Speak and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward far away,O’er the camp of the invaders, o’er the Mexican army.Who is losing? Who is winning? Are they far or come they near?Look ahead, and tell us, Sister, whither rolls the storm we hear.“Down the hills of Augostura still the storm of battle rolls;Blood is flowing, men are dying; God have mercy on their souls!”Who is losing? Who is winning?—“over hill and over plain,I see but smoke of cannon, clouding through the mountain rain.”Holy Mother! keep our brothers! Look, Ximena, look once more.“Still I see the fearful whirlwind rolling darkly as before,Bearing on in strange confusion, friend and foeman, foot and horse,Like some wild and troubled torrent sweeping down its mountain course.”Look forth once more, Ximena! “Oh! the smoke has rolled away;And I see the Northern rifles gleaming down the ranks of gray.Hark! that sudden blast of bugles! there the troop of Minon wheels,There the Northern horses thunder, with the cannon at their heels.“Jesu, pity! how it thickens! Now retreat and now advance!Right against the blazing cannon showers Pueblo’s charging lance!Down they go, the brave young riders; horse and foot together fall;Like a plowshare in the fallow through them ploughs the Northern ball.”Nearer came the storm and nearer, rolling fast and frightful on;Speak, Ximena, speak and tell us who has lost and who has won?“Alas, alas! I know not, friend and foe together fall,O’er the dying rush the living; pray my Sisters for them all.”“Lo! the wind the smoke is lifting; Blessed Mother save my brain!I can see the wounded crawling slowly out from heaps of slain.Now they stagger, blind and bleeding; now they fall and strive to rise;Hasten, Sisters, haste and save them, lest they die before our eyes.“O my heart’s love, O my dear one! lay thy poor head on my knee;Dost thou know the lips that kiss thee? Cans’t thou hear me? Cans’t thou see?Oh, my husband, brave and gentle! O my Bernal, look once moreOn the blessed cross before thee! Mercy! Mercy! all is o’er!”Dry thy tears, my poor Ximena; lay thy dear one down to rest;Let his hands be meekly folded, lay the cross upon his breast;Let his dirge be sung hereafter, and his funeral masses said;To-day, thou poor bereaved one, the living ask thy aid.Close beside her, faintly, faintly moaning, fair and young a soldier lay,Torn with shot and pierced with lances, bleeding slow his life away;But, as tenderly before him the lorn Ximena knelt,She saw the Northern eagle shining on his pistol belt.With a stifled cry of horror straight she turned away her head;With a sad and bitter feeling look’d she back upon her dead;But she heard the youth’s low moaning, and his struggling breath of pain,And she raised the cooling water to his parching lips again.Whisper’d low the dying soldier, press’d her hand and faintly smiled.Was that pitying face his mother’s? Did she watch besides her child?All his stronger words with meaning her woman’s heart supplied;With her kiss upon his forehead, “Mother!” murmur’d he and died.“A bitter curse upon them, poor boy, who led thee forth,From some gentle sad-eyed mother, weeping, lonely in the North!”Spoke the mournful Mexic woman, as she laid him with her dead,And turn’d to soothe the living, and bind the wounds which bled.Look forth once more Ximena! like a cloud before the windRolls the battle down the mountains leaving blood and death behind.Oh! they plead in vain for mercy—in the dust the wounded strive;Hide your faces, holy angels! O thou Christ of God forgive!Sink, O night, among thy mountains! let the cool gray shadows fall;Dying brothers, fighting demons, drop thy curtain over all!Through the thickening winter twilight, wide apart the battle rolled,In its sheath the sabre rested and the cannon’s mouth grew cold.But the noble Mexic women still their holy task pursued,Through that long dark night of sorrow worn and faint and lacking food;Over weak and suffering brothers, with a tender care they hung,And the dying foeman bless’d them in a strange and Northern tongue.Not wholly lost, O Father, is this evil world of ours;Upward, through its blood and ashes spring afresh the Eden flowers;From its smoking hill of battle love and pity send their prayer,And still Thy white-wing’d angels hover dimly in our air.
Speak and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward far away,O’er the camp of the invaders, o’er the Mexican army.Who is losing? Who is winning? Are they far or come they near?Look ahead, and tell us, Sister, whither rolls the storm we hear.
“Down the hills of Augostura still the storm of battle rolls;Blood is flowing, men are dying; God have mercy on their souls!”Who is losing? Who is winning?—“over hill and over plain,I see but smoke of cannon, clouding through the mountain rain.”
Holy Mother! keep our brothers! Look, Ximena, look once more.“Still I see the fearful whirlwind rolling darkly as before,Bearing on in strange confusion, friend and foeman, foot and horse,Like some wild and troubled torrent sweeping down its mountain course.”
Look forth once more, Ximena! “Oh! the smoke has rolled away;And I see the Northern rifles gleaming down the ranks of gray.Hark! that sudden blast of bugles! there the troop of Minon wheels,There the Northern horses thunder, with the cannon at their heels.
“Jesu, pity! how it thickens! Now retreat and now advance!Right against the blazing cannon showers Pueblo’s charging lance!Down they go, the brave young riders; horse and foot together fall;Like a plowshare in the fallow through them ploughs the Northern ball.”
Nearer came the storm and nearer, rolling fast and frightful on;Speak, Ximena, speak and tell us who has lost and who has won?“Alas, alas! I know not, friend and foe together fall,O’er the dying rush the living; pray my Sisters for them all.”
“Lo! the wind the smoke is lifting; Blessed Mother save my brain!I can see the wounded crawling slowly out from heaps of slain.Now they stagger, blind and bleeding; now they fall and strive to rise;Hasten, Sisters, haste and save them, lest they die before our eyes.
“O my heart’s love, O my dear one! lay thy poor head on my knee;Dost thou know the lips that kiss thee? Cans’t thou hear me? Cans’t thou see?Oh, my husband, brave and gentle! O my Bernal, look once moreOn the blessed cross before thee! Mercy! Mercy! all is o’er!”
Dry thy tears, my poor Ximena; lay thy dear one down to rest;Let his hands be meekly folded, lay the cross upon his breast;Let his dirge be sung hereafter, and his funeral masses said;To-day, thou poor bereaved one, the living ask thy aid.
Close beside her, faintly, faintly moaning, fair and young a soldier lay,Torn with shot and pierced with lances, bleeding slow his life away;But, as tenderly before him the lorn Ximena knelt,She saw the Northern eagle shining on his pistol belt.
With a stifled cry of horror straight she turned away her head;With a sad and bitter feeling look’d she back upon her dead;But she heard the youth’s low moaning, and his struggling breath of pain,And she raised the cooling water to his parching lips again.
Whisper’d low the dying soldier, press’d her hand and faintly smiled.Was that pitying face his mother’s? Did she watch besides her child?All his stronger words with meaning her woman’s heart supplied;With her kiss upon his forehead, “Mother!” murmur’d he and died.
“A bitter curse upon them, poor boy, who led thee forth,From some gentle sad-eyed mother, weeping, lonely in the North!”Spoke the mournful Mexic woman, as she laid him with her dead,And turn’d to soothe the living, and bind the wounds which bled.
