On the 4th of June, 1862, a telegram was received at the Central House, in Emmittsburg, asking that ten Sisters be detailed for hospital service in Frederick City, Md. The request came from the medical authorities in charge of the hospital, and it explained the immediate and imperative need of the Sisters. There were only three Sisters at liberty in the main house at the time, but the zeal of the Superiors managed to secure seven others from the various Catholic schools and academies in the city of Baltimore.
The ten nurses started upon their journey without any unnecessary delay and soon reached Frederick City. When they arrived at the hospital they were received by an orderly, who showed them to their room. It was in anold stone barracks, that had been occupied by General George Washington during the Revolutionary War. The room contained ten beds, so closely jammed together that there was scarcely space to walk about them. An old rickety table and two or three dilapidated chairs comprised the only furniture of the room. The chief surgeon called to welcome the Sisters and expressed the hope that they would be comfortable in their military quarters. He informed them that they were to call upon the steward for whatever they needed. The medicine was plentiful, but badly administered by the nurses, who did not attach much importance to the time or manner of giving it.
The Sisters’ food consisted of the soldiers’ ration. It was served to them on broken dishes, with old knives and forks, red with rust. The patients often amused their nurses by saying:
“There is no necessity for the doctors to order us the tincture of iron three times a day; don’t you think we get nearly enough of it off our table service?”
On the Fourth of July an addition to the sick from the field of battle arrived at the hospital. The newcomers numbered about four hundred, and the majority were suffering from typhoid fever and dysentery. They came unexpectedly and no preparations had been made to receive them, so that many of the men had to lie in the open yard of the hospital for nearly a whole day exposed to the scorching heat of the sun. The Sisters were thus doomed to witness a most distressing scene without having it in their power to alleviate the suffering. Finally the Sister servant, who could no longer behold such a spectacle, managed to procure some wine, which, with the aid of water, she multiplied prodigiously, thereby giving all a refreshingdrink. This drew from the lips of the poor sufferers many a blessing and prayer for the Sisters of Charity.
There were continual skirmishes in the Shenandoah Valley, from whence large numbers of wounded were frequently brought to the hospital, so that in a short time it was overcrowded and the chief surgeon was obliged to occupy two or three public buildings in the city as hospitals. At the request of the doctors eight additional Sisters were sent from the Mother House at Emmittsburg, and they were divided among the various hospitals that were occupied as temporary wards until accommodations could be made at the general hospital to receive the worst cases. The sick and slightly wounded men were transferred to Baltimore.
A young man, a Philadelphian, was brought in one day fearfully crushed, one hand and arm mangled to a jelly. Opening his eyes he beheld a Sister of Charity standing near him; a look of light succeeded the heavy expression of weary pain and he exclaimed: “Oh, I wish I were as good as the Sisters of Charity, then I would be ready to die.” He begged for baptism. There was no time to lose. The Sisters hastened to instruct him in what was necessary for him to believe and then baptized him, after which he calmly expired.
One of the difficulties with which the Sisters had to contend was the improper manner in which the food was prepared. One day the chief surgeon asked for a Sister to superintend the kitchen, and one who was qualified for the charge was sent for that purpose. Her silence and gentleness soon quelled the turbulent spirits of the soldiers employed in her office, so that in a short time they became as docile as children. On the first day an improvement was noticed in the hospital. The steward said thatfor the short time the Sisters had been there their presence in the barracks had made a wonderful change. He said that the men were more respectful and were seldom heard to swear or use profane language. A Sister was unexpectedly accosted one day by a convalescent patient, whom, she often noticed, viewed her with a surly countenance and would reluctantly take from her whatever she offered him. He said:
“Sister, you must have noticed how ugly I have acted towards you and how unwillingly I have taken anything from you, but I could not help it, as my feelings were so embittered against you that your presence always made me worse. I have watched you closely at all times since you came to the barracks, but when you came in at midnight last night to see the patient who lay dangerously ill I could not but notice your self-sacrificing devotion. It was then that my feelings became changed towards you. I reflected upon the motives which seemed to actuate the Sisters of Charity and I could not help admiring them. I thank you, Sister, for all the kindness you have shown me. I am happy to say that the Sisters of Charity have left impressions on my mind that will not be easily effaced.”
On the 19th of July, 1862, the feast of St. Vincent de Paul, the Sisters received quite a treat in the shape of an excellent dinner, sent by the director of the Jesuit Novitiate and the Superioress of the Visitation Convent, in Washington. Several ladies also visited them and sent refreshments for the day.
There were many Germans in the barracks, and the band of Sisters who were there only spoke the English language. The Superior, however, sent a German Sister who could speak to these men and interpret for the otherSisters. At their request one of the clergymen from the Novitiate, who spoke the German language, heard the confessions of the German Catholics.
FIRST BATTLE OF BULL RUN.
FIRST BATTLE OF BULL RUN.
