CHAPTER VI.

MRS. MAY GOES TO THE FRONT—THE NEW HOME—IONIA FRIENDS—THE TWENTY-SIXTH MICHIGAN INFANTRY—SOLDIER ACCIDENTALLY SHOT—A NEW YORK SOLDIER—SICKNESS IN CAMP—PHILIP HACKER—SORROW OF FRIENDS—DEATH OF LIEUTENANT BURCH—FALMOUTH—RAILROAD ACCIDENT—ANOTHER SAD SIGHT—A MEETING AT THE CAPITOL—A DAY IN WASHINGTON—THE MOVE—SAD MEMORIES.

My work for the month of January was so similar to that of previous months, that to give daily extracts from my journal would only be a repetition of the same old story.

Early in the month, my good friend, Mrs. May, with whom I had boarded three months, went to the front, taking her family with her, which compelled me to seek a home elsewhere. But the furniture[2]not being removed, I remained at the same place until the 20th—Mrs. Windsor, of New York, remaining with me—when the furniture was sold at public auction. I then went to live with Mrs. Munsell, at No. 32 Patrick street, the lady I have before mentioned asaccompanying the wounded from the battle-field of Chantilly to Alexandria. I found in her a true friend. But, ere the return of peace, she entered into her rest, her life having been worn out in the loyal cause. Her grave may be seen at a little Quaker settlement near Sulphur Springs, Maryland, whither she had gone to repair her wasted energies and declining health.

[2]Which was confiscated property.

What fitting tribute shall we bringThy memory to enshrine?Fresh laurel-wreaths in early springFor thee will love entwine.

What fitting tribute shall we bring

Thy memory to enshrine?

Fresh laurel-wreaths in early spring

For thee will love entwine.

Though missing my friends very much, and seeing some lonely hours, the old saying that “there is no great loss without some small gain,” was verified in this case, as Mrs. Munsell very kindly shared with me the rations drawn from the Government, thus lessening my expenses.

I had scarcely become settled in my new home when, unexpectedly, I received a call from some Ionia friends. The surprise was as pleasant as complete. Before leaving, one of the party placed a sum of money in my hands, saying, “That is for your own individual self;” but it went into the general fund to help defray expenses, “self” being an after-consideration.

I employed my time as usual—evenings, in making pies, puddings, custards, stewing fruit, writing letters, making shirts, knitting socks, etc., and during the day distributing my supplies among the sick and wounded in the various hospitals. I also continued visits to the camps, procuring discharges and bringing away the sick. The weather, much of the time, was cold and unpleasant, wind and rain, snow and mud, seeming to be the order of the day.

During this month, Camp Convalescent was removed two miles farther away—near Fort Blenker—where wood and water were plenty; and the erection of barracks commenced, some of which were completed and occupied before the close of the month. On the whole, a great change for the better took place, but there was still plenty of room for improvement. A noble work was accomplished among those destitute neglected ones by Miss Bradley of Maine—a sanitary agent, having her headquarters in this Camp. Many a soldier can point to her as the means, under God, of saving his life.

A short time before the Camp was removed, we had a few days of severe cold weather. The sick were brought into Alexandria, several of them so nearly frozen that they never spoke afterwards. I saw two such who were taken to St. Paul’s; they survived only a few hours, and died without returningto consciousness. Upon whom does the responsibility rest? There was blame attached to some one—a fearful neglect of duty somewhere.

The Twenty-sixth Michigan Infantry were at this time stationed near Alexandria, and doing provost duty in the city. As they had not been long enough in the service to become acclimated, they suffered much from sickness. Pneumonia, measles, typhoid fever and small-pox altogether did fearful work in the regiment. I supplied them from time to time with butter, fruit, jellies, wine, eggs, chicken, etc., besides pillows, towels, handkerchiefs, flannel (when needed and to be had), stationery, and the like.

As the regimental hospital would not accommodate all the sick, many were taken to Alexandria. At one time I had on my list eighty names of men belonging to this regiment, in one hospital. At that time I had few acquaintances in the regiment, except among the sick, and “their name was legion.”

