No tributes that have been paid to the work of the Catholic Sisterhoods during the war have been more cordial or more emphatic than those coming from non-Catholic sources. It is a significant fact that those most prejudiced against the Sisters have been persons who knew the least about them, while the warmest friends of the dark-robed messengers of charity and peace have been persons who came in contact with them and their labors for humanity.
Mary A. Livermore, whose personal services during the war were by no means inconsiderable, is one non-Catholic writer who does not hesitate to give the Catholic Sister full credit for what she did. Miss Livermore says the Mound City Hospital, in charge of the Sisters of the HolyCross, was considered the best military hospital in the United States. She writes:25
“There was one general hospital in Cairo, called by the people ‘the Brick Hospital.’ Here the Sisters of the Holy Cross were employed as nurses, one or more to each ward. Here were order, cleanliness and good nursing. The food was cooked in a kitchen outside of the hospital. Surgeons were detailed to every ward and visited their patients twice a day, and oftener if necessary. The apothecaries’ room was supplied with an ample store of medicines and surgical appliances, and the store-rooms possessed an abundance of clothing and delicacies for the sick.”
The work done at Mound City is thus graphically set forth: “Except in Mound City everything was in a chaotic condition compared with the complete arrangement afterwards. The hospital at Mound City occupied a block of brick stores, built before the war to accommodate the prospective commerce of the war. They had not been occupied, and as the blockade of the Mississippi rendered it uncertain when they would be needed for their legitimate use, they were turned over to the medical department for hospital use. At the time of my visit the Mound City hospital was considered the best military hospital in the United States. This was due to the administrative talent of Dr. E. S. Franklin, of Dubuque, Ia., who, despite poverty of means and material, transformed the rough block of stores into a superb hospital, accommodating 1000 patients. Fifteen hundred had been crowded in it by dint of close packing.
“The most thorough system was maintained in everydepartment. There was an exact time and place for everything. Every person was assigned to a particular work and held responsible for its performance. If anyone proved a shirk, incompetent or insubordinate, he was sent off in the next boat. A Shaker-like cleanliness and sweetness of atmosphere pervaded the various wards; the sheets and pillows were of immaculate whiteness and the patients who were convalescent were cheerful and contented. The Sisters of the Holy Cross were employed as nurses, and by their skill, quietness, gentleness and tenderness were invaluable in the sick wards. Every patient gave hearty testimony to the skill and kindness of the Sisters.
“Mother Angela was the Superior of the Sisters—a gifted lady of rare cultivation and executive ability with winning sweetness of manner. She was a member of the Ewing family and a cousin of Mr. and Mrs. General Sherman. The Sisters had nearly broken up their famous schools at South Bend to answer the demand for nurses. If I had ever felt prejudiced against these Sisters as nurses, my experience with them during the war would have dissipated it entirely. The world has known no nobler and more heroic women than those found in the ranks of the Catholic Sisterhoods.”
Captain “Jack” Crawford, who became famous as a scout in the Union army, in the course of a lecture delivered after the war speaks of the Sisters as follows:
“On all God’s green and beautiful earth there are no purer, no nobler, no more kind-hearted and self-sacrificing women than those who wear the sombre garb of Catholic Sisters. During the war I had many opportunities for observing their noble and heroic work, not only in the campand hospital, but on the death-swept field of battle. Right in the fiery front of dreadful war, where bullets hissed in maddening glee, and shot and shell flew madly by with demoniac shrieks, where dead and mangled forms lay with pale, blood-flecked faces, yet wear the scowl of battle, I have seen the black-robed Sisters moving over the field, their solicitous faces wet with the tears of sympathy, administering to the wants of the wounded and whispering words of comfort into the ears soon to be deafened by the cold, implacable hand of death. Now kneeling on the blood-bespattered sod to moisten with water the bloodless lips on which the icy kiss of the death angel has left its pale imprint; now breathing words of hope of an immortality beyond the grave into the ear of some mangled hero, whose last shots in our glorious cause had been fired but a moment before; now holding the crucifix to receive the last kiss from somebody’s darling boy, from whose breast the life blood was splashing and who had offered his life as a willing sacrifice on the altar of his country; now with tender touch and tear-dimmed eye binding gaping wounds, from which most women must have shrunk in horror; now scraping together a pillow of forest leaves, upon which some pain-racked head might rest until the spirit took its flight to other realms—brave, fearless of danger, trusting implicitly in the Master whose overshadowing eye was noting their every movement; standing as shielding, prayerful angels between the dying soldiers and the horrors of death. Their only recompense the sweet, soul-soothing consciousness that they were doing their duty; their only hope of reward that peace and eternal happiness which awaited them beyond the star-emblazoned battlements above. Oh! my friends, it was a noble work.
“How many a veteran of the war, who wore the Blue or the Gray, can yet recall the soothing touch of a Sister’s hand as he lay upon the pain-tossed couch of a hospital! Can we ever forget their sympathetic-eyes, their low, soft-spoken words of encouragement and cheer when the result of the struggle between life and death yet hung in the balance? Oh! how often have I followed the form of that good Sister Valencia with my sunken eyes as she moved away from my cot to the cot of another sufferer and have breathed from the most sacred depths of my faintly-beating heart the fervent prayer: ‘God bless her! God bless her!’
