CHAPTER VIII.

PLACES OF INTEREST IN ALEXANDRIA—BALTIMORE—A SINGULAR STORY—DEATH OF A MASSACHUSETTS SOLDIER—THE SERIOUSLY WOUNDED—ERIE—MY SISTER’S SICKNESS—HARRISBURG—YORK—REBEL WOUNDED—A PARALYTIC—WASHINGTON HOSPITALS—FREQUENT BATTLES—NEW ARRIVALS—MRS. GRAY—AFFLICTED FRIENDS—DR. TRUE.

On returning to Alexandria I found comparatively few Michigan men in the hospitals, and these mostly convalescent; therefore my work in this place entirely ceased for several weeks.

Among the few places of interest to a stranger visiting Alexandria is the little brick church where George Washington used to worship. Though the building has undergone repairs, the old-fashioned square pew formerly occupied by this good man and his family remains unchanged; the plate on the door bears this inscription: “Washington’s pew.” Another place of interest is the “Slave Pen.” Within this dingy enclosure thousands of human beings have been crowded like cattle for the market, and from thence brought forth to the auction-block. It stillbears the name of him who once trafficked in flesh and blood. “Rice & Co., Dealers in Slaves,” may to this day be seen—though dimly—over the main entrance. A fresh coat of paint has been added, as if ashamed to stand out boldly in the pure light of liberty. But the place of all others of the most deep and thrilling interest in this slavery-cursed city, is the place where “the Boys in White” lie sepulchred. At the present time—November, 1869—instead of three hundred turfless graves, as at my first visit, there are more than thrice as many thousand grass-covered mounds, each with a neat, white head-board bearing the name of him who fell in freedom’s holy cause, or that saddest of all sad words, “Unknown.”

To this sacred “rest” long pilgrimages will be made through coming years by those who mourn the loved and lost, and who, “with cautious step and slow,” will wander amid this sea of graves, anxiously looking for some cherished name.

Near the entrance stands a little rustic chapel, occupied by a one-armed soldier, who has charge of the grounds—which are most beautiful, being interspersed with trees, shrubbery and flowers, while cooling fountains and pleasant arbors adorn the quiet place. Henceforth, in the spring-time of the year, willing hands will cull sweet flowers as a floral offering to our heroic dead!

“Forever be these sacred fieldsDecked in immortal beauty,Where sleep the brave who fought and fellFor freedom and for duty.They lie on glory’s camping-ground,On high their deeds recorded;No nobler act on history’s page,On fame’s, no prouder lauded.”

“Forever be these sacred fields

Decked in immortal beauty,

Where sleep the brave who fought and fell

For freedom and for duty.

They lie on glory’s camping-ground,

On high their deeds recorded;

No nobler act on history’s page,

On fame’s, no prouder lauded.”

The 16th of July I was called to Washington, where I received instructions to go to Baltimore, as many of the wounded had arrived there from Gettysburg. I was greatly disappointed, for I had earnestly hoped to be sent to Gettysburg, believing that I could do vastly more good there than any where else at that particular time. However, on the morning of the 18th I took the eleven o’clock train for Baltimore. On the way I fell in company with a lady who called herself Jimmeson, though her true name, she told me, was Frank Abel. Her story was indeed a strange one. It was as follows: Her husband entered the service with the rank of captain in a Kentucky regiment of cavalry, and she as his first lieutenant. Her husband was killed at the first battle of Bull Run, after which she was employed as a scout by General Sigel. She had endured many hardships, visited several battle-fields, and assisted—as she belonged to the medical staff—in performing amputations anddressing wounds. She was once captured by the Rebels and confined in Libby Prison several weeks; but at the time of which I write she claimed to be a Government detective in the City of Washington, and was then on her way to Baltimore to arrest a woman with whom she had had a quarrel. What became of her after we parted at Baltimore, whether she found her victim or not, I never learned, for I have neither seen nor heard of her since.

