There are many to-day, dear mother,Who are crowning your head with gold,And writing fine things of the recordYour fifty long years have told.And, I too, should come with the others,My offering before you to cast;But I am old, and my thoughts, dear mother,Somehow will fain run on the past.On the days when our Naz’reth, dear Naz’reth,Was not like what Naz’reth is now;Our dear Lord only knew how.Then we spun, and we wove, and we laboredLike men in the fields, and our fareWas scanty enough, and our garmentsWere coarse, and our feet often bare.When we lived like the ravens and sparrows,
There are many to-day, dear mother,Who are crowning your head with gold,And writing fine things of the recordYour fifty long years have told.And, I too, should come with the others,My offering before you to cast;But I am old, and my thoughts, dear mother,Somehow will fain run on the past.On the days when our Naz’reth, dear Naz’reth,Was not like what Naz’reth is now;Our dear Lord only knew how.Then we spun, and we wove, and we laboredLike men in the fields, and our fareWas scanty enough, and our garmentsWere coarse, and our feet often bare.When we lived like the ravens and sparrows,
In the following year Mother Columba’s earthly career closed, but the force of her example still lives in the hearts of those who were fortunate enough to be her pupils and associates. Mothers Catherine, Frances and Columba made a truly wonderful trio. They helped to give Nazareth the reputation it enjoys to-day, and while the school exists their memory will endure. The Sisters of Charity of Nazareth are particularly known in Kentucky, and they are to be found wherever suffering humanity calls.
The ancient house at Nazareth is the mother from which have sprung forty-seven branch houses in various parts of the country—schools, orphan asylums and hospitals. Perhaps the most conspicuous of the latter is the “Mary and Elizabeth Hospital,” in Louisville, founded by William Shakespeare Caldwell as a memorial to his wife and a tribute to the Sisters who educated her. The mother house is located a few miles south of Bardstown, which is forty miles from Louisville. The buildings are extensive and imposing. There is a presbytery, a convent and academy, a chapel and the commencement hall. In the old-fashioned hall are full-length portraits of Bishops Flaget and David and Father Chambige. The library contains five thousand volumes, and in the corner is an excellent bust of the late Archbishop Spalding. MotherHelena is the present Superior, and in the administration of her office she has clung to the best traditions of the past.
I am sure I will be pardoned for digressing sufficiently from the main subject of this volume to mention a few of the distinguished patrons and graduates of this institution. The patrons included Henry Clay, who sent his daughter, granddaughter and great-granddaughter there; Judge Benjamin Winchester, John J. Crittenden, Judge John Rowan, Zachary Taylor, Jefferson Davis, James Guthrie, George D. Prentice and Charles Wickliffe. The graduates include Sarah Knox Taylor, daughter of President Zachary Taylor; Madame Henrietta Spalding, now Superior of the Sacred Heart Convent, in Chicago; the first wife of Jefferson Davis; Mary Eliza, daughter of James Breckinridge, of Kentucky; Mary Gwendoline Caldwell, the original benefactress of the Washington University; the wife of United States Senator Vance, of North Carolina; the four nieces of Jefferson Davis, all converts; Mary Anderson, whose professional career is as much a matter of pride to the good Sisters as her private virtues, and Miss Taney, the author of the State poem, “The Pioneer Women of Kentucky,” written for the World’s Fair. Such is the institution that furnished so many nurses for the camps and the hospitals.
A joint request from the Mayor of Cincinnati and the Archbishop of the Diocese promptly answered. Appalling sights witnessed by the Sisters. Young men seated on their own coffins prepare for execution. General Rosecrans and his kindness to the Sisters. The Governor of Indiana calls for nurses. Labors in Kentucky.
The work done by the Sisters of Charity of Mount St. Vincent during the war was of a high order. The first of the Sisters to enter the service as nurses were Sisters Anthony and Sophia. Both were sent to Camp Dennison, Cincinnati, O., on the 1st of May, 1861. On the evening before that date a peculiar holy calm was upon the beautiful convent, which is located on a hill top, just within the limits of Cincinnati. The structure, surrounded by cedar trees and well-cultivated grounds, had in it the appearance of nobility, religion, peace and charity. The golden rays of the setting sun glanced, then darkened as the Sisters were enjoying their evening walk. A messenger suddenly called for the Superior. The Mother leaves her religious family to attend to business. Only a few minutes elapse when shereturns to inform her Sisters that his honor, the Mayor of Cincinnati, and the Most Rev. Archbishop Purcell earnestly request the Sisters of Charity to attend the sick troops who are stationed at Camp Dennison. There were no commands; all willingly volunteered to nurse the sick soldiers. Preparations were quickly made, and on May 1, 1861, five members of the community were named for the camp. Sisters Sophia and Anthony were sent in advance, and Sisters Bernardine, Alphonse and Magdalen followed. Camp Dennison was situated about fifteen miles from Cincinnati, on the Little Miami Railroad. This location was advantageous for many reasons—easy of access, with ample space and abundance of water, level and suitable for military purposes. Mother Josephine, the presiding Superior, accompanied the Sisters to this new home. Their duties consisted principally in attending the soldiers who were suffering from measles, which had broken out in the ranks in the very worst form. After these soldiers had recovered health the Sisters returned to the Mother Superior House at Cedar Grove, Cincinnati.