I remember the first time we heard the tramp of the soldiers of the Twenty-sixth. As they were passing our door, some one of the family remarked, “We are safe now, for Michigan’s on duty.” Poor boys! some of them never knew what it was to perform a soldier’s duty, for they died before having an opportunity to strike one blow in defence of liberty—sacrifices, nevertheless, to the cause. One of their number,Ira Nash, was accidentally shot by a comrade the 6th inst., from the effects of which he died the 25th. During those weeks of suffering, he was a perfect embodiment of patience. He entertained no feelings of resentment toward his unfortunate comrade who was the cause of his untimely death, but freely forgave. His brother came on as soon as he heard of the accident, remained with him until he died, and then returned home with his remains to the young wife so soon left a widow, and the many friends who mourn their loss.

Several of the Fifth Infantry wounded at Fredericksburg died during this, the first month of the year—three in one hospital, all belonging to the same company. The sister of one of these—Albert Foot—came to see him, and with sisterly devotion watched over him until failing health compelled her to return home. Others of the same, and other regiments, died in different hospitals, whose names space forbids mentioning. Oh, how often I thought of the friends in far-off homes when the lives of their loved ones were ebbing away. What would that fond mother have given to have taken the place of the stranger by the side of her dying boy; or that devoted wife, could she have wiped the clammy death-sweat from the brow of her departing husband; or that loving sister to have spoken words of comfort to cheer her soldier-brotherthrough the “dark valley” or the affianced to have performed the last kind office of affection for the one “dearer than all others”?...

The month of February witnessed a great decrease in the number of patients in our hospitals, some having been discharged, others returned to duty, a few were transferred, while death removed its multitudes.

The Twenty-sixth lost many a noble man from its ranks—something like eighteen or twenty. Among others who closed their earthly existence during this month was Corporal Philip Hacker of the Fifth, a noble Christian young man, who had chosen the ministry as his profession. He was wounded in the hip, the ball never being extracted. He lingered an intense sufferer six weeks. I watched over him with a sister’s solicitude; saw him day by day grow weaker, his cheeks thinner and paler, until the sands of life ran out, and “he was not, for God took him.” His poor sorrowing mother, who was on her way to see him, had already reached Washington. But, alas! hers was the consolation that the grave affords. It was hard for me to give him up, but who could fathom the depths of that mother’s grief? But her cup was not yet full. After remaining with me a few days, she went to see another son, who belonged to the Second Infantry, then stationed at Fortress Monroe. This proved to be their last meeting; at the siege ofKnoxville he fell mortally wounded, a Minie ball having penetrated his brain. They left him buried where he fell asleep, in Tennessee.

“O woman!—noble, suffering heart—Hope for a fairer dawn;The hand that dealt the trialWill give a bright’ning morn.”

“O woman!—noble, suffering heart—

Hope for a fairer dawn;

The hand that dealt the trial

Will give a bright’ning morn.”

It is the hope of this “bright’ning morn,” the re-union in heaven, that makes this bereaved mother’s grief endurable. It was sad indeed to witness the sorrow of friends who had come to look up their dear ones, and found them very often, alas! already dead or dying. I can see before me, even now, a pale-faced sister watching by the bedside of a dear brother; but soon he passes away. Again, I see an aged father, bowed with the weight of years, whose locks are white with the frosts of many winters, watching day and night by his darling boy; but, after long weeks of suffering, the stern messenger comes, and none can stay his hand. There, too, comes the heart-broken widow, weeping bitter tears o’er her early slain, while her children look in vain for father’s coming. Brothers, too, I see searching for brothers, and friend inquiring for friend.

Among the many who died with that loathsome disease, small-pox, which prevailed to quite an alarmingextent, was the young and gifted Lieutenant W. W. Burch, of the Twenty-sixth Michigan.