Arriving in Baltimore, I proceeded directly to the Rev. Mr. Reid’s, where I obtained board. This was the same Christian family by whom sister and I were so kindly and hospitably entertained when we first arrived in Alexandria on our sad mission.

There were six hospitals in Baltimore, situated from one to four miles apart. As a general thing I found them more comfortable than any I had previously visited; and yet there was much suffering which the most tender care could not alleviate. I will give a single extract from my journal which will convey something of an idea of the sad, distressing scenes there witnessed:

July 28th.

Visited Jarvis Hospital, and distributed lemons, oranges, and blackberries. This has been one of the saddest visits I have made since coming to Baltimore.In one of the wards was a sergeant of the Ninth Massachusetts volunteers, dying. His wife and mother had just arrived. The dying man recognized them, and, taking the hand of his wife, kissed her, and then kissed his mother, bade them farewell, closed his eyes, and was soon gone. The circumstances of his death are most aggravating. His wound was dressed with bandages and lint taken to the hospital by rebel women, which, upon examination, were found sprinkled with cayenne pepper. He suffered the most excruciating pain from the time the bandages were first used, which so irritated and inflamed the wound that death was the result. After escaping the deadly effects of rebel lead, a fiend in friendship’s guise takes his life. A hundred deaths at the hands of a manly foe would not be half so trying. But this is only another example of the malignity and cruel hatred born of and nursed by Secession. At the dying man’s head was one seriously wounded, and a great sufferer, while at his feet was another, holding in his hand a letter from home, containing the sad news that two of his children lay at the point of death. His quivering lip and tear-dimmed eye were more potent than words in expressing his overwhelming sorrow. In another ward was a poor man who had lost both eyes, by his side was a young boy with a sweet, pale face,who, in addition to his wounds, was delirious with fever; a few cots from him was another young man with five wounds, whose clenched hands and convulsed frame expressed untold agony. A little farther along was an old man with a deep sabre-cut in his head, and another in the back of his neck; another was suffering greatly with a wound in the ankle. Time would fail me to mention the many with an arm off, a leg amputated, wounded in the head, in the lungs, and in every other conceivable manner. From none of those with whom I have conversed to-day have I heard one word of regret expressed for going into the army; but, on the contrary, many were anxious again to cross sabres and try their muskets with the enemy. It is an astonishing fact that, notwithstanding all the suffering experienced in our hospitals, an air of cheerfulness pervades them all. It seems unaccountable, unless we look upon it as a miraculous display of God’s all-sustaining power and grace.

Next day I again visited the same hospital, taking sundry articles for distribution. While there I attended the funeral of the sergeant whose sad death I have already noticed. Services were held in the open air, beneath the spreading branches of beautifulshade-trees. The solemn scene was one not soon to be erased from memory. The young wife and aged mother were the only mourners to follow his remains to the grave. But, alas! how many a poor soldier dies with none to drop a tear to his memory until the intelligence is borne over mountains and across valleys, through fruitful plains and gloomy forests, to some humble cottage on the lawn. Oh! then what tears are shed—and all the more bitter because they cannot even fall upon the grave of him they loved so well. And yet there is a still deeper grief. Many there are, who, could they only knowwheretheir dear ones sleep, would feel that the bitterest dreg was removed from their cup of sorrow. Alas! their fate will only be known when the great book of God’s accounts is unsealed. Many a heart responds to the painful truth expressed in the following words:

“Not among the suffering wounded,Not among the peaceful dead,Not among the prisoners—‘Missing’—That was all the message said.”

“Not among the suffering wounded,

Not among the peaceful dead,

Not among the prisoners—‘Missing’—

That was all the message said.”

