Part 14
On the night of the 24th, there was a sudden and most grateful change in the weather. A heavy rain-storm came up, accompanied with high wind and severe thunder and lightning. It was a gloomy night, yet full of grandeur. My tent swayed to and fro in the wind; bright flashes of lightning and almost Egyptian darkness rapidly succeeded each other, while the crashing of thunder was far more grand than any discharge of artillery of human invention. Many tents were blown down, whose occupants were left to the tender mercies of the storm. When the morning dawned we seemed to be in a new world. The air was clear and pure, our clean white tents glistened in the sunlight, the slow-moving trains were in full view, the trees and bushes were relieved of their dusty coats, and all nature, animate and inanimate, seemed to rejoice.
The 2d of August, I left City Point, in company with Mrs. Johnson (who had been with me some ten days), and was taken to Washington. On the steamer--the “Vanderbilt”--on which we took passage, were twenty-one rebel officers, prisoners of war. As they frequently passed my window, I entered into conversation with them. The war, as a matter of course, was the subject discussed; but they all, with one accord, acknowledged the hopelessness of their cause, and confessed that it would have been better had they not appealed to the sword. They said they had no desire to divide the Union; but they thought their “rights” had been infringed upon, and for these they were fighting. I inquired what “rights” they had lost, or had been “infringed upon.” All were silent a moment, then one replied: “Our rights in regard to slavery.” The interference of the North with this institution they believed to be the cause of the war; and yet they confessed that, if it were even so, it was no just cause for declaring war. I never conversed with a rebel who could give an intelligent answer to the questions concerning the loss of his “rights,” but they would invariably fall back, as a last resort; upon the interference of the North with slavery.
Arriving in Washington, I was taken to the house of a lady widely known for her labors of love for the soldiers--a loyal Washingtonian, the only one of her family who remained true to the cause of freedom and right during the dark days of the rebellion. The fatigue of the journey brought on a relapse, so that I was not able to leave the city for five weeks. I then returned to Michigan, and remained through the winter, recruiting my health and collecting money for the benefit of the soldiers.
I learned during that illness, as I never could in health, how to appreciate the gratitude so often manifested by soldiers, even for trifling favors. I can now understand the feelings expressed by a wounded soldier in a letter received from him since the close of the war, in which he asks if I remember the flowers I gave him while in a hospital at Fredericksburg; and then spoke of the good they did him, and the tears he shed over them. “Why,” he added, “for a while they caused me to forget my pain, and I felt a renewed courage to bear my sufferings more bravely, for to me they were a token of sympathy, and I felt that I was not forgotten.” As I perused this letter, how vividly I recalled a little incident that occurred in my own experience, while sick at City Point. One afternoon, Dr. Smith, of the First Michigan Cavalry, brought me a bunch of beautiful wild-flowers, most delicately tinted. I had not seen a flower, or scarcely a green leaf or a spire of grass for weeks before, which caused them to be the more fully appreciated. Oh, how many times during those lonely hours they were as a friend to me, with whom I conversed; and often-times tears would unbidden start as I gazed upon their loveliness, for of all the beautiful things in this beautiful world, they alone adorned my “canvas home.” They were placed in a cup by my bed, where they remained until they began to wither, and their little petals to fall off; then I pressed them in my Bible, and I still cherish them as sweet mementoes from a fragrant oasis in that sandy desert.
The simplest favor was sometimes most blessed in its results. The following I had entirely forgotten until reminded of it by the soldier long after he was mustered out of the service. The summer of 1864, while in a hospital at White House landing, he had a severe attack of neuralgia. As I was passing one day through the ward in which he was lying, he inquired if I knew of anything that would relieve him. I recommended something--I do not remember what--which I promised to bring him the next day; but when, returning to my quarters, I began to think of his sufferings, and his look of appeal for help, I could not rest until my remedy had been tried. Though nearly night, and more than half a mile distant, I returned with the medicine, bathed his face, gave directions for its use, and left him with the assurance that it would help him. I never saw him again, until the time to which I refer, when he called my mind to this circumstance. “Oh,” said he, “that medicine acted like a charm; it effected a perfect cure; for from that hour neuralgia and I parted friendship.”