Look forth once more Ximena! like a cloud before the windRolls the battle down the mountains leaving blood and death behind.Oh! they plead in vain for mercy—in the dust the wounded strive;Hide your faces, holy angels! O thou Christ of God forgive!
Sink, O night, among thy mountains! let the cool gray shadows fall;Dying brothers, fighting demons, drop thy curtain over all!Through the thickening winter twilight, wide apart the battle rolled,In its sheath the sabre rested and the cannon’s mouth grew cold.
But the noble Mexic women still their holy task pursued,Through that long dark night of sorrow worn and faint and lacking food;Over weak and suffering brothers, with a tender care they hung,And the dying foeman bless’d them in a strange and Northern tongue.
Not wholly lost, O Father, is this evil world of ours;Upward, through its blood and ashes spring afresh the Eden flowers;From its smoking hill of battle love and pity send their prayer,And still Thy white-wing’d angels hover dimly in our air.
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Miss Catherine Elizabeth McAuley, the foundress of the Order of Sisters of Mercy, ranks high among the notable women whose achievements have enriched the history of the Catholic Church. The religious institution first planted by her in the city of Dublin has spread to such an extent that its branches now spread into at least every quarter of the English-speaking globe. The communities of the Sisters of Mercy in the United States have done excellent work in many fields, but they particularly distinguished themselves as nurses during the unhappy conflict between the North and the South.
Miss McAuley was born September 29, 1787, at Stormanstown, Dublin, Ireland. She was the daughter of pious, well-known and respectable parents. Her father was especially prominent by reason of his goodness to the poor and the unfortunate. One of his regular practices was to have all the poor of the vicinity come to his house on Sundays and holidays for the purpose of instructing them in their religion. Both father and mother died when the subject of this sketch was very young.
Shortly after this unfortunate event Catherine was adopted by Mr. and Mrs. William Callahan, who belonged to a family that was distantly connected with the mother of Miss McAuley. Her foster-parents, although very worthy people, were bitterly prejudiced against the religion practiced by their adopted child. They were so opposed to anything Catholic that they would not permit a crucifix or a pious picture in the house. Despite this, Catherineattended to her religious duties with great regularity and fidelity, and by her gentleness succeeded in disarming any anger or annoyance that they might have otherwise felt regarding her course.
She was a model of all the virtues, and this fact did not escape the attention of her foster-parents. Dean Gaffney, writing of her at this period, says: “Everyone who had distress to be relieved, affliction to be mitigated, troubles to be encountered, came to her, and to the best of her ability she advised them what to do. Her zeal made her a missionary in her district.” In these works of charity and usefulness she continued for several years, during which she was rendering herself dearer and dearer to her adopted parents. In the course of a few years both these estimable people died, but not before the gentle foster-child had led both of them into the Catholic Church. Catherine was left the sole heiress of Mr. Callahan, and at once made arrangements for systematically distributing food and clothing to the poor.
Miss McAuley was now in a position to realize her early vision of founding an institution in which servants and other women of good character might, when out of work, find a temporary home and be shielded from the dangers to which the unprotected members of the sex are exposed. She unfolded her plans to the Very Rev. Dr. Armstrong and Very Rev. Dr. Blake, her spiritual advisers.
“It was deemed advisable,” says Dean Murphy, writing of this, “not to take a house already built and occupied for other purposes, and which she would have some difficulty in adapting to her own designs, but to secure a plot of ground that had never been built upon, and to erect anedifice for the honor and glory of God that had never been profaned by the vices and folly of the world, and which should be as holy in its creation as in its use, and be dedicated to God from its very foundation.” The building was constructed and put into operation within a reasonably short time. When finished it was discovered that the architect had created a building which for all purposes could be used as a convent.
This was regarded as a fortunate mistake. In the beginning Miss McAuley had no thought of founding a religious institute, but in working out the ideas that were near to her heart she imperceptibly and almost unconsciously drifted towards that end. Daniel O’Connell, the great Irish liberator, was a friend and patron of Miss McAuley, and frequently visited her establishment, which he regarded as filling a long-felt want in the Irish capital. In 1827 O’Connell presided over a Christmas dinner given by Miss McAuley to the poor children of Dublin.
In 1828, at the suggestion of the Archbishop of the Diocese, she formed the Order of the Sisters of Mercy. There had been a “Royal, Military and Religious Order of Our Lady of Mercy,” dating back to the twelfth century, and this new order, founded by a pious young woman, was largely based upon the old one, except that it was intended for women and not for men. Miss McAuley frequently said that what she desired was to found an order whose members would combine the silence, recollection and prayer of the Carmelite with the active zeal of a Sister of Charity. It seems to be generally conceded that she succeeded in achieving her purpose. Three words, “works of mercy,” briefly tell the story of the character of the labors of the Sisters of Mercy. Miss McAuley did not finallycomplete her laudable plan without having to overcome many obstacles, and to set aside some very bitter opposition, part of which came, not only from her own relatives, but from bishops and priests as well.
A few years after the dedication of her institute Miss McAuley and a few chosen companions decided that the high purpose to which they had consecrated their lives could be carried out if they would enter the religious state. They were admitted to one of the convents of the Presentation Order, and after a novitiate lasting one year she and her companions received the religious habit.
In October, 1831, she professed and was canonically appointed by the Archbishop as Superior of the new order. The costume worn by the members of the order was devised by Mother Catherine, as she was thereafter called. The Order grew rapidly in numbers and in prominence. The life of its first Mother and foundress was active and edifying. Her labors were not confined to any particular work, but embraced everything that was in the interest and for the benefit of the poor and unfortunate. In 1832 she won enduring laurels by assuming charge of the cholera hospital in Dublin.
She died on November 11, 1837, resigned and happy, and furnished an example of pious fortitude to the Sisters that crowded about her deathbed. The Order that she founded, as it exists to-day, is her best monument. Beginning in Ireland in 1827 it was afterwards successfully introduced into England, Newfoundland, Australia, New Zealand, South America and the United States of America.
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Notre Dame, Indiana, enjoys the distinction of a Grand Army Post composed of Catholic clergymen, most of whom are members of the faculty of Notre Dame University. The organization was officially entered on October 6, 1897, as Post No. 569, Department of Indiana. Very Rev. William E. Corby, C. S. C., the commander of the new post, was chaplain of the Irish Brigade, and is now the provincial, or head officer, of the order of the Holy Cross in the United States. Dr. Corby is also the chaplain of the Indiana Commandery of the Loyal Legion. To this position he was nominated by General Lew Wallace.
The membership of the new post will be very small, but large enough to have a few famous fighters and great men of the war. With the exception of Colonel William E. Haynes, the only lay member, the post is composed altogether of members of the congregation of the Holy Cross. The following complete the roster:
Very Rev. William Corby, C. S. C., chaplain Eighty-eighth New York Volunteers, Irish Brigade.
Rev. Peter P. Cooney, C. S. C., chaplain Thirty-fifth Medina.
James McLain (Brother Leander), C. S. C., B Company, Twenty-fourth United States Infantry.
William A. Olmsted, C. S. C., captain and lieutenant colonel Second Infantry, New York Volunteers, colonel Fifty-ninth New York Veteran Volunteers; brigadier general by brevet, commandery First Brigade, Second Division, Second Army Corps, Army of the Potomac.
Mark A. Willis (Brother John Chrysostom, C. S. C.), I Company, Fifty-fourth Pennsylvania Volunteers.