“My friends, I am not a Catholic, but I stand ready at any and all times to defend these noble women, even with my life, for I owe that life to them.”
Miss Susan D. Messinger, of Roxbury, Mass., writes the following eloquent letter to the author:
“It is with real pleasure I pay my tribute to that noble band of Sisters of Mercy, who did such a Christian work of love and helpfulness for our suffering soldier boys in New Berne, N. C. My brother, Captain (afterwards Colonel) Messinger, was on the staff of Major General John G. Foster, Eighteenth Army Corps, stationed at New Berne, N. C. After the taking of New Berne my brother was made Provost Marshal and given quarters near the general at the request of Mrs. Foster, my sister. Mrs. Messinger and I were sent for to stay a few weeks, although in no official capacity. No woman could be in the army without finding much she could do to relieve and comfort, and especially through the home our little quarters became to all, from major generals to privates. We could not go home. We stayed until summer. I write all this personal matter toshow how I was thrown into the companionship of these Catholic Sisters. Although my brother and myself were Unitarians we became close, congenial friends with these brave women, who had to seek constantly advice and help from my brother on account of his position as Provost Marshal.
“General Foster was a Catholic and brought to New Berne six Sisters from the Convent of Mercy, in New York, to take charge of a hospital in New Berne for special cases. He took for their convent a house which had been General Burnsides’ headquarters, and which also, during the war of the Revolution, had been occupied by Washington, his room and writing table sacredly preserved. This house communicated by a plank walk with another house, or houses, used as hospitals, and only over that plank walk did those devoted women ever take any exercise or recreation. They literally gave themselves as nurses to the poor, wounded, maimed and sick soldiers brought to them day after day. And most beautifully did they fulfill the charge. Many a soldier will never forget their tender, unselfish care and devotion. I was witness myself to much of it, as I was privileged to go from ward to ward. Many a dying man blessed them as angels of mercy, almost looking upon them as sent from the other world.
“One dear young fellow, who was almost reverenced by doctors and nurses for his patience and fortitude (young George Brooks, brother to the late Bishop Philipps Brooks), looked up into the sweet face of Mother Augustine, as she bent over to minister or to soothe the dear boy, with: ‘Mother, thank you, Mother,’ and with such an ineffable smile of peace. We could never tell if in his delirium he thought it was his own mother, but the peace on the boy’sface showed what his nurse had been to him. His sickness was short and death came just before the father reached New Berne.
FARRAGUT IN THE RIGGING.
FARRAGUT IN THE RIGGING.
“One dear young friend of mine, Sergeant Charles Hinkling, was sick under their care many weeks; finally brought home to linger and die; but he and his family were most deeply grateful to the kind Sisters for the tender care bestowed upon him in their hospital, especially by Sister Gertrude.
“Sister Mary Gertrude is now the Mother Superior of an institution in California, after a life of hard work among the poor and suffering. I think she is perhaps the only one living of those dear women I knew in New Berne.
“It was through the winter of 1862-63 that the Sisters were in New Berne. The next year the headquarters were removed to Fortress Monroe and the Sisters returned to New York.
“Through these thirty years or more—my brother and many, many more who could have borne evidence to the faithful work of the Sisters of Mercy in New Berne—have answered the roll call to the Home above. But those days stand out in my memory as clearly as if yesterday, with all the pain, anxiety, hope, fear and faith, and no scenes are more real to me than those hours with those devoted women who were helping God’s children so wisely, so gently, with no thought of reward or glory! God bless their memories to us all.”
General David McMurtrie Gregg ranks as one of the most distinguished cavalry officers that served in the Union Army. No man on either side had a more brilliant record for discretion in camp and bravery in battle. Hegraduated at West Point, and after meritorious service in the regular army in New Mexico, California, Oregon and Washington Territory he became colonel of the Eighth Pennsylvania Volunteer Cavalry. He served with his regiment during the entire Peninsular campaign of 1862, and in November of that year he became brigadier general of volunteers. He was placed in command of a division of cavalry on the battlefield of Fredericksburg and served as its commander in the Stoneman’s raid, in the campaigns of Gettysburg, Mine Run, the Wilderness and in front of Petersburg. He commanded the cavalry of the Army of the Potomac from August, 1864, until his resignation from the army, in February, 1865. He was breveted major general United States volunteers, August 1, 1864. General Gregg has occupied many positions of distinction in civil life.
