Part 6
I remained at Fairfax until the 28th, sharing the hospitality of Mrs. Manning, matron of the Sixth. During these few days several deaths occurred, one peculiarly sad. He was the third of four brothers who came out together and died in less than three months’ time. The fourth and only surviving one had stood by the dying bed of each of the three, and now he was alone. How deeply my heart was pained for him in his threefold affliction! “Oh!” said he, “I could bear it if father was only reconciled; but he opposed our coming; he said we would all die, that the South would never give up, and that it would only be a useless sacrifice of life; but we didn’t think so, we felt that it was our duty to come, and I have no regrets to offer; they died in a good cause.”
“And not alone an Ellsworth sleeps. For guarding our bright starry banner, And not alone the nation keeps Its watch o’er Lyon’s grave of honor.
“Others have fall’n for that dear flag, Others as true and noble-hearted, And be it ours to cherish still The memory of the brave departed.
“Immortalized shall be each hand That helped to make our arms victorious; To live for liberty is grand, To die for liberty is glorious.”
While here, I met for the first time Mrs. Governor Blair, whose presence was like sunshine. No truer friend had the soldier than Mrs. Blair; she was ever ready, heart and hand, to engage in work for our soldiers. I also had the pleasure of listening to the Governor’s soul-stirring, patriotic address to the Sixth Cavalry. A day or two before leaving the place I rode out to the Chantilly farm, some four miles from Fairfax, on the Centreville road. Upon a portion of this farm the battle of Chantilly was fought. It was once a large estate containing several hundred acres. The large mansion was in ruins; the yard surrounding it contained several acres; the fences were all gone; yet it was lovely, even in its desolation. A gravel carriage way, with shade-trees upon either side, led from the two front gates to the house; shrubbery and evergreens dotted the grounds. In the rear of the mansion, near the garden, was a pleasant vine-clad arbor--everything indicating a once happy home, surrounded by every comfort. An aged couple of colored people were living there in a small cabin, probably their former quarters. The old man said that he had lived there “a heap o’ years,” “that massa and missus and de chil’en run’d away when the Yankees come.” When asked if they had been slaves, he replied, “Yes, missus, we’se allus slaves till Massa Lincoln free us.” “How old are you, uncle?” some one inquired; “I reckon I’se nigh onto a hundred,” was his reply. We rode away, leaving the poor old couple to enjoy their solitude and their freedom.
On returning to Alexandria, I hardly knew the place. The town had been treated to quite “a scare.” The rebels had become very bold and threatening; it was expected that they would make a sudden dash in some night. New lines of fortifications had been thrown up, the streets stockaded, and cannon were even placed in position; but we had no occasion to use them, and they were afterwards quietly removed.
The next day after my return I went to Camp Convalescent with fruit and clothing for our prisoners recently paroled, who were very destitute, as all returned to us from Southern prison-pens were. After returning from camp I visited six hospitals and the head-quarters of each division, and renewed my list of names; to my surprise I found only sixty-five from Michigan, and the majority of those convalescent. Toward the last of May I received word from home that I could no longer depend upon my friends to defray my expenses--which they had been doing for five months. I was therefore obliged to fall back, as my only resort, upon the Association. The first of June I received instructions to return to Fairfax Court-House and remain until further orders, to which place I went the next day, in company with Mrs. Brainard, taking quite a supply of hospital stores. At Fairfax station, a couple of soldiers, who had kindly assisted in loading our goods at Alexandria, again lent us their aid, and succeeded in getting a wagon for our stores, while we, soldier-like, made the distance on foot. The day was excessively warm and the road very dusty; but we rather enjoyed the walk--only four miles--nothing for soldiers!! Arriving at the Court-House, we took leave of our friends. Brown, of the Twenty-seventh Maine, I never saw again, as his regiment was soon after mustered out of the service. Sergeant Babcock, of the First Michigan Cavalry, I saw several times afterwards, but for a long time before the close of the war lost all track of him. I hope they have both been spared to see the return of peace, and long may they live to enjoy its blessings.
Mrs. B. and I went directly to the head-quarters of the hospital of the Sixth, and after resting a few moments and partaking of a dinner which the matron--Mrs. Manning--prepared for us, we made a tour through the hospital, which consisted of several tent wards and a large three-story brick house--the one in which General Stoughton was captured by the rebels a few months previous. I found that five had died since leaving them a few days before; there were still many others very sick. We each called for a towel and basin of water, and went to work bathing the feverish brows and dry and husky hands of typhoid’s suffering victims.
Mrs. Brainard remained a couple of days and returned to Washington. I was soon comfortably provided for. Doctor Wilson, the Brigade Surgeon, furnished me with a good wall tent, which the boys fitted up nicely by flooring, making table, bedstead and chairs, and surrounding it with evergreens, which made my little home as pleasant and inviting as one could desire.