On the evening of the 30th, as I returned from my work, I found a letter informing me of the dangerous illness of my eldest sister—Mrs. Clark—residing in Erie Co., Penn., and an urgent request to come to her immediately. At eight o’clock I was atthe depot waiting for the first train going West. Arriving in Erie I found my sister still living, though but little hope of her recovery was entertained; yet it pleased a kind Providence to spare her life. I remained with her until she was considered out of danger, and then returned to my hospital work, leaving her in care of another sister—Mrs. Smith—who had already been with her nearly two years, her husband being in the army. I can even now see the pale face of my poor sick sister as she threw her arms around my neck and gave the parting kiss, saying, as she did so, “I shall never see you again on earth.” Ah! I have since experienced the bitter truth of those words; for, in little more than a year from that time, she went to her eternal home.

“She is not dead, but sleepeth!”Resting from the toils of life—Safely moored her bark, and anchoredFar from earthly care and strife.“She is not dead, but sleepeth!”Once the gracious Master saidTo those who sought Him, weepingAnd sorrowing for their dead.“She is not dead, but sleepeth!”In the grave so calm and still,She waiteth for the trumpet’s call,Resting in her Father’s will.“She is not dead, but sleepeth!”Thy blest words, O Christ, we trust;For though the body slumber long,Thou wilt raise the mouldering dust.Then cherished friends, long parted,That glorious morn shall meet;All washed from sins in Jesus’ blood,And in a Saviour’s love complete.And kindred souls, united,Their way to heaven shall wing;While, with their songs triumphant,The heavenly arches ring.

“She is not dead, but sleepeth!”Resting from the toils of life—Safely moored her bark, and anchoredFar from earthly care and strife.

“She is not dead, but sleepeth!”

Resting from the toils of life—

Safely moored her bark, and anchored

Far from earthly care and strife.

“She is not dead, but sleepeth!”Once the gracious Master saidTo those who sought Him, weepingAnd sorrowing for their dead.

“She is not dead, but sleepeth!”

Once the gracious Master said

To those who sought Him, weeping

And sorrowing for their dead.

“She is not dead, but sleepeth!”In the grave so calm and still,She waiteth for the trumpet’s call,Resting in her Father’s will.

“She is not dead, but sleepeth!”

In the grave so calm and still,

She waiteth for the trumpet’s call,

Resting in her Father’s will.

“She is not dead, but sleepeth!”Thy blest words, O Christ, we trust;For though the body slumber long,Thou wilt raise the mouldering dust.

“She is not dead, but sleepeth!”

Thy blest words, O Christ, we trust;

For though the body slumber long,

Thou wilt raise the mouldering dust.

Then cherished friends, long parted,That glorious morn shall meet;All washed from sins in Jesus’ blood,And in a Saviour’s love complete.

Then cherished friends, long parted,

That glorious morn shall meet;

All washed from sins in Jesus’ blood,

And in a Saviour’s love complete.

And kindred souls, united,Their way to heaven shall wing;While, with their songs triumphant,The heavenly arches ring.

And kindred souls, united,

Their way to heaven shall wing;

While, with their songs triumphant,

The heavenly arches ring.

According to instructions, on my return to Washington I stopped at Harrisburg, and spent three days in visiting the six hospitals in that city, looking up Michigan soldiers, and supplying immediate wants. Rebel wounded were scattered through all of these hospitals, faring the same as our soldiers. Entering into conversation with them, I inquired what hope of success the South had left, and their unanimous reply was, “Our cause is hopeless.” The Federal victories of July had well-nigh discouraged them. They expressed great surprise at the kind treatment they received; they had not expected this at the hands of the hated “Yanks.”

At York, the city so disgracefully surrendered to the rebels a few months previous, there was butone hospital; it consisted of barracks built upon an extensive plan. While here, I visited the city cemetery, where about fifty of “the boys in white” were buried. As I stood by those turfless mounds, my heart was deeply pained, and I wondered that, in a large Northern city, no hand was found to plant a single flower upon a soldier’s grave. But though neglected, though without turf or flower,

“On fame’s eternal camping-groundTheir silent tents are spread,And glory guards with solemn roundThe bivouac of the dead.”

“On fame’s eternal camping-ground

Their silent tents are spread,

And glory guards with solemn round

The bivouac of the dead.”