Nicholas A. Bath (Brother Cosmos, C. S. C.), D Company, Second United States Artillery.
James Mantle (Brother Benedict, C. S. C.), A Company, First Pennsylvania Heavy Artillery and Sixth United States Cavalry.
John McInerny (Brother Eustathius, C. S. C.), H Company, Eighty-third Ohio Volunteers.
Joseph Staley (Brother Agathus, C. S. C.), C Company, Eighth Indiana Regulars.
Ignatz Mayer (Brother Ignatius, C. S. C.), C Company, Seventy-fifth Pennsylvania Volunteers and One Hundred and Fifty-seventh Pennsylvania Volunteers.
James C. Malloy (Brother Raphael, C. S. C.), B Company, One Hundred and Thirty-third Pennsylvania Volunteers.
Colonel William E. Haynes.
General Olmsted, who is studying for the priesthood, is much interested in the little gathering. He is justly proud of the work of his men in the celebrated Hancock’s Division. He refers to the Government reports in every case as proof of the bravery of his soldiers. The General said not long ago in an interview: “Very much that is said of me is not true, but to show you that my men were brave, I give you the reports from the department at Washington.” The General read: “The losses of the First Brigade, Second Division, Second Corps—my brigade—were greater in the battle of Gettysburg than those that occurred to any one brigade in the army. There was, beside, a total casualty of 763 killed and wounded out of 1246 men at Antietam, a percentage of 61.”
Father Corby has the honor of being the only chaplain to give absolution under fire. The event of his giving absolution at Gettysburg to the Irish Brigade is the best known of his achievements in chaplain life. It is said that every man, Catholic and Protestant, knelt before the rock upon which he stood, and the colors were lowered. Then they went out and fought, and how many fell upon that bloody field is too well known to be repeated. Father Corby, although an old man, is hale and hearty, and does all his work as provincial of the order without the aid of a secretary.
Rev. Peter Cooney also has a brilliant war record, but he and Father Corby are by no means the only two who went to war from Notre Dame. In all there were eight priests who went forth to service as chaplains in the war. Beside these Mother Mary Angela, a cousin of James G. Blaine, went forth with a large number of Sisters to nurse the wounded and care for the dying. To these also great praise is due.
There was much enthusiasm in Notre Dame over the organization exercises, and among those present or who sent their congratulations were General Lew Wallace, General Mulholland, of Philadelphia; Colonel J. A. Smith, of Indianapolis; General J. A. Golden, of New York; General William J. Sewall, Colonel R. S. Robertson, of Fort Wayne; General J. A. Starburg, of Boston; Captain Florence McCarthy, of New York; Captain Emil A. Dapper, of Grand Rapids; Captain J. J. Abercrombie, of Chicago; Department Commander James S. Dodge, with his full staff. The G. A. R. post from Elkhart and two posts from South Bend helped to muster in the clerical veterans. Commendatory messages were also received from a large number of posts and leaders in the G. A. R.
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St. Teresa’s Church, at the northeast corner of Broad and Catherine streets, was temporarily used as a hospital for wounded soldiers during the war. On July 4, 1897, Rev. Joseph V. O’Connor, one of the eloquent priests of the diocese of Philadelphia, delivered an address in this church, relative to Catholics in the war. A score of Grand Army posts attended the exercises, which were also honored by the presence of the venerable Hugh Lane, who has been pastor of the church during and since the war. Father O’Connor’s address deserves a place in this volume. He said:
“The sacred edifice in which you assemble is an appropriate spot for religion and patriotism to meet, for St. Teresa’s Church was for a time in the Civil War a military hospital. The old railway station at Broad and Prime streets was the rendezvous of the Union troops from the North and East going to and from the seat of war. The gleaming cross upon the church seemed lifted in benediction over army after army marching past. The poet Byron represents the forest of Ardennes as weeping over the ‘unreturning brave’ of Waterloo, but the sign of man’s redemption may have lifted up many a Catholic soldier’s heart destined to be stilled in the next battle. These walls, now bright with light and color, have re-echoed the moans of the dying. The venerable priest whose gracious presence lends dignity and historic interest to this celebration prepared here many a soldier for the last dread fight with death, the universal conqueror. I seem to behold, mingling with yoursolid phalanx, the shadowy forms of the brave men who were delivered from the storm and earthquake of battle to breathe out their spirits here in the peace of the sanctuary.
“Far be it from me to limit to the Catholic breast that noble fire of the love of country, which with purifying flame burned in the great heart of the nation when war sounded the trumpet call to the children of the republic. It is occasion that shows the man. Our Civil War was an occasion that showed our Church. The legislative code of England was disgraced, even in Victoria’s reign by the calumny and the imbecility of penal laws against Catholics. To be a Catholic was to be a traitor. In vain did we appeal to history, which crowns with laurels the brows of unnumbered Catholic patriots and heroes in every land of the universal Church. The Thundering Legion fought for the Roman Emperor, who decreed its martyrdom. The fleet of Protestant England was led against the Armada of Catholic Spain by a Catholic in the service of a Queen who sent his fellow-religionists to the stake on account of their faith. The patriotism of the Catholic is motived by his religion. It rises superior to the form in which civil government may be embodied. Were the Pope, as temporal prince, to invade our country we should be bound in conscience to repel him, nor would our patriotism conflict one iota with our religious faith.
“Our people, driven by misgovernment from their native soil, found the portals of the great Republic flung open to them in friendly welcome. They came to the North and to the West. Thus the great centres of industry in the Northern States were crowded with Catholics. Most of us had learned the bitter lessonswhich tyranny, bad government and religious rancor have to impart under the scourge of England’s misrule of Ireland. As Bourke Cockran says, England’s treatment of the Irish people has made the world distrust her. Ireland’s love for America dates from before the Revolution. The Irish Parliament passed resolutions of sympathy with the American colonists. The great tides of immigration from Ireland set in early and continued until, at the outbreak of the Civil War, the North was one-fourth Celtic in blood.
“The Catholic Church studiously refrained from any official pronouncement upon the causes of the conflict which she deplored. The first regiment to respond to President Lincoln’s initial call for troops was the Sixty-ninth New York. It was mainly Irish and Catholic. Within forty-eight hours it was on its way to the front. New York, pre-eminently a Catholic State, furnished one-seventh of the military forces in the war for the Union.
“Obviously the Government had no reason for recording the religious faith of its soldiers. Patriotism is at once a natural and a civic virtue. That it may be supernaturalized is evident from the words of St. Paul, bidding us obey the higher powers for conscience sake. The country had to face a condition, not a theory, and whatever abstract reasoning has to say about State rights, the will of the majority of the people, which is the supreme law in a republic, decided for the maintenance of the Federal Union. The best traditions of the country, North and South, identified liberty with union. God appears to have made the country one in geographical formation, in sameness of language, in homogeneity of character.
“Two illustrious Catholic prelates, recognized asleaders in Israel—the Moses and the Joshua of the Church—Archbishop Kendrick, of Baltimore, and Archbishop Hughes, of New York, declared in favor of the Union. The sainted sage of the primatial city flung the starry banner from the pinnacle of his Cathedral. The Archbishop of New York was so thoroughly identified with the cause of the Union that he was invested by the President and his Secretary of State with the authority of envoy extraordinary to the courts of Europe.
