Part 13

Going to the numerous hospitals with supplies of all kinds; cooking soups, puddings, custards; making tea, coffee, lemonade, milk-punch; preparing “special diet” for individual cases, dressing wounds, bathing burning brows, receiving dying messages, writing to friends of the disabled and deceased, were among our daily duties. Sad and distressing scenes met us at every turn. Death was a daily visitor. Graves almost hourly increased in numbers; and even then the demand was not fully met, for it was no uncommon sight to see, in going from tent to tent, from one to half-a-dozen lifeless forms wrapped in their blankets, mutely pleading for burial.

Not unfrequently the sick and wounded were obliged to lie a long time upon the ground in the burning sun, before shelter could be provided. The 6th of the month, a large number belonging to the Ninth Corps were thus unsheltered and unprotected from the heat of day and the chilling dews of night. Among these there was one whose emaciated form and imploring look particularly attracted my attention, and seemed to demand special aid and sympathy. This was James E. Rouse, a member of the Michigan Second. Placing my umbrella over him, I finished distributing my lemonade and crackers, and then tried to find a vacant place in some tent to which I could remove him; but without success. The best I could do was to make a bed on the shady side of one of the tents, underneath the ropes, which I covered with a shelter-tent. To this he was taken, bathed, and provided with clean clothes. The few days he remained there, I took him his meals regularly. A cup of tea and a few mouthfuls of toast were about all he would take at a time. At length he was removed into a hospital. He still continued to fail, and in a few days he was gone. But instead of being sent to Washington, as I was told, he had been removed into another tent, where I found him the evening before leaving the place, dying. As I approached his bed--if bed it could be called--he recognized me, and tried to speak, but was too far gone to say much. A few words about home, in which I caught the words, “wife--my children,” were all I could understand. Soon he became unconscious, and apparently near his end. Remaining as long as I could be of any service, I returned to my quarters, and called again early next morning to see him, but he was gone. I learned from the nurse that he died during the night, and was already buried.

Sunday, the 5th, among the many who were brought from the field, was the body of Major Lewis, of the Eighth Michigan volunteers, who fell mortally wounded at the battle of Coal Harbor. Dr. Fox, of the same regiment, came in with the body, and was the first to break the heart-rending news to the widowed wife.

The coat in which he fell was left in my care, and forwarded to her the first opportunity. Oh! sad reminder of bloody scenes and a hero’s death! His last words were about wife and country. He would have her know that, even in death, she was not forgotten. “But,” said he, “I would live that I might _serve my country longer_.”

“Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead, Dear as the bloody grave; No impious footsteps here shall tread The herbage of your grave. Nor shall your glory be forgot While Fame her record keeps, Or honor points the hallowed spot Where valor proudly sleeps.”

There was one I cannot fail to mention. A noble Massachusetts soldier was mortally wounded, yet unconscious of his fate, until informed of it by a Christian surgeon, who advised him, if he had any accounts with eternity to settle, to attend to them at once. “What,” he quickly replied, “am I going to die?” He appeared greatly distressed, for the thought of death had not before entered his mind. Taking from under his pillow photographs of a beautiful-looking woman and sweet little girl--his wife and child--he looked at them a few moments with tear-dimmed eyes, and then exclaimed: “My God! Can I leave them? Shall I never see them again?” Oh, it was hard for him to die and leave them, but he never saw them more, for in a few days he was numbered with the “Boys in White.”

The 10th inst., having received a call from Surgeon Bonine--who was in charge of the third division Ninth Corps hospital, situated at the extreme front--for supplies, I sent an ambulance load of stores, consisting of canned fruits and meats, condensed milk, loaf-sugar, pickles, lemons, wine, brandy, etc., which I drew from the Sanitary and Christian Commissions, and to his care they were entrusted for distribution, as the appeal was for himself as well as those in his charge. Hear his words: “For God’s sake, Julia, send me something I can eat, or I shall die.”

Perhaps there are those who might think I did wrong in trusting to care of a “doctor” sanitary stores. Now while I would not, for a moment, excuse the course pursued by many army surgeons during the war, in appropriating for their own use articles designed only for the sick, yet there were times and places--especially during an active campaign--when a faithful surgeon, working night and day among scenes the most revolting, needed, and was justly entitled to, something more than “hard tack.” When far from the base of supplies, and not even a sutler in the army, money was of little account. Let one such as Dr. Bonine have fainted at his post of duty, and many lives would have been sacrificed in consequence. All honor to surgeons, as well as to other officers who are faithful in the discharge of duty.