About the first work I did was to clean the brick house of which mention has been made. I worked hard two days and a half, assisted by several soldiers detailed from the ambulance corps. The windows, paint and floors looked as though they had been for a long time strangers to soap and water. After I had finished cleaning, and arranged the beds to my liking, supplying those that were destitute with sheets and pillows, I made flower-vases and bouquets with flowers gathered from Secesh gardens, and tried to make the place assume a somewhat home-like appearance. The Seventh seemed to suffer more from disease than the other regiments, yet there was much sickness in all of them. It was often my painful duty to stand by the dying-bed and go down with the departing soul to the “River’s” brink. And then another sad duty remained--that of writing to the friends of the deceased; and I sometimes thought this the saddest part of all. I never held a dying hand until the pulse grew still without wishing I might exchange places with some dear absent one. I will give an extract from a letter received from a bereaved wife, which will express the language of thousands of hearts:
“How thankful I am for your kindness to one dearer to me than all earthly friends. Oh, it is hard to give him up!--it seems like tearing my poor heart in pieces. I would have given worlds, had I possessed them, for the privilege of sitting by his side, as you did, even for one short hour. Oh, how anxiously I had looked forward to his coming home, that we might once more enjoy life together. My dear husband did not go into the army for money or pleasure, but because he felt it his duty to serve his country in her hour of peril, and to defend the old flag which had always protected him.... His poor little fatherless children, they know not what a blessing they have lost; but I am comforted with the thought that he is at rest.”
While I found much to do, I was quite well supplied with material to do with--our association at Washington sending me from time to time additional supplies. I recollect at one time, among other things, was a box of lemons, which was more acceptable than anything else, coming at a time when the weather was oppressively hot, and there being so many cases of fever. The Christian Commission gave me permission to draw from their stores such things as I was not supplied with. During my stay at this place, various and conflicting rumors were constantly afloat, causing much excitement and some alarm. I speak from personal experience. I had not as yet become accustomed to “camp rumors,” and, though I did not feel particularly afraid, I did feel at times a “little agitated.”
The evening of the 7th, a messenger was despatched in great haste from division head-quarters to the hospital department with orders to hoist a “red flag” early the next morning, for it was reported that Lee was advancing in the direction of Fairfax.
Soon we were summoned to go to work making flags. Accordingly we assembled in the basement of the “Stoughton House,” where a bright fire was blazing on the hearth, and went to work. We made two large flags, which at early dawn were spread to the breeze, in elevated positions, which we hoped would command the respect and consideration of the rebel chief. After finishing the flags, I packed my trunk, that it might be in readiness to send to Washington in the morning, should the report be confirmed. As for myself, I resolved, with the other ladies, not to desert the sick, but stay and share their fate, whatever it might be. It was quite late when we retired that night, and I must confess my sleep was somewhat disturbed with unpleasant dreams: several times I awoke and listened to hear the tread of the advancing foe, but listened and looked in vain.
Again, on the 26th instant, there was considerable excitement at our department. Moseby, it was feared, would make a sudden dash into camp before morning, and carry off considerable plunder, if no prisoners. That evening Dr. Spalding was called to go to the camp of the Sixth--some nine miles distant--to see an officer who had been taken suddenly sick. Before leaving, he handed me the key to his trunk, saying: “If Moseby should make a dash in here to-night, try and secure my papers, and, if possible, my money.” But I did not have a chance to display my bravery, or to call into exercise my skill in secreting valuables; and yet our fears were not at all times groundless, for the country was infested with roving bands of guerrillas, ever ready for plunder. Occasionally a man shot on picket by these desperadoes was brought in, and not unfrequently a squad of cavalry-men was sent out to scour the country for these worse than rebels. Skirmishes and battles were of frequent occurrence.
The 9th, a severe cavalry fight took place at Beverly Ford, on the Rappahannock, and, a week later, the battle of Aldie. Everything indicated that an active, and, we hoped, a decisive campaign was about to open.
The 14th, news was received that Hooker was on the move, and early the next morning this report was confirmed, for the wagon-train of the Twelfth Corps was actually parked within sight. Soon the artillery began to come in, and then the infantry. All day and night troops continued to arrive, until the great Army of the Potomac was encamped around us. The thousands of camp-fires, and the fine martial music discoursed by various bands, made it a scene surpassingly grand. A day or two after, I witnessed the artillery review by General Hooker. I have no words to describe it.
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But the ever-shifting scenes of war soon change the programme, and those weary, foot-sore troops are again on the move, as yet scarcely rested from their fatiguing march from Falmouth, through heat and dust almost intolerable; but, before leaving, a kind providence sent a plentiful shower upon the thirsty earth, laying the dust and cooling the heated atmosphere; otherwise the number of those who gave out by the way must have been greatly increased.