After the return from Camp Dennison a hasty call was received from the Mayor of Cumberland to attend the sick and wounded of that place. Sister Anthony was among the number, and an amusing incident is related of the Sisters’ leave-taking. As the good-byes were being said the train moved off, carrying only Sister Anthony. She arrived in Columbus some hours in advance of the others, who boarded the next train. Arriving at the station in Columbus she received a telegram from the Most Rev. Archbishop of Cincinnati to return immediately to St. John’s Hospital to prepare for the sick and wounded soldiers who were there, being brought fromdifferent places. The Sisters named for Cumberland were Sisters Sophia, Ambrosia, Ettiene, Agnes, Jane, Mary, Gabriella. There they were kindly received by a Catholic family. Dr. McMahon, the attending physician, was kind and attentive.
The weather was cold, the accommodations poor and the hospitals, of which there were twelve, were some distance from each other. There were crowded into these hospitals at one time 2200 poor soldiers, suffering from typhoid fever, pneumonia, erysipelas, etc. The duties were very trying, but a murmur never escaped from the lips of one Sister of Charity. Almighty God and His glory being their only aim, all seemed easy. “Sad and numerous were the scenes we witnessed in those hospitals,” says one of the Sisters, “yet none presents itself more vividly to my mind to-day than the suffering of the boy soldiers longing for home and mother. How often were those endearing words, ‘Mother,’ ‘Home,’ mentioned!”
Sister Jane says: “I had in my ward a droll boy named Billy. Now, our Billy had watched the Sisters for some time and addressed me thus: ‘Lady, what is that I hear the boys call you? Sister! Ah, that is a beautiful name. Well, Sister, will you give me your Bible? I would like to know something of your religion.” Billy received the little Bible, or rather a small catechism, of which he made good use. He was soon baptized, made his first holy communion, and his zeal did not end here. “Often have I seen him on a platform explaining the words of his catechism to his comrades, many of whom became fervent children of the Church. Many hundreds of like instances could be cited, but I trust they are written in the Book of Life.”
Sister Agnes spent about three months in Cumberland nursing the sick soldiers. She then returned to St. John’s Hospital, Cincinnati, to nurse the soldiers who were being sent from Richmond and Nashville to the city. “It was here I witnessed the most appalling sights,” she says; “men wanting arms or legs, and sometimes wanting both arms and legs—pale, haggard faces, worn from long marching and fasting. Many, I think, died of broken hearts. Faces and voices haunt me yet, calling for home and dear ones whom they were destined never again to behold on earth. The streets of this now flourishing city were then the scenes of extreme suffering and misery. Frequently fine young men, seated on their own coffins, passed through on their way to execution on some neighboring hillside.”
About the 16th of February the Sisters received a hasty call from Cumberland. Mother Josephine and Rev. Father Collins were to accompany them to the scene of their duties. They reached Wheeling about 5 P. M. the next day, and received hospitality from the Visitation Nuns. The next morning, in the face of a blinding storm of sleet and snow, the Sisters started for Cumberland, where they were met at the station by Dr. McMahon, the surgeon of the post. They walked in procession through the streets, and were the objects of much curiosity. That evening they secured some rooms, but slept on the floor. The next morning they were assigned some apartments in the house of a Southern gentleman, Dr. Healy, whose sympathy with the South compelled him to leave home and family. The accommodations here were little better than at the hotel. The bunks were made of rough boards, coveredwith straw ticks, and the pillows were of the same material.
Pages would not suffice to relate all the good done in Cumberland. Often during the stillness of night one might have gazed on a Sister as she stood at the cot of a dying soldier, heard her whisper words of consolation and religion in his ears, saw her close gently his dying eyes. Thus they passed long, weary nights.
Early in March, 1863, the Sisters of Mount St. Vincent, who had already done valiant service in other localities, were invited to go to Nashville to nurse the sick and wounded of that place. Those named were Sisters Anthony, Constantina, Louise, Benedicta and Gabriella. They left Cincinnati March 19, 1863, and were accompanied by Rev. Father Tracy. There were four hospitals at this place, fairly well adapted for their purpose. Sister Constantina, who took charge of the first one, proved to be an angel of mercy to the poor invalids. The building was formerly an old cotton mill, located on an eminence known as College Hill. The Sisters were quartered in a small house opposite to this place, and during their stay were treated with the greatest consideration. Many of the wounded were sent to this place after the battle of Stone River. Most of the patients were young, and they suffered intense agony.
At one time measles became quite epidemic among the soldiers, from which many of them died. It was during the mission at this place that General Rosecrans, with his body-guard, made daily visits to the sick. He was wont to say in his kind, jovial way: “Come, come, boys, you are foxing; these Sisters are too good to you,” then laugh heartily at his remarks. He was very kind to all theSisters. The next important call to duty was at New Creek. The Sisters of Charity named for this colony were Sister Sophia, in charge, assisted by Sisters Ann, Cecelia, Beatrice, Stainlaus, Etienne, Laurence and Benedicta. The chaplain was Rev. Father Corcoran.
BATTLE OF WILSON’S CREEK.
BATTLE OF WILSON’S CREEK.
From the diary of one of the above-named Sisters the following is extracted: “We left Cedar Grove Academy June 9, 1862, for New Creek. Arriving at our destination, we were assigned a tent, erected for our accommodation by order of Dr. McMahon. This gentleman, however, soon procured better quarters for us with a family named Dinges. Here we performed our duties of nursing the sick and wounded with energy and zeal. During our stay at New Creek we were treated with great kindness and respect, particularly by Colonel Miller, who, although a Protestant, proved a sincere friend of priest and Sisters.