The 11th, it was rumored that the place was soon to be evacuated, and the next morning an order to that effect was received; accordingly our goods were packed, and Sunday afternoon were put into a barge ready to be sent to the new “base.” The wounded were being removed as fast as transportation could be procured, though at this time there were nearly two thousand not yet sent off; besides, the afternoon of the same day, Dr. Smith, of the Twenty-seventh Michigan volunteers, came in with sixty more, forty of whom were Michigan men, and, therefore, especially entitled to our supplies. The doctor immediately appealed to us for aid; but, our goods having all been removed, he applied to the Sanitary Commission.

It having been suggested that a part of the Michigan delegation should remain with a portion of our supplies, until all the hospitals were broken up, Mrs. Johnson and myself volunteered to stay; but it being neither convenient nor thought best to have any of our stores brought back, we applied to the Christian Commission, and obtained permission to draw on them; but our stores and cooking-utensils being gone, we could accomplish but little, and, by the request of one of the Sanitary agents, went and assisted in their low diet kitchen. Mrs. J. finally concluded to go with the rest of our agents, who left Monday evening, the 13th inst., and the next day, at 5 P. M., I went on board the steamer “New Jersey,” and was soon sailing down the Pamunkey on our way to City Point, leaving, forever it may be, “White House,” with not only its hundreds and thousands of its newly-made graves, but also the many grass-covered mounds of McClellan’s braves.

“Bend in love, O azure sky! Shine, O stars! at evening time. Watch where heroes calmly lie, In their faith and hope sublime.”

The ground occupied by our hospitals at this place consists of a large estate containing five thousand acres, formerly owned by the widow Custus, afterwards the wife of George Washington. The mansion, I am sorry to say, was burned during the war, and, at the time I was there, nothing remained to mark the spot where it stood except the tall chimneys. A few days after arriving at this our field of labor, Mrs. Plumb, one of our agents, returned to Washington with a brother, whom she found severely wounded. We regretted to lose her services, for we had no more efficient worker than Mrs. P. Though meeting her there for the first time, I soon learned to highly esteem and love her, as every one must who knows her, for she is a noble Christian woman, just such an one as was needed in the army. Another excellent lady who came to assist us in our work was Mrs. Gridley, from Hillsdale, in whom we found an earnest and efficient laborer--a lady in every sense of the word. Her two sons were serving their country--one in the army, the other in the navy.

Mrs. Mahan, also of Hillsdale, having volunteered her services, was at this time employed in Washington. She remained about six months, and returned home, leaving a record bright with noble deeds. Among the many from my own State who were engaged in the work of caring for our soldiers, I know of none whose zeal for and devotion to the cause surpassed that of Mrs. Tunnecliffe and Mrs. Millard, wives of our State agents in Washington. Early and late, they might be found either in a crowded office, endeavoring to render assistance to the numerous applicants who appealed to them for aid, or out on some errand of mercy, looking after the neglected and those who seemed to have no helper. One of our number--Mr. Ritz, of Pennsylvania--who was devoted, soul and body, to the cause he was serving, has long since ceased from his labors and received his reward. Others are scattered far and wide, no more, perhaps, to meet, until the final “muster-roll” is called.

It was my pleasure, while at White House, frequently to meet that good man, Professor Estabrook, whose efforts in behalf of the suffering have caused his name to be cherished in thousands of homes beyond the limits of our own State. He is one of those of whom it was said: “Ye are the light of the world.”

We arrived at City Point, the 18th. Had a pleasant passage from White House, though a little tedious, as we were delayed at Fort Powhattan, on the James, from Thursday evening until Saturday morning, by the army crossing the river on pontoons a few miles below us. On our way we passed the famous Rip Raps, where many of our soldiers and others were sentenced, for various crimes, to hard labor during the war. The place where that brilliant engagement between the little Monitor and the iron-clad Merrimac occurred, March 9th, 1862, was pointed out to us. The accommodations on the “New Jersey” were good. All the ladies were provided with comfortable state-rooms; but we came to short rations before arriving at our place of destination, as we divided with some sick soldiers who were with us, and were delayed thirty-six hours.

A sad accident occurred about two o’clock the morning after leaving White House, while anchored in the Pamunkey waiting for the tide. All was still as midnight, when suddenly there was heard a plunge, struggling, splashing, and cries for help from below. At the same instant several voices were heard exclaiming, “A man overboard!” A life-preserver was immediately thrown him, but, there being a heavy mist on the surface of the water, it floated past him unnoticed. The incoming tide was rapidly bearing him away. I endeavored, but in vain, to throw him my life-preserver, by crowding it through the small window of my state-room as he floated by. A life-boat was lowered and two men went in pursuit; soon another boat followed. The poor fellow’s cries for help could still be heard. I watched him out of sight, and even then I could hear him call out, “This way, this way, gentlemen, hurry up; I can’t keep up much longer;” and then the reply, “We’re coming, we’re almost there, keep up good courage.” At length the splashing of the oars dies away, and the voices become fainter and fainter; yet we can still hear the boatmen call, “Where are you?” and the reply, very faintly, “Here, here, this way!” but soon it ceases, and we all wait in almost breathless silence for the return of the life-boats. Soon we catch the sound of the splashing oars, and eager voices are heard asking, “Did you save him?” Our hearts almost cease to beat and the blood nearly freezes in our veins as we hear the reply, “No, he went down when we were almost in reach of him.” Oh, how much harder for the dear friends at home to part with him thus than if he had fallen in battle; _that_ they might have expected, but _this_ they were wholly unprepared for. Landing at City Point, I reported to Dr. Dalton, medical director, but was disappointed in finding that the rest of our agents had not yet arrived, though they left White House twenty-four hours in advance. The cause of the delay, however, we learned from Mrs. Johnson, who arrived toward evening the same day. There had been an order issued that none of the State Relief Associations should be permitted to go to the new “base” without permission from the Secretary of War. Hence they had no alternative but to remain at Fortress Monroe until they could despatch some one to Washington for the requisite passes, which delayed them until the 22d.