“Unroll the military records of our country and you will read column after column of names that are historically Catholic. Read the names on the tombstones of soldiers in the great national cemeteries and you will find in the Christian name alone confirmatory evidence of the faith of the hero that sleeps beneath. The Catholic knows that the Church imposes in baptism the name of a saint. We may safely judge that he is a Catholic who bears the name of Patrick and Michael, of Bernard and Dominic. Not even the conservative spirit of the Church of England could retain the old saintly nomenclature, and Puritanism chose the names of Old Testament worthies or names taken from natural history and even heathen mythology.
“If we reckon our soldiers by their religion, the majority would be Catholic and we should find that we had given our children in far greater number than any one denomination. On the second day of Gettysburg a Catholic priest, ascending an eminence, lifted his hand to give absolution, and far as the eye could reach rank upon rank of soldiers bent their heads like cornfields swept by the summer breeze. Hancock, the “superb,” impressed by the solemnity of the scene, bared his brow.If the poet thought that a tear should fall for Stonewall Jackson because he spared Barbara Frietchie’s Union flag, will not a Catholic murmur a prayer for the great general who gave heed to the priest calling upon his people to be contrite for their sins in the hour which for many would be the last?
“The seven successive stormings of the heights of Fredericksburg by the Irish Brigade has long passed into history as surpassing Alma and the Sedan. Keenan’s cavalry charge at Chancellorsville saved the Union army at the cost of 300 lives. The charge of the Light Brigade at Balaklava was described by a French officer as magnificent, but unmilitary—‘C’est magnifique, mais ce n’est pas la guerre.’But Keenan’s charge was both glorious and strategic. His troop rushed like a whirlwind upon 20,000 Confederates. His men were shot down or sabered in the saddle. The steeds, maddened by wounds and uncontrolled by their dead riders, plunged into the thick of the Confederate ranks, and so disconcerted and appalled them that the main army of the Union had time to save itself from otherwise inevitable destruction. Perhaps the most critical point of the war was the success or the failure of Sheridan’s devastation of the Shenandoah Valley, which was the great base of supplies for the South. Sheridan’s historic ride, which saved the day at Winchester, was the exploit of a Catholic. The Republic subsequently conferred upon this son of the Church one of the highest and most responsible positions in her keeping, the generalship of her armies.
“One of the first, if not the first band of trained nurses that offered their services to the Government was the religious society of the Sisters of Charity. Their title is their history. Their services in hospitals and onthe field did more than tomes of controversy to make the Catholic Church better known, and consequently loved, by the American people. The convalescing soldier by word and by letter spread the information throughout the land that the ministrations of the Catholic Sisterhood reminded him of a mother’s love and a sister’s tenderness.
“The heroic devotion to duty of the Catholic chaplains, who made no distinction of religion when a soldier was to be helped, endeared the Catholic religion to many who met a Catholic priest for the first time in camp or hospital. Our own noble-hearted Archbishop rendered such service to the wounded soldiers in St. Louis that the Government offered him a chaplaincy. Care of the body was often supplemented with the higher care of the soul. In that parting hour, when mortality leans upon the breast of religion, the example of devoted priest and religious gently led many a soul into the hope and the consolation of divine faith.
“God grant that our country shall never again reel under the shock of war! Yet out of the nettle of danger has come the flower of safety. Calumny, suspicion, distrust of our patriotism were struck dumb. Never again shall we be taunted with secret antipathy to free institutions. The banner of the stars was rebaptized in our blood. To the soldier of the war the Church owes a debt of gratitude. He proved often by his death that the religion which he professed, far from condemning his patriotism, commended it as a virtue, and the faith that sustained him in battle supported him when his heart poured out the blood of supreme sacrifice upon the altar of his country. And though no memorial marks his resting place the Church in every mass pleads for the repose of his soul.
“The soldier stands as the highest value which we place upon our country and her institutions. He says to all: ‘My country is worth dying for.’ In our thoughtless way we take liberty, security of life and property, the blessings of religion and safeguards of law and all the beauty and amenity of our civilization as a matter of course. Without the soldier all these goods would perish. It is war that preserves and protects peace. The soldier is the guardian of our homes. Honor him; make peaceful and happy his declining years. Thank God with David for preparing our hands for the sword, before whose blinding ray, in the hand of the hero, domestic treason and foreign conspiracy slink into their dens. Bless God for making us a nation of soldiers, as well as of citizens. The war proved that the American soldier, North and South, is without a peer in bravery, in discipline, in self-control. Whilst our Republic gives birth to such heroic sons we may laugh armed Europe to scorn.
“Soldiers, there is another battle, another field, a greater Captain than even the archangel who led the embattled seraphim to war. You divine my meaning. Be soldiers of the cross! Fight the good fight of faith. Be sober, pure, charitable. The laurel that binds the warrior’s brow on earth soon fades. The flowers of Decoration Day droop with the setting sun. But the Divine Captain of our salvation will place upon your brow, if you are faithful to the end, a crown that fadeth not away, a wreath which you will receive amid the shout of the heavenly armies.”
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The purpose of the writer of this history, as already stated, has been to furnish for the first time a full and detailed story of the labors of the Catholic Sisterhoods in the Civil War, but in doing that he has not had the slightest intention of detracting from the splendid service rendered by other bodies and other persons. One of the most notable organizations that contributed its part in the humane work incident to the war was the Sanitary Commission. It had its rise in a spontaneous movement of the women in New England. It is said that 7000 branch Aid Societies were connected with the Commission at one time. Charles J. Stille, of Philadelphia, has written a history of the Commission, from which most of the facts embodied in this sketch have been obtained. Committees were sent to Washington, the part of the Government, the Secretary of War, on the 9th of June, 1861, issued an order appointing Henry and after much negotiation, involving tedious delay on W. Bellows, D. D., Professor A. D. Boche, LL. D., Professor Jeffries Wyman, M. D., W. H. Van Buren, M. D., Wolcott Gibbs, M. D., R. C. Wood, surgeon U. S. A.; G. W. Cullom, U. S. A.; Alexander E. Shiras, U. S. A., in connection with such others as they might chose to associate with them, “a commission of inquiry and advice in respect of the sanitary interests of the United States forces.” They were to serve without remuneration from the Government and were to be provided with a room for their use in the city of Washington.
They were to direct their inquiries to the principlesand practices connected with the inspection of recruits and enlisted men, the sanitary condition of volunteers, to the means of preserving and restoring the health and of securing the general comfort and efficiency of the troops, to the proper provision of cooks, nurses and hospitals, and to other subjects of a like nature. The mode by which they proposed to conduct these inquiries was detailed in the letter of the New York delegation to the Secretary of War on the 22d of May. The order appointing them directed that they should correspond freely with the department and with the Medical Bureau concerning these subjects, and on this footing and within these limits their relations with the official authorities were established. To enable them to carry out fully the purposes of their appointment the Surgeon General issued a circular letter announcing the creation of the Commission, and directing all the officers in his department to grant its agents every facility in the prosecution of their duties.