“It is not surprising that our peculiar dress was a source of amusement to many persons who had never before seen a religious. We were frequently asked why we dressed so differently from other ladies. We are happy to relate that our care and kindness removed many prejudices against our religion. We remained at New Creek about three months; then the army moved to Culpepper Court House. We followed in ambulances and nursed the sick soldiers in tents pitched on the camp grounds. Some of the soldiers had typhoid fever, of which disease many of them died. When the Confederates were victorious at Harper’s Ferry we retreated to Washington, whence we returned to the Mother house, Cincinnati.”
Gallipolis was the next assignment. The Sisters named for the field of charity were Sisters Louis, Ambrosia, Euphrasia, Basilia, Gonzaga, Laurence, Constantina and Seraphine. About eight months after their returnfrom Cumberland they were ordered to this location to attend the soldiers from Winchester and Lynchburg. The wounded did not reach the hospitals until fourteen days after the battle. The misery and suffering presented was most frightful. The attending physician was Dr. Stone, and the chaplain was Rev. Father Callenberg. Sister Gonzaga, a very holy person, who has since gone to her reward, took quite an interest in little Toby, a little darky, who was conspicuous about the camp, and who endeavored, whenever an opportunity occurred, of instructing him in the knowledge and love of God. When she thought she had instructed him sufficiently and an examination would not be out of place, she called him to her and said: “Toby, who made you?”
“Dun no, Sister,” he answered.
She then said to him: “Well, Toby, who made the trees, the grass, the flowers and all these beautiful things which we see around us?”
The little fellow looked at her for awhile and said: “Dun no; dey was all hyar when I comed.”
The soldiers in Gallipolis acted as gentlemen in their intercourse with the Sisters. The sight of a Sister was sufficient to check the least levity. Men who had been taught to look on Catholics as dangerous people learned to love and respect the faith which taught even women to sacrifice their lives for the comfort or relief of the soldiers.
The Governor of Indiana made application to the Most Rev. Archbishop of Cincinnati for the Sisters to care for and nurse his troops in Richmond, Ky. Sisters Anthony and Sophia were among the first ones sent. They traveled in ambulances from Cincinnati. The following are extracts from the diaries of these religious:
“Much, very much, might be said of our work at Richmond, but God alone could tell the story. En route from here (Cincinnati) we witnessed sights the most appalling; the grounds were covered with wounded, dying and dead bodies. Some of the dead bodies were only partially covered, hands and feet protruding. The weather being very hot added not a little to the hardships of this scene of action.
“Arriving in Richmond, we began work immediately. The hospital had been an academy, affording wards larger and better than many other locations during the war. Shortly after attending to those suffering from the most severe wounds, a Sister discovered a poor soldier crouched in a corner. For hours he had lain under the burning rays of the sun, suffering severely from a wound received in his shoulder. The flesh surrounding the wound was dreadfully mangled, and owing to neglect was swarming with vermin. Pale and haggard he looked. I shall never forget him. We washed and dressed his wounds and administered the necessary cordials, and when we placed him in a clean cot the reader may imagine his joy.
“Another ward in this hospital accommodated more than one hundred men. Seventeen were lying on the floor, each of whom had lost one or more limbs. ‘What shall we do with these poor men?’ was the constant query.
“The first death that occurred was of a man who had been shot through the lung. He had been exposed to the heat of the sun, and had eaten no food for hours. Everything was done for him, but his moments on earth were few. He received the last sacraments and died a beautiful death. His last words were: ‘Thanks to the Sisters.’ This death and its attending circumstances were the causeof many conversions. One pious Episcopalian asked the Sisters for books on the subject of religion, saying that ‘a religion which teaches gentle ladies such devoted self-sacrifice for suffering humanity must be Divine.’
“No page in history can record such noble deeds of courage and devotion as that illuminating the life and labors of these Sisters during their stay at Richmond. Particularly noble was our much esteemed Sister Anthony.15
“History can point to annals of devotion and self-sacrifice of noble women, but no annals are so rich in noble work and silent charity as that of our loved Sister. Hundreds of men scattered over the States will always remember and revere her. She seemed happy when engaged in alleviating the sufferings of others, particularly of the soldiers.”
The following anecdote from the diary of a Sister illustrates the influence that the religious possessed with these soldier boys:
“It is midnight. The moon sends her welcome light to cheer my watching hours. There is stillness all around, although many soldiers are suffering. But listen! I hear moans. A poor soldier is dying; must away to his cot. Yes, he was dying. I prayed, then spoke: ‘Now, my young friend, you are going home.’ ‘Home!’ said the boy; ‘what do you mean, Sister?’ ‘Why, would you not like to go to heaven?’ ‘Sister, are you going there when you die?’ I assured the boy that I sincerely hoped to go there. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘so do I.’ I called the chaplain, had the soldier baptized and ere the morning dawned this beautiful soul was in heaven.”
An application from the Secretary of War to the Superior of the order. Nine Sisters depart for the Government Hospital at Beaufort, N. C. A dinner of pork and beans and mouldy bread. The steward who expected the Sisters to poison some of the patients. Complimented by Jefferson Davis. A convent confiscated by General Slocum. Secular ladies who had “other engagements” when the smallpox appeared.
None of the Sisters who gave up their time and talents to the cause of suffering humanity did better work than the Sisters of Mercy. Their most conspicuous service was on Southern battlefields, although, like their colleagues in this merciful work, they were subject to the call of duty no matter whence it came. On the 19th of June, 1862, Vicar General Starrs, of New York, applied for a sufficient corps of nurses to take charge of a military hospital in North Carolina. The proposition was laid before the Sisters of St. Catherine’s Convent of Mercy, in New York City, and the invitation promptly and cheerfully accepted.
