State Peculiarities and Differences.
No words can do justice to the uncomplaining nature of the Southern soldier. Whether it arose from resignation or merely passive submission, yet when shown in the aggregate in ahospital, it was sublime. Day after day, whether lying wasted by disease or burning up with fever, torn with wounds or sinking from debility, a groan was seldom heard. The wounded wards would be noisily gay with singing, laughing, fighting battles o’er and o’er again, and playfully chaffing each other by decrying the troops from different States, each man applauding his own. When listening to them one would suppose that the whole Southern army with the exception of a few companies from the speaker’s section of country, were cowards. The up-country soldiers, born in the same States as those they derided, went even further and decried “them fellows from the seaboard, who let us do all the fighting.” The Georgians would romance of how the South Carolinians laid down at such a battle, refusing to charge, and how they had to “charge right over them.” The Mississippians of the backwardness of the Tennessee troops, who “would never go into action unless led by their commanding general.” The Virginians told bitter stories of the rowdyism of the Maryland volunteers, who were “always spreeingit in the city, and dancing attendance on the women,” and the North Carolinians caught it on all sides, though their record is undoubtedly a most gallant one.
Tar-Heel Tastes.
Taken in the mass, the last were certainly most forlorn specimens, and their drawl was insufferable. Besides, they never under any circumstances would give me the satisfaction of hearing that they relished or even ate any food that was issued from my kitchen. “Say, can I have some sweet soup?” whined a voice from one bed, and “Look here, can I have some sour soup?” came from another. The sweet soup upon explanation proved to be stirred custard; the sour a mystery until the receipt was given. “You jist put a crock of buttermilk on the fire, and let it come to a bile; then mix up the yaller of an egg with some corn flour to make a paste; then punch off pieces of the dough, and bile them with the soup; with lots of pepper and salt.” The buttermilk when so tested by heat resolved itself into a sea of whey with a hard ball of curds in the center. I carried the saucepan to his bedside to show the results of his culinary directions; but he merely shook his head and remarkedcarelessly that “his mammy’s soup did not look like that.”
Babies even give up Milk.
Many would not eat unless furnished with food to which they had been accustomed at home, and as unreasoning as brutes resisted nutriment and thus became weaker day after day; and whatever was new to the eye or palate was received suspiciously. Liquids in the form of soups, tea or coffee they turned from with disgust, so that the ordinary diet of invalids was inefficient in their case. Buttermilk seemed especially created by nature for wounded patients; they craved it with a drunkard’s thirst, and great, strong men have turned away from all else and implored a drink of sweet milk. We had a very short supply of this towards the end of the war, and I remember a stalwart Kentuckian, one of Morgan’s men, insisting upon the rare luxury of one cupfull. He had been for many months on a raid far out of Confederate limits, and returning slightly wounded, had no idea of the scarcity of forage that made our cows so dry. His pleading became really affecting, till at last rallying, I told him: “Why man! the very babies of the Confederacy havegiven up drinking milk, and here are you, six feet two, crying for it.”
Our Little Romance.
Little poetical effusions were often thrust under my cabin door, and also notes of all kinds from my patients. Among them one day was a well-written and worded request from a young man who had been indisposed with that most hateful of all annoyances to soldiers—the itch; that shirt of Nessus, which when once attached to the person clings there pertinaciously. It begged me when at leisure to give him an interview, telling me his ward, name, and bed. He proved to be educated, and a gentleman from the upper part of Alabama, which had been colonized by the best class of South Carolinians; and he wished to enlist any influence I might possess in his favor, to endeavor to get him a furlough. His story was interesting. Engaged to a young girl, the preparations made, the ring even bought (he wore it next his heart), and the marriage day fixed, they heard the first rumors of war, and patriotism urging him to enlist, the parents of his sweetheart naturally refused to allow him to consummate the engagement until peace was restored. The desire tosee her again became almost unbearable, and feeling sincere sympathy with him, and the hardship of the case, I tried but in vain to have him furloughed. The campaign of 1864 had opened and every man was needed in the field.
Loved and Lost.