On the 12th of June the gentlemen named as Commissioners in the order of the Secretary of War (with the exception of Professor Wyman, who had declined his appointment) assembled at Washington. They proceeded to organize the Board by the selection of the Rev. Dr. Bellows as president. Their first care was to secure the services of certain gentlemen as colleagues, who were supposed to possess special qualifications, but whose names had not been included in the original warrant. Accordingly Dr. Elisha Harris and Dr. Cornelius R. Agnew were unanimously chosen Commissioners at the first meeting, and George T. Strong and Dr. J. S. Newberry in like manner at the one next succeeding. At different periods during the war Rt. Rev. BishopClark, Hon. R. W. Burnet, Hon. Mark Skinner, Hon. Joseph Holt, Horace Binney, Jr., Rev. J. H. Heywood, Prof. Fairman Rogers, J. Huntingdon Wolcott, Charles J. Stille, E. B. McCagg and F. Law Olmstead were elected by the Board members of the Commission.
At the first meeting a “Plan of Organization,” prepared by the president, was presented, discussed and finally adopted. On the 13th the Commission, in a body, waited on the President and Secretary of War, who gave their formal sanction to this plan of organization by affixing to it their signatures. The experiences of the war suggested but little alteration, even in the outline of this report, while to a strict adherence to the general principles it embodied the Sanitary Commission owed much of its wonderful success.
The plan reduced to a practical system and method the principles laid down in the letters of the New York gentlemen to the Government authorities and endeavored to apply them to the actual existing condition of the army. Confining its proposed operations within the limited sphere of “inquiry” and “advice,” which had been assigned to it by the Government, it declared what it proposed to do and by what methods in each of these departments of duty.
In order that its work might be carried on systematically and thoroughly two general committees were created, one respecting “inquiry,” the other “advice.” The object of the first was to determine by all the light which could be derived from experience what must necessarily be the wants and conditions of troops brought together as ours had been, to ascertain exactly how far evils which had proved the scourge of other armies had already invaded our own, and to decide concerning thebest measures to be adopted to remove all causes of removable and preventable disease.
Each branch of “inquiry” under this head was referred to a distinct sub-committee. From the first was expected such suggestions of preventable measures as experience in former wars had proved to be absolutely essential; to the second was entrusted the actual inspection, by its own members or their agents, of the camps and hospitals, so that the real condition of the army, in a sanitary point of view, concerning which there were many conflicting rumors, could be definitely known. To the third was referred all questions concerning the improvement of the health and efficiency of the army in respect to diet, clothing, quarters and matters of a similar nature.
In regard to the other branch of duty assigned to the Commission under its appointment, that of “advice,” the Board took the same wide and comprehensive views as had guided them in regard to the needful subjects of inquiry. Their purpose was to “get the opinions and conclusions of the Commission approved by the Medical Bureau, ordered by the War Department and carried out by the officers and men.”
The interest excited in thousands of homes throughout the land, whose inmates were members of aid societies in favor of the Sanitary Commission, and who looked upon it only as the almoner of their vast offerings for the relief of the army, led to the popular error that it was only a relief association upon a grand scale and quite overshadowed in popular estimation its original purpose, if not the peculiar and exclusive work before it. The Commission itself, however, never departed from the true scientific idea and conception of a preventive system,and always regarded the relief system, vast as was the place occupied by it in the war, as inferior in the importance of its results to those due to well considered and thoroughly executed preventive measures.
The Commission at the close of the war established a pension bureau and war claim agency for the benefit of disabled soldiers and their orphans and widows. The entire money receipts of the Commission from 1861 to 1866 were $4,924,480.99, and the value of supplies furnished is estimated at $15,000,000.
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“By the flow of the inland river,Whence the fleets of iron have fled,Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,Asleep on the ranks of the dead—Under the sod and the dew,Waiting the judgment-day;Under the one, the Blue;Under the other, the Gray.These in the robings of glory,Those in the gloom of defeat,All with the battle-blood goryIn the dusk of eternity meet—Under the sod and the dew,Waiting the judgment-day;Under the laurel, the Blue;Under the willow, the Gray.From the silence of sorrowful hoursThe desolate mourners go,Lovingly laden with flowers,Alike for the friend and the foe—Under the sod and the dew,Waiting the judgment-day;Under the roses, the Blue;Under the lilies, the Gray.So with an equal splendorThe morning sun-rays fall,With a touch impartially tender,On the blossoms blooming for all—Under the sod and the dew,Waiting the judgment-day;Broidered with gold, the Blue;Mellowed with gold, the Gray.So when the summer calleth,On forest and field of grain,With an equal murmur fallethThe cooling drip of the rain—Under the sod and the dew,Waiting the judgment-day;Wet with the rain, the Blue;Wet with the rain, the Gray.Sadly, but not with upbraiding,The generous deed was done:In the storm of the years that are fading,No braver battle was won—Under the sod and the dew,Waiting the judgment-day;Under the blossoms, the Blue;Under the garlands, the Gray.No more shall the war-cry sever,Or the winding rivers be red:They banish our anger foreverWhen they laurel the graves of our dead—Under the sod and the dew,Waiting the judgment-day;Love and tears for the Blue;Tears and love for the Gray.”
“By the flow of the inland river,Whence the fleets of iron have fled,Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,Asleep on the ranks of the dead—Under the sod and the dew,Waiting the judgment-day;Under the one, the Blue;Under the other, the Gray.
These in the robings of glory,Those in the gloom of defeat,All with the battle-blood goryIn the dusk of eternity meet—Under the sod and the dew,Waiting the judgment-day;Under the laurel, the Blue;Under the willow, the Gray.
From the silence of sorrowful hoursThe desolate mourners go,Lovingly laden with flowers,Alike for the friend and the foe—Under the sod and the dew,Waiting the judgment-day;Under the roses, the Blue;Under the lilies, the Gray.
So with an equal splendorThe morning sun-rays fall,With a touch impartially tender,On the blossoms blooming for all—Under the sod and the dew,Waiting the judgment-day;Broidered with gold, the Blue;Mellowed with gold, the Gray.
So when the summer calleth,On forest and field of grain,With an equal murmur fallethThe cooling drip of the rain—Under the sod and the dew,Waiting the judgment-day;Wet with the rain, the Blue;Wet with the rain, the Gray.
Sadly, but not with upbraiding,The generous deed was done:In the storm of the years that are fading,No braver battle was won—Under the sod and the dew,Waiting the judgment-day;Under the blossoms, the Blue;Under the garlands, the Gray.
No more shall the war-cry sever,Or the winding rivers be red:They banish our anger foreverWhen they laurel the graves of our dead—Under the sod and the dew,Waiting the judgment-day;Love and tears for the Blue;Tears and love for the Gray.”
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The following interesting little incident is taken from Very Rev. W. C. Corby’s book, entitled “Memoirs of Chaplain Life:”
“On the 29th of November, 1863,” says Rev. Constantine L. Egan, O. P., chaplain of the Ninth Massachusetts Volunteers, “we advanced to Mine Run and formed a line of battle and bivouacked for the night. The enemy were posted on the east ridge, about one mile from the stream called Mile Run, on a centre ridge nearly 100 feet above the surface of the stream. Their works could easily be seen by us posted on the west ridge of the run. They were strongly fortified, their works bristling with abatis, infantry parapets and epaulements for batteries. About 3 o’clock on the evening of the 30th the order was given to charge the enemy’s line. Seeing the danger of death before us I asked the colonel to form his regiment into a solid square so that I could address the men. He did so. I then spoke to them of their danger, and entreated them to prepare for it by going on their knees and making a sincere act of contrition for their sins, with the intention of going to confession if their lives were spared.