Nine Sisters were selected for the mission. They included Sisters Mary Augustine MacKenna, M. Elizabeth Callanan, M. Paul Lennon, M. Gertrude Ledwith, M. PaulaHarris, M. Veronica Dimond and M. Agatha MacCarthy. The Mother Superior and Mother Alphonsus decided to go with the party. The chaplain was Rev. Father Bruhl, a native of Hungary, sixty years of age. He had a long, flowing grey beard, and while he was not possessed of an adequate knowledge of English, he was equipped with a valuable experience of hospital work incident to warfare. This was derived from long and laborious service in the French army during the war which resulted in the taking of Algiers.
The Sisters bade adieu to their convent friends on the 15th of July, and boarded the Government boat Catawaba, which was to take them to the scene of their future labors at Beaufort, N. C. The Sisters were under the care of General Foster, who showed them every consideration.
It happened that 500 horses, destined for cavalry service, were to be passengers on the vessel, and as the tedious and somewhat distressing process of getting them into the hold only commenced after the Sisters boarded the boat the Catawaba could not leave the dock until the afternoon of July 16.
A non-Catholic officer writing from Beaufort at this time says:
“The Hammond General Hospital, at Beaufort, N. C., is eligibly located on the bay, the tide rising and falling entirely around the main building. It is under the care of the Sisters of Mercy, whose earnest devotedness to the noble task they have assumed is manifested in the cleanly condition of the place and the comfort and contentment displayed by all the patients. One kitchen, a perfect ‘bijou’ of a kitchen, is devoted to the use of the Sisters, where they prepare every kind of delicacy which thecondition of the sick require, in such a manner as those good Sisters only can prepare such things. The prejudice which exists in some illiberal-minded persons toward Catholics would be very speedily and effectually dispelled could they witness, as we have, these worthy ladies modestly but earnestly pursuing their vocation among the sick and wounded, with no hope of reward until He, whose divine example they imitate, shall say: ‘I was weary and ye ministered unto me.’ Long may Sister Mary Madeline, the Superior, and her amiable Sisters be spared to pursue their work of faith and love among us. Our soldiers feel truly grateful to Mrs. Foster, the accomplished wife of our Major General, for her consideration in bringing the Sisters here.”
SISTERS OF SATTERLEE HOSPITAL.
SISTERS OF SATTERLEE HOSPITAL.
The structure which was known as the “hospital” is thus admirably described by Mother Mary Carroll: “It was a large building that had formerly been a summer hotel. It was so near the shore that at high tide the waves rolled in and out under the timber props on which it was erected. It was a frame building, containing 500 rooms. The Sisters arrived in the midst of a heavy rain storm. As they passed from the wharf to the building, in single file, all dressed in black, the patients, looking out of the windows, took them for nine lone widows, seeking the dead bodies of their husbands!
“The place contained no furniture except a few miserable bedsteads, and was in a most desolate condition. There was only one broom and very few utensils. The broom, in possession of Chloe, a saucy little negress, was seldom available. Along the shore were wrecks of pianos, tables, chairs, glass, etc. There were no candles or lamps, and every one was compelled to retire before night.”
Truly, a forsaken habitation for women, the most of whom had been brought up in homes of comfort and refinement. The house was extremely dirty, and the Sisters got very little rest the first night. The next day a transformation took place. The new-comers, with what assistance they could obtain from the natives, began the work of housecleaning. “Bob” Sproul, a young negro, who was presented with a red shirt, was installed as water carrier. He was so delighted with the conspicuous but useful garment that he wore it outside of his Sunday coat and proclaimed himself “the best-dressed man in North Carolina.”
The first dinner of the Sisters was a “sumptuous repast” of pork and beans and mouldy bread, to which was added coffee sweetened with molasses. Eight rooms were assigned to the nurses. These rooms were located on the second story, and opened out on a piazza overlooking the sound. In spite of the great consideration shown the Sisters, they were compelled to undergo many privations. Two of the Sisters, whose names are not recorded, died from the effects of these hardships, and several were dangerously ill.
Nearly all the patients differed from the Sisters in religious belief, and their coming caused several humorous as well as pathetic incidents. Many of the soldiers had never met “a real, live” Sister before. Their minds had been installed with false notions, and it was some days before they appreciated the Sisters in their real character and at their true worth. After the work in the locality was finished, the steward of the hospital confessed that he often sat up until 1 o’clock in the morning watching the Sisters, fully expecting them to poison the patients, or dosome other terrible thing, they being “confessed emissaries of the Pope.”
The dress of the Sisters scared some of the others. “Great heavens!” shrieked one patient to the nurse that bent over him, “are you a man or a woman? But your hand is a woman’s hand; its touch is soft, and your voice is gentle. What are you?”
“Only a poor servant of the Great Master, come from afar to serve you,” said the Sister.
“Sister,” moaned another, “I’m dying. I want to be what you are; help me.”
“What the Sister believes, I believe,” cried another, who had probably never known any religion. “Sister, tell me what to answer when the priest comes to baptize me.”
When the patients finally recovered sufficiently to leave the hospital they would offer little keepsakes to the Sisters—a button, a shred of blue or gray, a pebble—with a fervent “God bless you, Sister. I’ll never forget you. Pray for me.”
The Sisters became part of the patients’ lives. They did more than nurse them. They cheered them in their hours of despondency, and wrote letters for them to the anxious ones at home. Some of the Sisters, by reason of ill health, were compelled to return to New York. Their places were promptly filled with recruits from the Mother House.