On the evening of September 5, 1862, the Sisters were suddenly alarmed by an unusual beating of the drums. They had all retired to bed except the Sister servant, who called to them to rise quickly and go to the barracks; that the Confederate army was in Maryland and would reach the camp in the morning. They were informed that all the patients who were able to walk, including the male attendants and men employed about the hospital, would have to leave the place in about an hour, and that all the United States army stores in the city must be consigned to the flames. Imagine their feelings at such news. The hour passed like a flash. The soldiers all disappeared except a few of the badly wounded, who could not be removed. The signal was given and in a few moments the entire city was enveloped in smoke and flames. The conflagration was so great that it illuminated all the surrounding towns. The Sisters spent the remaining part of the night with the sick who were left alone in the wards. The doctors who remained at their posts carried their instruments and other articles to the Sister servant for safe-keeping, knowing that whatever the Sisters had in their possession was secure.
The next day dawned bright and beautiful, but what a scene of desolation and ruin was presented to the view! There was no one on the hospital grounds but the steward and doctors, about four in number, and the Sisters, who were going to and from the barracks attending the helpless soldiers. It was then that these poor, helpless men exclaimed in astonishment and gratitude:
“Oh, Sisters, did you stay to care of us? We thought you also would have gone, and then what would have become of us?”
About 9 o’clock in the morning the Confederates were discovered on the top of a hill advancing rapidly towards the hospital. Suddenly the advance guards appeared in front of the Sisters’ windows, which were under the doctor’s office. One of the Confederates demanded without delay the surrender of the place to the Confederate army, in command of Generals Jackson and Lee. The officer of the day replied, “I surrender.” The guards rode off and in about fifteen minutes afterwards the whole Confederate army entered the hospital grounds. It was then that the Sisters witnessed a mass of human misery—young and old men, with boys who seemed like mere children, emaciated with hunger and covered with tattered rags that gave them more the appearance of dead men than of living ones. After these skeleton-like forms had been placed in their respective barracks and tents the sick were brought in, numbering over 400. The majority of these were, however, half-dead from want of food and drink. They informed the Sisters that they had been without anything to eat for thirteen days, with the exception of some green corn, which they were allowed to pluck on their march into Maryland. The Sisters were delighted to find a field in which to exercise their charity and zeal on behalf of the suffering men. But, alas! a new trial awaited them. The United States surgeon called upon the Sister servant and told her that the Sisters could not at that time give any assistance to the Confederates, as they, the Sisters, were employed by the Union Government to take care of their sick and wounded, but he added that the Union army wasdaily expected, and as soon as it would reach the city the Confederate sick would receive the same care and attention as the Union soldiers.
The citizens were now at liberty to do as they pleased. They flocked in crowds to the hospital, distributing food and clothing at their own discretion. This proved fatal in many cases, as the diet furnished the sick men was contrary to what their condition required. The young scholastics of the Jesuit Novitiate near-by volunteered to nurse the sick soldiers, and their services were accepted by the United States surgeon, who arranged accommodations for them at the barracks. The Sisters were also allowed to give the scholastics meals in their refectory. It was truly edifying to see the zeal of those school boys. Father Sourin, the confessor of the Sisters, was likewise indefatigable in his labors. He deeply regretted the restrictions the Sisters were under, at the same time admiring the wonderful ways of God in permitting the young scholastics to gain admittance into the hospital, to fill the mission of charity of which the Sisters were so unexpectedly deprived.
On the fifth day of the invasion the Sister servant obtained a passport from General Lee for two Sisters to Emmittsburg. They were thus enabled to apprise the Superiors of their situation. These same Sisters returned to Frederick on September 12, accompanied by the Sister assistant from Emmittsburg. On re-entering the city their astonishment was great when they found that the whole Southern army had disappeared. When they reached the barracks the other Sisters informed them that the Confederates had left the city the previous night, leaving only their sick who were unable to be removed.
Frederick City was again in possession of the Unionforces and the good nurses were now at liberty to exercise their duties in behalf of the sick Confederates who were prisoners at the hospital. The doctors made no distinction between them and the Union soldiers. They lay side by side, so that the Sisters had it in their power to give them equal attention. It was truly edifying to see the patience and harmony that prevailed among them. They would say: “Sisters, we are not enemies except on the battlefield.”
General McClellan was at this time in command of the Union army. On one occasion he visited the barracks and was delighted with the order that reigned throughout. Before leaving he expressed a desire to have fifty additional Sisters sent to nurse the sick and wounded, but the scarcity of Sisters made it impossible to comply with his request.
A reinforcement of Sisters was now required to go to the various places occupied by the wounded. The Superiors could only send a few on account of the great demand for them throughout the different parts of the State. In Frederick City the Sisters had to divide their services between the barracks and the tents, and even then it was impossible to do justice to all. They were thus occupied for nearly six weeks without intermission except a few hours, which they would occasionally take for repose, and even that was frequently interrupted. They thought little of fatigue or bodily privation, being happy in the belief that they were not better served than the sick and wounded.
During the month of September the Sisters were recalled by their Superiors to the Central House at Emmittsburg, and this for the time being ended their labors at Frederick City.
Sixty Sisters depart from Baltimore for the station in Virginia. Wounded and dying men upon transport boats. Nurses who shared every horror with their patients. Two Sisters who were martyrs to duty and humanity. The worn-out Sister of Charity buried with military honors upon the banks of the Potomac. Death of a deserter.