“As the regiment fell on their knees, other Catholic soldiers broke from their ranks and joined us, so that in less than two minutes I had the largest congregation I ever witnessed before, or even since. Having pronounced the words of general absolution to be given in such emergencies and danger, I spoke a few words of encouragement to them.
* * * “After talking to the soldiers and finishing my remarks, they arose from their knees, grasping their muskets with a firm clinch, and went back to their respective commands, awaiting the hour to expire to make the assault.”
Smith Johnson, taking this as his theme, has written the following poem, entitled “A Miracle of War,” and dedicated it to Father Corby:
Two armies stood in stern arrayOn Gettysburg’s historic field—This side the blue, on that the gray—Each side resolved to win the day,Or life to home and country yield.“Take arms!” “Fall in!” rang o’er the lineOf Hancock’s ever-valiant corps—For to the left the cannons chimeWith music terribly sublime,With death’s unceasing, solemn roar.With spirits ardent, undismayed,With flags uplifted toward the sky,There stands brave Meagher’s old brigadeThose noble laurels ne’er will fadeUpon the page of history.“All forward, men!” No, pause a while—Dead silence follows like paradeAt “order arms,” for ‘long the fileThere moves a priest with holy smile—The priest of Meagher’s old brigade.All eyes were toward him reverent turned,For he was known and loved by all,And every face with fervor burned,And with a glance his mission learned—A mission of high Heaven’s call.Then spake the priest: “My comrades, friends,Ere long the battle fierce will surge,Ere long the curse of war descends—At such a moment God commendsYou from the soul all sin to purge.“Kneel, soldiers; lift your hearts to God,In sweet contrition crush the prideOf human minds; kneel on the sodThat soon will welter in your blood—Look up to Christ, who for you died.”And every man, whate’er his creed,Kneels down, and whispers pass alongThe ranks, and murmuring voices pleadTo be from sin’s contagion freedAnd turned from path of mortal wrong.Across the vale the gray lines viewThe priest and those who, kneeling now,For absolution humbly sue,And joining hearts, the gray and blue,Together make the holy vow.* * * * *The smoke of battle lifts apace,And o’er the field lie forms of men,With glazen eyes and pallid face—Dead—yet alive, for God’s sweet graceHas saved them from the death of sin.SMITH JOHNSON.
Two armies stood in stern arrayOn Gettysburg’s historic field—This side the blue, on that the gray—Each side resolved to win the day,Or life to home and country yield.
“Take arms!” “Fall in!” rang o’er the lineOf Hancock’s ever-valiant corps—For to the left the cannons chimeWith music terribly sublime,With death’s unceasing, solemn roar.
With spirits ardent, undismayed,With flags uplifted toward the sky,There stands brave Meagher’s old brigadeThose noble laurels ne’er will fadeUpon the page of history.
“All forward, men!” No, pause a while—Dead silence follows like paradeAt “order arms,” for ‘long the fileThere moves a priest with holy smile—The priest of Meagher’s old brigade.
All eyes were toward him reverent turned,For he was known and loved by all,And every face with fervor burned,And with a glance his mission learned—A mission of high Heaven’s call.
Then spake the priest: “My comrades, friends,Ere long the battle fierce will surge,Ere long the curse of war descends—At such a moment God commendsYou from the soul all sin to purge.“Kneel, soldiers; lift your hearts to God,In sweet contrition crush the prideOf human minds; kneel on the sodThat soon will welter in your blood—Look up to Christ, who for you died.”
And every man, whate’er his creed,Kneels down, and whispers pass alongThe ranks, and murmuring voices pleadTo be from sin’s contagion freedAnd turned from path of mortal wrong.
Across the vale the gray lines viewThe priest and those who, kneeling now,For absolution humbly sue,And joining hearts, the gray and blue,Together make the holy vow.
* * * * *
The smoke of battle lifts apace,And o’er the field lie forms of men,With glazen eyes and pallid face—Dead—yet alive, for God’s sweet graceHas saved them from the death of sin.
SMITH JOHNSON.
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It has been aptly said that the battlefield of Gettysburg has become the “Mecca of American Reconciliation.” By act of Congress a National Park has been establishedthere, observatories erected and everything possible done to make the battlefield convenient and attractive to tourists.
The National Cemetery at Gettysburg was dedicated November 19, 1863. The oration was by Edward Everett. On this occasion President Lincoln made the famous address that will never die. It was as follows:
“Four-score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now, we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that the nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate—we cannot consecrate—we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note nor long remember what we say here, but it never can forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly carried on. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion. That we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom; and that the government of the people, by the people, and for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”
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While the work of the zealous Catholic Sisterhoods on the battlefield and in the camp and hospital was for humanity in its broadest sense the effect of their example and the beauty of their daily lives also had the effect of clearing away the mists of prejudice that sometimes distorted and clouded the views of honorable, well-meaning and worthy non-Catholics. The writer has endeavored to present the history of the labors of the Sisters in a straightforward and dispassionate manner.
He has dealt exclusively in facts and has, as far as possible, avoided comment. It has especially been his aim to keep entirely clear of sectional disputes or religious controversies. Hence it will be found that the story of the work of the Sisters has reference, in the main, to their devotion to suffering humanity. It was inevitable, however, that men living in the atmosphere of sanctity created by these good women should feel the consoling benefit of their silent influence. The result was that non-Catholics began to take a broader and more kindly view of their Catholic comrades and fellow-citizens, and long before the war closed they realized that the faith and the flag were entirely compatible.
A few years ago William J. Onahan, of Chicago, in an address, incidentally touched upon this very point. Speaking of those who were distrustful of the Church and its teachings he said: “If they could realize the harmony and benevolent influence of her teaching, the number of souls redeemed through her efforts and graces from despair and sin, the wounded hearts solaced by herbalm—the extent of human misery she has removed or mitigated? Let them but think how that Church has consecrated the marriage tie, sanctified the home, shielded the unfortunate, lifted up the lowly and sorrow-stricken, staying the arm of the oppressor, pleading for the rights of the poor against the power of the tyrant and the greed of capital. Witness the asylums and the refuges the Catholic Church has established all over the world for every condition of infirmity and suffering—for the orphans, the foundlings, the sick, the aged, the wayward and the fallen.
“See the admirable sisterhoods—to which no parallel can be found on earth—the Sisters of Charity and Mercy, the Poor Handmaids of Jesus Christ, the Sisters of St. Joseph, the nuns of the Good Shepherd, the Little Sisters of the Poor and countless others, varying in the admirable diversity of their charitable labors. Watch these sisters at their appointed duties in the hospitals and asylums, in the hovels of the poor, by the bedside of the dying—aye, in pesthouses and smallpox hospitals, as well as on the battlefield, ministering to the dying soldier—all bent on doing God’s work for God’s sake. Assuredly these facts—these daily examples here before our eyes, within reach of our feet in daily walk—assuredly these ought to serve toward dispelling the false glare of prejudice.