The perfect discipline among the Sisters, the spirit of humility and self-sacrifice that prevailed generally, was exhibited when the Mother Superior in charge was succeeded by Mother M. Augustine McKenna. Mother Augustine was one of the women who had previously prepared food for the soldiers. The patients and others weresurprised to learn, after the change, that she was not only a person of great executive ability, but that she was also a woman of the utmost refinement, and one of the most intellectual members of the Sisterhood.
In October, 1862, it was found that Beaufort was too much exposed for the patients, and they were removed to Newberne. The residence of Governor Stanley was placed at the disposal of the Sisters. It was transformed into a handsome convent, the parlor being used as a chapel. After the raids at Goldsboro all of the wards were crowded with sick and wounded. Americans, Germans, Irish and Creoles, all came in the same ambulances, with their clothing matted to the skin from ghastly wounds. They were all treated alike by the nurses, who were working in the cause of humanity.
Some time after the war Jefferson Davis, ex-President of the late Confederacy, addressing a number of the Sisters, said: “Will you allow me, ladies, to speak a moment with you? I am proud to see you once more. I can never forget your kindness to the sick and wounded in our darkest days, and I know not how to testify my gratitude and respect for every member of your noble order.”
Mr. Davis met Mother Mary Teresa Austen Carroll in 1887, and he reiterated his expressions of thankfulness toward the sisters who had performed what he called a great work. Many other dignitaries and soldiers on both the Union and Confederate sides testified to the good services rendered by the Sisters of Mercy. Their labors, however, did not end with the war, for after that cruel period they busied themselves in establishing homes for widows and asylums for the orphans.
The Sisters of Mercy also worked with unremittingzeal during the war at Mississippi Springs, Oxford, Jackson and Shelby Springs. The Southern Sisters, after devoting months to the service of the sick and wounded soldiers in these localities, returned home to Vicksburg only to find that General Slocum had confiscated their convent for a headquarters. Father Michael O’Connor, S. J., formerly Bishop of Pittsburg, was a personal friend of Secretary of the War Stanton, and he at once interested himself in the cause of the Sisters. After a brief correspondence their property was restored to them.
In February, 1862, the Mayor of Cincinnati applied to the Archbishop of the same city for a sufficient number of Sisters to nurse the sick and wounded soldiers of the Ohio regiments. The application was sent to Mother Teresa, who not only complied with it, but headed the delegation of Sisters that went to the front. Grant and Johnson had met at Shiloh and the battle of Pittsburg Landing was the result. The Sisters went down the river on the Superior, preparing bandages and other hospital necessaries on the way.
There was plenty of work to do when they landed, and it was entered upon with zeal. A number of secular ladies also arrived upon the scene and insisted upon aiding in the work. The Sisters cheerfully accepted their assistance. In a few days small-pox broke out among the patients and the secular ladies suddenly remembered that they had important engagements elsewhere. They deserted the temporary hospitals with more haste than dignity, leaving the Sisters in undisputed possession. Mother Teresa was especially devoted during the small-pox epidemic, joining the other Sisters in personally dressing thewounds of the patients suffering from this loathsome disease.
The Sisters of Mercy also worked zealously in St. Louis. They visited almost daily the hospitals on the Fair Grounds in that city, where an average of from 1000 to 2000 sick and wounded men were being cared for. Many other visitations were made to private hospitals and private dwellings, where the necessities of the occasion happened to place the disabled soldiers. Particular attention was paid to the patients in the McDowell College, used as a hospital for sick prisoners of war. The Sisters sent large hampers to this institution filled with clothing and with delicacies in the way of food and drink.
Some of the poor sufferers were stone-blind, but as soon as they discovered that the Sisters of Mercy were among them they would stretch out their hands, crying, “Welcome, Sisters. If you had never given us anything we would still rejoice to have you come amongst us with your consoling words.”
Three of the prisoners of war in the McDowell Hospital were condemned to be shot as a measure of “retaliation”—one of the cruel customs of the war. The sentence of death had been passed with all due military solemnity, and the carrying out thereof was inevitable. Knowing this to be the case the Sisters visited the condemned men in their cells and urged them to make suitable preparations for death. The unfortunate men received the Sisters with cordiality, but they were furious at the decree which condemned them to death, and absolutely refused to consider any suggestions which would cause them to forgive their enemies. While the Sisters were pleading with the men an armed guard stood at the door and twoother sentinels paced up and down the corridor with a regularity and grimness that filled the scene with awe.
Finally perseverance conquered. The doomed men relented, and a clergyman accompanied them to the scaffold. They were blindfolded when making fervent acts of contrition, and while engaged in this pious devotion were launched into eternity.
One of the duties that devolved upon the Sisters during the war, as well as thereafter, was the care of the widows and orphans of the soldiers. There was one pathetic case in the McDowell Institution. It concerned two little girls, daughters of Southern prisoners. Their mother and married sister had died in the prison, and their father was among the missing. The little ones were seriously ill when they were brought to the attention of the Sisters. They were in such a sad plight that their clothes had to be changed in the yard, and the cast-off garments buried. Baptism was administered to them, and their physical needs given immediate attention. The younger child, about 8 years of age, died a few days later. The other recovered and was instructed in the ways necessary for a life of virtue and usefulness. At the close of the war she was claimed by her father. He had searched the city in a vain endeavor to find his offspring, and when he had all but abandoned hope located her in the “House of Mercy,” conducted by the Sisters. On being given positive pledges that the child would be properly cared for the Sisters restored her to the anxious father.