The following lines were written upon his death by Sarah J. C. Whittlesey, of Alexandria, Va. As they seem so appropriate, I will reproduce them:

“Toll, toll for him, the youthful one, O funeral bell of time!He died with manhood’s morning sun just risen at matin chime.Toll, toll for him, the youthful one, O solemn bell! O funeral bell!Cathedral bell of time!“Mourn, mourn for him, the youthful one, O heart of life and bloom!Death dimmed the splendor of thy sun, O earth! within his tomb.Mourn, mourn for him, the gifted one, O kindred heart, O poet heart!O heart of life and bloom!“Moan, moan around the soldier’s bed, O waves of the year’s spring-tide!Chant dirges o’er his buried head—in life’s young spring he died.Moan, moan around the soldier’s bed, O solemn waves! O sobbing waves!O waves of the year’s spring-tide!“Weep, weep beside the stranger’s rest, O heart of woman fair!Far from a mother’s faithful breast he died, and slumbers there.Weep, weep beside the stranger’s rest, O mother heart! O maiden heart!O heart of woman fair!“Rest, rest within our Southern land, young soldier, good and brave;A white-rose wreath the stranger’s hand will lay upon thy grave,For those who weep in far North-land—thy childhood’s home—a stricken band,Who mourn the lost and brave.”

“Toll, toll for him, the youthful one, O funeral bell of time!

He died with manhood’s morning sun just risen at matin chime.

Toll, toll for him, the youthful one, O solemn bell! O funeral bell!

Cathedral bell of time!

“Mourn, mourn for him, the youthful one, O heart of life and bloom!Death dimmed the splendor of thy sun, O earth! within his tomb.Mourn, mourn for him, the gifted one, O kindred heart, O poet heart!O heart of life and bloom!

“Mourn, mourn for him, the youthful one, O heart of life and bloom!

Death dimmed the splendor of thy sun, O earth! within his tomb.

Mourn, mourn for him, the gifted one, O kindred heart, O poet heart!

O heart of life and bloom!

“Moan, moan around the soldier’s bed, O waves of the year’s spring-tide!Chant dirges o’er his buried head—in life’s young spring he died.Moan, moan around the soldier’s bed, O solemn waves! O sobbing waves!O waves of the year’s spring-tide!

“Moan, moan around the soldier’s bed, O waves of the year’s spring-tide!

Chant dirges o’er his buried head—in life’s young spring he died.

Moan, moan around the soldier’s bed, O solemn waves! O sobbing waves!

O waves of the year’s spring-tide!

“Weep, weep beside the stranger’s rest, O heart of woman fair!Far from a mother’s faithful breast he died, and slumbers there.Weep, weep beside the stranger’s rest, O mother heart! O maiden heart!O heart of woman fair!

“Weep, weep beside the stranger’s rest, O heart of woman fair!

Far from a mother’s faithful breast he died, and slumbers there.

Weep, weep beside the stranger’s rest, O mother heart! O maiden heart!

O heart of woman fair!

“Rest, rest within our Southern land, young soldier, good and brave;A white-rose wreath the stranger’s hand will lay upon thy grave,For those who weep in far North-land—thy childhood’s home—a stricken band,Who mourn the lost and brave.”

“Rest, rest within our Southern land, young soldier, good and brave;

A white-rose wreath the stranger’s hand will lay upon thy grave,

For those who weep in far North-land—thy childhood’s home—a stricken band,

Who mourn the lost and brave.”