The many appeals for Sisters to repair to the war-stricken sections of the country, both North and South, had widely separated the members of the Emmittsburg community. The venerable Mother Ann Simeon remained in executive charge at home. Father Burlando visited as well as he could the various military hospitals where the Sisters were stationed. His care would not extend beyond the line of hostilities, but, fortunately, the Sister assistant had been sent to superintend the missions in the South before the blockade.
On July 14, 1862, the surgeon general at Washington wrote for one hundred Sisters to be sent to a station called White House, in Virginia, then in possession of the Northern forces. So many were already in servicethat it was impossible to comply fully with this request. Sixty Sisters, however, started from Baltimore for that place. As all traveling was attended with much difficulty, the Sisters experienced many hardships. The authorities intended to make a hospital encampment in the vicinity of White House, as many thousands of wounded had been brought there from the recent battles. No preparations had been made for accommodating the Sisters, although the officers and doctors were rejoiced at their coming. General George B. McClellan, then chief in command, was some miles distant at the time, but sent orders that every possible care and attention should be offered to the Sisters. Father Burlando accompanied the Sisters to this place, and after receiving assurances that proper arrangements had been made for them returned home. They had only passed a few days here when suddenly all hands were ordered to leave with the greatest haste—the enemy was only two miles distant. Then began confusion and additional suffering.
The wounded and dying men were hurriedly placed upon transport boats. These vessels were so overcrowded that they seemed more like sinking than sailing. The Sisters were detailed to accompany the wounded to the several cities where they were destined, the work of transportation continuing for several weeks. The Sisters shared with their patients every horror but their bodily pains. They were in the under cabin, the ceiling of which was low and the apartment lighted by hanging lamps and candles. The men lay on beds on the floor, with scarcely enough space to walk between them. The Sister in charge of this lower ward was so persevering in her zealous attention that even the doctor declared he did not know howhuman nature could endure such duties. A few months later this Sister died from the effects of overwork—a martyr to duty. The remaining Sisters not engaged with the sick returned to Baltimore, but in a few days received a summons to go to Point Lookout, situated at the southern extremity of Maryland, bounded on one side by the Chesapeake Bay and on the other by the Potomac River.
On the 14th of July, 1862, Father Burlando, with twenty-five Sisters, left Baltimore, and in twenty-four hours reached the hospital encampment of Point Lookout. The Sisters were soon destined to have another martyr in their band. They were only at Point Lookout two weeks when one of the zealous band, who had contracted typhoid fever on the transport boat, died from that disease. She gave up her whole being as generously as she had offered her zealous labors. Father Burlando had returned to Baltimore, but a good priest, who came occasionally to the encampment, heard her confession, and she received communion a day or two previous to her death. The priest being stationed twelve miles distant could not reach the encampment in time to administer the last sacraments, but arrived in time to perform the burial service. The kind doctors and officers made every effort to suitably honor the departed Sister. The men said they deemed it a great privilege to act as the pall-bearers. All of the soldiers who had died had been buried with only a sheet wrapped around them, but for the Sister a white pine coffin was procured. The authorities walked in procession, the drum corps playing a dead march. There on the banks of the Potomac rested the worn-out Sister of Charity. What a subject for the pen of the poet or the brush of the painter!
Several cottages and tents, as well as wooden wardsfor the accommodation of thousands of sick and wounded, made this narrow strait a thickly-inhabited place. Many of the men were in a deplorable state from the effects of their wounds and painful removals from distant battle-grounds. The priest often came on Friday and remained until Monday, constantly engaged among the soldiers, instructing, baptizing and hearing confessions. On Sunday mornings he said the first Mass at the encampment and the second in the little chapel. The first Mass was said in a tent surrounded by soldiers. The captain of the guards marched his company to Mass on that day, and at the elevation a drum was sounded and all adored profoundly.
Later on the officers gave the Sisters more cottages, and by removing the patients they had a good-sized chapel. With but few exceptions the doctors and officers were very kind to the Sisters. Removals by death and the arrival of more wounded men sometimes caused the wards to be emptied and refilled again the same day. As soon as a boat would land a horn was blown to let the Sisters know that they must go to their wards. Then they would appoint a place for each sufferer, giving the best accommodations to those Who were enduring the greatest anguish. Many among the new arrivals were Confederate prisoners.
About this time orders came from Washington that no women nurses were to remain at the Point. After the Sisters had begun their work a band of young ladies arrived for the purpose of nursing the sick, and they were surprised to find the Sisters there before them. When the Sisters heard the order from Washington concerning “women nurses,” they made preparations for leaving, but the chief physician said to them:
“Remain here, Sisters, until I hear from Washington, for we cannot dispense with your services at this time.”
The physician telegraphed to the national capital and received this reply:
“The Sisters of Charity are not included in our orders. They may serve all alike at the Point, prisoners and others, but all other ladies are to leave the place.”