Mary Mulholland, who became known as Mother Francis of the Sisters of Mercy, did wonderfully effective work during the war. She was born in Armagh, Ireland, in 1808, but came to this country when a mere child.Her one desire was to become a member of one of those devoted Sisterhoods that give their lives to the service of the Creator. In spite of the opposition of her parents this object was finally achieved. The opportunity came when Bishop Quarter engaged a colony of Sisters of Mercy for Chicago in 1843. The journey to the Western city was by stage and boat. A terrific storm arose while the party was crossing Lake Michigan. A high wave swept over the deck of the vessel, carrying men, women and children into the angry waters.
Mary Mulholland was one of those that went overboard, and when a brave man—a Mr. Ogden, who afterwards became the first Mayor of Chicago—attempted to save her she cried: “Leave me to my fate; save the others.” He did save others, but he saved her, too, for a future of usefulness and good works. The future Mother of the Order received the white veil from the Bishop in April, 1847, and was professed by dispensation December 28, 1848. Her business accomplishments made her a valuable member of the community.
Speaking of the experience of this good woman in the Civil War Mother Carroll says16: When the Civil War broke out Mother Frances organized among the Sisters a band of volunteer nurses to minister to the sick and wounded on Southern battlefields. She accompanied them to Missouri, and set them to work. In Chicago she looked after the soldiers, whether sick or prisoners. A Sister who shared with her the fatigues of these great works writes: “Many soldiers crying out in agony on their hard beds blessed her as she passed her holy hands over their burning brows. The absent fathersand mothers for whom they called could not come, but this gentle, humble, self-sacrificing soul supplied their places. A Southern lad of 18 cried like a child when she laid her hand on his clammy brow. ‘Oh, God,’ he murmured, ‘I thought you were my mother.’ She prepared him for death, and he died in her arms.
Mother Francis was a power in the prisons and hospitals when the most influential gentlemen and committees were refused admission. There were so many sympathizers with Confederates in Chicago that a general uprising between Federals and Secessionists was often feared. Whenever or wherever the Sisters of Mercy appeared the sick and wounded soldiers, whether in blue or gray uniform, were abundantly supplied with everything necessary for their comfort. Once when Secretary Stanton refused to supply more rations during the current month the case was laid before the President, who wrote:
“To all whom it may concern:—On application of the Sisters of Mercy in Chicago of the Military Hospital in Washington furnish such provisions as they desire to purchase and charge the same to the War Department.ABRAHAM LINCOLN.”
“To all whom it may concern:—On application of the Sisters of Mercy in Chicago of the Military Hospital in Washington furnish such provisions as they desire to purchase and charge the same to the War Department.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN.”
After the war Mother Frances continued her useful work in many convents of her order, dying peacefully on December 8, 1888.17
Solicitude of the Sisters for the patients under their care. Friendships formed that were only parted by death. Interesting reminiscences of Mother M. Augustine MacKenna concerning the Government Hospital at Beaufort, N. C. A victim of camp fever and how he was relieved by the nurse.
There were many incidents of interest in the hospitals at Beaufort and Newberne, N. C., told by Mother M. Augustine MacKenna to her niece, Sister Dolores, and other members of the community of the Sisters of Mercy. Some of these were incorporated in a neat little book called the “Milestone,” issued last year to commemorate the golden jubilee or 50th anniversary of the Sisters of Mercy in New York City. The principal points are embodied in the paragraphs that follow.18
Beaufort is a village on a little peninsula that runs out into Bogue Sound. It is directly opposite to Fort Macon, which is built on an island in these shallow waters.Before the war Beaufort was a place of fashionable resort for sea bathing, and its principal hotel, though a frame building, contained five hundred rooms and was elaborately furnished; but having been sacked in the spring of 1862 everything of value was destroyed. It was therefore in a sadly denuded condition when it was utilized as a hospital and made the temporary resting place of two hundred disabled men, just two months previous to the coming of the Sisters.
Only the common army rations had been provided for these sufferers, and their situation was painful in the extreme. A complete dearth of utensils in every department marked the early management of the hospital. There was no modern means of washing clothes, it had to be done with a few small, old-fashioned tubs, and the untrained hands of some escaped field slaves.
No artificial light of any kind, not even a candle, could be procured at that time in Beaufort, and there was no proper food or refreshing drink for the patients. The Sisters sent an urgent requisition to the United States Sanitary Commission, and very soon the hospital was amply provided with all necessaries and many comforts in the line of dressing-gowns, towels, sponges, castile soap, “Aunt Klyne’s cologne,” etc.
Even in the midst of such suffering many amusing incidents frequently occurred, as for instance when a Sister undertook the task of getting the kitchen cleaned. This establishment had been until now under the control of a certain functionary called the kitchen steward. He was a native of Maine, of short, stout build; never wore shoes (on account of the heat, he said), but always wore an immense straw hat in the house and out of it,and constantly sat in a wheelbarrow at the kitchen door with a huge bunch of keys dangling from the belt of his ticking apron. He was a woodcutter in his native forests before he was drafted into the army; he could neither read nor write, and his name was Kit Condon. The negroes, and indeed his fellow-soldiers, called him “Mr. Kit!” It took a great amount of persuasion to induce “Mr. Kit” to relinquish his keys, the token of his dignified office, to the “North lady,” as the Sister in charge was called, and he eyed the cleaning process from his wheelbarrow with evident disapproval.
“Mr. Trip,” a soldier six feet high, was another important personage in the culinary department, and this with “Edward, the baker,” who made his “cookies,” buns, pies, etc., on the marble top of a ruined billiard table, completed the kitchen force.