The 9th of the month I went to Falmouth, with nearly four thousand pounds of hospital stores, which had been brought from Monroe, Mich., by Mr. Marvin, designed expressly for those in the field. I was accompanied by Mrs. Munsell and Mrs. Beckwith—the latter a Massachusetts lady, whose husband was killed a few months before—who were also taking supplies to the army. We arrived at Aquia Creek in time for the three o’clock train, and at four were at Falmouth Station, where I had some trouble in getting my goods together, but finally succeeded, and then stationed myself as guard over them, remaining on duty until I could send a distance of three miles for transportation. Here Mrs. Munsell left me, as she was going to a different part of the army. It was about eight o’clock when Chaplain May jumped upon the platform near where I was standing. No lone sentinel at his post was ever more rejoiced to hear the approaching footsteps of the “second relief” than was I to see the chaplain that evening. He brought an ambulance and large army-wagon, whichwere soon loaded, a guard placed over the remainder of my stores, and we on our way, through darkness and mud, to the camp of the Second Michigan, it being nearly ten o’clock when we arrived. I was delighted once more to meet my good friends, the chaplain’s family and Mrs. Bonine; and after partaking of a warm supper, which was in readiness, we visited, until reminded by the small hours of the night that it was time to retire. Presently we find ourselves stowed away for the night, six of us in a little cabin, perhaps eighteen feet by twenty, and are soon lost in the land of pleasant dreams.

The next day was warm and agreeable. I assisted in distributing some of the supplies which I had taken down. Nothing was eaten with a better relish than the pickles and sour-kraut. There seemed to be a hankering for acids, the absence of which was the cause of much sickness.

I made a short visit to the Lacy House, took a stroll along the bank of the Rappahannock, across which lies the once pleasant little town of Fredericksburg, but now battered and broken; beyond, the long lines of rebel fortifications could be seen, from before which Burnside was compelled to fall back only two months previous. Our troops and the rebels were picketing on opposite sides of the river, in speaking distance of each other.

The morning of the 11th I left for Alexandria, in company with Mrs. Bonine, wife of Surgeon Bonine, of the Second, who was starting for Michigan. This, my first trip to the army—though full of interest, and associated with pleasant memories—was not without sadness, for a loved one was missing from the decimated ranks of the Michigan Eighth, and the grave was daily closing over “somebody’s darling.” And, oh! how many times I thought of the poor woman we met, when on our way to Falmouth, who was going to look after the remains of the last of three sons who had died in Freedom’s holy cause. Sorrow-stricken, heart-broken, she sat with bowed head, only speaking when addressed. Her grief was too great for expression. When “Grandma Gage,” from a heart overflowing with joy, can exclaim

“They’re coming home! they’re coming home!—Those four dear boys of mine—They’re coming home from out the war:How bright the sun does shine!”

“They’re coming home! they’re coming home!—

Those four dear boys of mine—

They’re coming home from out the war:

How bright the sun does shine!”

she, from the bitterness of her soul, takes up the sad lamentation:

“They have fallen! they have fallen!Where the battle-tempest roared—Where the blaze of strife was gleamingOn each bayonet and sword.”

“They have fallen! they have fallen!

Where the battle-tempest roared—

Where the blaze of strife was gleaming

On each bayonet and sword.”

As the Ninth Corps was under marching orders, I daily looked for the return of Mrs. May and family, but saw nothing of them until the 25th, when I again took up my abode with them.

On the 19th of March, a sad accident occurred near the Orange and Alexandria Depot. The cars were thrown from the track, killing four soldiers instantly, and severely wounding several others, two of whom died before night, and one the next day, while others lingered a few days, suffering more than death, before it came for their relief. As soon as I heard of the accident, I hastened, with others, to the place, taking wine, lint, and bandages. Oh, shocking sight! There, in an open car, lay the mangled forms of the dead and wounded. As soon as possible, the wounded were removed to the nearest hospital and kindly cared for, but the greater part needed care only a short time.

A few days after this, I witnessed another distressing sight at Fairfax Seminary. A soldier of the Twenty-sixth Michigan was dying from bleeding at the nose, which had continued for several days. Every effort to check the flow of blood proved unavailing. It was pitiful to behold him. His face was of marble whiteness, while the red current issuing from both nostrils plainly indicated that the fountain of life would soon be dry, and so it was.The brother who had come to care for him returned with the lifeless form to a bereaved wife and three fatherless children.

Toward the last of the month, I received another box of goods from Ionia, and two from Jackson. In one of the latter was some clothing for myself; so I, as well as the soldiers, had reason for gratitude, which, I believe, on the part of neither was wanting.

