me possession of one of his unoccupied hospital-tents, sent me a stretcher and blankets for a bed, also a warm supper and breakfast--a kindness fully appreciated and gratefully remembered.
The 3d inst., the wounded were arriving nearly all day from the battle of Coal Harbor, among whom I found a cousin--Lieutenant Tracy, of the Seventh Michigan Infantry--whose brother was wounded at the battle of the Wilderness. “Frank” will not, I am sure, soon forget the many times he drew rations from the “Michigan Relief,” at Fredericksburg.
The afternoon of the same day the rest of the Michigan agents and three Pennsylvania delegates, viz.: Mr. Ritz, Mrs. Price, and Miss Sayles, arrived with a large supply of hospital-stores and two additional tents. At this place the Michigan and Pennsylvania Associations worked together. We had our goods in common, and endeavored, to the extent of our efforts, to relieve suffering.
We remained at White House until the 14th--at least I did. The wounded were almost constantly arriving, as battles were daily being fought. Work was the order of the day, and I trust I shall not be considered egotistical when I say we _did_ work early and late. Rest belonged only to the past, or was looked forward to in the future; it had no connection with the present.