The finale of my story is a sad one, as are almost all stories in time of war. He was killed while repelling with his brigade the attack on Petersburg, and the little history confided to me resolved itself into a romance one night, that found shape and form:
“ICH HABE GELEBT UND GELIEBT.”The bride’s robe is ready, the bridesmaids are bid,The groom clasps the circlet, so cautiously hid;For a home is now waiting a mistress to claimA lover, a wife, for his house, heart and name.There is peace in the homestead and mirth in the hall—The steed idly stands at his rack in the stall,The whole land is teeming with prosperous life,For lost are all memories of carnage and strife.With rich golden harvest the ripe hills are blest,And God’s providence stands revealed and confessed.*****No priest blessed that union, no ring wed that hand;With anger and discord soon rang the whole land;Through all its wide domains the dread tidings rangOf bloodshed. The lover was first in the van.“My own one! I leave thee, those dear arms unfold.Wouldst wed with the timid—the doubtful—the cold?No union could bless till our country be free,So onward for liberty, glory—and thee!”*****Right bravely fought he till sunlight lying lowDiscovered a field that had left him no foe;But when in the flush of a victory gained,Deep in dreams of his love—his honor unstained,He wended his way to the home of his heartFrom her side ne’er to swerve, from her love ne’er to part,Hast’ning on with his tidings he knew she would prize—His heart on his lips and his soul in his eyes;Laid low by a shot courage could not repelAt the feet of a mightier victor—he fell!And the bride that he left? What needs it to sayHer doom was a woman’s,—to watch, wait and pray.The heat of the struggle nerves man for the strife,But bitter at home is her battle of life,When far from the conflict, unheeded, alone,Her brain in a flame, but her heart like a stone,She patiently waits to hearonelife is won,Or silently prays to say—Hiswill be done!
“ICH HABE GELEBT UND GELIEBT.”The bride’s robe is ready, the bridesmaids are bid,The groom clasps the circlet, so cautiously hid;For a home is now waiting a mistress to claimA lover, a wife, for his house, heart and name.There is peace in the homestead and mirth in the hall—The steed idly stands at his rack in the stall,The whole land is teeming with prosperous life,For lost are all memories of carnage and strife.With rich golden harvest the ripe hills are blest,And God’s providence stands revealed and confessed.*****No priest blessed that union, no ring wed that hand;With anger and discord soon rang the whole land;Through all its wide domains the dread tidings rangOf bloodshed. The lover was first in the van.“My own one! I leave thee, those dear arms unfold.Wouldst wed with the timid—the doubtful—the cold?No union could bless till our country be free,So onward for liberty, glory—and thee!”*****Right bravely fought he till sunlight lying lowDiscovered a field that had left him no foe;But when in the flush of a victory gained,Deep in dreams of his love—his honor unstained,He wended his way to the home of his heartFrom her side ne’er to swerve, from her love ne’er to part,Hast’ning on with his tidings he knew she would prize—His heart on his lips and his soul in his eyes;Laid low by a shot courage could not repelAt the feet of a mightier victor—he fell!And the bride that he left? What needs it to sayHer doom was a woman’s,—to watch, wait and pray.The heat of the struggle nerves man for the strife,But bitter at home is her battle of life,When far from the conflict, unheeded, alone,Her brain in a flame, but her heart like a stone,She patiently waits to hearonelife is won,Or silently prays to say—Hiswill be done!
“ICH HABE GELEBT UND GELIEBT.”The bride’s robe is ready, the bridesmaids are bid,The groom clasps the circlet, so cautiously hid;For a home is now waiting a mistress to claimA lover, a wife, for his house, heart and name.There is peace in the homestead and mirth in the hall—The steed idly stands at his rack in the stall,The whole land is teeming with prosperous life,For lost are all memories of carnage and strife.With rich golden harvest the ripe hills are blest,And God’s providence stands revealed and confessed.*****No priest blessed that union, no ring wed that hand;With anger and discord soon rang the whole land;Through all its wide domains the dread tidings rangOf bloodshed. The lover was first in the van.“My own one! I leave thee, those dear arms unfold.Wouldst wed with the timid—the doubtful—the cold?No union could bless till our country be free,So onward for liberty, glory—and thee!”*****Right bravely fought he till sunlight lying lowDiscovered a field that had left him no foe;But when in the flush of a victory gained,Deep in dreams of his love—his honor unstained,He wended his way to the home of his heartFrom her side ne’er to swerve, from her love ne’er to part,Hast’ning on with his tidings he knew she would prize—His heart on his lips and his soul in his eyes;Laid low by a shot courage could not repelAt the feet of a mightier victor—he fell!And the bride that he left? What needs it to sayHer doom was a woman’s,—to watch, wait and pray.The heat of the struggle nerves man for the strife,But bitter at home is her battle of life,When far from the conflict, unheeded, alone,Her brain in a flame, but her heart like a stone,She patiently waits to hearonelife is won,Or silently prays to say—Hiswill be done!