“As a preliminary let me say I adopt without reserve or qualification the language of the Baltimore Catholic Congress: ‘We rejoice at the marvellous development of our country, and regard with just pride the part taken by Catholics in such development.’ In the words of the pastoral issued by the Archbishops of the United States, assembled in the third Plenary Council of Baltimore,‘we claim to be acquainted both with the laws, institutions and spirit of our country, and we emphatically declare that there is no antagonism between them.
“We repudiate with equal earnestness the assertion that we need to lay aside any of our devotedness to our Church to be true Americans, and the insinuations that we need abate any of our love for our country’s principles to be faithful Catholics. We believe that our country’s heroes were the instruments of the God of Nations in establishing this home of freedom; to both the Almighty and to His instruments in the work we look with grateful reverence, and to maintain the inheritance of freedom which they have left us, should it ever—which God forbid—be imperiled, our Catholic citizens will be bound to stand forward as one man, ready to pledge anew their lives, their fortunes and their sacred honor.’
“Before turning to the question of the ‘rights and duties’ let me first define what I understand by the term ‘Catholic Citizen.’ An American citizen, whether by birth or adoption, who, having had the grace of Christian baptism, believes and practices the teachings of the Catholic Church—in other words a practical Catholic. Now we come to the question of ‘rights and duties.’ What are our rights as citizens? No more, no less, precisely, than those possessed by any other American citizen. What are the rights we in common have with others? In general terms we have the ‘right’ of enjoying and defending life and liberty, of acquiring, possessing and protecting property and reputation and of pursuing our own happiness.
“We hold, in the language of the Constitution of Illinois, that all men have a natural and indefeasible right to worship Almighty God according tothe dictates of their own consciences, that no man can of right be compelled to attend, erect or support any place of worship, or to maintain any ministry against his consent, that no human authority can in any case whatever control or interfere with the rights of conscience. We have a right to be protected in our persons and property; we cannot be deprived of either without due process of law; the right of free elections, to trial by jury, to equality before the law—but I need not enter into detail of the ‘Bill of Rights’ which specifies the catalogue of a freeman’s inheritance. The highest and most precious right, however, is that of religious freedom, liberty to worship God without let or hindrance and free from religious disabilities of any kind, and next to their own rights as free men, to exercise it as shall best promote the welfare of the city, State and nation.
“Catholics, then, are entitled to absolute equality before the law, and this is according to the letter and spirit of the Constitution of the United States, as well as of the several States now, I believe, without exception. There is nevertheless an unwritten law, which operates as a practical discrimination against Catholics in public life as effectually as though it were so expressed in the Constitution. It is the law of public opinion deriving its force and effect from popular prejudice. It is a well-known fact that neither of the great political parties would dare to nominate a Catholic for the Presidency, and the same is true as to the office of Governor in the different States. Surely it would not be claimed that no American Catholic could be found qualified by position and ability for any of these high offices.
“Eternal vigilance, it has been said, is the price of liberty. Probably if Catholics were alertin asserting their rights—in a just and lawful, as well as in a reasonable manner—there would be less disposition shown to infringe upon those rights, and to ignore their claim to representation. Again, the government, whether National or State, has no just claim or authority to deny the rights of conscience to Catholics, whether they be employed in the service of the nation, in the army or naval forces, in penal or reformatory institutions, in asylums, or elsewhere. The State may lawfully and justly deprive a man of his liberty and place him behind prison bars; but it has no right to compel him while there to attend a form of religious worship in which he does not believe; it should not deny or hamper the attendance and ministrations of priest or elder whose services are sought by the prisoner or State’s own ward. Justice and sound policy alike demonstrate the wisdom of invoking the services of the Catholic Missionary for Catholics, whether in jail or asylum, or on the frontier.
“General Grant testified that Father De Smet’s presence among the Indians was of greater value to the Government than a regiment of cavalry, and recent events on our Northern borders intensify the force of this conclusion. The Catholic missionary is always a peacemaker. Catholics ask nothing in the way of ‘privileges.’ We have no claim to privileges. We only ask what we are willing to concede to others—equality and fair play. If others are content to minimize religious principles or to abdicate them entirely we must be excused if we insist on holding fast to ours. We are on firm ground in that respect; we do not care to follow others into the “slough of despond.” We are persuaded that every vexed question occupying and disturbing thepublic attention, dividing and distracting the people can be amicably adjusted, provided the wise men of the nation and the States will take these questions out of the hands of fanatics and bigots, who are only too eager and anxious to inaugurate a reign of discord and religious strife.
“Catholics, be assured, will have no part in this warfare, beyond protecting and defending their rights—God-given and Constitutional rights. They would be unworthy of American citizenship were they to be content with less.
“We now come to the question of the ‘Duties of Catholics as Citizens.’ Let it be understood that in undertaking to answer this, as well as the previous question under consideration, I speak for myself only as a Catholic layman. I express my own thoughts and convictions unreservedly. What are the ‘duties’ referred to? First, and primarily, I should say to be American, in all that the term broadly implies. How do I define the term American? It stands in my mind for liberty, order, education and opportunities. It is the duty of the Catholic citizen to love liberty for its own sake, order for the general good and to illustrate the highest type and model of civic virtue. It is a duty to foster and nourish the purity of home life and the domestic virtues, eagerly to promote education and to make every necessary sacrifice for it, and to see to it that Catholic children shall have the benefit of a sound Christian education. Catholics should avail themselves of the material opportunities and advantages offered in this wonderful age and country, and strive to be in the front ranks in the march of progress.
“The field is wide and inviting, the race is opento all. The privilege of American citizenship should be regarded as precious and priceless. Because so easily acquired, perhaps, it is not sufficiently estimated at its true value and worth. Think what American citizenship confers; see what it assures! Equal part and membership in this mighty empire—the equal advantage in its unsurpassed opportunities—the unqualified privileges of its unequaled freedom. No standing armies here to be moved at a monarch’s caprice, weighing down and oppressing the nation’s energies, draining it of its life blood, sapping its vitality, and, worst evil of all, menacing the peace of the world. No armed ‘constabulary’ to terrorize over a peasant population and enforce the heartless edict of brutal landlords. No hereditary or favored classes. No obstacle to the unfettered enjoyment of those rights which we possess from God in the natural law, and that are guaranteed to us in the Constitution and laws of the land—the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
“What a future opens before us, what possibilities for ourselves and for our children! Justly are the American people jealous of this inheritance. It must be guarded with vigilant care, lest unworthy hands and evil guidance should put it in peril. American liberty and the opportunities of American life are too precious to the human family to permit the one and the other to be wrecked or endangered. I rejoice in every indication of patriotic public spirit, whether shown in devotion and respect for the country’s flag or in reverence and admiration for the nation’s heroes. We need all these demonstrations to keep alive in this material age the ardor and purity of true patriotism.
“True American patriotism is the inheritance and monopoly of no one class or condition. Its title is not derived from accident of birth or color, is not to be determined by locality. Montgomery, Pulaski, Steuben, De Kalb, Rochambeau, the Moylans and Sullivans, fought for American liberty in the Revolutionary days with an ardor and a fidelity at least equal to that displayed by those “native and to the manner born.” Jackson was none the less a typical American because of the accident of his father’s foreign birth, or, as is sometimes intimated, of his own. And who shall question the patriotic devotion of General Shields, honorably identified with the early history of your own State; of Meagher, of Mulligan, of Sheridan, of Meade and countless others I might name.