The renovating that kitchen received was marvelous! Piles of greasy sand were swept into the ocean through a never-to-be-forgotten hole in the very midst of the kitchen floor. The house being built on “piles” or timber supports, this portion of it was directly above the water. After the debris of a meal had been thrown them through this opening the fishes could be seen by hundreds when the tide was in, and nothing could surpass their voracity, unless indeed it was their quarrelsomeness, for they seemed bent on annihilating one another.
One day much excitement was created by the arrival of an escaped slave. A tall young girl was seen running breathlessly across the sort of bridge or causeway that connected the hospital premises with the village of Beaufort. She was quickly followed by an elderly Southerner,and he was very close to her when she got to the end of her perilous race.
The soldiers cheered her wildly, and called to her that she was safe with them, while they pointed their bayonets at her pursuer and swore in no measured terms that they would pitch him into the sea if he laid a finger on the girl.
However, some of the officers took up the case and brought both man and girl into the General’s office, in order to come to an understanding. The man cried out, “She is my gal; she is my gal; she was born upon my place; she is mine.” But the General would not listen to this claim, and told the man the girl was free from the moment she claimed the protection of the army.
She was all trembling and exhausted with fear, fatigue and excitement, and during the remainder of that day she had to be encouraged and consoled and petted like a baby, although she was 17. Her name was Ellen, and she had a sweeter face and softer manners than are generally found among colored persons.
Towards the end of October the tides became very high, and the water was driven under and around the hospital with greater impetuosity by the wind. On one occasion the water was profane enough to invade the “Hall” where a good old Unitarian minister held forth to his sparse congregation, and the “meeting” had to be discontinued. The next tide was still more daring, for it swept clear through the kitchen and dining room, leaving in both a debris of dead crabs and little fish, not to mention seaweed of every variety. All this rendered the place very uninhabitable, and General Foster, with his usual thoughtfulness, authorized the Sisters to move toNewberne and to take possession of the Stanley House, the officers and doctors receiving orders at the same time to remove the patients thither as soon as possible.
The two Sisters sent to inspect the prospects in Newberne had a delightful sail in an open boat through the sound, past Fort Macon and past the sea-green islands on to Moorhead City, which “city” consisted of twelve houses and a few “shanties.” On arriving at Newberne the Sisters were agreeably surprised at the aspect of the “Stanley” House, so-called because it had originally been the home of Governor Stanley, of North Carolina.
A handsome lawn or courtyard lay in front of the house. Beautiful large cedars grew within this enclosure, and as their berries were now ripening flocks of mockingbirds were rejoicing in their branches and filling the air with their own inimitable harmony. In a corner stood a grand old “Pride of India,” the first tree of the kind the Sisters had ever seen; climbing roses clustered around the windows, and numbers of little songsters made their abode in the foliage.
The house was fine and in perfect repair, having been used as General Burnside’s headquarters. It had not been ransacked or rifled as most of the other houses had been. Of the two large handsome parlors one was set aside for a chapel, and a beautiful one it became soon afterwards.
In the last week of October the hospital at Beaufort was vacated, and the sick soldiers were much more comfortably settled in their winter quarters. The “hospital” was distinct from the “Stanley residence” and consisted of three houses and several newly-erected pavilions; a nice shady path and a large garden separated these from the Sisters’ domicile.
AN ARMY EXPRESS OFFICE.
AN ARMY EXPRESS OFFICE.
In December, 1862, General Foster, with a large detachment of the men under his charge made an attack on the town of Goldsborough, North Carolina, and almost ruined it. An immense number of soldiers were wounded, and, as the doctors’ stores had not arrived, the surgeons had no old linen or lint with which to bind up the wounds of the poor sufferers. For this reason they presented a most fearful spectacle. Some had their heads and faces wrapped in coarse cloth, and were so besmeared with blood that the sight was a painful one.
Others, indeed the greater number, had either one or both feet in a terrible condition, the feet having been pierced with balls. There were broken legs, broken arms and one unhappy victim had both hands shot off, and the condition of these agonizing wounds was something terrible.
The first task of the Sisters was to feed the wretched sufferers, who had had but little care bestowed upon them. After that the difficult and distressing duty of cleansing their wounds was undertaken and was left entirely to the Sisters.
One very large man named Sherman, an Englishman, had his mouth and chin so shattered that the doctors decided that his mouth had better not be touched, as he must certainly die. However, the Sisters with soft sponges and warm water began to loosen the horrible rags with which the poor man’s face and head were covered. He, poor fellow, had heard enough of the doctor’s opinion to render him hopeless, and when he found that efforts were being made to relieve him he tried to evince his gratitude by signs. When the wraps were removed blood began to flow from his mouth, and a Sister tookout with her finger several loosened teeth, and thus greatly facilitated his breathing. The utmost possible care was taken of this patient, and the satisfaction of seeing him perfectly restored to health, though disfigured in a dreadful manner, was in itself a great reward. The dumb gratitude he displayed when he came to say “good-bye” as he was leaving the hospital was very pathetic.
Another interesting case was that of David Brant, a ruddy-faced lad about 18 years of age. He was suffering in some way that could not at first be discovered. It was noticed that he kept moving his feet in a distressing sort of way. These members were uncovered, when, to the surprise of the Sister attending him, it was found that he had still his boots on and that they seemed ready to burst. Some of the soldiers at hand came with knives and cut them off, piece by piece, with great difficulty, and then, alas! it was found that veins of the boy’s legs had burst open, and his boots were filled with clotted blood. The doctors were sent for, and had great trouble in stanching the blood, and in tying up the arteries. It need hardly be added that the poor lad died the next day in great agony. He was the victim of a forced march in which the men were made to run for several miles without stopping. The Sisters wrote to his father the least painful account possible of the poor son’s death, and received a most grateful reply, the bereaved gentleman adding that but for them he would never have known the real truth of the sad event.
