Part 8
Not long after this I accompanied Mrs. Brainard to one of our hospitals in Washington. As we entered the building, we were confronted by the surgeon-in-charge, who demanded of Mrs. B. to know what she had in that basket. “Flannel shirts and drawers,” she replied. “Well, you can’t take them into my hospital,” was his quick and irritable response, at the same time seizing the basket and endeavoring to wrench it from Mrs. B’s. hands; but, nothing daunted, she gave a sudden jerk backward and cleared it from the doctor’s grasp, saying, as she found herself in full possession of her goods, “I understand my business, sir, and am going to take my things into the hospital.” Mr. “Pomposity” passed on, and we entered the office at our left, where we were greeted with a graceful salute by the officer of the day, who pleasantly inquired, “What can I do for you this morning?” Our request, being made known, is cheerfully granted, and our basket is soon made lighter and the sick boys happier. The difference there was in officers will readily be seen from this incident. A little “brass” did wonders for some; it made them arrogant, overbearing, dictatorial and tyrannical, while with others it made no difference whether they wore the corporal’s stripe or the general’s star. Garments of blue, though bordered with gold, have no power to crush the generous impulses of a noble soul. The true gentleman is discernible in any garb, and under all circumstances. The surgeon with whom we had this encounter soon after got into trouble with one of his patients. One cold morning before daylight, one of the wards of his hospital took fire. This patient, a convalescent from pneumonia, was the first on the roof, where he remained throwing bucket after bucket of water upon the burning building, until the fire was extinguished. As his clothes were dripping with water when he descended, he applied for some dry ones; but, as none could be obtained from the ward, he appealed to the surgeon, who ordered him back to his ward, telling him he could dry his clothes by the fire; he still insisted upon having some, and the doctor still refused, and again ordered him to his ward. By this time the soldier’s anger was pretty well aroused, and, confronting the doctor with clenched fist, says, “Take care, doctor, I have smelled gunpowder, and that is more than you have done,” at the same time planting a blow between his eyes that caused him to stagger and nearly fall to the floor. Rallying from this stunning blow, he called out, “Guards, guards, come and take this man away.” The order was obeyed, and he was locked up in the guard-house. The consequence was a relapse, which for a long time threatened his life. But, once released without having charges being preferred against him, and having a good understanding of military regulations, he found that he had the advantage of the doctor, and he improved it by preferring charges against him. The result was, that in a few weeks we had another surgeon in charge of the hospital--one whom the patients, as far as I ever knew, honored and respected.
I have known other surgeons who deserved as little respect as those here referred to; but, to the honor of the profession be it said, they were not in the majority. I knew many noble, skilful, self-sacrificing surgeons in the army, whose whole energies were devoted to the making of their hospitals pleasant and their patients comfortable.
Toward the close of the month of November the finances of our Association became very low. No money was received to replenish our exhausted treasury--no supplies reached us, if I mistake not, except a few boxes from Lansing. Had it not been for stores received from other States than our own, our work would almost entirely have ceased.
In addition to what Mrs. Brainard received from New York and Maryland, a nice barrel of goods was sent me from Harbor Creek, Pa., another from Portland, Me., and a firkin of pickles from an aged lady living in Hampden, Maine. The work of preparing these had all been done by herself; but her labor was a thousandfold repaid in gratitude and thanks and the good accomplished.
We occasionally drew from the Sanitary and Christian Commissions, and the various State Relief Associations, and thus managed to keep at work. For occasional drafts on the Sanitary Commission we were indebted to the personal efforts of our State Agent, Dr. Tunnecliff. In the barrel of goods which I have mentioned as coming from Maine, was a suit of clothes once worn by Captain Crosby, of the Twenty-second Maine volunteers, who was killed at the battle of Port Hudson. The clothes were sent by his patriotic mother, with the request that they be given to some needy Maine soldier, as she wished them to be worn out in the service in which her dear son had fallen. What a noble example of self-sacrificing devotion to country!
