CHAPTERXII
From a letter written Nov. 8, 1864
November8th (Election Day) dawned upon a cloudy sky and misty atmosphere as peculiar to Virginia as is also the renowned and “Sacred Soil,” after a few days’ rain. This however, we observed after we had risen from our narrow hospital bed, which stood close by the side of the tent, that flapped in the face of the sleeper (or waker) as the wind rose or fell. The rain descended in torrents during the night, and all was damp as usual in our rag houses. Our sleeping apartment, or tent, the second one of the Maine Agency, was well stored with boxes of goods and delicacies for the sick, leaving little moving space. Late as was the season our tents were made comfortably warm with army fireplaces, and stoves, though the floors, made of broken boxes, were sometimes covered with mud. “Oh, were you ever into an Irishman’s shanty?” I can not here describe our excellent agency which did more for the relief of soldiers, and more fully realized the idea of an army home, than any agency or commission on the field.
I accepted a pressing invitation from the New Jersey State Agent, Doctor Hettie K. Painter, to join a pleasure excursion. She, by the by, was a living example of the usefulness of a lady in the army, who can frequently effect more good by personal influence than would be allowed through regular channels.
Hettie PainterDR. HETTIE K. PAINTER
DR. HETTIE K. PAINTER
Our pass being sufficient, we started in an ambulance with a clever driver, who drove around the camp and gave us an opportunity to see the extent of our hospital, having a capacity of over 9,000, and covering an area of twenty-five acres. We then crossed the Petersburg railroad, to which had been added a branch running directly into the middle of our camp for the more direct and comfortable conveyance of the sick and wounded.
We splashed on in the mud, through an opening in the fortification which protected the base. This defense extended about fifteen miles from the Appomatox River to the James River, and was a high, heavy earthwork, further protected by a deep ditch; earthworks having been found to be superior to stone fortification. How little did those at home know of the immense amount of labor here necessary! The pick and spade still played an important part in the warfare of our country.
Virginia was stripped of her artificial culture and bore on her bosom the scourge of war in the form of burned and felled woods, torn and altered roads, plantations deserted and laid waste, deeply furrowed fields turned into stony roughness and corduroy unevenness, which resisted even the indentation of wheels, and threatened frequent overturns. With all these marks of desolation, waste and destruction, Virginia was still beautiful in her woods and varied trees, now gorgeous in the oriental splendor of fall,—crimson, orange and pale yellow, with a background of the darkest green, fading into tan or sere and yellow,—with blended colorings indescribable, and hills receding in the distance. Near us—beyond the winding river and bayous, the dells and ravines and bluffs, which give to the quiet and beautiful scenery of this section its greatest variety and charm—was the Point of Rocks.
On we jogged in our springless ambulance, here passing an army train of supplies, or a load of logs for building winter quarters. Further on we ran our wheels into a loaded army wagon, drawn by six mules, but a dexterous turn brought us upon an evergreen bank, and we rode safely along, following a cavalry force. After riding about four miles, we came to Broadway Landing, (why so called I can not surmise), a depot at which General Butler’s supplies were received and forwarded. Here we crossed the pontoon bridge, formed by placing flat-bottomed boats sidewise about ten feet apart, and fastening these by ropes and beams laid across from one boat to another, and heavy planks laid transversely across the beams. This makes a very simple, portable and strong bridge. The river at this point is less than a quarter of a mile in width, having a steep bank on either side.
On the eminence of the James River side of the Appomattox we came upon the marine artillery performing their drill. The rapidity with which they dismounted, and took to pieces and reconstructed their cannon seemed wonderful to an ordinary spectator. To the left we passed the spot said to be the veritable and memorable site of the historical incident of the saving of Captain Smith’s life by Pocahontas. Her direct descendants, the Rolfs, give this as the locality, and the stump of a large oak tree at the extreme end of the Point of Rocks as the identical one,—now felled and lying down the bank,—under whose shade might have perished John Smith. And what then would the world have done for a scapegoat?
Still further to the left of us was the 18th Army Corps Hospital, and in the background, on the river bank, rose one of General Butler’s great signal stations, 125 feet in height, to which were communicated from the smaller and hidden stations, the results of their observations, and whence they were transmitted to General Butler’s headquarters. While at one of these smaller stations, we saw through glasses a train of nine empty cars, passing on the rebel road, which fact was immediately conveyed by a singular numerical motion of a signal flag. The flagman who gave this communication was remarkably expert in his motions.