The writer of this volume recently communicated with General Gregg regarding his experiences with the Catholic Sisterhoods in the war, and received the following very interesting reply:
“My Dear Sir: I am in receipt of your letter of the 8th instant, inclosing an article taking from a newspaper published in 1866, and in which the name ‘General Gregg’ is mentioned. The person referred to was my cousin, General John I. Gregg, who commanded one of my brigades.“I do not recall that at any time in the field I was brought in contact with representatives of any of the Catholic Sisterhoods, yet the mere mention of the matter makes me reminiscent, and whilst my experience with a representative of a Sisterhood was purely personal, it was so pleasant and profitable to me that I cannot refrain from mentioning it. In the summer of 1861 I was made a captain in the Sixth Regular Cavalry, and was ordered Eastfrom Oregon, where for several years I had been serving as a lieutenant in the First Dragoons. In crossing the Isthmus of Panama I contracted the low fever of that region.“In September I joined the Sixth at Bladensburg, near Washington, and after a short time I was prostrated by this fever. Just at this time the regiment was ordered away, and I was left in the camp seriously ill. Stretched on the bottom of an ambulance I was hauled over a rough road to Washington and placed in a bed in the old Kirkwood House in a state of delirium. A few hours after Major Ingalls, who subsequently became Quarter Master General, a warm personal friend, heard of my condition, and with another friend came to the hotel with a carriage, and I was taken to the E Street Infirmary, which was in charge of a surgeon of the regular army. At the entrance of the infirmary stood the doctor, and at his side an elderly Sister of Charity.“I was carried in and placed in a large room next to the surgeon’s, and was at once put into a clean, comfortable bed. The good Sister, who had some superior rank, saw that I was made comfortable, and, it is needless to say, that after what I had gone through, I felt as though I were in heaven. Then followed weeks of severe illness with typhoid fever. I had the attendance of my own man, and had many visits each day from doctors, stewards and their assistants, but the real nursing was done by another Sister of Charity, Sister Margaret.“I have never forgotten her gentleness and cheerfulness. She was simply the highest type of a Christian woman. Her good nursing continued for weeks, and I was kept alive only to go through another trying experience, for an a cold and rainy night early in November, and nearly midnight, this infirmary took fire and was entirely destroyed. How I escaped has nothing to do with this narrative, but to my exceeding regret I never again saw Sister Margaret.“But I have never forgotten her, and when in the street I meet one of the Sisterhood to which she belonged there is in my heart a feeling of respect and gratitude to those self-denying and devoted women who are spending their lives in doing good to their fellow-beings.“I have written more than I intended, but I love to talk about the good Sister Margaret, and it is not surprising that if, as now, I am inclined to write about her, I allow my pen to run away a little.“Sincerely yours,“D. McM. GREGG.“Reading, Pa., Jan. 11, 1898.”
“My Dear Sir: I am in receipt of your letter of the 8th instant, inclosing an article taking from a newspaper published in 1866, and in which the name ‘General Gregg’ is mentioned. The person referred to was my cousin, General John I. Gregg, who commanded one of my brigades.
“I do not recall that at any time in the field I was brought in contact with representatives of any of the Catholic Sisterhoods, yet the mere mention of the matter makes me reminiscent, and whilst my experience with a representative of a Sisterhood was purely personal, it was so pleasant and profitable to me that I cannot refrain from mentioning it. In the summer of 1861 I was made a captain in the Sixth Regular Cavalry, and was ordered Eastfrom Oregon, where for several years I had been serving as a lieutenant in the First Dragoons. In crossing the Isthmus of Panama I contracted the low fever of that region.
“In September I joined the Sixth at Bladensburg, near Washington, and after a short time I was prostrated by this fever. Just at this time the regiment was ordered away, and I was left in the camp seriously ill. Stretched on the bottom of an ambulance I was hauled over a rough road to Washington and placed in a bed in the old Kirkwood House in a state of delirium. A few hours after Major Ingalls, who subsequently became Quarter Master General, a warm personal friend, heard of my condition, and with another friend came to the hotel with a carriage, and I was taken to the E Street Infirmary, which was in charge of a surgeon of the regular army. At the entrance of the infirmary stood the doctor, and at his side an elderly Sister of Charity.
“I was carried in and placed in a large room next to the surgeon’s, and was at once put into a clean, comfortable bed. The good Sister, who had some superior rank, saw that I was made comfortable, and, it is needless to say, that after what I had gone through, I felt as though I were in heaven. Then followed weeks of severe illness with typhoid fever. I had the attendance of my own man, and had many visits each day from doctors, stewards and their assistants, but the real nursing was done by another Sister of Charity, Sister Margaret.
“I have never forgotten her gentleness and cheerfulness. She was simply the highest type of a Christian woman. Her good nursing continued for weeks, and I was kept alive only to go through another trying experience, for an a cold and rainy night early in November, and nearly midnight, this infirmary took fire and was entirely destroyed. How I escaped has nothing to do with this narrative, but to my exceeding regret I never again saw Sister Margaret.
“But I have never forgotten her, and when in the street I meet one of the Sisterhood to which she belonged there is in my heart a feeling of respect and gratitude to those self-denying and devoted women who are spending their lives in doing good to their fellow-beings.
“I have written more than I intended, but I love to talk about the good Sister Margaret, and it is not surprising that if, as now, I am inclined to write about her, I allow my pen to run away a little.
“Sincerely yours,“D. McM. GREGG.
“Reading, Pa., Jan. 11, 1898.”