“Apprehension is sometimes expressed at the growth of foreign influence and the display of foreign customs, but this fear is after all puerile. Under our system of government the foreigner who comes to stay is soon assimilated, and while there may be here and there instances and examples, the outgrowth of foreign habits and customs, not welcome to American notions, yet these can be only passing and temporary accidents. The foreigner, I insist, is all right, provided he is loyal to American laws and government. We have no use for any other.”
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This record of their life and conduct could not be brought to a more appropriate close than by the recital of a touching romance of the war, growing directly out of the work of the Sisters during that crucial period. The episode upon which the story hinges gains added interest from the fact that it constituted one of the actual occurrences of the closing day of the war.
A few years before the first shot was fired upon Sumter a household that was a perfect picture of domestic felicity existed in one of the large cities of Kentucky. It consisted of four persons—father, mother, son and daughter. The parents were in comfortable circumstances, and in their life and conduct were all that the heads of a Christian family should be. The son and daughter vied with one another in performing those little acts of devotion and duty that go so far toward making up the sum total of harmony and happiness that should ever reign about the family hearthstone.
At the time our narrative begins the son was approaching his twentieth year. He was a tall, handsome manly fellow, and by a course of preparatory work was now about to begin the final years of study at the West Point Military Academy. The daughter, a girl of unusual intelligence and beauty, was two years the junior of her brother. Hers was a devout nature, and choice and study led her to adopt the habit of a Sister of Charity as the means for carrying out a desire to be both useful and good during her transitory stay upon this earth.
Just at this period death, by one of these inexplicable strokes which can never be made quite clear to the human intellect, carried off both parents. The devoted children of such a loving father and mother were naturally prostrated at such an affliction. But they rallied nobly, and grief only served to bring out the better qualities of their nature. After all that was mortal of their dearest ones had been consigned to the earth they calmly sat down and rationally discussed their future plans.
The result was just what might have been expected. Both resolved to carry out their original design. The parting was a sad one—the man going to complete his knowledge of a soldier’s life—the woman to her convent home to receive the final vows and to learn the last lessons concerning the philosophy of charity in its sweetest and grandest sense.
Many years passed and the brother and sister, in their widely separated and totally different spheres of life, were as dead to one another as if they had never lived under the same roof. The Civil War with all of its horrors began. What had been the theoretical discussions of cabinets and the political orations of legislators now developed into the fierce and awful reality of war. It was no longer a question of what might or could have been, the actual grim-visaged monster with all of the hideous ills that follow was engaged in the work of death and destruction.
Men volunteered their services. After them came the nurses. One of these was Sister S——, from one of the Northern houses of the Sisters of Charity. In order to expedite her mission of mercy it was necessary that she should enter the service of the Federal Government. The record of her daily life from that time forth was therecord of every member of the Catholic Sisterhood that served during the war. Days of uninterrupted work; nights of ceaseless watching.
Soon after the siege of Vicksburg word was telegraphed to Baltimore that a corps of Sisters of Charity was needed at once to care for the scores of sick and wounded then suffering in Louisiana. Only five Sisters were available. They were sent at once, with Sister S—— in command. They found travel seriously impeded from the start. This fact caused the good Samaritans much anguish of mind, for the summons they received said that many of the men would die unless they had the immediate attendance of experienced nurses. When the Sisters reached Chattanooga they found that a special train had been provided for the purpose of rushing them with all possible speed to the City of New Orleans. On this train there were also a number of Union officers carrying important sealed orders from the authorities at Washington to the men in charge of the Union forces in what was known as the “Department of the Gulf.” Sisters and officers were filled with conflicting emotions, but all had one object in common—the desire to reach New Orleans at the earliest possible moment. With the Sisters it was a race for life—for lives that might be saved by their exertions. With the men it was a race for honor—for promotion, perhaps for official commendation from the General of the Army or the President of the United States.
Finally the train steamed into the Crescent City, and the officers went to seek their commanders and the sisters their patients, who were in a small town on the Mississippi River. Sister S—— divided her small force of nurses with such rare good judgment and executiveability that in twenty-four hours all of the sick and wounded men were resting comfortably. Suddenly came the order to depart and the Union troops all left the town, taking with them such of the convalescent patients as were able to bear the strain of travel. Twelve hours later a portion of the Confederate army entered the town, bringing several hundred of their sick and wounded. Sister S——, thinking that the call to duty in this instance was no less imperative than it had been in the case of the Union men the day before, started for the hospital, where the wounded Confederates had been carried.
One of the Union surgeons who had remained behind with his wounded men, placed a detaining hand upon her arm.
“Where are you going?” he said.
“To look after these men,” she replied.
“That is impossible,” he said. “You are in the service of the United States Government, and you are are not permitted to serve under the enemy. We have no objection to your nursing the wounded Confederates, but it must be under the auspices of our generals. The Union forces will probably regain possession of this town before nightfall, and then you can wait upon both sides alike.”
“But I insist,” and the eyes of the usually mild-mannered Sister sparkled as she stamped her foot in an emphatic manner. “I know nothing of technical military rules, but I insist upon my right to nurse these poor men.”
“I regret very much being placed in such a position,” said the surgeon gently, “but I am here representing the Government.”
“And I,” responded the Sister, “am here representing something greater than the Government.”
“What is that?” he asked in an incredulous tone.
“Humanity!” was the quiet reply.
The officer—a brave man obeying orders—did not utter another word, but bowing his head opened the door and admitted the Sister and her companions into the presence of the sick.
Scarcely a minute had elapsed when the surgeon heard the heartrending shriek of a woman come from the interior of the building. Rushing in he beheld the Sister kneeling beside a cot at the far end of the room. The tears were pouring down her cheeks, but it was evident that they were tears of joy. The bearded man upon the cot was seriously wounded, but there was a placid expression upon his countenance as he kissed the hands of the Sister.
Need this dramatic scene be explained to the reader. It was the son and daughter mentioned in the beginning of this sketch—reunited after years of separation. The one enlisted in the Confederate army, the other a nurse serving under the Union Government. The sight drew tears from rough soldiers who seldom betrayed emotion of any character.
The Sister lavished every attention upon her wounded brother. What would have been a solemn duty under any conditions now became a work of love and affection. But it was all in vain. He had been marked as a a victim by the grim destroyer. In a few days he breathed his last, edified and consoled by the presence of his Sister and all of the offices of religion.
Funerals from the hospital always occurred at night, and this was no exception. But the obsequies of the young Confederate officer were out of the ordinary. Every one about the hospital, and, indeed, in the town,evinced a desire to do something as a mark of respect to Sister S——. The moon was shining brightly on the night of the interment, and it looked down upon a ghostly procession that followed the body to its last resting place. Six convalescent soldiers—three Union men and three Confederates, acted as pall-bearers. The services of the church were conducted by the chaplain. Sister S—— was the chief mourner. The other sisters followed with lighted tapers. No one took more interest in the proceedings or did more for the convenience of those concerned than the surgeon with whom the Sister had the altercation a few days before. After the war the Sister devoted herself to those works of charity and mercy, which to a person with the desire and will are within reach in times of peace as well as in times of war.