General Hooker retained his head-quarters at Fairfax a few days longer, but was soon after superseded by General Meade, who, with this mighty army, was soon engaged in the terrible conflict of Gettysburg.
Hooker was soon after assigned to a command in the West, and a few months later we hear of him “fighting above the clouds” at Lookout.
“Ah! see where the chief leads on his stern band, ’Mid the swift hail of death so calmly advancing, To strike the proud bulwarks by rebel hosts manned, Death certain and quick from every side glancing. ’Tis now the mid-hour of the battle’s dread light; Oh! faint soldier, say, how goes the fierce fight? Our broad starry banner, our hope and our pride, Doth it rise, doth it fall on the mountain’s dark side?
“Amid the cannon’s loud roar and the shriek of the shell, The wave of fierce battle rolls louder and higher; Enveloped in smoke, hoarse shouts alone tell That our hopes are still rushing on through that fire; But see where it glides up the mountain’s dark side, Now lost in the smoke, now flaunting out wide. Oh, rebellion has fallen! let traitors despair, For our banner now floats in the mountain’s pure air.”
Later in the afternoon of the 24th, orders came to break up our hospitals, and before daylight the next morning the sick were all removed; at sunrise the cavalry were on the move. Mrs. Maryweather, matron of the Fifth, going with them on the march, Mrs. Manning had an opportunity to go to Washington, on horseback, while I was left alone to get away as best I could with the remainder of my stores. Oh, how lonely and desolate everything appeared! Tents struck, blankets, pillows, and dishes scattered about, nothing left in the line of edibles but “hard tack.” Of all the loneliness I ever experienced that day caps the climax. The first thing I did was what any silly woman would have done--gave myself up to a good cry; and then I went to work packing up, and trying to save the best of the bedding. About noon a drizzling rain came on, which added gloom to loneliness. I had about made up my mind that I should not get away that day, and was trying to fix up some nice little speech to make to his excellency, Mr. Moseby, in case he should give me a call, which, in all probability, he would do before morning--when, as misery likes company, I was not a little comforted to find that Rev. Mr. Chapin, a “Christian Commission” delegate, had not left the place, but was also waiting an opportunity to remove his goods to the station, and who would likewise be honored with the company of this distinguished guest(!) But my little speech was never made, for about three o’clock transports came to remove the hospital stores. On the arrival of the first team, I hastily inquired of the driver if he would take a few things for me to the Station. “Yes,” he replied, “and yourself in the bargain.” What a sudden change came over the face of everything! Even the misty rain, a short time since so gloomy, is now just what we need to lay the dust. How pleasant and cheerful the plain, homely face of the driver looks: no fears now of “Moseby and Co.” Being provided for myself, I next interceded, successfully, too, for Mr. Chapin. Our goods are soon piled into the wagon, and we quite comfortably seated on the top of the load with our heads reaching the canvas above; but a queen in her chariot was never happier than I. The farewell look is given Fairfax, and we are off for the station, but are too late for the train, so have to wait until six o’clock, when the last train leaves, and we have no more communication with the place for several months. The balance of army supplies not removed up to that time was burned. Arrived at Alexandria about eight o’clock, in the rain and mud.
In looking over the paper the next morning, about the first thing I noticed was “Moseby at Fairfax Court-House.” Two Union ladies living a few miles from Fairfax, in the vicinity of Vienna, were made unwilling captives.
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As I was returning from Washington the next day, where I had been to look after my Fairfax patients, I met on the boat a lady with a little child, who had come from Maine to see her husband, who was sick at Camp Convalescent. What a look, almost of despair, was depicted on her countenance when she learned that this camp was nearly four miles from Alexandria, the going very bad, and there being no public mode of conveyance. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “What shall I do? what shall I do? Were it not for my child, I would go on foot.” It was my happy privilege to relieve her distress by assuring her that a way should be provided. Arriving at Alexandria, I ordered an ambulance and carried her to the camp. What a happy meeting! Had I never before seen gratitude, I saw it then.
In working for the soldiers, every little deed of kindness was so fully appreciated, and so richly rewarded with thanks and tears, that there was a pleasure experienced in it no where else to be found.
The month of July, 1863, was an eventful period in the history of the nation. A period of hope and fear, of joy and sorrow, of excitement and alarm, of bloody conflicts, of defeat and victory, of untold suffering and death.