After riding some three miles further we reached General Butler’s provisional camp, then in command of General Graham. Only a part of the supplies were now forwarded to this point, the rest being conveyed by way of the James River. Here we stopped at the Hatcher farm. Judging from the number of barns and small houses scattered about, this must have been quite an extensive plantation. The owner and present occupant had taken the Oath of Allegiance, and having sent his slaves farther south, lived here quietly with his wife and three pretty children. But General Butler’s vigilance would not allow him to leave his house or to speak to any one without the immediate attendance of a guard, who constantly walked before his door. Our cook supplied this rusty cavalier and family with the necessities of life, as if he were a northern “mud sill.”
On the farm was quite a large negro cabin, built of logs, consisting of two rooms, one above the other. This was the telegraph station of this section and was under the supervision of the son of Doctor Hettie K. Painter, a lad of less than seventeen summers, who conducted the business as thoroughly as if it had been under the guidance or experience of grey locks. What strange stories passed over the lines from that mysterious little instrument, quietly working away on a side table as if only an ornament! These boy employees,—for our young friend Painter had assistance,—were all able to read by sounds which, to unpractised ears, seemed all alike.
In a large fireplace, over a log fire, Mrs. Painter made a camp kettle of cornstarch pudding, and George Washington, the contraband, boiled potatoes and fried the mutton chops; and with the addition of a few delicacies and good Java coffee, which we had carried with us, we had as good a dinner as hungry mortals could wish.
Dinner over, we gathered some of the beautiful autumn leaves, and rode on our way until we reached the renowned original “Crow’s Nest” signal station. This was a huge tree seventy-five feet high, surmounting which was the “Crow’s Nest,” reached by rude ladders from one platform to another. This “Nest” resembled a thatched bird’s nest on a large scale, about four feet square, and it was almost hidden by surrounding trees. A new skeleton station erected on the opposite side of the road left unused the “Old Nest.” Several gunboats were lying in the river, below the banks of the James, ready for action.
Entering the ambulance, we continued our ride over hills and through ravines, at the risk of an upset, until we safely reached Dutch Gap, General Butler’s famous canal. This was nearly completed at the cost of much time and labor, and only waited the blasting of a rock at the other end, to complete the work which would form an island of the narrow peninsula dividing the River James into two branches, to be connected by the canal.
Along both shores were heavy guns and strong fortifications, quite formidable, showing much labor and ingenuity. Despite the almost constant courtesy of interchanging shells passing overhead, the “Johnny Rebs,” on one side of the river, and the Yanks on the other bank, had many quiet talks across the narrow stream. Talks like this were quite usual, and were even winked at by officers.
“Hello Yank, hev u’uns got any good coffee?”
“Well I guess! It can’t be beat. Say, Johnny, how are you off for tobac?”
“O, we’ve got heaps of that. I reckon u’uns had better just float some of that coffee across.”
“All right, Johnny, you get your tobac ready!”
By a little practice in watching the current, they became quite expert in floating across many exchanges besides the tobacco and coffee. They even risked being shot from their own side as deserters, and swam across after dark to enjoy a supper of “hot pone” on the “Reb” side, or hot coffee and some luxuries on the “Yank” side, where the sutler often consumed a month’s pay at a time in selling good things to some “Boy in Blue.”
Returning, we stopped only at the embalmer’s, where many bodies were daily prepared to be sent to friends at home. The morbid fancy which is manifested by so many to possess dead bodies, especially those which have long laid buried, seems one of the most barbarous customs permitted in a civilized country.
We reached our hospital just as “night drew on her sable mantle and pinned it with a star.” The camp fires and chimneys were throwing over the scene a bright and cheering glow. A good supper was prepared by our contraband Hannah, who, with a broad smile, declared in her own peculiar vernacular: “I’s jes goin’ gib you alls up; t’o’t de rebs done got you dis time shoo nuff—I’se so glad.”
We pressed our collection of leaves, and, after a short visit to headquarters and the ladies’ tent where our stores were kept, we returned to “Maine” and laid away our weary bones, nearly shattered after a day’s shaking over the corduroy roads. We were soon lulled to sleep by the 6th Army Corps singing “The Girl I Left Behind Me” and the humming of the singing mice which infected our tent.