The summer of 1864 was a dark period--perhaps the darkest in the history of the rebellion. Thousands, yea, tens of thousands of lives were sacrificed at the battles of the Wilderness, Spotsylvania, Cold Harbor, and those in the vicinity of Petersburg, seemingly to little or no purpose; yet they all had reference to the grand result soon to be achieved. The terrific explosion of the 30th of July was distinctly heard at our quarters, a distance of ten miles. Among the many who fell upon that fearful day, was the eldest son of Rev. Alfred Cornell, of Ionia--an exemplary, Christian young man, whose life was full of promise. But as “Death loves a shining mark,” one of his deadly shafts was aimed at him. The object of those weeks of mining was not obtained; Petersburg was not taken, Richmond was lost, and our starving soldiers must wait many more long months before the day of their release dawns. Oh! how many times during war’s dark hours we felt like exclaiming,
“The dead are everywhere! The mountain-side, the plain, the wood profound, All the wide earth, the fertile and the fair, Is one vast burying-ground!”
But we are comforted with the thought that they died not in vain. No,
“They have fallen, they have fallen, In the battles of the free, And their fame will be remembered In the ages yet to be. * * * * *
“They have fallen, they have fallen, In a high and holy cause, Fighting for our starry banner, For our country and its laws; For the glorious cause of freedom, For the land our fathers loved; For the rights, which, spite of sceptres, Man proclaimed and God approved.
“They have fallen, they have fallen, In the fierceness of the strife, Leaving us to bear the battle, And the burden of this life; While their disembodied spirits Wing their way to realms above, Where they sing their songs of triumph Round the great white throne of love.”
The following is the amount of money collected while in Michigan, in the winter of 1865:
Proceeds Children’s Fair, Kalamazoo, $10 35 Soldier’s Aid Society, South Jackson, 4 00 Proceeds Oyster Supper, ” ” 50 00 ” ” ” Muir, 75 00 ” ” ” Salem, 43 85 Collection, Baptist Church, ” 26 15 Cash, Pontiac. By request, name not given, 10 00 Social, Ionia, including a few individual contributions, 60 70 Proceeds Oyster Supper, Northfield, 25 35 ” Tableaux, Galesburg, 25 00 ” ” Chelsea, 37 00 Collection, Episcopal Church, Ann Arbor, 23 35 ” Dutch M. E. Church, ” ” 2 75 From Brighton, 5 00 Individual contributions, 1 50 ------- Total, $400 00
In regard to the children’s fair here mentioned, I would say that it was held by only three little children, viz.: Ella May, Frank and Ida Knappin. The weather was cold and rainy, but they did not mind the cold, for their hearts were in their work. The tableaux at Chelsea were gotten up almost entirely through the earnest efforts of Miss Josie May and Miss White, who, I believe, have never before had credit therefor.
Had I begun my work of collecting a little earlier, before the holiday season was over, during which fairs had been held, and various other means employed to raise money, I might have doubled, and perhaps tripled the amount collected; for nearly every place I visited I was met with, “Why didn’t you come sooner? A week or two earlier, and we might have raised twice as much as we now can.” But if the money only went for the desired object, it mattered little through what channel it was conveyed. I would take this opportunity to acknowledge publicly the receipt of thirty dollars from friends in Muir and vicinity, ten from South Jackson, and twenty from Salem, besides a few dollars from individual persons as a present to myself. I here renew my thanks to each and every donor; for it was only through occasional donations of this kind that I was enabled to continue my work so long. One of my former teachers at Kalamazoo, to whom I was indebted thirty dollars for money hired while in school, kindly took up the note, thus relieving me of all anxiety of how that debt, though small, was to be paid.
