CHAPTERXX
Quiteunknown to me, the State Agents and the two Commissions had formulated an appeal to have me supersede Mrs. Spencer, then New York State Agent in the field, and urged that I go at once to Governor Fenton at Albany to have it confirmed. So the day after the wedding I started for New York on a government transport.
Mr. Houghton was also going North. The rumor of a wedding had already spread over camp, and Mr. Houghton and I were congratulated as the happy couple on our wedding trip. This caused a great deal of merriment.
Captain Blackman of the transport, was very kind and made the trip on the shabby boat quite pleasant. My little cabin was suffocating at night, and I left my door open with a light burning in the narrow passage-way, while the engineer and his wife slept opposite. Quite exhausted with preparations for the wedding and for my trip North, I fell into a heavy sleep. Some time during the night I was awakened by heavy hands passing up and down my body. I awoke in total darkness, and was too dazed at first to comprehend the situation, but at last I managed to exclaim “Who are you, and what do you want?”
A coarse voice, in broken English, said, “I want a place to sleep!”
I called for a light and help, when in a very calm manner the intruder said: “O, don’t put yourself in a stew!” On his hastily retreating footsteps I quickly closed and locked the door. The engineer had doubtless extinguished the light in the passage before he closed their door.
The next day we stopped at Fortress Monroe, and were allowed to examine the interior of the Fort, and that great mounted black gun called “The Swamp Angel” which was reputed to throw a shot of four hundred pounds!
In Washington we met our old friend Major Baker; and when we walked up Pennsylvania Avenue toward the Capitol we saw the effect of an unusual freak of the wind. A large flag was flying at the top from either wing of the great building and both flags blew in towards each other, standing out immovable without a fold as if held by some material background. The effect was peculiar.
But I spent little time sight-seeing, and took the afternoon train for New York.
Upon arriving at my home in Bedford Avenue, Brooklyn, there were many matters to attend to, and I had little time to spend with my family. I then started for Albany. At Troy we crossed the river in a sleigh on thick ice. I had been invited to stop at the home of my former patient John C. Guffin, where I met his father, mother and brother. The parents reminded me of Abraham and Sarah. They seemed to have dropped out of the Old Testament, as they talked in Scripture language quite difficult for me to understand.
The hilly streets of Albany were covered with ice, and although a natural climber, I could not keep my footing, and so I simply sat down and slid to the bottom of those hills. Governor Fenton was away when I arrived, and I was obliged to remain three days waiting for him. During this time these hospitable patriarchs gave me, three times a day, only buckwheat cakes and tea, which peculiar diet caused a severe headache. I was very glad when I could get away. I never experienced such cold as during that visit.
Governor Fenton was very courteous, and, after examining the appeal made by all the State Agencies, the Sanitary and Christian Commissions, he soon granted the request and gave me the Commission of New York State agent, with directions to report to Mr. Morgan, head of New York State Agency in Washington.
On my return to Washington I met Mr. Morgan, and received from him the following commission:
“New York State Agency,181 Pennsylvania Avenue,Washington, D. C., February 22, 1865.Colonel T. S. Bowers,A. A. G. Armies, United States.Sir:Miss Ada W. Smith has been appointed agent of the State of New York for the relief of her soldiers.I respectfully commend her to your kind consideration, assuring you that every facility given her for carrying out the object of her mission will be appreciated.Very truly,D. G. MORGAN,Supt. N. Y. S. Military Agency.”
“New York State Agency,181 Pennsylvania Avenue,Washington, D. C., February 22, 1865.
Colonel T. S. Bowers,A. A. G. Armies, United States.
Sir:
Miss Ada W. Smith has been appointed agent of the State of New York for the relief of her soldiers.
I respectfully commend her to your kind consideration, assuring you that every facility given her for carrying out the object of her mission will be appreciated.
Very truly,D. G. MORGAN,Supt. N. Y. S. Military Agency.”
Mr. Morgan directed me to report to City Point and to relieve Mrs. Spencer.
On my return to City Point I met Major and Mrs. Eden. Having received his promotion and a furlough, they were on their wedding trip North. I was glad to return to City Point camp life and duty, with congratulations on all sides. The next day, with an ambulance and a friend, I went to Mrs. Spencer’s quarters and showed her my commission, saying, “I would like to take possession in a few days.”
Mrs. Spencer had been charged with partiality to McClellan men, and refusing Republican soldiers tobacco, etc. Politics, even in the army, caused many somersaults, and were quite beyond my management; and through some strategy my commission was revoked at City Point, though I retained the commission as New York agent in general!
There were then some indications of the collapse of the Confederacy, and that when this frightful war was over the agencies would also collapse. However, I kept on working in the old way, while my indignant Republican friends threatened, and tried to storm the New York State Agency. Politics ran high and many lost their heads politically. Many convalescent copperheads and Democrats, enlisted men, were allowed to go home to vote for president.
Doctor Painter, a strong Republican, incurred the displeasure of General Patrick, a Democrat, by some manipulations which enabled her to get enough passes for Jersey soldiers to go home to vote and so balance the Democratic vote.
Many one-armed and one-legged men were moving about camp, waiting orders to report to Washington, where the Government would supply them with artificial limbs and discharge them. It was surprising how many were well fitted with these limbs, and that many could walk so well that only a slight limp betrayed them; while others with neatly gloved hands, which they could sometimes use quite well, were seldom observed in passing.
A young lieutenant from Maine, had lost a leg, and was lying, weary and helpless, on his hospital cot. He had written, as had many another poor fellow crippled for life, to his fiancée, offering to resign his claim, and he was now feverishly awaiting her reply. Day after day passed, and still no answer, while we tried every device to encourage him. He said “I know how it will be!” He became bitter and scornful and made no effort to live. While it was scarcely possible in any case that he could recover from this usually fatal thigh fracture, we still hoped that he might at least receive some word of comfort before he died.
I seldom went into the wards after nightfall, but the dying boy sent for me quite late one night. Hoping that some kind word had come at last, I hastened to his side. None had come and, conscious that his life was fast ebbing away, he had only bitterness for his former sweetheart and died with these cruel thoughts.
I wrote his friend, simply announcing his death; but a few days later came her reply, full of grief. She had received no letter, nor knew anything of his wounds. They had been friends from childhood and she could not believe she would never see him again. “Had he not mentioned her or left some word?” My reply was the saddest and most difficult of all sad letters, for—“It might have been.” I tried to think of some word which he had dropped which might be happily construed, and I certainly strained a point to give this poor heart-stricken girl some little comfort to remember from the boy lover of her childhood.
A few days later his comrades carried him to a mournful tune of fife and drum, and fired a last salute over his lonely grave.
“Of all sad words of tongue or pen,The saddest are these, it might have been.”
“Of all sad words of tongue or pen,The saddest are these, it might have been.”
“Of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these, it might have been.”