“ICH HABE GELEBT UND GELIEBT.”
The bride’s robe is ready, the bridesmaids are bid,
The groom clasps the circlet, so cautiously hid;
For a home is now waiting a mistress to claim
A lover, a wife, for his house, heart and name.
There is peace in the homestead and mirth in the hall—
The steed idly stands at his rack in the stall,
The whole land is teeming with prosperous life,
For lost are all memories of carnage and strife.
With rich golden harvest the ripe hills are blest,
And God’s providence stands revealed and confessed.
*****
No priest blessed that union, no ring wed that hand;
With anger and discord soon rang the whole land;
Through all its wide domains the dread tidings rang
Of bloodshed. The lover was first in the van.
“My own one! I leave thee, those dear arms unfold.
Wouldst wed with the timid—the doubtful—the cold?
No union could bless till our country be free,
So onward for liberty, glory—and thee!”
*****
Right bravely fought he till sunlight lying low
Discovered a field that had left him no foe;
But when in the flush of a victory gained,
Deep in dreams of his love—his honor unstained,
He wended his way to the home of his heart
From her side ne’er to swerve, from her love ne’er to part,
Hast’ning on with his tidings he knew she would prize—
His heart on his lips and his soul in his eyes;
Laid low by a shot courage could not repel
At the feet of a mightier victor—he fell!
And the bride that he left? What needs it to say
Her doom was a woman’s,—to watch, wait and pray.
The heat of the struggle nerves man for the strife,
But bitter at home is her battle of life,
When far from the conflict, unheeded, alone,
Her brain in a flame, but her heart like a stone,
She patiently waits to hearonelife is won,
Or silently prays to say—Hiswill be done!
The Conquering Hero comes again.
The whiskey barrel, as I have said before, and suppose I shall often say again, had been a bone of contention from the beginning, and as it afterward proved, continued so to the end. Liquor commanded an enormous price in Dixie, and often if its lovers had the means to procure it, the opportunity was wanting, as thehospital was some distance from Richmond. When first installed in my office, the desire to conciliate, and the belief that men generally had some conscience even on the whiskey question led me to yield to urgent solicitations for it from many quarters; but the demands increased fearfully upon any concession. A reference to Dr. M. about this matter settled the heretofore open question. The doctor said the liquor was intended exclusively for the use of patients, and should only be used through a prescription accompanied by a written order. Also that I was personally responsible for the quantity confided to my care, and must each month produce the surgeon’s receipts to balance with the number of gallons drawn from the medical purveyor. There were at different times half a dozen surgeons and officials around, who absolutely made my life wretched by their importunities, and yet who could not be sent away except by preferring charges against them, and proving those charges; for my hospital was a military organization. I did not feel inclined to brave the publicity of preferred charges, for I seemed to have no recognized rank, and if evenI could prove them, the complaints made would be ludicrously petty in detail, though distracting as mosquito bites in the aggregate.
Rats—Hopeless Inebriates.
The modes adopted to outflank me were named “legion.” Some of them can be recalled. A quart bottle of whiskey would be ordered by the officer of the day for each ward, for night use, so that it would be ready at hand should any of the patients need this stimulant during the night. The next morning, on inquiry being made, there had been no case requiring its use, but the bottles would be empty, and expostulation on my part be met with explanations that the rats (who were a very plague), had knocked all the bottles over. On refusing to honor any more demands of the same kind, not believing in the rat story, the surgeon in charge would be appealed to, hear all sides, and favor none. This was just what I anticipated and wanted, for having, for the first few months of my occupation, lived in a state of active terror for fear of violating rules, however injurious the results of obeying, I recompensed myself from that time till the end of my sojourn by acting exactly as I thought right, braving theconsequences, and preferring to be attacked to attacking.