Lee’s advance into Pennsylvania, the terrible battles of Gettysburg, of Falling Waters, the surrender of Vicksburg and Port Hudson, the wearisome march from Vicksburg to Jackson, in which so many died from exhaustion, from thirst and the oppressive heat, the re-taking of Jackson, the capture of Huntsville, Morgan’s raid into Ohio, the great draft riot in New York, and much else of importance that transpired during the month of July, are too well remembered to need repetition here. The nation has not yet forgotten the joyful tidings, that the discomfited Lee was in full retreat from Gettysburg; nor the wild bursts of enthusiasm, the shouts of victory that rent the air when the news came flashing over the wires that Vicksburg, “the city of an hundred hills,” “the heroic city,” had fallen. Fortune, the “fickle goddess,” so long, it would seem, in league with the enemy, became propitious and smiled upon our cause.
_CHAPTER VIII._
PLACES OF INTEREST IN ALEXANDRIA--BALTIMORE--A SINGULAR STORY--DEATH OF A MASSACHUSETTS SOLDIER--THE SERIOUSLY WOUNDED--ERIE--MY SISTER’S SICKNESS--HARRISBURG--YORK--REBEL WOUNDED--A PARALYTIC--WASHINGTON HOSPITALS--FREQUENT BATTLES--NEW ARRIVALS--MRS. GRAY--AFFLICTED FRIENDS--DR. TRUE.
On returning to Alexandria I found comparatively few Michigan men in the hospitals, and these mostly convalescent; therefore my work in this place entirely ceased for several weeks.
Among the few places of interest to a stranger visiting Alexandria is the little brick church where George Washington used to worship. Though the building has undergone repairs, the old-fashioned square pew formerly occupied by this good man and his family remains unchanged; the plate on the door bears this inscription: “Washington’s pew.” Another place of interest is the “Slave Pen.” Within this dingy enclosure thousands of human beings have been crowded like cattle for the market, and from thence brought forth to the auction-block. It still bears the name of him who once trafficked in flesh and blood. “Rice & Co., Dealers in Slaves,” may to this day be seen--though dimly--over the main entrance. A fresh coat of paint has been added, as if ashamed to stand out boldly in the pure light of liberty. But the place of all others of the most deep and thrilling interest in this slavery-cursed city, is the place where “the Boys in White” lie sepulchred. At the present time--November, 1869--instead of three hundred turfless graves, as at my first visit, there are more than thrice as many thousand grass-covered mounds, each with a neat, white head-board bearing the name of him who fell in freedom’s holy cause, or that saddest of all sad words, “Unknown.”
To this sacred “rest” long pilgrimages will be made through coming years by those who mourn the loved and lost, and who, “with cautious step and slow,” will wander amid this sea of graves, anxiously looking for some cherished name.
Near the entrance stands a little rustic chapel, occupied by a one-armed soldier, who has charge of the grounds--which are most beautiful, being interspersed with trees, shrubbery and flowers, while cooling fountains and pleasant arbors adorn the quiet place. Henceforth, in the spring-time of the year, willing hands will cull sweet flowers as a floral offering to our heroic dead!
“Forever be these sacred fields Decked in immortal beauty, Where sleep the brave who fought and fell For freedom and for duty. They lie on glory’s camping-ground, On high their deeds recorded; No nobler act on history’s page, On fame’s, no prouder lauded.”
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The 16th of July I was called to Washington, where I received instructions to go to Baltimore, as many of the wounded had arrived there from Gettysburg. I was greatly disappointed, for I had earnestly hoped to be sent to Gettysburg, believing that I could do vastly more good there than any where else at that particular time. However, on the morning of the 18th I took the eleven o’clock train for Baltimore. On the way I fell in company with a lady who called herself Jimmeson, though her true name, she told me, was Frank Abel. Her story was indeed a strange one. It was as follows: Her husband entered the service with the rank of captain in a Kentucky regiment of cavalry, and she as his first lieutenant. Her husband was killed at the first battle of Bull Run, after which she was employed as a scout by General Sigel. She had endured many hardships, visited several battle-fields, and assisted--as she belonged to the medical staff--in performing amputations and dressing wounds. She was once captured by the Rebels and confined in Libby Prison several weeks; but at the time of which I write she claimed to be a Government detective in the City of Washington, and was then on her way to Baltimore to arrest a woman with whom she had had a quarrel. What became of her after we parted at Baltimore, whether she found her victim or not, I never learned, for I have neither seen nor heard of her since.
Arriving in Baltimore, I proceeded directly to the Rev. Mr. Reid’s, where I obtained board. This was the same Christian family by whom sister and I were so kindly and hospitably entertained when we first arrived in Alexandria on our sad mission.
There were six hospitals in Baltimore, situated from one to four miles apart. As a general thing I found them more comfortable than any I had previously visited; and yet there was much suffering which the most tender care could not alleviate. I will give a single extract from my journal which will convey something of an idea of the sad, distressing scenes there witnessed:
_July 28th._