About 5 o’clock on the morning of the 6th of August, 1864, the Sisters were at meditation in their chapel, when they were startled by a noise like thunder, and, looking out, saw the air darkened with whirling sand, lumber, bedsteads, stovepipes and even the roofs of houses. A raging tornado and waterspout were tearing and destroying all in their way, taking in everything from the river to the bay. The little chapel shook from roof to foundation. Doors and windows were blown down. Sick and wounded men were blown out on the ground. Wards and cottages were carried several feet from their base. Two Sisters who had not yet arisen, terrified at finding their lodgings falling to pieces, ran out and in their efforts to reach the chapel were struck down by the flying doors and as often raised from the earth by the violent wind.
The Sisters were too stunned with surprise to know what to do, though truly nothing could be done, for they would only have left one part of the chapel for another when the last part would be blown away. In one of these intermissions a Sister seized hold of the tabernacle, fearing that its next place would be in the bay, but the altar was the only spot in the chapel that the angry elements seemed to respect. Lumber and iron bedsteads were carried over the tops of the cottages. The wards were nearly all filled with patients, and several of these buildings wereleveled to the ground. The men who were able to move about were running in all directions for safety, many of them only half dressed. One house was seen sailing through the air, and the bodies in it at the time of the storm were not discovered until some days afterward. The storm lasted about ten or fifteen minutes, but in this time heavy mattresses were carried through the air like so many feathers. It was some time before all could be repaired. The poor patients had to be cared for in some way or other, and it was not an unusual sight to see the Sisters standing by the stove with their saucepans of broth in one hand and umbrellas in the other, only too happy thus to relieve the poor sufferers.
The Sisters going to the Provost one day were informed that a deserter was to be shot the next morning, and they were requested to see him. They visited the prison for the purpose of consoling the condemned but the man showed no desire to see them, and they sorrowfully returned home. Later the prisoner regretted not having seen the Sisters, and asked to have them sent for. The kind Provost sent an orderly, telling the Sisters of the poor man’s desire. It was now very dark, and some of the authorities advised the Sisters not to go until the next morning. The orderly carried this message to his superior but was sent back again with a note from the Provost, saying:
“I will call for you on horseback and will be your pilot with the ambulance. I will guide the driver safely through the woods and will also conduct you home safely. I think circumstances require your attendance on the prisoner.”
This was enough for the Sisters, and they were soon at the prison, but found a minister of the prisoner’s persuasionwith him. After he had finished his interview the Sisters were taken to the man, who apologized for not seeing them sooner. One of the Sisters asked him if he had been baptized. He said, “No, never.” Then she informed him of its necessity, and he regretted, with much fervor, that he had not known this sooner. The Sisters remained with him some hours, giving him such instructions as his condition required. After baptizing him he expressed his desire to see a priest. The Provost, looking at his watch, replied that he could not be there in time. It was now late and the execution must take place early in the morning. The young man resigned himself fully to his fate, saying:
“I deserve death, and freely pardon anyone who will take part in it. I know I must die by the hand of one of my company, but whoever it may be I forgive him.”
Then he returned to his devotions with such a lively faith that the Sisters had no fear for his salvation. They bade him adieu and promised to assemble before the altar in his behalf when the hour of his trial drew near and to remain in prayer until all would be over with him. The kind Provost made all arrangements for the Sisters’ return home, and said, when leaving the prison:
“May I have such help at my death and die with such a good disposition.”
At the dreaded hour in the morning the Sisters knelt before their humble altar, most fervently imploring the Redeemer to receive the soul of the poor deserter. They continued very long after the sound of the fatal fire had told them that his destiny had been decided. The soldiers remarked afterwards that every one on the Point was presentat the execution with the exception of the Sisters, who had retired to pray for the doomed man.
Peace being declared, preparations were made for a general removal. The doctors desired the Sisters to remain until all the sick and wounded had gone. After this they, too, left the Point on the 1st of August, 1865, going to their home at Emmittsburg.
The Sisters carried away with them a sense of duty well done. The sacrifices they made while at Point Lookout were never fully made known, not even to their superiors. Several Sisters fell victims to death and disease. One of the most conspicuous of these was Sister Consolata Conlan, who in the twentieth year of her age yielded up her spotless life while in attendance upon the sick and wounded soldiers.
Five Sisters charged with the care of five hundred patients. Bodies of the dead consumed by the flames. The military hospitals at Gordonsville and Lynchburg. Boonsboro and Sharpsburg selected for hospital purposes for the men wounded at Antietam. General McClellan’s kindness to the Sisters. A man who had met Sisters during the Crimean war. The brave flag bearer.
There was scarcely a time from the opening of the war until its close that some of the Sisters of Charity were not located at Richmond. This was a sort of unofficial Southern headquarters for them, whence they were sent for duty on the various Southern battlefields. The section of country in which the Mother House was located was in possession of the Union army most of the time. But the house was looked upon as sacred property by the generals of both armies and was never molested by the soldiers.
Late in August, 1862, Dr. Williams, the medical director of the army of the Potomac, made a hasty summons for a detachment of Sisters to wait upon the sick andwounded at Manassas, where a severe battle had just taken place. Five of the Sisters immediately left Richmond for the scene of the conflict.