What Constitutes a Lady?
One mode of annoying me was particularly offensive—sending a negro boy with a cup and a simple request for whiskey, as if it was the most natural act in the world. At first a polite refusal would be written, but if this mode should have been persevered in, a private secretary would have been necessary; so in time it was replaced by a curt “No.” A few minutes later the boy would again stand before me with the same message, and this would occur half a dozen times consecutively. I did not believe in vicarious punishment, so could not make the messenger responsible—he was compelled to obey; and sometimes, stung to irritation by this senseless pertinacity, I would write a note to the offending party, brief but sharp. The reply would be the same silly question I so often had to meet: “Did Mrs. —— consider herself a lady when she wrote such notes?” “No,” was always the indignant answer. “How could she be, when brought into contact with such elements?” It was strange, with so little outward self-assertion, always dressed in Georgia homespun,often the worse for wear, leather shoes, worsted gloves, and half the time with a skillet or coffee-pot in my hands, that all the common element around me should contest my right to a title to which I never aspired in words.
This fact, which must have been patent to them from the active persecution it entailed, seemed to be a crying grievance. My life at my hospital quarters when relieved from care for the patients was exclusive, from habit, inclination and prudence. Living a great part of my time away from all intercourse with my own sex, in a solitude that was unbroken after dark, it was better that no intimacies should be formed and no preferences shown; and in an exposed position where Argus eyes were always watching, a woman could not be too careful.
The Hero again.
But still the wars of the whiskey barrel continued. One day the men of one of the distant wards sent for me in the absence of their ward-master, and complained that the liquor issued for them never reached them. All concurred in this report, and said the champagne bottles in which it was kept were hid behind a certain vacant bed, from whence they would be abstractedthat night. A search on my part brought them to light, still full, although the hour of administering had long past. The ward-master was summoned, the full bottles exhibited, and expressing my surprise at the inhumanity and dishonesty of one I had heretofore thought so honest, I warned him of the consequences that would result to him. His protestations were so earnest that he never tasted liquor, that I could not disbelieve him. What then had “become of the quantity issued, had he sold it?”
The charge was met by indignant surprise, and then the truth began to dawn upon me. That he had been false to his charge and his patients was true, if even he had not been guilty of taking it, and I warned him that on my representing the matter to the proper authorities he would be sent to the field. An hour after this conversation the surgeon of his ward entered my office with belligerent aspect.
Military Law Declared.
“Did you assert, Madam, that you intended sending my ward-master to the field?”
“I said I intended laying the facts concerningthe disappearance of the liquor before the proper authorities.”
“I consider myself responsible, Madam, for the liquor used in my wards.”
“If you do, you fail to be sure that it reaches its destination, so I intend in future to see that it does.”
“If you mean that my ward-master drinks it, you are mistaken; he does not take any stimulant.”
“I know he does not,” I answered quietly, “and I also know who does.”
He changed color, and passing him I walked into my little sanctum adjoining the office. To my astonishment he kicked back the door and also entered.
“Doctor, this is my private room,” I said, “to which no one is admitted. Be kind enough to leave.”
“Not until you explain,” he answered, throwing himself at full length upon the couch.
This was just far enough for him to venture. I threw back my window, and called to the sentry to order up a sergeant and file of the guard.In a few minutes the ring of their muskets outside sounded, and taking out my watch, I placed it on the table by him.
Five Minutes’ Grace.
“I will give you five minutes,” I said, “to leave my room. If you are not gone by that time, commissioned officer as you are, and gentleman as you ought to be, I will have you taken to the guard-house, and then explain this matter to the surgeon-general.”
He waited a minute or two, soliloquizing audibly that I must fancy myself the Secretary of War, and he would make me know my position, but soon made up his mind that discretion was the better part of valor, and left. Proper measures were no doubt taken to punish such conduct, for though I made no complaint, there were no secrets in a hospital, and after a few weeks he disappeared, sent no doubt to that Botany Bay—“the front.” He took a gallant leave of his associates, hinting that his talents demanded a wider field of action than a hospital.