I know of no better way than through the pages of this little book to notify the members of the Twenty-sixth regiment of Michigan Infantry of the beautiful gold watch, with chain, pin, and corps badge, purchased with the money so generously donated by themselves in the spring of 1864. It is handsomely engraved with name, date, and regiment. To me it has a value far exceeding its intrinsic worth, for many of those represented in the gift are now “sweetly embalmed and hid away in white.” Those who survive will please accept the gratitude of the recipient, by whom their memory will ever be sacredly cherished.
I returned to Washington _via_ Harbor Creek, Penn., where I visited the bereaved family of my sister who died the previous October. Had I consulted my own ease or pleasure, I should have yielded to the earnest entreaties of those motherless boys, and remained with them while their loss was so fresh in memory and so keenly felt; but duty pointed her finger to the thousands of sick and wounded in our hospitals, many of whom, like themselves, were boys in their teens, having been tenderly reared, each one some mother’s darling or some father’s fond hope, far from home and its comforts, their young lives going out one after another in those distant hospitals, in the camp or on the field of carnage--and I could not turn a deaf ear to her call. Fifty dollars more, contributed by friends in Harbor Creek for soldiers, were added to the amount collected in Michigan.
_CHAPTER XVII._
FALL OF RICHMOND--SURRENDER OF LEE--MY RETURN TO WASHINGTON--THE ILLUMINATION--THE ASSASSINATION OF THE PRESIDENT--HIS REMAINS IN STATE--FUNERAL OBSEQUIES--THOUGHTS AND REFLECTIONS UPON HIS LIFE AND MANY VIRTUES--HOSPITAL WORK IN WASHINGTON, ALEXANDRIA AND SURROUNDING CAMPS--THE ARMY RECALLED--THE MICHIGAN “HOME”--TRIP TO BALTIMORE AND ANNAPOLIS--HOSPITAL DISCONTINUED--THE GRAND REVIEW--CLOSING REFLECTIONS.
I arrived in Washington the evening of the 13th of April, the night before that great national calamity, the assassination of our beloved President.
The evening of my arrival there was a grand illumination of the city in honor of our recent victories, which resulted in the fall of Richmond, the surrender of Lee, and the overthrow of the rebellion.
Lights gleamed from nearly every window--the White House was beautifully illuminated and gaily decorated with the stars and stripes--numerous small flags floated from the windows, while larger ones were festooned over the doors or proudly waved from lofty flag-staffs. O ye starry emblems of liberty, what rivers of blood it has cost to maintain your honor!
The stately Capitol, with its myriads of lights blazing from its windows and surrounded with brilliant transparencies, looked indeed like a “city set upon a hill, whose light cannot be hid.” The streets were thronged with admiring spectators. The President, with the General-in-chief of our armies, rode up and down Pennsylvania avenue--alas! for the last time together--rejoicing that the dove had at last returned to the ark with the olive branch of peace. Every loyal heart beat high with hope, not only at the national capital, but throughout the length and breadth of our land. The voice of praise and thanksgiving ascended to Him, who, ruling among the nations of the earth, as well as in the armies of heaven, had crowned the cause of right with victory.
Mothers wept for joy for the “dear boys” who would soon “come marching home.” Wives with anxious hearts anticipated the moment when they should welcome their heroic husbands’ return. Children waited impatiently to hear “father’s” well-known footstep. Even those who had not nothing to expect, whose dear ones were numbered with the slain, shared in the general joy.
All were happy--the white man that the war was over, the black man that he was free. But this rejoicing is of short continuance. Treason calls for another victim--the country’s foremost man and best. While the children rejoice, the father himself is stricken down. The nation’s life is sealed with the blood of its martyr head! The fruit of those long years of toil will be reaped by others. The work for which he was raised up being accomplished, he enters into his rest; and this almost universal rejoicing is succeeded by a world-wide grief. On the night of the 14th an assassin commits the dark and villainous deed that plunges the nation into the deepest woe! The next morning, at twenty-two minutes past seven, the solemn tolling of bells announces the death of Abraham Lincoln!