The goods belonging to the Christian Commission, which were loaded in the same barge with ours, were removed to another boat, and Mrs. Johnson came on as one of their delegates. While in doubt as to what course to pursue, being without supplies, we were here, as at White House, providentially provided for by the arrival of Mr. Howard from Washington with hospital stores. Before morning the wounded began to arrive, and with their arrival began our work. Our hospitals were not yet established, though the location was decided upon. It was situated about a mile from the Point, along the bank of the Appomattox; and the next day scores of tents went up, which were soon filled with the wounded. Soon after landing at City Point I was joyfully surprised in meeting an old friend--Mr. Fox, of Kalamazoo--a volunteer laborer in the cause of humanity. But the great event of the day was the honor of a call from General Grant, the great American hero, who came into our tent, sat perhaps twenty minutes, conversed freely about the war, and seemed to take a great interest in the work in which we were engaged. To the inquiry whether he would be in Richmond by the 4th of July, he shook his head and replied, “No, not by the fourth; I have not laid my plans to that effect. I shall go there; I’m just as sure of it as can be, but we have more hard fighting to do first.” He then added: “I am nearly worn out, for I have scarcely had a day’s rest since the war began.” Before leaving he gave each of us his autograph, shook hands and bade us “good-by.” We assured him he should still have our prayers, as he already had our confidence. He thanked us, and was gone.

_CHAPTER XVI._

MAJOR BARNES--HOSPITALS ESTABLISHED--MRS. JOHNSON RETURNS TO WASHINGTON--ARRIVAL OF MRS. GIBBS--HER RETURN WITH A WOUNDED SON--CAVALRY HOSPITAL--AM TAKEN SICK WITH TYPHOID FEVER--REV. MR. JOSS--HOT WEATHER--A SEVERE STORM--LEAVING CITY POINT--REBEL OFFICERS--THE RELAPSE--RETURN TO MICHIGAN--A DARK PERIOD--MY SISTER’S BEREAVED FAMILY--THE CALL OF DUTY.

As I have before stated, the rest of our agents, with the balance of our goods, arrived the 22d. Mrs. Brainard, however, remained only one night, having received orders to return to Washington, where her services were greatly needed. Our work here was so similar to that at White House, that it is not necessary to enter into details. I will only mention an instance or two, and then pass to a more general account of our work. The day after arriving at City Point, the wounded began to come in in large numbers. Quite early in the morning a long train of ambulances filled with mangled bodies arrived, and halted a short time, until a hospital boat was in readiness to receive them. While busy at work, a soldier came to me in great haste, and begged me to go and see his major, saying: “He is dreadfully wounded.” Leaving my work, I accompanied him. We hastily passed ambulance after ambulance, until it seemed as though we never would reach the last one. At length he stopped, and, pointing to one of them, said, “He is in that one.” Carefully springing upon the step at the rear of the ambulance, and looking in, I saw Major Barnes, of the Twentieth Michigan, lying by the side of a brother officer, who was also badly wounded. On inquiring what I could do for them, “Oh,” said Major B., “if you could only get me out of this ambulance, for it does seem as though I shall die if I stay here much longer.” I promised to see what could be done, but found that the train would so soon move to the landing, that it was thought best not to make any change until it reaches its destination. I can never forget the look almost of despair depicted on his countenance as I reported this, for all hope of recovery seemed to have left him. Still anxious to do something for him, I hurried back to my tent, and soon returned with a cup of tea and a pillow. “Oh,” he exclaimed, as he drank the tea, “that tastes so good.” Placing the pillow under his head, I bade him be of good cheer, and, with a heavy heart, stepped down from the ambulance. The train moved on, and I saw him no more. A few days after, I learned that he died before reaching Washington. Oh! those sad sights! those tedious, toilsome days! How glad we sometimes were to have the darkness of night hide from view the revolting scenes witnessed by day, when the cooling breeze would fan fevered brows and wounds inflamed, and gently lull to sleep. But even then the moans of some poor sufferer would often reach our ears, causing us to wish for immortal bodies, which would neither wear out nor become weary. But

“The hopes, the fears, the blood, the tears That marked the bitter strife, Are now all crowned by victory That saved the nation’s life.”