In order to lessen expenses, Mrs. Brainard--who had returned from Gettysburg a month before--and I took rooms together and boarded ourselves. A meeting of the officers of the Association was called to consider the subject of disorganizing; but they concluded to try and maintain the organization until spring, for they could not bear the thought that Michigan--the first to form a State Relief Association at the National Capital--should be the first to abandon it. An appeal was made through correspondence, by our Secretary, to Governor Blair, members of Congress, and other persons of influence in the State, setting forth the exhausted condition of our treasury and storeroom, and inquiring what course to pursue. The uniform response was: “Don’t for a moment think of discontinuing your labors as a society.” An appeal was then made to the people of our State, and not many weeks elapsed ere the call was heeded, as the supplies received proved. Battles and skirmishes were of no unfrequent occurrence. A large number of wounded were brought in from the battles near Kelly’s Ford--Michigan not losing as heavily as Maine and Wisconsin. The Sixth Maine, in one engagement, lost eighteen commissioned officers in killed and wounded.
Among those who were passing, one after another, into the unknown world, was William Doyle, of the Third Michigan volunteers, whose death was sudden--unexpected. He was convalescing from intermittent fever, and had written to his wife, stating the time she might hope to welcome him home, as he had applied for a furlough which he was daily expecting. He predicted rightly. The time of his arrival was only a little delayed. But, alas! only the clay tenement returned to rest where loving hands would bedeck its tomb with flowers, and the tears of affection water his grave.
“Underneath the sod low lying, Dark and drear, Sleepeth one, who left in dying Sorrow here.
“Yes, they’re ever bending o’er him Eyes that weep; Forms that to the cold earth bore him, Vigils keep.
“When the summer moon is shining Soft and fair, Friends he loved, in tears are twining Chaplets there.
“Rest in peace, thou gentle spirit Throned above; Souls like thine with God inherit Life and love!”
_CHAPTER X._
THE VETERAN RESERVE CORPS--UNWILLINGNESS TO SERVE IN IT--FORTY DAYS IN THE GUARD-HOUSE--CLIFBURN BARRACKS--EXPOSURE--AN OLD SOLDIER’S STORY--SUNDRY DUTIES--CHRISTMAS--THE SURPRISE--PROFESSOR HOLDEN--A BEREAVED MOTHER--VISIT TO THE ARMY--FIELD HOSPITALS--STEVENSBURG--MRS. MAYHEW--CHAPEL SERVICE--RETURN TO WASHINGTON.
In the autumn of 1863 the Veteran Reserve Corps was organized, and all soldiers whom examining boards pronounced unfit for field service, but able to do “light duty,” were transferred to one of the three battalions into which it was divided. Prior to being assigned to either of these battalions, they were quartered at Clifburn Barracks. In this camp there was much suffering from exposure and neglect. Nights were cold, barracks uncomfortable, bunks with no bedding, except the soldier’s blanket. Many a poor fellow lost his life in consequence of exposure during his stay at Clifburn. In the majority of cases, the transfer to this organization was made against the soldier’s wishes, who, if able to do duty, preferred to be sent to his regiment. But a soldier’s duty is to obey orders, irrespective of his wishes. I recall several instances in which soldiers were severely punished for refusing to serve in the “Invalid Corps,” as it was called. I will mention one. A soldier was kept in the guard-house forty days, court-martialed three times, and he still refused to put on the “Invalid” jacket. An appeal in his behalf was finally made to the War Department, when the Secretary ordered his release. He had always been a good soldier, never refusing to do duty in the field, and he insisted, as he could no longer serve his country there, he should receive his discharge. I knew others who would refuse to be transferred, but, after lying in the guard-house a few days, would submit. One, who had been a good soldier in the field, seemed to consider it a disgrace to serve where there was no danger, or, if not a disgrace, there was at least no honor attached to the service.