The South Bend Tribune, shortly after the return of the Sisters of the Holy Cross to their convent homes, printed the following:
“When in September, 1861, General Lew Wallace, commanding the Federal forces in Southern Kentucky, applied to St. Mary’s for nurses, Mother Angela, with five other Sisters, hastened to the relief of the suffering soldiers at the camp in Paducah. And before the opening of the year 1862 seventy-five Sisters were sent from St. Mary’s, and her branch houses, to the military hospitals at Louisville, Paducah, Cairo, Mound City, Memphis and Washington.
“Of this number, two died from fever, caught in the discharge of their duties. When the Western flotilla of gunboats opened the Mississippi River Commodore Davis asked and obtained the services of seven Sisters of the Holy Cross to take charge of the floating hospital, in which hundreds of lives were saved. These deeds were not done for the world’s praise; they were the duties to which the lives of the Sisters of the Holy Cross are devoted, whenever suffering humanity requires their help. A memorialof those days now rests in St. Mary’s grounds, in the shape of two immense shattered cannon, captured at Island No. 10, and presented to Mother Angela by the commander of the flotilla. These cannon are destined to be moulded into a statue of ‘Our Lady of Peace,’ and will remain in St. Mary’s grounds as an historical monument of the dark days of our civil war.”
A correspondent of the (Protestant) Church Journal, writing from New Orleans in 1862, highly compliments the Sisters of Charity in that city for the amount of good they are unostentatiously doing, saying among other things:
“One misses here a church hospital. Many of our Federal officers and men are cared for when sick in the Roman Catholic institutions, the Hotel Dieu and the Charity Hospital. The Sisters attend most winningly on their patients and force them to confess on recovering that their own mothers and sisters at home could not have done better for them. On leaving the patient carries away in his hand some Roman Catholic book of prayer, or controversy, or instruction, and in his heart a grateful remembrance of the fair donor, a resolution to peruse the book, and a profound conviction that the Roman Catholic Church, with all its faults, certainly has a soul of true Christian love. Surely the time will come when all churchmen will acknowledge the angelic influence of Christian Sisterhoods in the natural connections between curing the body and renovating the soul, the imperative necessity of organizing Christian and accomplished nurses and placing them in institutions where their love and skill can do the highest possible service.”
The Charleston Mercury, during the siege of that city, said:
“There is probably no one in this city whose eyes have not followed with interest the quiet and modest figure of some Sister of Mercy as she passed upon her rounds. It is in this gentle impersonation of Christian benevolence and to her associates that our sick and wounded soldiers owe the tenderest of those ministrations which are better than medicine in their effect upon the languishing invalid. Nor is the large kindness of these ladies solely displayed in the personal cares which they bestow upon the sufferer. They give generously from their stores at the same time, and many a want is thus supplied which might otherwise have been left ungratified. Since the beginning of the siege of our city their presence has diffused its blessings in every hospital, and their unwearied attentions to the soldiers have done incalculable good.”
In the closing year of the war Rev. George W. Pepper, a Methodist clergyman, in a sermon preached by him in the Methodist Episcopal Church, White Eyes, Coshocton County, Ohio, eulogized these heroic ladies as follows:
“The war has brought out one result—it has shown that numbers of the weaker sex, though born to wealth and luxury, are ready to renounce every comfort and brave every hardship, that they may minister to the suffering, tend the wounded in their agony, and soothe the last struggles of the dying. God bless the Sisters of Charity in their heroic mission! I had almost said their heroic martyrdom! And I might have said it, for I do think that in walking those long lines of sick beds, in giving themselves to all the ghastly duties of the hospital, they are doing a harder thing than was allotted to many who mounted the scaffold or dared the stake.”
“Mack,” a correspondent of the Ohio State Journal,writing from Murfreesboro, under date of January 4, 1863, about hospital scenes, which he describes as heartrending, thus speaks of the kind offices and invaluable services of the Sisters of Charity:
“It is now a pleasure to turn from this dark and dismal description of the majority of our hospitals to an oasis—a something that is in reality bright and cheering. There is a sect called Roman Catholics—a sect that, in my younger days, I was taught to look upon as monsters, capable of any crime in the calendar of human frailties—who have hospitals in their own charge attended by Sisters of Charity. They should be called ‘angels,’ who know what true, disinterested humanity is. I have visited them, therefore I speak of what I know. Everything in and about them is clean and comfortable; scarcely a death takes place within their portals. If a soldier is dangerously sick you will see by the side of his clean and tidy cot one of these heaven-born ‘angels’ (we call them nothing else), ministering to his every want with the tender care of a mother or sister. They glide noiselessly from cot to cot cheering the despondent and speaking words of kindness to all. No one who has the heart of a man can help loving them with a holy sisterly love. There is not a soldier in Richmond but would beg, if it was possible, that when wounded or sick he should to be taken to such an hospital, and for myself, sooner than be taken to any other, I would rather die by the wayside with God’s canopy my only covering. Would to God there were more of them!”