But the tables were about to be turned. Not forever would I be allowed to carry war into the enemy’s country, or be the sole defenderof that friend by whom I had stood so gallantly. The whiskey barrel was destined after all to be turned into a weapon of offense.
The Tables Turned.
The bold man who thus declared hostilities, and by acoup-de-guerrechanged the whole nature of the war from offensive to defensive tactics, had been bar-keeper in a Georgia tavern, afterwards a clerk in a Macon dispensary, in order to escape field duty. Coming to Richmond he passed the board of surgeons by a process known only to themselves, which often rejected good practitioners, and gave appointments to apothecary boys.
Fate sent him to our hospital, where the brilliant idea struck him to check thefts of whiskey in the feminine department. He inaugurated his plans by ordering a pint of it for a single patient.
The etiquette of a hospital enjoins that no one but the chief surgeon shall dispute an inferior surgeon’s prescription, so I carried this generous order to the chief, received his instructions not to exceed the usual “from two to four ounces” without being served with a formal requisition signed by the surgeon incharge, and so I wrote this gentleman (a contract surgeon) a few lines, courteously explanatory of my reasons for so cutting him down. This matter being arranged, I forgot all about it, but the next day the blow was struck; the following note being handed to me:
“Hospital, Richmond, April 3, 1864.
“Hospital, Richmond, April 3, 1864.
“Hospital, Richmond, April 3, 1864.
“Hospital, Richmond, April 3, 1864.
“The Chief Matron:—Is respectfully asked to state the amount of water used as compared with amount of whiskey in making toddy. Also if strength of toddy has been uniform since January 1st, 1863. Also if any change has taken place in diluting within the same period. She will also state what the change has been; also when made, and by whose authority.
“Respectfully,“—— ——,“Assistant Surgeon in charge.”
“Respectfully,“—— ——,“Assistant Surgeon in charge.”
“Respectfully,“—— ——,“Assistant Surgeon in charge.”
“Respectfully,
“—— ——,
“Assistant Surgeon in charge.”
Concise, but not Clear.
These questions, if even he had any right to ask them (which he had not), were simply absurd. With hundreds of men requiring different drinks many times each day, ordered by numerous surgeons, prepared to suit different stages of disease and palate, no hour bringingthe same orders, how could any kind of a correct statement be made, even if I was willing to make it? But there was a great deal of amusement in the idea of letting him suppose he had alarmed me. Perhaps, as the day was very wet, and the wards rather empty, we might enact a small comedy; so I sat down and answered in full, respectfully, feeling very charitably that he was welcome to all the information he could extract from the five closely-written sheets of foolscap I despatched him.
A Storm Brewing.
In this document, polite, officially formal and as officially obscure, I thought I had succeeded in showing my correspondent that his questions could not be answered satisfactorily, but that I was much alarmed at his asking them. That I did not succeed in regard to his first inquiry was proved by the following, which came after an hour’s delay.
“Hospital, April 3rd, 1864.
“Hospital, April 3rd, 1864.
“Hospital, April 3rd, 1864.
“Hospital, April 3rd, 1864.
“Chief Matron:—Is respectfully called upon to state what amount of whiskey has been given to each patient when amount has not been stated or expressed by surgeon, or assistant surgeon, upon the rolls, but instead‘whiskey three times a day,’ and shown upon the rolls whichIsendyou.
“Respectfully,“—— ——,“Assistant Surgeon in charge.”
“Respectfully,“—— ——,“Assistant Surgeon in charge.”
“Respectfully,“—— ——,“Assistant Surgeon in charge.”
“Respectfully,
“—— ——,
“Assistant Surgeon in charge.”
Diplomatic Correspondence.
No solemn pages greeted him in answer this time. My rejoinder was concise and to the point.
“Hospital, April 3rd, 1864.
“Hospital, April 3rd, 1864.
“Hospital, April 3rd, 1864.
“Hospital, April 3rd, 1864.
“The Chief Matron regrets that she is too busily engaged to give any more voluminous explanations, being at this moment up to her elbows in gingerbread.”
Then the sleeping lion was roused, for almost instantly the reply was brought me, and an alarming finale it was.