The evening of the 31st, I attended a meeting at the Capitol. Admiral Foot—blessings on his memory—and “Andrew Johnson” were among the speakers. The address of each was characteristic of the man who delivered it. Admiral Foot, as might have been expected, recognized the hand of God in the war, and recommended the people to exercise more faith in his over-ruling providence, firmly believing that all would eventually work out, not only for God’s glory, but for the best interest of our country. Mr. Johnson spoke at length of the state of affairs in Tennessee, and of the nation generally. He believed in meting out to traitors their just deserts—that stern justice, without any sprinkling of mercy, should be the portion of their cup. A slight change in his policy since then!!! During the evening, President Lincoln, and several members of his cabinet, came in. As they entered, the audience rose to their feet; ladies waved their handkerchiefs, gentlemen threwup their hats, while cheer after cheer went up for our chieftain, which echoed and reverberated through the halls and great dome of the Capitol. Every heart seemed to beat in unison with the great heart of Abraham Lincoln, whose care-worn face too plainly told that it was not the weight of years, but the sorrows of a nation, which were bearing him down. None could look upon his sad countenance without feelings of pity and a willingness to share the responsibility which rested with such crushing weight upon his shoulders; and many were the expressions heard, like the following: “Poor Father Abraham!” “God bless him!” “Long live our President!”

It being too late to return to Alexandria after the close of the exercises, I improved the opportunity next day of visiting, with the rest of our party, some of the places of interest in Washington. We first went to the Navy Yard, where to me everything was new. We were shown through the different workshops where the deadly missiles of war, from the Minie-ball to the huge mortar-shells, were being rapidly manufactured to be sent upon their destructive mission. Among the many things of special interest were several pieces of cannon captured during the revolutionary war. We paid a short visit to the White House, but reserved the larger portion of our time to be spent at the Capitol. This magnificentbuilding, with its seven hundred and fifty feet front, and covering an area of three and a half acres, is a grand spectacle. I care not for the mighty cathedrals of the Old World; here is beauty and sublimity combined—sublime in magnitude, and beautiful in its harmonious proportions.

Ascending the long flight of marble steps, we pause a moment in the eastern portico to reflect on the scenes which have there been enacted. This portico is, in the language of one, “the vestibule to the great political temple of the Union,” where all of our Presidents—from Jefferson down to our present incumbent, “A. J.”—have, in the presence of the assembled thousands, taken the oath of office administered by the Chief-Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States. There were uttered those Christ-like words: “With malice toward none, with charity to all.” We pass from this portico into the rotunda, and spend a little time in admiring the elegant paintings which adorn its walls. The finest of these are, I think, the “Embarkation of the Pilgrims” and the “Baptism of Pocahontas;” but the most exquisite of all the paintings in the Capitol is the “Western Scene,” which would require weeks of study to be fully appreciated. The Senate-Chamber and House of Representatives are places of deep and thrilling interest. There were many vacant seats once occupied by men who hadsworn to protect the Government against all enemies, foreign and domestic, but who, with violated oaths and perjured souls, went over to the ranks of treason. But neither paintings, nor statuary, nor elegant rooms attracted my attention more than those massive bronze doors, executed by Rogers, in Italy, at great expense and a vast amount of labor.

The 20th of April, the Twenty-sixth Michigan, according to orders, left Alexandria for the Peninsula. How much we missed them when they were gone, how sad we felt, and how we all cried when the boat shoved out from shore that was to bear them away to the field of strife! How long the injunction, “Take good care of Willie,” rang in my ears! How lonely that old building looked where Company “I” had been quartered! How deserted the old campground appeared, how anxiously we watched for any intelligence from the Twenty-sixth, and how frequently letters were received, ending with “Pray for me,” and how often and earnestly we did pray that they might all be kept from falling in the fierce conflict; but, if fall they must, that they might be made meet for the kingdom of heaven.

Their sick were left at Alexandria. I had something over a hundred names of my list belonging to this regiment. A large number were very ill, and many of them soon went to their long home. Oh,what a long array of those poor sufferers pass before me in imagination as I write! There is one delirious with fever; he is constantly talking of home and mother.