The following account of a presentation to a Sister of Charity is from the Cleveland Herald of November 13, 1865:
“One of the most pleasant presentation affairs we rememberto have attended took place at Charity Hospital yesterday, at 11 o’clock. After Professor Weber, Dr. Scott and the students had been seated the Lady Superior was invited into the room and presented with a beautiful engraving, one of the proof-sheets copied from the painting of Constant Mayor, entitled ‘Consolation,’ by Captain Samuel Whiting. Mr. Whiting, in presenting the engraving, said:
“‘Sister Superior, some years ago, while in command of one of the New Orleans steamships, I was prostrated at that port with a severe attack of yellow fever, and though I had many friends there, had it not been for the tender care and skillful nursing of the Sisters of Charity, I have no idea that I should have survived the attack.
“‘During our late fearful and bloody war the devotion of your noble order to the cause of humanity has won the admiration of the world, and entirely obliterated the illiberal prejudices of the most bigoted opponents of your sect. Certainly, no soldier of the Crimean army will ever ignore the kind care and gentle nursing of the Sisters of Charity.’”
Each hospital throughout our land could count them by the scoreWhose deeds have doubly sanctified our long and bloody war,And many a home-returning brave will long delight to tellOf her, the gentle minister, who tended him so well.The mother calls a blessing down on her who nursed her son,And thanks of wounded heroes brave how well her work was done.True womanhood has ever prov’d self-sacrificing, brave—Last at the dear Redeemer’s Cross and earliest at His grave.
Each hospital throughout our land could count them by the scoreWhose deeds have doubly sanctified our long and bloody war,And many a home-returning brave will long delight to tellOf her, the gentle minister, who tended him so well.
The mother calls a blessing down on her who nursed her son,And thanks of wounded heroes brave how well her work was done.True womanhood has ever prov’d self-sacrificing, brave—Last at the dear Redeemer’s Cross and earliest at His grave.
“The citizens of Cleveland may well be congratulated on the possession of this noble Institution. The rare skill of its eminent and accomplished surgeons, the soundteaching of its learned pathologist, combined with the tender nursing of your good and benevolent Sisterhood, will relieve many of the ills that flesh is heir to, and restore to many a grateful sufferer the God-given priceless boon of health.
“As a small token of grateful recollections to my nurses at New Orleans, I beg to present to the Sisters of Charity Hospital this engraving, one of the proof-sheets, copied from the beautiful painting of Constant Mayer, entitled ‘Consolation,’ and with it the following poem, which I take pleasure in writing for them, descriptive of the scene so admirably portrayed by the accomplished artist:
A Union soldier in his tent,Weak, wounded and despairing lay;The hectic flushes came and went,As rose the din of battle fray.The Army of the CumberlandSaw him with eager, flashing eyeIn its front rank undaunted stand,Resolved to conquer or to die.Firm and unflinching thus he stood,While cannon belched through blood-red flames;His chiefest thought his country’s good,And next perchance a deathless name.Sudden as lightning’s vivid glareShrilly shell burst above his head;A fragment laid his bosom bareAnd stretched him wounded with the dead.Back to the rear the soldiers boreThe wounded comrade, faint and weak;His “army blue” was stained with gore,And death’s pale seal was on his cheek.A surgeon dressed the ghastly woundAnd counseled quiet and repose,Then sought again the battleground,Now thickly strewn with friends and foes.Left to himself the wounded manBethought him of his early life,Each wayward act and vicious plan,Each worldly and unholy strife.And as he weaker grew he thoughtOf his dear home, far, far away;What would he give—could it be bought—For power to be there but a day.To close his dying eyes where firstHis infant lips had learned to pray,To kiss the mother who had nursedThe sister who had shared his play.He murmured: “Oh, for one sweet toneOf voices loved in days gone by!Dear mother, sister, oh, for oneTo gently close my dying eye.”He ceased; a face of radiant lightWas in his tent and by his side;Each feature beautified and bright,Free from all trace of human pride.She points him to a heavenly home,A house of joy not made with hands—To the Redeemer calling, “Come!”Who at the portal beckoning stands.Then she unclasped the book of prayer,Its oft turned leaves were soiled and worn,For she had made her constant careOur wounded soldiers night and morn.From those dim pages she essayedTo whisper to the wounded, “Peace!”Her gentle tones his fears allayedAnd bade his soul despairing cease.“Sister of Charity!” he cried,“Sister and mother both thou art;For here by my poor pallet side,Thou’rt one with them in hand and heart.”“Oh, hear me, and, though poor and weak,If I survive I’ll hold her dear,Who gently bathed my fevered cheekAnd brought me consolation here.”
A Union soldier in his tent,Weak, wounded and despairing lay;The hectic flushes came and went,As rose the din of battle fray.
The Army of the CumberlandSaw him with eager, flashing eyeIn its front rank undaunted stand,Resolved to conquer or to die.
Firm and unflinching thus he stood,While cannon belched through blood-red flames;His chiefest thought his country’s good,And next perchance a deathless name.
Sudden as lightning’s vivid glareShrilly shell burst above his head;A fragment laid his bosom bareAnd stretched him wounded with the dead.