The following is an extract from my journal of April 15th, 1865: “Soon the sad tidings will be borne with the speed of lightning to the remotest part of our country and of the civilized world. The wild excitement which might be expected seems hushed to silence for want of words to express the deep emotions which stir the heart. Many anticipate a riot before morning. Strict orders have been issued from the War Department, death being the penalty of a traitorous sentiment uttered. No one is allowed to leave or enter the city. Trains have stopped running, except for the mail; boats can neither land at nor leave the wharf.
“J. Wilkes Booth--a stage-actor--is supposed to be the murderer. A large reward has been offered for his arrest. If he is caught during the present state of excitement, the law will be robbed of its due, for the cry of every loyal heart is: ‘Avenge the death of our President.’ Washington, so recently decorated with flags, is now draped in mourning; those starry banners, but yesterday so proudly floating in the breeze, now droop at half-mast, and are wearing the emblems of woe. Only last evening the country was bewildered with joy; to-day the nation is bowed with a sorrow so great ‘that the huge earth can scarce support it.’ All nature mourns. Even the elements seem to share in the general gloom. Darkening clouds fill the heavens, and water the earth with their tears. Oh, can we believe that this black cloud which hangs over our national horizon has a ‘silver lining?’ Has this dark picture a bright side? No ray of sunshine is seen on its gloomy background. In the death of Abraham Lincoln the country has sustained an irreparable loss. His place none can ever fill. A great and good man has fallen. In him were exemplified the true principles of Christianity: he was kind, merciful, forgiving, and generous to a fault. How truthfully has it been said, that ‘he was great in goodness, and good in greatness.’ Oh, how cruel! after four years of trial and burden, such as none other ever bore, that Treason should take his precious life; but he lived to see that victory, final and complete, had perched upon our banner. If life consists in deeds, not years, how few have lived as long as he.”
* * * * *
It was my sad privilege to see the remains of our lamented President twice while lying in state--once at the White House, and again at the Capitol. Emblems of mourning were everywhere visible. Darkened rooms, with gas dimly burning, added to the oppressive gloom. Suppressed sobs and bursts of grief were heard, as one after another took the farewell look of him they loved. Strong men, unaccustomed to tears, wept beside his bier.
He was stricken down in the midst of his usefulness, at a time when the nation greatly needed his wise counsels and righteous administration.
His funeral obsequies were observed in Washington, Wednesday, the 19th instant. The solemnities of the occasion I will not attempt to describe; that has already been done by abler pens. That long procession, consisting of infantry, cavalry, and artillery, with various bands; the Marine Corps and band; officers of the army and navy; Congressmen; members of the Cabinet; the Diplomatic Corps; various orders and lodges; Governors of States; the clergy, of all denominations; clerks from the different departments, and thousands of private citizens, all wearing the badge of mourning; flags and banners, draped and at half-mast; the dirge-like music; the tolling of bells and firing of guns--rendered it the most solemn scene ever witnessed on this continent. None but an eye-witness can form any adequate conception of that solemn pageantry. Thousands thronged the sidewalks, windows, verandahs; and trees were filled with weeping spectators.
The morning of the 21st, the remains were removed to Baltimore, _en route_ for his Western home and final resting-place. The busy world moves on, and, though we see his face no more, he will long live in the memory of a grateful people. History will love to record his virtues. His name will be handed down to future generations, linked with that of Washington, “and many will rise up and call him blessed.”