The hospital connected with this camp was never as well supplied as those in the city. Disease in almost every form found its way thither--fevers, pneumonia, rheumatism, that insidious disease--consumption, and even small-pox. Upon one of my next visits to this hospital, I found a young man of the Seventh Michigan, who was a great sufferer from inflammatory rheumatism. He was extremely anxious to go home, and requested me to see the surgeon in regard to his discharge. On inquiry I found that his papers would be ready as soon as he was able to travel. He was removed to Mr. Clark’s--formerly of Ann Arbor, at that time residing near the hospital--where, with the most tender nursing, he so far recovered as to be able to go home in a few weeks. He continued to improve for a short time after reaching home, but was suddenly taken worse and died; and another victim was added to the many occasioned by neglect and exposure while at Clifburn.
It may be asked whose business it was to care for these. I answer, the Sanitary Commission. After the Government had provided barracks and blankets, it was the place of this great organization to begin where the Government left off, and to have made those convalescents comfortable. Thousands of dollars were almost daily being poured into its coffers by patriotic, self-sacrificing friends in the North, and in three days’ time, and even less, after those barracks were occupied, they should have been supplied with plenty of good, warm bedding; and vegetables, in large quantities, should have been daily issued. Many valuable lives would thus have been saved to gladden homes now lonely and desolate. Let honor be given where honor is due. This commission did, as it ought with the means at its disposal, a world of good; but there was at times bad management somewhere, and an injudicious use of its funds, for, while its supplies were wasting and rotting in store-houses, soldiers were suffering and dying for want of them. It may be argued that this could not have been avoided, there sometimes being a scarcity of help; but that could easily have been remedied, as hundreds--yea, thousands--stood ready to “volunteer” their services--all they wanted was the privilege of working for soldiers. Or these wasting goods might have been given to other societies, which would have gladly received them, and with willing hands prepared and distributed them to those for whom they were designed.
* * * * *
As I was leaving camp, after the visit to which I have referred, I was met by a soldier who wished me to ascertain whether his discharge-papers had been forwarded to the office of the Medical Director.
I returned to the office and made inquiry concerning them, and learned that they were to be forwarded that afternoon. Notifying the soldier, I again started for home, but, before passing the limits of the camp, I was hailed by an old man with silver locks and bent form, who wished to know if I could do anything for him. “If so, for God’s sake,” he said, “render me some assistance.” I listened to his story, which was indeed a sad one. It was as follows:
When the war broke out, he was the owner of a handsome property in Missouri. He was driven from his home by rebel hordes, his buildings were burned, and all personal property either destroyed or confiscated. He came North, when himself and three sons enlisted in the Union army. His sons had all been killed--the last one, a little drummer-boy, only a few days before--and himself nothing but a wreck. He had served nearly three years in the ranks as a private soldier, and now asked to be discharged from the service. “You have made a great sacrifice,” I said. “Yes; but we did it cheerfully. The country is worth it all, and a thousand times more,” he answered. “If I could do any good by staying longer, I would not ask to go home; but, you see, I’m of no account now,” holding up his thin, emaciated hands. “The boys were fine lads; but they’re gone, and I shall soon follow.” I was moved to tears by his pitiful story, and again retraced my steps to the office, briefly related the old soldier’s statement, and requested that he might have an early examination, and obtained a promise that he should. The poor old man, on hearing this, was too grateful to express his thanks; he could only say, “God bless you! God bless you, my child!” His discharge at length came. He called to bid me “good-by,” before leaving the city; but whether he now lives to enjoy the blessings for which he fought, or has gone to meet his sons on the further shore, I cannot tell.
Once again I endeavored to make my exit from camp, but was met by two more requesting a similar favor; but, not daring to trespass upon the doctor’s good-nature any more that day, I told them they would have to wait until I came again, and so made my escape.