When they arrived at Manassas they found five hundred patients, including the men of both armies, awaiting them. The mortality was very great, as the wounded men had been very much neglected. The wards of the temporary hospital were in a most deplorable condition and strongly resisted all efforts of the broom, to which they had long been strangers. It was finally discovered that the aid of a shovel was necessary. One small room was set aside as a dormitory for the Sisters. They were also provided with a chaplain and Mass was said every day in one corner of the little room. Fresh difficulties and annoyances presented themselves later in the season. The kitchen, to which what was called the refectory was attached, was a quarter of a mile from the Sisters’ room, and often it was found more prudent to be satisfied with two meals than to trudge through the snow and sleet for the third. These meals at the best were not very inviting, for the culinary department was under the care of negroes who had a decided aversion to cleanliness. On an average ten of the patients died every day. Most of these poor unfortunates were attended by either Father Smoulders, Father Tuling or the Sisters.
After spending a long while at Manassas the Sisters received orders from General Johnston to pack up quietly and prepare to leave on six hours’ notice, as it had been found necessary to retreat from that quarter. They had scarcely left their posts when the whole camp was one mass of flames and the bodies of those who died that day were consumed.
The next field of labor for the Sisters was the military hospital at Gordonsville. There were but three Sisters, and they had two hundred patients under their charge. The sick were very poorly provided for, although the mortality was not as great as at Manassas. The Sisters had a small room, which served for all purposes. One week they lay on the floor without beds, their habits and a shawl loaned by the doctor serving for covering. The trunk of a tree was their table and the rusty tin cups and plates, which were used in turn by doctors, Sisters and negroes, were very far from exciting a relish for what they contained. The approach of the Federal troops compelled the Sisters to leave Gordonsville on Easter Sunday.
They retreated in good order toward Danville. Having been obliged to stop at Richmond some time they did not enter on this new field of labor until much later in the year. At Danville they found four hundred sick, all of whom were much better provided for than at Manassas or Gordonsville. The Sisters had a nice little house, which would have been a kind of luxury had it not been the abode of innumerable rats, of which they stood in no little dread. During the night the Sisters’ stockings were carried off, and on awakening in the morning the meek religious frequently found their fingers and toes locked in the teeth of the bold visitors.
In November the medical director removed the hospital to Lynchburg, as there was no means of heating the one in Danville. The number of the Sisters had increased to five, as the hospital was large and contained one thousand patients, most of whom were in a pitiable condition. When the Sisters arrived they found that most of the unfortunate patients were half-starved, owing to the mismanagementof the institution. As a Sister passed through the wards for the first time, accompanied by the doctor, a man from the lower end cried out:
“Lady, lady, for God’s sake give me a piece of bread!”
The doctors soon placed everything under the control of the Sisters, and with a little economy the patients were provided for and order began to prevail. Father L. H. Gache, S. J.8, a zealous and brave priest, effected much good among the patients. During the three years that the Sisters remained in Lynchburg he baptized one hundred persons. The approach of the Federal troops placed the hospital in imminent danger, and it was decided to remove the sick and the hospital stores to Richmond. The surgeon general of the Confederate army begged that the Sisters would take charge of the Stuart Hospital in that city, which they did on the 13th of February, 1865.
Father Gache accompanied them and continued his mission of zeal and charity. The Sisters were then ten in number, and, as usual, found plenty to do to place the sick in a comfortable situation. They had just accomplishedthis when the city was evacuated, and on the 13th of April they left Richmond for the Mother House at Emmittsburg.
BATTLE OF ANTIETAM.
BATTLE OF ANTIETAM.
A terrible engagement took place near the Antietam River, in Maryland, not far from the Potomac, on the 17th of September, 1862. Not only were thousands on both sides killed, but as many more were left wounded on the battlefield, with the farmhouses and barns their only prospective shelter. As the fighting had been from twelve to fifteen miles in space, the towns of Boonsboro and Sharpsburg were selected for hospital purposes. The general in charge of the Maryland division requested the people to aid the fallen prisoners, as the Government provided for the Northern soldiers and would have cared for all if it had enough for that purpose.
The Superior of the Sisters of Charity, with the people of Emmittsburg, collected a quantity of clothing, provisions, remedies, delicacies and money for these poor men. The overseer of the community drove in a carriage to the place, with Father Smith, C. M., and two of the Sisters. Boonsboro is about thirty miles from Emmittsburg, and the wagon containing the supplies reached the town by twilight. Two officers of the Northern army saw the cornettes by the aid of the lighted lamps, and, pointing to the carriage, one said to the other:
“Ah, there come the Sisters of Charity; now the poor men will be equally cared for.”
The Sisters were kindly received at the house of a worthy physician, whose only daughter had previously been their pupil. There were in the town four hospitals. The morning after their arrival they set out for the battlefield, having Miss Janette, their kind hostess, as a pilot. They passed houses and barns occupied as hospitals, fencesstrewn with bloody clothing, and further on came to the wounded of both armies. The poor men were only separated from the ground by some straw for beds, with here and there a blanket stretched above them by sticks driven into the earth at their head and feet to protect them from the burning sun. The Sisters distributed their little stores among the men, although their wretched condition seemed to destroy all relish for food or drinks.