Well has it been said, that, “in the death of Abraham Lincoln, the world has lost its greatest philanthropist, the nation its purest patriot, the people their best and kindest friend. His life was the brightest page in our country’s history, his death the nation’s deepest sorrow.” But he has left a bright record. Oh! that all, not only as a nation, but as individuals, might emulate his example, cultivate his virtues, live for God and humanity as did Abraham Lincoln. “He lived not only for a day, but for all time. His life was gentle, his death peaceful, his future all glory.”
In referring to my journal, I find, under date of April 21st, the following: “One week ago to-night the assassin’s hand was imbued in innocent blood, and, a few hours later, the great heart of Abraham Lincoln forever grew still! This is, surely, a mysterious dispensation of God’s providence, and we are led to ask, ‘Oh, Lord! why was it?’ Yet, while we mourn, it becometh us to bow in submission to Him who knoweth the end from the beginning, and, though he has permitted this wicked deed, we know that ‘he is too wise to err;’ that he ‘worketh all things after the counsel of his own will,’ causing even the wrath of man to praise him.”
I will here give an extract--which seems so appropriate--taken from an oration delivered by Senator Foot on the death of Senator Collamar, both of Vermont, and both now no more: “Abraham Lincoln--_clarum nomen_--the poor Kentucky boy, the martyr President, who had saved a country and redeemed a race--the martyr President, who, having saved his country from the greatest rebellion of all history, and redeemed a race from the bondage of centuries, falling by the assassin hand of Treason, went down to the grave amid a nation’s tears, and amid a nation’s requiem of wailing, yet bearing with him to the tomb more of the world’s affections, more of its sympathy, and more of its honors, too, than were ever accorded to other man, or prince, or potentate of earth, and whose highest eulogium is spoken in the universal lamentation.”
There was no time during the war that I experienced more fatigue in my work than the last three months. The reason, perhaps, was, that I had not fully regained my strength after my sickness at City Point. Then our hospitals were so scattered--several of them being situated in the extreme limits of the city--some of which were immensely large, containing from seventy to eighty wards. Besides these, there were two extensive hospitals in Alexandria, viz.: Sough and Sickles’ barracks. All the hospitals in that place were merged in these two. Then there was Fairfax Seminary, and a large hospital at Camp Stoneman.
The field was large, but, with large supplies to draw from, and a well-filled treasury, we were enabled to accomplish a good work. About the middle of April, our Association established a “Home” for the benefit of Michigan soldiers. Here a large number were daily fed, and many of them supplied with tobacco, stationery, etc. Our expenses were necessarily increased, and I hope the additional good accomplished more than compensated for the extra expense; but I have always felt that more good would have been done had all our means gone to the direct relief of the sick and wounded in our hospitals and the surrounding camps. That good was accomplished by the establishment of the “Home,” no one can deny; but that more would have been done without it, I firmly believe.
Early in May, the Association purchased a horse and buggy, which greatly facilitated my work, and enabled me to accomplish much more, with less fatigue, than before.
Not long after this Mrs. Brainard returned from her work at the front. Washington was assigned her, and I was sent to Baltimore. I left my field of labor not without many regrets, for I had tried so hard to get my work reduced to anything like system, that I was loth to leave it; besides, the army of the Potomac had been recalled. Sherman’s troops were arriving; our hospitals were receiving every day new accessions to our already large numbers, and it did seem to me that Washington was the very place where the greatest good could be done; but it was thought best for me to go, for a few days at least, and I did so. There were only five hospitals there at that time--one having been discontinued a few days before my arrival, and two others soon after. I found about fifty Michigan soldiers in these hospitals, all of whom, except four, were convalescent. After supplying the wants of these, I went to Annapolis, visited St. John’s hospital--the only one there at that time--where I found but two Michigan soldiers, who were considered to be in a dangerous situation. One of these was sick with small-pox, and the other badly wounded in both hips. There seemed to be a great demand among the convalescents and paroled prisoners for tobacco, which I supplied them, also with stationery, and such articles of clothing as each was needing; besides giving to those without money a few shillings a piece.