Not long after this I spent nearly half a day in running about trying to get transportation for a soldier of the Nineteenth Maine, who had obtained a furlough. How glad I was when I saw the poor old man on his way to the depot, and how richly paid I felt for my trouble, when he turned and said, as I parted with him, “Good-by, God bless you; I’ll tell my wife I shouldn’t have got home these two days if you hadn’t helped me.” Then, with what an elastic step he hurried on, lest the train should leave him, forgetting that he was weak and feeble. It will be seen from these few incidents that our duties did not consist altogether in preparing and distributing supplies. In fact, that was but a small part of our work--there were, at almost every visit, so many errands to do, questions to answer, and messages to deliver, that they greatly increased our labors, but these were only parts of the great whole.
The 24th inst. Mrs. B. and I spent the entire day in cooking, as we wished to surprise the boys at Clifburn by giving them a little something extra for dinner the next day; all the hospitals in the city were to have a “Christmas dinner,” and we feared this would be wholly overlooked. Our fears proved true, as far as those not in the immediate hospital department were concerned.
Christmas came, bringing chilly winds and biting frosts; but before noon we were on our way to Clifburn with well-filled baskets, accompanied by a couple of soldiers who volunteered their assistance. Arriving in camp, it was heart-sickening to see those who had left homes of plenty, crowding around us, and, like children, begging for a piece of “Christmas pie!” The remembrance would not be so sad could all have been served, but there were hundreds who received nothing; and, when all was given out, they fell back a few paces, and gave three rousing cheers for the Michigan ladies, those who received nothing cheering with the rest. Oh, could these have shared the bountiful Christmas dinners at home, how many hearts would have been gladdened and made happy! As we were ready to start upon our mission that morning, we were met at the door by Mr. Moses, who surprised us, Mrs. B. and myself, with a present of forty dollars each, in behalf of Michigan gentlemen residing in Washington. The gift was truly appreciated.
The 28th of the month, Mrs. Brainard left for Michigan, and did not return until about the 1st of April; so I was again left alone, with the work that both had been doing devolving upon me.
Supplies continued to reach us--many through the personal efforts of Mrs. Brainard. I also received a nice barrel of goods from Brighton, Mich., and another from Harbor Creek, Penn., also ten dollars in money. The last day of the month, I was happily surprised by receiving a call from Professor Holden, formerly of Kalamazoo College. He found me busy at work preparing articles for distribution. After asking many questions, and inquiring into the nature of my work, and how long I had been engaged in it, he said: “We didn’t know what we were preparing you for, when you were with us at Kalamazoo. We never dreamed that you would so soon engage in a work like this.” His heart was in full sympathy with the good cause, and, when about to leave, he placed a five-dollar bill in my hand, saying, as he did so, “I will add so much to your Christmas present.” If, as he turned away, he was five dollars poorer in purse, he was much more than that richer in blessings.
One afternoon, as I was returning from Alexandria, I met a lady on the boat, whom a few hours before I had seen in a hospital anxiously inquiring for her son. She was sitting alone in one corner of the cabin, rocking to and fro, wringing her hands and sobbing aloud, apparently oblivious to all around her. I at once divined the cause of her sorrow, which her own words confirmed--she was too late! They were just closing his coffin when she found him. It seemed as though her poor agonized heart must break. He was her only son, his term of enlistment had nearly expired, and she was joyfully anticipating his speedy return home, when the dreadful tidings reached her that he was mortally wounded--accidentally shot by a comrade. The first train that left after she received this sad message was bearing her away from her Eastern home to the coffin-side of her dead. The hope of receiving from his own lips his last words and dying blessing had buoyed her up during that sad journey; but this last hope having been taken from her, she was overwhelmed with grief. No words of mine could afford her consolation. Like Rachel of old, she refused to be comforted. “My poor boy! oh, my poor boy!” she continued to repeat amid tears and sobs, until we parted at Washington.