“Hiram” was a victim of camp-fever; unfortunately for him he had been kept in camp too long after he took sick, and the fly-blister had been applied to the back ofhis neck. Some of his comrades took it off, but applied no dressing of any kind, so that the coarse blue flannel collar of his shirt grew into the raw sore, and his hair also festered into it. It was his cries that first attracted the attention of a Sister, for he was brought into the hospital in this condition.
She found a soldier trying to relieve him by applying a coarse wet towel in cold water to his neck, and this caused the screams of the sufferer. A soft sponge, warm water and castile soap came into requisition here, and when the hair was cut so as to free it from the sore, and the gathers of the shirt loosened from the collar, the poor boy began to feel a little relief. As he lay with his face buried in the pillow he did not see who was attending him.
“Who is doing that?”
“A Sister of Mercy,” was the reply.
“No,” said he, “no one but my mother could do it.”
By degrees the sore was nicely dressed with soft old linen and cold water—the only dressing allowed by the doctors—and then Hiram stole a glance at his new friend and nurse.
“What are you, at all?” was the first question.
The Sister tried to make him understand what a Sister of Mercy does, or tries to do for those who suffer, and he sank back in his pillow, saying,
“I don’t care what you are; you are a mother to me.”
He was only 16, full of bright intelligence and wit, but after suffering dreadfully for six weeks from the fatal fever he died in the arms of his father, who had been apprised by the Sisters of poor Hiram’s condition, and had come from Boston to remain with him.
Many such sad incidents might be related, but no doubt such are the records of every hospital. The Sisters continued their services until May, 1863, when General Foster, under whose protection they had been able to effect much good, was ordered to Tallahassee, Florida, where there was no need of a military hospital. The necessity for the Sisters was now not so great in North Carolina—most of the poor men having been released from their sufferings, many by death and others by recovery—so preparations were commenced for returning to New York.
The Sisters felt very much for the poor negro girls who had attached themselves to them so affectionately, and who in their simple ignorance thought that the “North ladies” could do anything and everything. Some very amusing incidents took place in connection with our “contrabands.” One night a Sister, having forgotten something in the kitchen, went for it at a later hour than usual. All the negro girls and women who worked for the hospital—scrubbing, washing, ironing, etc.—slept in the rooms over the kitchen; and the Sister, hearing peals of laughter, did not think it beneath her dignity to act the part of a listener under these “colored” circumstances.
She therefore went noiselessly up the stairs, and, to her great amusement, heard herself perfectly imitated by one of the girls. This Sister had for many months been giving the general instructions to the women and girls; now she heard the very tones of her voice and the manner of her delivery most perfectly reproduced; another genius undertook to represent another Sister, and so on until every Sister was portrayed, to the great delight of the company, the members of which never dreamed of the amused listener on the kitchen stairs.
The solicitude of the Sisters for the welfare of their patients frequently caused warm friendships that continued long after the close of the war. Sister Mary Gertrude and Mother Mary Augustine were two of the Sisters attached to the hospitals in Beaufort and Newberne. One of those cases that came under their care was that of Charles Edward Hickling, of the Forty-fifth Regiment, Massachusetts Volunteers. The bravery and manliness of this young soldier won the hearts of all.
Illness contracted in the service finally caused his death in 1867. He bore all his suffering with great fortitude. During his illness the Sisters visited him at his home, and after his death sent consoling letters to the bereaved family.
These letters show the tender sympathy and generous interest of the Sisters towards the soldiers to such an extent that the writer feels justified in giving brief extracts from what were intended to be personal missives.
Sister Mary Gertrude, under date of January 3, 1868, wrote to the parents: “How can I express to you in adequate terms the very great grief and affectionate sympathy I feel toward you in your great affliction. May God be your comfort and your refuge in this trying hour, for in sufferings such as these no creature can give you consolation. We must look higher. He who sent the cross can alone give the power to sustain its weight. Do not give way to despondency, my very dear friends. The dear boy has only gone before you for a time—we are all hastening towards our turn. In a very little time we, too, shall have passed the eternal gates, there to meet all we have loved and lost, and with them praise the tender mercy of the good God to us whilst inour exile. * * * I have been, and am still with you, in thought and spirit, going through the least detail of all the trying circumstances of this sad bereavement.”
Mother Augustine, who was the Superior of the Sisters at the Newberne Hospital, writing to a devoted friend—Miss Susan Messinger—said on January 4, 1868:
“So our brave soldier boy is gone, his long and trying march has brought him to the goal, and in his young enthusiasm he has gone to join the numerous band of those who were his companions on the field and in the fight, in danger and in privations, exposure and fatigue, but not in the long years of patient and heroic endurance which requires more of a martyr’s fortitude than a soldier’s courage. Dear Charles! He is the last of our soldier boys—the last link that bound us to the Boston Regiment, the brave Massachusetts Volunteers, whose heroism we shall never forget. * * * Eternity! Dear Charles knows its wonders now. Let us pray that we may so live, so use our powers here that our eternity may be with those who have fought their way through the trials and sorrows of life to its unending peace.”
The Sisters of Mercy attend the sick and wounded in the “Irish Brigade,” the command organized by Colonel Mulligan, whose life was sacrificed in the Union cause. Sisters leave Chicago for Lexington, Mo. One brave, religious Sister who wanted to finish her office before being shot. General Fremont and his staff call upon the Sisters. Taking charge of the hospital department of the steamship Express.