Back to the rear the soldiers boreThe wounded comrade, faint and weak;His “army blue” was stained with gore,And death’s pale seal was on his cheek.
A surgeon dressed the ghastly woundAnd counseled quiet and repose,Then sought again the battleground,Now thickly strewn with friends and foes.
Left to himself the wounded manBethought him of his early life,Each wayward act and vicious plan,Each worldly and unholy strife.
And as he weaker grew he thoughtOf his dear home, far, far away;What would he give—could it be bought—For power to be there but a day.
To close his dying eyes where firstHis infant lips had learned to pray,To kiss the mother who had nursedThe sister who had shared his play.
He murmured: “Oh, for one sweet toneOf voices loved in days gone by!Dear mother, sister, oh, for oneTo gently close my dying eye.”
He ceased; a face of radiant lightWas in his tent and by his side;Each feature beautified and bright,Free from all trace of human pride.
She points him to a heavenly home,A house of joy not made with hands—To the Redeemer calling, “Come!”Who at the portal beckoning stands.
Then she unclasped the book of prayer,Its oft turned leaves were soiled and worn,For she had made her constant careOur wounded soldiers night and morn.
From those dim pages she essayedTo whisper to the wounded, “Peace!”Her gentle tones his fears allayedAnd bade his soul despairing cease.
“Sister of Charity!” he cried,“Sister and mother both thou art;For here by my poor pallet side,Thou’rt one with them in hand and heart.”
“Oh, hear me, and, though poor and weak,If I survive I’ll hold her dear,Who gently bathed my fevered cheekAnd brought me consolation here.”
“It now remains for me only to tender you this humble testimonial of my regard and my hearty wishes for the fullest prosperity of the Charity Hospital and College, for the temporal and eternal welfare of the Sisterhood of the first, and the continued health and usefulness of the eminent faculty of the last.”
The remarks of Captain Whiting met with a hearty response from Dr. Scott, in behalf of the Lady Superior, in acceptance of the picture.
The Memphis Appeal, in its issue of February 17, 1866, thus bears testimony to the zeal and value of the Sisters of Charity in this city:
“Vincent de Paul, who has since received, so justly deserved, the title of ‘Benefactor of Mankind,’ was the originator of that divine and charitable society, ‘The Sisters of Charity,’ in a small town of France, in the early part of the seventeenth century. The signal service rendered by them during the past civil war to our sick, wounded and dying soldiers in camp, in hospital and on the battlefield, and their unwearied and constant ministrations to the suffering and poor of all classes throughout the land, is the theme of praise and commendation on the lips of all, no matter of what religious creed or faith.
“Their God-like and noble works have won respect, the most profound from every one. In our own city the resultof their exertions are to be seen on every hand. In the cause of education their stand is pre-eminent. With them modesty, knowledge and refinement are most carefully blended. The young girl, after a tutelage of years under their careful supervision, walks forth into the world, with a mind as pure and free, and demeanor as gentle and kind, as when first these precious charges were tendered to their keeping. And how carefully are the poor little ones, without parents and bereft of homes, provided for by these angels of earth!
“The asylum under their charge and guidance, situated near the Catholic Cemetery, on the outskirts of the city, is the most complete institution of its kind in the State. A large number of orphans are educated, clothed and fed here the year in and out, finding compensation only in the good they have done and the anticipation of a bright reward hereafter, from Him ‘Who tempereth the wind to the shorn lamb,’ and under whose ‘All-seeing Eye’ every act of charity and faith is always recorded. Their labors in behalf of the sick are ever attended with the most cheering results. Take a look at our city hospitals, and you will find everything well arranged, clean and neat, and bearing the impress most unmistakably of the goodness of their hearts and the greatness of their works.
“The patients, one and all, express the most sincere satisfaction at their treatment, and pray, as all good people do, that the society which has rendered so much good to us and all mankind may be like the foundation stone of all blessings—Truth—and with it ever bear the stamp of immortality.”
An incident of the war in which a gentle Sister of Charity and a stern military commander played the leading parts. “What do you do with your beggings?” The Red River campaign and its fatal results. The general in the hospital. “Did you get the ice and beef?” A grateful patient and his appreciation of the real worth of the Sisters.
“During the late war, and when General S. was in command of the department at New Orleans, the Sisters of Charity made frequent applications to him for assistance.26Especially were they desirous to obtain supplies at what was termed ‘commissary prices;’ that is, at a reduction or commutation of one-third the amount which the same provisions would cost at market rates. The principal demand was for ice, flour, beef and coffee, but mainly ice, a luxury which only the Union forces could enjoy at anything like a reasonable price. The hospitals were full of the sick and wounded of both the Federal and Confederate armies, and the benevolent institutions of the city were taxed to the utmost in their endeavors to aid the poor and the suffering, for those were tryingtimes, and war has many victims. Foremost among these Christian workers stood the various Christian Sisterhoods. These noble women were busy day and night, never seeming to know fatigue, and overcoming every obstacle that, in so many discouraging forms, obstructed the way of doing good—obstacles which would have completely disheartened less resolute women, or those not trained in the school of patience, faith, hope and charity, and where the first grand lesson learned is self-denial. Of money there was little, and food, fuel and medicine were scarce and dear; yet they never faltered, going on in the face of all difficulties, through poverty, war and unfriendly aspersions, never turning aside, never complaining, never despairing. No one will ever know the sublime courage of these good Sisters during the dark days of the Rebellion. Only in that hour when the Judge of all mankind shall summon before Him the living and the dead will they receive their true reward, the crown everlasting, and the benediction: ‘Well done, good and faithful servant.’