Bullets could be gathered from the small spaces that separated the men. They were consoled as much as possible, but the Sisters scarcely knew where to begin or what to do. If they stopped at one place, a messenger would come to hastily call them elsewhere. In a wagon shed lay a group of men, one of whom was mortally wounded.
An officer called the Sisters to him, telling them how the mortally wounded man had become a hero as a flag-bearer in the bloody struggle just ended. The poor fellow seemed to gain new strength while the Sisters were near him.
They were about to move away when the officer recalled them, saying: “I fear the man is dying rapidly; come to him. He has been so valiant that I wish to let his wife know that the Sisters of Charity were with him in his last moments.”
Father Smith was summoned and hastily prepared the man for death. The thought of having the Sisters near him seemed to fill the poor man with joy and gave him the confidence and courage to die with a smile upon his lips.
Two wounded Protestant ministers lay among the wounded soldiers, and with one of these Father Smith spoke for a long time while preparing the man for his end.The steward, who seemed delighted to see the Sisters, informed them that he had met members of their order during the Crimean War.
A Northern steward and a Southern surgeon became involved in a personal dispute, which ended by one challenging the other to meet him in mortal combat in a retired spot near the battlefield. Both withdrew towards an old shed, at the same time talking in a loud voice, threatening each other in angry tones. No one interfered and the duel would have taken place had not one of the Sisters followed them. She spoke to both of them firmly and reproachfully, taking their pistols from them, and the affair ended by their separating like docile children, each retiring to his post.
Nightfall drove the Sisters to their lodgings in the town, but they returned early in the morning. The medical director met the Sisters, saying: “You dine with me to-day,” and added: “If you will remain I shall make arrangements for your accommodations.” But he was ordered elsewhere a few hours later and the Sisters saw no more of him.
The Sisters were requested by one of the officers to attend the funeral of the brave flag-bearer. It was about dusk and eight or ten persons followed the body to the grave, besides Rev. Father Smith and the Sisters. Presently they saw about two hundred soldiers on horseback galloping towards them. A few of the horsemen approached the group of mourners and taking off their caps and bowing one of them said:
“I am General McClellan and I am happy and proud to see the Sisters of Charity with these poor men. How many are here?”
“Two,” was the reply. “We came here to bring relief to the suffering, and we return in a day or so.”
“Oh,” he replied, “why can we not have more here? I would like to see fifty Sisters ministering to the poor sufferers. Whom shall I address for this purpose?”
Father Smith gave him the address of the Superior Emmitsburg. Then he asked:
“Do you know how the brave standard-bearer is doing?”
He was informed that the flag-bearer was just about to be buried, whereupon he joined the procession and remained until after the interment.
General McClellan at this time was in the full flush of a vigorous manhood, with the added prestige of a West Point education. His command was considered the finest body of men in either the Union or the Confederate army. Just prior to the battle of Antietam General McClellan had ordered a review of his troops before the President and the members of his Cabinet. It was a magnificent sight to see 70,000 well-drilled and well-dressed soldiers keeping step to the tune of martial music. What a difference between then and now. The finest blood in the nation lay spilled upon the field of Antietam; the dread hand of death had broken up and demoralized the Army of the Potomac.
General McClellan was the idol of his men and was affectionately styled “Little Mac.” Upon his staff were two volunteers from France, the Compte de Paris and the Duc de Chartres. They were grandsons of King Louis Philippe, were commissioned in the Union army and served without pay as aides-de-camp to General McClellan. The Compte de Paris has written what is consideredto be the best and most impartial history of the civil war extant. Both of these distinguished volunteers were with General McClellan at the time of his conversation with the Sisters.
About this time the work of removing the wounded soldiers to Frederick City and Hagerstown began. During the time the Sisters remained on the battlefield they went from farm to farm trying to find those who were in most danger. The Sisters were in constant danger from bomb shells which had not exploded and which only required a slight jar to burst. The ground was covered with these and it was hard to distinguish them while the carriage wheels were rolling over straw and dry leaves. The farms in the vicinity were laid waste. Unthreshed wheat was used for roofing of tents or pillows for the men. A few fences that had been spared by the cannon balls were used for fuel. The quiet farmhouses contained none of their former inhabitants. Stock in the shape of cattle and fowl seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth. Even the dogs were either killed or had fled from the appalling scene. It was very remarkable also that on none of the battlefields during the war were there any carrion birds, not even a crow, though piles of dead horses lay here and there. Some of these animals were half burned from the efforts made to consume them by lighting fence rails over them, but this seemed rather to add to the foulness of the atmosphere than help to purify it. Long ridges of earth with sticks here and there told “so many of the Northern army lie here” or “so many of the Southern army lie there.” General McClellan’s army was encamped in the neighborhood, with arms stacked, shining in the sun like spears of silver.