“My mother, dear mother, with weak, tearful eye,Farewell, and God bless you forever and aye;Oh! that I now lay on your pillowing breast,To breathe my last sigh on the bosom first pressed.”

“My mother, dear mother, with weak, tearful eye,

Farewell, and God bless you forever and aye;

Oh! that I now lay on your pillowing breast,

To breathe my last sigh on the bosom first pressed.”

But in the stillness of the night, with no dear mother there, he passed away. Here is another, a young man from my own county, over whom for many weeks I had anxiously watched; his aged father is sent for; the poor boy still lingers day after day and week after week, but at length he yields up his young life to the “King of Terrors,” and the gray-headed sire is bereft of the staff of his declining years. Here again are two, lying side by side in the same hospital; one lingers long with typhoid pneumonia, the other is an intense sufferer with rheumatic fever, who goes only two days before his comrade. In the same ward is another—a Massachusetts soldier—to whom it was my privilege frequently to take some little delicacy. He is recovering from a long run of fever; is able to be about the ward, with a fair prospect of going home soon on furlough, when he is suddenly seized with that disease of all others the most dreaded—small-pox; he is removed to the“Pest House,” and we see him no more. Here is still another, wounded in the head; he has become a raving maniac, and is carried off to the Insane Asylum. There are others, many others, but the catalogue would be too long to mention them all, yet such will ever be held in sacred remembrance.

Oh! sad memories of the past, how deeply are ye stirred!The dying soldier haunts me still!

Oh! sad memories of the past, how deeply are ye stirred!

The dying soldier haunts me still!

Dying ’mong strangers—dying at night,Far from his home and his kindred so dear,Far from the loved ones he left for the fight,When he bade them farewell, with a kiss and a tear.Dying with fever—dying at morn,Just as the sun in the East had arisen;Leaving his widow and orphans forlorn;But “tell them I died with my trust still in Heaven.”Dying unconscious—dying at noon,Lo! his comrades are closing his eyes;The work of the soldier forever is done,But his spirit ascends to his God in the skies.Dying at evening—dying alone,Far, far away on the red field of strife,With no kindred near he leaves his last moan,And to the cause of his country yields up his life.Though dying alone, morn, noon or night,What matters it now the struggle is o’er?And his spirit is clothed in spotless white,With the marshalling hosts on the heavenly shore.

Dying ’mong strangers—dying at night,Far from his home and his kindred so dear,Far from the loved ones he left for the fight,When he bade them farewell, with a kiss and a tear.

Dying ’mong strangers—dying at night,

Far from his home and his kindred so dear,

Far from the loved ones he left for the fight,

When he bade them farewell, with a kiss and a tear.

Dying with fever—dying at morn,Just as the sun in the East had arisen;Leaving his widow and orphans forlorn;But “tell them I died with my trust still in Heaven.”

Dying with fever—dying at morn,

Just as the sun in the East had arisen;

Leaving his widow and orphans forlorn;

But “tell them I died with my trust still in Heaven.”

Dying unconscious—dying at noon,Lo! his comrades are closing his eyes;The work of the soldier forever is done,But his spirit ascends to his God in the skies.

Dying unconscious—dying at noon,

Lo! his comrades are closing his eyes;

The work of the soldier forever is done,

But his spirit ascends to his God in the skies.

Dying at evening—dying alone,Far, far away on the red field of strife,With no kindred near he leaves his last moan,And to the cause of his country yields up his life.

Dying at evening—dying alone,

Far, far away on the red field of strife,

With no kindred near he leaves his last moan,

And to the cause of his country yields up his life.

Though dying alone, morn, noon or night,What matters it now the struggle is o’er?And his spirit is clothed in spotless white,With the marshalling hosts on the heavenly shore.

Though dying alone, morn, noon or night,

What matters it now the struggle is o’er?

And his spirit is clothed in spotless white,

With the marshalling hosts on the heavenly shore.

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