The 2d of September I took leave of my sick and wounded boys, of whom I found so many more than at Harrisburg, and returned to Washington, where the work of visiting hospitals in both that city and Alexandria was assigned to me, as Mrs. Brainard had not yet returned from Gettysburg, whither she was sent soon after the battles in July. My first visit was to Alexandria. Among the many whom I found in those hospitals was one peculiarly sad case. Near the centre of a large ward lay one whose motionless appearance attracted my attention; I noticed that he did not even make an effort to brush away the flies that were crawling over his face. On going to his cot I found that he was a complete paralytic;he could only move his head slightly and the little finger of one hand. This severe shock of paralysis was occasioned by striking his head against a stone while driving. He had then been in that condition several months, with very little perceptible change; but he was hopeful, and believed that he should get well. Poor boy! I often thought how true in your case the saying, “Were it not for hope, the heart would break.” During his stay at the hospital I saw but little change for the better, and never heard from him after he left it. I often think of the poor, pale-faced, patient, hopeful paralytic, and wonder what has become of him.

Of the fourteen large hospitals in Washington, ten consisted of barracks and tents, containing from twenty to thirty, and even as many as eighty wards each. The barracks would accommodate from fifty to sixty patients each, and the tent wards about twenty. These buildings were not all constructed upon the same plan, but were variously arranged. In some, the barracks extended along three sides of a square enclosure, with head-quarters at the front; in others, they enclosed a triangular piece of ground with head-quarters at the apex; while in others this building was in the centre, with barracks extending to the right and left, and tents in the rear, and thus on for all the others—each being constructed upon a plan independent of the rest.Within the enclosed space were the kitchen, dining-room, chapel, and laundry, and the balance of the ground was devoted to gardening purposes and to the cultivation of flowers. The front yards were also beautifully laid out, containing gravel walks, evergreens, flower-beds, and in some were cooling fountains. The barracks were long, one-story, whitewashed buildings. In going through some of these, it seemed like entering the home of the fairies: the long row of cots on either side of the ward, with their clean pillow-slips and snowy counterpanes, the walls adorned with paintings and beautiful frames made by convalescents, while to each piece of scantling overhead were tacked sheets of red, white, and blue tissue-paper curiously cut, each piece representing the different corps badges. There was the new and full moon, the plain and Maltese cross, the clover-leaf, the diamond, the star, the acorn and the cross-sabre. The slightest breeze would keep these silken curtains gently swaying to and fro, making the sight really enchanting.

All hospitals were not thus highly favored with tasty wardmasters and nurses; but in some they seemed to vie with each other in seeing whose ward should be the most gorgeously and beautifully decorated.

The work of looking up from all these hospitalsthose belonging to any particular State was no light task, yet it was done by several State associations besides our own. Perhaps no more thorough or efficient work of the kind was done by any State than Massachusetts. Maine did a noble work for her soldiers, but her agents were more generally employed in the field, where there was a greater need of laborers. At this time, Michigan men were largely represented in the hospitals in Washington. At Lincoln I found seventy, at Finly forty, about the same number at Campbell, a large number at Armory square, and so for all the hospitals in the city, besides the many at Camp Stoneman, Camp Convalescent, and Fairfax Seminary.

Every few days accessions were made to our already large numbers by fresh arrivals from the army, as the cavalry were almost constantly on the skirmish-line, and engagements frequently occurring. The 13th of the month—October—there was a brisk fight at Cattell’s Station; the 14th, at Bristow Station; the 18th, near Manassas Junction, and a few days later at Beverly Ford; and thus the army continued to fight, and the wounded to arrive. The sixth of the month the steward of the Ninth Cavalry came from Culpepper with a large number of sick. He reported the sick at that place in a very destitute and neglected condition. On his return I sent a few things by him,only, however, what he could take in the car with him, as I could not get transportation for even one small box. I tried to get a pass to go down with supplies, but orders were imperative—there was no use trying. Mrs. Gray, a lady from Pontiac, Michigan, worked hard for weeks to obtain a pass that she might go and see her sick husband, who was supposed to be lying at the point of death; but all in vain. Tears and entreaties were alike unavailing. She frequently went with me to the hospitals and assisted in the work of distribution, thus trying to forget her own sorrow while administering to the wants of others. Another lady, Mrs. Brockway, came from Michigan to obtain, if possible, the body of her son, who was killed a few days before her arrival; but she could go no further. Through the influence of our State agent—Dr. Tunnecliff—the family succeeded in getting an order for his body to be sent to Washington. For her husband who was sick she obtained a furlough, and returned to her home rejoicing while she mourned.