A Northern soldier was rebuking a sympathizing lady for her partiality towards the fallen Southerners and said: “How I admire the Sisters of Charity in this matter. When I was in Portsmouth, Va., they were called over from Norfolk to serve their own men, the Southerners, in their hospitals and labored in untiring charity. When, a few weeks later, our men took the place and the same hospital was filled with the Northern soldiers, these good Sisters were called on again, when they resumed their kind attention the same as if there was no sectional change in the men.” “This,” he continued, “was true Christian charity, and I would not fear for any human misery when the Sisters have control. This, young lady, is what all you young ladies ought to do.”
The following day Father Smith celebrated two Masses in the parlor of the house at which he was stopping. The Sisters left this place on the 8th of October, having spent six days among the wounded soldiers, who had nearly all been removed at this time from the neighborhood.
GENERAL BENJAMIN BUTLER.
GENERAL BENJAMIN BUTLER.
The capture of the commercial metropolis of the Southwest by General Butler and Admiral Farragut. Butler’s chivalrous letter to the Superior of the Convent at Donaldsonville. His tribute to the Sisters of Charity. Bishop Elder and the panic stricken people of Natchez. Work of the Sisters in other localities.
On the 25th of April, 1862, a fleet under the famous Admiral Farragut, together with a land force under General Benjamin F. Butler, captured the city of New Orleans. Butler assumed charge of the “commercial metropolis of the Southwest,” as it was then called, while the gun boats proceeded up the Mississippi River, subjugating other cities and towns along its banks. One of these was Donaldsonville. In shelling this place Admiral Farragut injured some of the property under the charge of the Sisters of Charity. The Superior entered a complaint with General Butler and in return received the following chivalrous letter:
“Headquarters Department of the Gulf, New Orleans, La., September 2, 1862.“Santa Maria Clara, Superior and Sister of Charity.“Madame: I had no information until the reception of your note that so sad a result to the Sisters of your communityhad happened from the bombardment of Donaldsonville.“I am very, very sorry that Rear Admiral Farragut was unaware that he was injuring your establishment by his shells. Any injury must have been entirely accidental. The destruction of that town became a necessity. The inhabitants harbored a gang of cowardly guerrillas, who committed every atrocity, amongst others that of firing upon an unarmed boat crowded with women and children going up the coast, returning to their homes, many of them having been at school in New Orleans.“It is impossible to allow such acts, and I am only sorry that the righteous punishment meted out to them in this instance, as, indeed, in all others, fell quite as heavily upon the innocent and unoffending as upon the guilty.“No one can appreciate more fully than myself the holy, self-sacrificing labors of the Sisters of Charity. To them old soldiers are daily indebted for the kindest offices. Sisters to all mankind, they know no nation, no kindred, neither war nor peace. Their all-pervading charity is like the boundless love of ‘Him who died for all,’ whose servants they are and whose pure teachings their love illustrates.“I repeat my grief that any harm should have befallen your society of Sisters and will cheerfully repair it, so far as I may, in the manner you suggest by filling the order you have sent to the city for provisions and medicines.“Your Sisters in the city will also further testify to you that my officers and soldiers have never failed to do to them all in our power to aid them in their usefulness and to lighten the burden of their labors.“With sentiments of the highest respect, believe me your friend,Benj. F. Butler.”
“Headquarters Department of the Gulf, New Orleans, La., September 2, 1862.
“Santa Maria Clara, Superior and Sister of Charity.
“Madame: I had no information until the reception of your note that so sad a result to the Sisters of your communityhad happened from the bombardment of Donaldsonville.
“I am very, very sorry that Rear Admiral Farragut was unaware that he was injuring your establishment by his shells. Any injury must have been entirely accidental. The destruction of that town became a necessity. The inhabitants harbored a gang of cowardly guerrillas, who committed every atrocity, amongst others that of firing upon an unarmed boat crowded with women and children going up the coast, returning to their homes, many of them having been at school in New Orleans.
“It is impossible to allow such acts, and I am only sorry that the righteous punishment meted out to them in this instance, as, indeed, in all others, fell quite as heavily upon the innocent and unoffending as upon the guilty.
“No one can appreciate more fully than myself the holy, self-sacrificing labors of the Sisters of Charity. To them old soldiers are daily indebted for the kindest offices. Sisters to all mankind, they know no nation, no kindred, neither war nor peace. Their all-pervading charity is like the boundless love of ‘Him who died for all,’ whose servants they are and whose pure teachings their love illustrates.
“I repeat my grief that any harm should have befallen your society of Sisters and will cheerfully repair it, so far as I may, in the manner you suggest by filling the order you have sent to the city for provisions and medicines.
“Your Sisters in the city will also further testify to you that my officers and soldiers have never failed to do to them all in our power to aid them in their usefulness and to lighten the burden of their labors.
“With sentiments of the highest respect, believe me your friend,
Benj. F. Butler.”
Some time after this General Blanchard, who was in command of the military in Monroe, La., made a requestfor Sisters to care for the sick and wounded under his charge. A deputation of Sisters was at once sent from St. Mary’s Asylum in Natchez.