“It was just a week previous to the Red River campaign, when all was hurry and activity throughout the Department of the Gulf, that General S., a stern, irascible old officer of the regular army, sat at his desk in his office on Julia street, curtly giving orders to subordinates, dispatching messengers hither and thither to every part of the city where troops were stationed, and stiffly receiving such of his command as had important business to transact.
“In the midst of this unusual hurry and preparation the door noiselessly opened, and a humble Sister of Charity entered the room. A handsome young lieutenant of the staff instantly arose and deferentially handed her a chair,for those sombre gray garments were respected, if not understood, even though he had no reverence for the religious faith which they represented.
“General S. looked up from his writing, angered by the intrusion of one whose ‘fanaticism’ he despised, and a frown of annoyance and displeasure gathered darkly on his brow.
“‘Orderly!’
“The soldier on duty without the door, who had admitted the Sister, faced about, saluted and stood mute, awaiting the further command of his chief.
“‘Did I not give orders that no one was to be admitted?’
“‘Yes, sir; but—’
“‘When I say no one, I mean no one,’ thundered the General.
“The orderly bowed and returned to his post. He was too wise a soldier to enter into explanation with so irritable a superior. All this time the patient Sister sat calm and still, biding the moment when she might speak and meekly state the object of her mission. The General gave her the opportunity in the briefest manner possible, and sharply enough, too, in all conscience.
“‘Well, madam?’
“She raised a pair of sad, dark eyes to his face, and the gaze was so pure, so saintly, so full of silent pleading, that the rough old soldier was touched in spite of himself. Around her fell the heavy muffling dress of her order, which, however coarse and ungraceful, had something strangely solemn and mournful about it. Her hands, small and fair, were clasped almost suppliantly, and half-hidden in the loose sleeves, as if afraid of their own tremblingbeauty; hands that had touched tenderly, lovingly, so many death-damp foreheads; that had soothed so much pain; eyes that had met prayerfully so many dying glances; lips that had cheered to the mysterious land so many parting souls, and she was only a Sister of Charity—only one of that innumerable band whose good deeds shall live after them.
“‘We have a household of sick and wounded whom we must care for in some way, and I came to ask of you the privilege, which I humbly beseech you will not deny us, of obtaining ice and beef at commissary prices.’
“The gentle, earnest pleading fell on deaf ears.
“‘Always something,’ snarled the General. ‘Last week it was flour and ice; to-day it is ice and beef; to-morrow it will be coffee and ice, I suppose, and all for a lot of rascally rebels, who ought to be shot, instead of being nursed back to life and treason.’
“‘General!’—the Sister was majestic now—‘Rebel or Federal, I do not know; Protestant or Catholic, I do not ask. They are not soldiers when they come to us; they are simply suffering fellow-creatures. Rich or poor, of gentle or lowly blood, it is not our province to inquire. Ununiformed, unarmed, sick and helpless, we ask not on which side they fought. Our work begins after yours is done. Yours the carnage, ours the binding up of wounds. Yours the battle, ours the duty of caring for the mangled left behind on the field. Ice I want for the sick, the wounded, the dying. I plead for all, I beg for all, I pray for all God’s poor suffering creatures, wherever I may find them.’
“‘Yes, you can beg, I’ll admit. What do you do with all your beggings? It is always more, more! never enough!’
“With this, the General resumed his writing, therebygiving the Sister to understand that she was dismissed. For a moment her eyes fell, her lips trembled—it was a cruel taunt. Then the tremulous hands slowly lifted and folded tightly across her breast, as if to still some sudden heartache the unkind words called up. Very low, and sweet, and earnest was her reply:
UNION LEADERS OF THE CIVIL WAR.HOWARD KEARNYBURNSIDESCOTTROSECRANSWALLACECUSTERTHOMASHANCOCKMcCLELLANHOOKERBUTLERLOGAN
UNION LEADERS OF THE CIVIL WAR.
HOWARD KEARNYBURNSIDESCOTTROSECRANSWALLACECUSTERTHOMASHANCOCKMcCLELLANHOOKERBUTLERLOGAN
“What do we do with our beggings? Oh, that is a hard question to ask of one whose way of life leads ever among the poor, the sorrowing, the unfortunate, the most wretched of mankind. Not on me is it wasted. I stand here in my earthly all. What do we do with it? Ah! some day you may know.’
“She turned away and left him, sad of face, heavy of heart, and her dark eyes misty with unshed tears.
“‘Stay!’
“The General’s request was like a command. He could be stern; nay, almost rude, but he knew truth and worth when he saw it, and could be just. The Sister paused on the threshold, and for a minute nothing was heard but the rapid scratching of the General’s pen.