Our hospitals at this place were very extensive. The Second, Fifth, Sixth and Ninth Corps were largely represented in this department. Tents continued to go up until our little canvas village assumed the proportions of a city. The Cavalry Corps also had a large hospital about two miles from here. Day after day the wounded came pouring in from the battles and skirmishes so frequently occurring. Cannonading was daily heard, frequently rapid and heavy; and occasionally the rattle of musketry and the screeching of shells saluted our ears, while the smoke of battle could plainly be seen, and sometimes even the manœuvering of the troops--thus mingling with our arduous duties great excitement, and occasionally alarm.

In less than two weeks after landing at City Point, Mrs. Johnson left me and returned to Washington for a few days’ rest. Mrs. Gibbs, a lady who was devoting her time and strength to the cause her husband and son were serving, arrived the day she left; yet I greatly missed her, for we had worked together nearly six weeks. Her services, especially as a “dresser,” were invaluable. Mrs. G., finding one of her sons among the wounded, remained only a week, and then returned with him to Washington, and I was again left alone, as far as ladies’ help in our own department was concerned; and yet I was not alone, for nearly every loyal State was there represented by a corps of faithful laborers, all earnestly engaged in the same noble work. Mr. Howard[5] remained in charge of the tents containing our supplies, and worked with a zeal that knew no respite until our Association, having completed its work at the front, was recalled from the field. While here I frequently met “Bridget,” of the First Michigan Cavalry, and occasionally “Anna,” of the Third Infantry, whose services, according to the testimony of the surgeons of those regiments, were invaluable. They remained with their respective regiments until the close of the war--sharing the ever-varying and shifting fortunes of the same.

[5] He has also ceased from his labors, having died of typhoid fever two years ago.

I made but one visit to the Cavalry Hospital while at City Point, on account of its long distance from the other hospitals. It was situated in a most delightful place. A beautiful lawn with its green carpeting gradually sloped toward the river, which rolled peacefully along at the foot of the hill, its banks skirted with a variety of trees, beneath whose grateful shade convalescents reclined, some with books in hand, others playing at cards, or some other “innocent” amusement, to while away the tedious hours of the long, hot day. The tents were the most comfortable of any I ever saw in the field. Each patient was provided with a good bed, not the narrow hospital cot, but what are called single beds, and furnished with mattress, sheets, pillows, and a “patched” quilt, in lieu of the coarse army blanket. The wards were decorated with evergreens, and everything looked neat and clean. Instead of clouds of dust, the air was bright and clear. Compared with our Infantry hospitals, surrounded with sand and dust, it seemed like an earthly paradise. But, amid all these natural beauties, many a brave heart ceased to beat; for Death sought out this lovely retreat, and bore hence his victims. Though far more comfortable, the sick were no better supplied with delicacies than those in other hospitals. Hence we divided our stores with them, sending, from time to time, such things as they most needed.

While there was so much to be done, duties daily increasing, my work for the summer was rapidly drawing to a close. The fever which had so long threatened me finally obtained the mastery. The 6th of July, I did my last day’s work at that place. From that time until I left City Point--four weeks later--I was almost entirely confined to my bed. During that illness I learned from sad experience how to sympathize with the sick around me; but, when comparing my condition with theirs, I found I was so much better off than they, that I had no heart to complain. While I had a bunk--narrow and hard though it was--many of them had none. My tent could boast a floor, theirs could not. Besides, I was daily supplied with ice and numerous other articles which many a poor soldier did not get. For these things, I was indebted to the Rev. Mr. Joss, of the Sanitary Commission, but for which, especially the ice, I do not think I should now be here to express to him, through these pages, my gratitude. Though having good medical treatment, I feel that, under the blessing of God, I owe my life to this reverend gentleman.

I have ever looked upon my acquaintance with him as strikingly providential. While at Fredericksburg, I was led by the providence of God to care for a brother of his, who was supposed to be mortally wounded, but who finally recovered, and, hearing of my illness, directed this brother to find me and return the favors shown him. They were returned an hundredfold. Oh! that hot, dusty July; those long, weary days and sleepless nights; the scorching sun, beating down upon my tent; the swarms of flies; that little rusty tin pail, out of which, for the want of something better, I drank my gruel; the heated, suffocating atmosphere; the anxiety to be at work; how fresh in memory!

As the season advanced, the heat became more intense and the dust more intolerable. The long trains of army wagons that were constantly moving to and fro, only a few rods from us, were scarcely visible, being so completely enveloped in clouds of dust.