The 14th of January, I went to the army with supplies for our sick in field hospitals. Arriving at “Brandy Station”--some seventy miles from Washington--I was set out in the mud with my goods, no one to meet me as I expected; cold, gray clouds were hanging overhead, and a chilly wind whistling among the tents. Here, for the first time, I experienced the great difficulty there was in finding any particular regiment in the army. Each seemed like a little isolated town, so wholly absorbed with its own cares and duties that frequently the nearest encampment was neither known by name or number--recognized only in the broad sense of “Uncle Sam’s boys.” Yet there was a common interest and sympathy existing among all who wore the army blue; no matter what part of the Union they hailed from, they were all enlisted in the same cause, fighting beneath the same flag, and for the same grand result.
Having my goods removed to a little rise of ground where the mud was not quite so deep, I climbed its slippery side and took my post as guard; but, in spite of my vigilance, a firkin of butter was carried off, though I recovered it--taken through mistake of course (!!)
On inquiry, I was surprised to find that no one there even knew that there was such a regiment in the army as the Twenty-sixth Michigan--neither could they tell me anything about General Custer’s Cavalry Brigade. I next inquired for the First Division, Second Corps--to which the Twenty-sixth belonged. “About four miles from here,” was the reply. It was getting late; there was no possible chance that I could see to obtain accommodations at the station over night. The roads were almost impassable, and, as yet, I had no conveyance and no prospect of procuring one before the next day. My first thought was to store my goods and start on foot, but I was dissuaded from this course by the boys declaring that I could never get through if I started; and I afterwards learned how utterly impossible would have been the undertaking. But what was to be done? Everything looked discouraging, and I almost felt like giving up in despair. I resolved, however, to make one more effort to get some sort of a conveyance, and again inquired if there were not a Second Corps ambulance still at the station? I had asked the same gentleman several times before, and every time received a negative reply--a positive “no.” But, not knowing what else to do, I kept repeating my question, and this time a doubtful answer was given by one who really seemed to pity me in my deplorable condition; and the very doubt expressed in his reply, “I think not--however, I’ll go and see,” kindled a new hope in my heart. In a moment he disappeared behind boxes of “hard tack,” bales of hay and sacks of grain, while I remained _in statu quo_, being for once the central object of attraction. This soldier was soon the bearer of good news: the only ambulance remaining would leave in a few moments. The driver soon made his appearance, who kindly offered to take me to the Twenty-sixth, as his regiment--the Eighty-first Pennsylvania--was brigaded with the same and encamped near it. What goods I could not take with me were stored with the Provost Marshal until the next day. Those four miles through deep mud, over corduroy roads and across bridgeless streams are at length made in safety, and the driver returns to his quarters rich in the possession of a few pounds of sweet, yellow butter, while I am heartily greeted and cheerfully welcomed to the cabin homes of the Twenty-sixth. Many regrets are expressed that my letter had not been received, in consequence of which no one knew of my arrival at the station. But that tedious waiting in wind and mud is soon forgotten, for familiar faces, pleasant smiles, and cordial greetings are met on every hand.
I could hardly realize that this was the same regiment that, nine months before, we bade adieu as it left the shores of Alexandria for the seat of war. To some of their number, alas! it proved a long farewell, for they were left sleeping their last sleep on the bank of the James. After resting a little and partaking of a warm supper, which was prepared with neatness and dispatch, I paid a visit to the hospital, which reminded me of the home of the pioneer. It consisted of a low, one story log cabin, with two rude chimneys and a ruder floor. On either side of the room was a row of cots, which consisted of pine boughs and a blanket laid across poles elevated a little from the floor, with another blanket, or perhaps two, for covering--sheets and pillows they had none. These were occupied by the sick.
As I passed through the hospital, stopping a few moments at the bedside of each patient, and telling them I had come with sanitary stores which had been sent by friends at home expressly for them, their countenances brightened, while some declared, that they felt a hundred per cent. better for knowing they were thus kindly remembered.