October 18th.

Instead of attending church this morning, I went to Stanton Hospital with delicacies for the sick. I will mention a few special cases of suffering which I witnessed in one of the wards, and which will be a fair specimen of the average of such in the other wards.There was one poor man almost distracted with pain in his head, the effects of a sun-stroke; the only relief he could find was in bathing his head in cold water. Near him was one very low with typhoid fever, uttering incoherent expressions about “battles” and “marches,” and “home” and “mother.” A little further down the ward was a poor fellow who was brought in last night—having been picked up by the road-side, in a senseless condition—and has not yet returned to consciousness. His physician says he can not survive, and, as he has no papers, or any means by which he can be identified, another will soon be added to the long list of the “unknown.” Soon after returning home, a Mrs. Smith, from New Jersey, called, and requested me to return with her to the same hospital. She had come to see her sick son; but, upon her arrival at the hospital last evening, found that he was already dead, and was requested by the surgeon, when she asked to see him, to wait until this morning, as it was then late. On going to see him this morning with the hope of following his remains to the grave, she found, to her horror and amazement, that he was already buried. The officer who had charge of the burying was deeply grieved that he had not been notified of the arrival of the mother of the young man, while the doctor could only plead forgetfulness as an excuse for not informinghim. The only consolation left her—and that a poor one—was to visit his grave. An ambulance was ordered, and we drove out to the “Soldier’s Home.” It was now dark; the undertaker directed us to the spot, and there, by the aid of a lamp, that widowed mother was permitted to look upon the newly-made grave, which contained all that remained of her only son, upon whose breast a few hours before the cold earth had been heaped. While I wept with this sorrowing mother, I was filled with indignation at the outrage to which she had been compelled to submit. If that surgeon possessed the common feelings of humanity, he would have ordered the body disinterred, and thus have given the poor woman the little consolation she might have obtained from gazing once more upon the features of her darling boy; but even this sad privilege was denied her. To-morrow she returns to her lonely home, whose light has been forever extinguished.

Among the sick at Campbell Hospital, at this time, were two Michigan soldiers, very low with typhoid fever. The father of one of these was with him, and, after a long illness, his poor, sick boy, unexpectedly to us all, recovered. The other, poor Warren Maxfield—the patient, uncomplaining boy (all were boys in the army)—lingered long weeks on the narrowspace which separates the “now from the hereafter” before he began the other life. I never think of him without recalling a little incident that occurred a few days before his death. He wanted a small package of green-tea, which of course was granted; “for,” he said, “I really believe it would do me good. Not that I care to drink so very much, but I want some to smell of, it would seem so reviving, and would remind me of home, for we always drink green-tea at home.” I relate this to show how all the influences and customs and associations of home were remembered and cherished by those poor sick and dying soldiers. It will be a consolation to his friends to know that in his last sickness he was kindly cared for. If skilful medical treatment and good nursing could have saved life, neither he nor any in that ward would have died, for, according to the testimony of his patients, Dr. True was one of the most faithful and efficient surgeons to be found in any of our hospitals. When any under his charge were dangerously ill, he would often visit them four and five times during a single night, watching every symptom and noting every change, whether for better or worse, and only relinquishing hope with the last expiring breath. Oh, how much the world needs such humane,Christianphysicians!

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