“Hospital, April 3rd, 1864.
“Hospital, April 3rd, 1864.
“Hospital, April 3rd, 1864.
“Hospital, April 3rd, 1864.
“Chief Matron: Is hereby informed that if she willfully and contumaciously refuses to give me such information as I demand, and she is possessed of, thereby obstructing the duty I feel myself called upon to perform, she must beprepared tomeetthe responsibility uponyour own shoulders.
“Respectfully,“—— ——,“Assistant Surgeon in charge.”
“Respectfully,“—— ——,“Assistant Surgeon in charge.”
“Respectfully,“—— ——,“Assistant Surgeon in charge.”
“Respectfully,
“—— ——,
“Assistant Surgeon in charge.”
Confusion of Tenses.
A serious but sharp rejoinder sent to this gentleman, trying to show him that he had no authority to propound these questions, closed this paper war; and I had forgotten all about the matter, when the correspondence was forwarded me, folded in official style, and indorsed at the surgeon-general’s office on the back “Referred respectfully to the surgeon-in-chief —— Hospital,” through whose hands alone official etiquette required all reports should pass to heads of departments. He had courteously sent it to me, and I as courteously sent it to the forwarder. Seeing that he had failed to interest the surgeon-general in the case, he drew up a statement of the affair, accusing me of disrespect (based upon the gingerbread letter particularly) to mysuperior officer, sending it accompanied by all the obnoxious notes to the office of the military governor of the departmentof Henrico, who I heard read it all with some amazement—if not interest.
How History is made.
Back, however, it came shortly again without response, and by this time some of the waggish surgeons having been made confidants in the matter, persuaded my disappointed friend to try the secretary of war; and at one of the charming breakfasts which his wife was in the habit of giving, I saw him with a smile draw from his pocket a package I knew well by that time, and made my escape just in time to avoid hearing it all over again. As I mounted the ambulance in waiting to take me to my hospital, I heard the peals of laughter that greeted the reading of those unlucky documents.
My acquaintance with my correspondent was never renewed. He kept out of my way. The only time I ever saw him again was the day he left and I viewed his pantaloons of Georgia clay embrowning the landscape adown the hill.
Non-intervention.
A better educated class of surgeons was sent to fill fortunate vacancies, and this change made my duties more agreeable. There would have been nothing disagreeable in the occupation I had assumed if a proper discretion hadbeen exercised, or proper rules enforced, so that no demands should have been made upon the matron for that which she had no right to give. These demands were the beginning and end of my troubles; for in all else except complying with them I tried hard not to exceed the duties of my position, and succeeded so well that no temptation could induce me to interfere in any way with medical treatment, not even to offering the slightest alleviation to suffering men. During my early initiation, when quite a novice, yielding to a poor fellow’s prayer for something to wash a mouth frightfully excoriated by calomel I gave him a few drops of myrrh in water, I suffered the annoyance of seeing it contemptuously tossed out of the window by the assistant surgeon. From that day I made up my mind to resist all such impulses and persevered in the same line of conduct to the end.
Amende.
But antagonism was not always the rule. There were many sensible, kind-hearted, efficient men among the surgeons who gave their time and talents generously to further the comfort and well-being of their patients,—men who would let me work hand in hand with them,the nurse with the doctor, and listen kindly and respectfully to my suggestions, if they were not calculated to benefit science. As I have said, the chief surgeon was an unfailing refuge in times of distress, and whenever broken down by fatigue and small miseries I sought his advice and assistance, the first was not only the very best that could be secured, but unlike most of its kind, palatable; and the last entirely efficient. The surgeon too of my hospital though eccentric and wanting in decision of character, sustained my authority during sore trials as ably as he could; for the power delegated to him was not great, and his dread of responsibility a disease. He never intended to be unjust or unkind, but self-examination and investigation of characters around him was not his forte. He certainly withstood a vast amount of complaint directed against his chief matron; and while we had our pleasant little difficulties occasionally, that we still preserved amicable relations was due more to his amiable temper than my proper submission. Ithinkhe had many faults, but I am sure I had more, and if the popular remark which hassince become a maxim, that a man must be very clever to “keep a hotel” be true, it certainly ought to apply to one who can govern a hospital.