“‘There, madam, is your order on the Commissary for ice and beef at army terms, good for three months. I do it for the sake of the Union Soldiers who are, or may be, in your care. Don’t come bothering me again. Good-morning!’
“In less than three weeks from that day the slaughter of the Red River campaign had been perfected, and there neared the city of New Orleans a steamer flying the ominous yellow flag, which even the rebel sharpshooters respected and allowed to pass down the river unmolested. Another, and still another, followed closely in her wake, and all the decks were covered with the wounded and dying whose bloody bandages and, in many instances, undressedwounds gave woeful evidence of the lack of surgeons, as well as the completeness of the rout. Among the desperately wounded was General S. He was borne from the steamer to the waiting ambulance, writhing in anguish from the pain of his bleeding and shell-torn limb, and when they asked him where he wished to be taken he feebly moaned:
“‘Anywhere, it matters not. Where I can die in peace.’
“So they took him to the Hotel Dieu, a noble and beautiful institution, in charge of the Sisters of Charity. The limb was amputated and then he was nursed for weeks through the agony of the surgical operation, the fever, the wild delirium; and for many weary days no one could tell whether life or death would be the victor. But who was the quiet, faithful nurse, ever at his bedside, ever ministering to his wants, ever watchful of his smallest needs? Why only ‘one of the Sisters.’
“At last life triumphed, reason returned, and with it much of the old, abrupt manner. The General awoke to consciousness to see a face not altogether unknown bending over him, and to feel a pair of small, deft hands skillfully arranging a bandage, wet in ice-cold water, around his throbbing temples, where the mad pain and aching had for so long a time held sway. He was better now, though still very weak; but his mind was clear, and he could think calmly and connectedly of all that had taken place since the fatal battle—a battle which had so nearly cost him his life and left him at best but a maimed and mutilated remnant of his former self.
“Yet he was thankful it was no worse—that he had not been killed outright. In like degree he was grateful to those who nursed him so tenderly and tirelessly, especiallythe gray-robed woman, who had become almost angelic in his eyes; and it was like him to express his gratitude in his own peculiar way, without preface or circumlocution. Looking intently at the Sister, as if to get her features well fixed in his memory, he said:
“‘Did you get the ice and beef?’
“The Sister started. The question was so direct and unexpected. Surely her patient must be getting—really himself!
“‘Yes,’ she replied simply, but with a kind glance of the soft, sad eyes, that spoke eloquently her thanks.
“‘And your name is ——”
“‘Sister Francis.’
“‘Well, then, Sister Francis, I am glad you got the things—glad I gave you the order. I think I know now what you do with your beggings. I comprehend something of your work, your charity, your religion, and I hope to be the better for the knowledge. I owe you a debt I can never repay, but you will endeavor to believe that I am deeply grateful for all your great goodness and ceaseless care.’
“‘Nay; you owe me nothing; but to Him, whose cross I bear and in whose Divine footsteps I try to follow, you owe a debt of gratitude unbounded. To His infinite mercy I commend you. It matters not for the body; it is that divine mystery, the soul, I would save. My work here is done. I leave you to the care of others. Adieu.’
“The door softly opened and closed, and he saw Sister Francis no more.
“Two months afterward she received a letter sent to the care of the Mother Superior, inclosing a check for a thousand dollars. At the same time the General tookoccasion to remark that he wished he were able to make it twice the amount, since he knew by experience ‘What they did with their beggings.’”
With this portion of the book is concluded the record of the labors of the Catholic Sisterhoods in the war. The appendix which follows contains a number of interesting facts which it was deemed advisable to separate from the text proper. Most of them have reference, either directly or indirectly, to the patience, courage and loyalty of the Sisters. Those that have not are sufficiently allied to the subject matter to justify their insertion in a volume of this character. Before the book went to press the writer went over this additional matter with a view to omitting some portions that did not appear directly related to the main volume. But it was difficult to make a choice. No two persons could agree upon the part to be retained and the portion to be omitted. So all of the matter has remained as it was originally conceived and arranged.
No one can read the story of the labors of the heroic women in the war without a thrill of reverence and admiration for these devoted nurses. They constitute “a grand army of the Republic” before which the boys in Blue and the boys in Gray, and their descendants after them, can bow the head in respectful salutation. They “enlisted in the war” from motives of the highest patriotism—love of humanity and love of God. They had no purpose to accomplish, no axes to grind, no reward to receive, no pay to earn! They did not forsake their peaceful convent homes, share the privations and the rough fare of the soldiers, to gratify any worldly ambition. All that they did was from a pure and elevated sense of duty. The highmotives that inspired them in volunteering their services at the crisis in this nation’s history has also prevented them from recording or publishing the amount and character of these services. Their light has literally been hid beneath a bushel. This feeble effort to do justice to their labors and their memory has been undertaken, not because they would have it done, but because duty, justice and patriotism alike demanded that it should be done. If the perusal of these pages furnishes the reader one-tenth of the pleasure involved in their making, the writer will be well repaid for his labor.