The Sisters were obliged to leave in the night in consequence of a dispatch announcing the approach of the Federal gun boat Essex, which might have prevented their departure had they remained until the next day. Hence they were compelled to cross the Mississippi River shortly before the midnight hour. The good Bishop of Natchez, now Most Rev. W. H. Elder, Archbishop of Cincinnati, alarmed for their safety, determined to accompany them to the post to which they were destined, and he did so. The pastor of the church at Monroe was also one of the party. The Sisters and their friends crossed the river in a skiff, and, reaching the other side, found an ambulance awaiting them. They traveled the remainder of that night and the following two days over a very rough and dangerous road. General Blanchard had a matron and nurses employed in the hospital. He dismissed these and arranged with the Sisters to take charge the day after their arrival.
Sister E—— had in her ward a convalescent patient who, deeming himself of more consequence than the others, was somewhat piqued at her for not showing him special attention. The Sister kept him in his place and treated him precisely as she did the others. One day she went as usual to administer the medicines, and as she was passing the ward in which he was located she heard him utter most terrible oaths. She passed on quietly, but on her return showed her displeasure at his disorderly conduct. He made every apology for his misbehavior. The Sister proceeded on her way, having a bottle in each hand. At a very short distance from where the man was standing shestopped to say a few words to another patient. She happened to look back and noticed the convalescent man put his hand in his coat pocket, and at the same instant the crack of a pistol shot was heard. The ball passed through the front of the Sister’s cornette, within an inch or two of her forehead. The poor man with whom the Sister had been talking thought he was wounded again, jumped up and clapped his hands on his old wound, as if to assure himself of its escape from harm. The Sister, pale, but with perfect presence of mind, still held her bottles and made her way through the cloud of smoke and the crowd that had gathered at the report of the pistol. The man was arrested and would have been dealt with in a summary manner, but at the request of the Sister he was released. He claimed that it was an accident. It was afterwards discovered that he was a gambler and had loaded the pistol to shoot an enrollment officer in town.
In the meantime things were reaching a crisis in the city of Natchez. One morning the sound of a shell bursting over the town filled the people with consternation. The scene that followed is beyond description. Women and children rushed through the streets screaming with terror. The asylum was thronged by persons of every description, who begged to be admitted within its walls. One of the Sisters speaking of this says: “I can never forget the anguish I felt at the sight of mothers with infants in their arms begging us to preserve the lives of their little ones, without a thought about their own safety. At the sound of the first shell our good Bishop hastened to the asylum to assist us in placing the children out of danger of the shells. The Bishop was surrounded as soon as he appeared and nothing could be heard but cries of ‘Oh,Father, hear my confession,’ and ‘Bishop, baptize me. Do not let us be killed without baptism.’ The Bishop kindly went into the confessional, but soon perceived that he would be detained there too long; therefore he requested the Sisters to assemble all in the chapel and he would give a general absolution, as the danger was so imminent. Immediately their cries and sobs were suppressed. The Bishop, after a few touching words, bade us remember that no shell could harm the least one among us without the Divine permission. He then gave a general absolution to all present.”
Shells passed over the building in rapid succession while the Sisters were kneeling in the chapel. Some of the bombs fell in the adjoining yard, yet not one of those in the asylum was injured. Within the silence of death reigned. No sound was heard but the fervent aspirations of the Bishop and the suppressed sobs of the smaller children. Giving the final blessing the Bishop said: “Tell the Sisters to take the children away as soon as possible.” When all were in readiness each of the orphans, with a bundle of clothing, passed out of the asylum with the thought that they were never again to enter its loved walls. Five of the Sisters accompanied them, and the others, with two sick children, followed in a market wagon, the only vehicle that could be procured. While the Sisters were placing the smaller children in the wagon a shell passed over the horse’s head, so near as to frighten and cause the animal to jump, but it fell some distance away without exploding. The poor children had to go five miles without resting, so great was the danger. After remaining some weeks in the country the authorities compromised, and the gunboat left the city without doing anyfurther damages. The Bishop announced the Forty Hours’ Devotion in thanksgiving.
Good work was done in the Charity Hospital, New Orleans. The Sisters of Charity had charge of this hospital and attended many hundreds of the sick and wounded on both sides. It was the same with the Marine Hospital of New Orleans. The first act of one of the Sisters on entering a ward in this hospital was to grasp a cup of water from a nurse and baptize a dying soldier.
One Sister relates how she endeavored for a long time to get a cot for a very sick patient who lay on the floor reclining on his carpet bag. She finally succeeded, and then persuaded a convalescent soldier to convey the sick man to the cot. The patient was unwilling to go without his carpet bag and his boots, fearing they would be stolen if he left them. He kept a watchful eye on them all the time, and the Sister, understanding the reluctant movements of the patient, took up the carpet bag in one hand and the boots in the other and followed. The poor man was very much struck with the humility and charity of the Sister, and said:
“The soldiers wonder how the Sisters can work so hard without pay.”
The Sister replied: “Our pay is in a coin more precious than gold; it is laid up in a country more desirable than any that exists on this earth.”
A letter from Central Georgia begging for Sisters of Charity.—“Are they men or women?” A cautious priest who took the good nurses for impostors. The train crashes through a bridge. The “magic” lunch basket and how it fed an unlimited number of Sisters and soldiers. The hospitals at Marietta and Atlanta.