CHAPTER X.

THE VETERAN RESERVE CORPS—UNWILLINGNESS TO SERVE IN IT—FORTY DAYS IN THE GUARD-HOUSE—CLIFBURN BARRACKS—EXPOSURE—AN OLD SOLDIER’S STORY—SUNDRY DUTIES—CHRISTMAS—THE SURPRISE—PROFESSOR HOLDEN—A BEREAVED MOTHER—VISIT TO THE ARMY—FIELD HOSPITALS—STEVENSBURG—MRS. MAYHEW—CHAPEL SERVICE—RETURN TO WASHINGTON.

In the autumn of 1863 the Veteran Reserve Corps was organized, and all soldiers whom examining boards pronounced unfit for field service, but able to do “light duty,” were transferred to one of the three battalions into which it was divided. Prior to being assigned to either of these battalions, they were quartered at Clifburn Barracks. In this camp there was much suffering from exposure and neglect. Nights were cold, barracks uncomfortable, bunks with no bedding, except the soldier’s blanket. Many a poor fellow lost his life in consequence of exposure during his stay at Clifburn. In the majority of cases, the transfer to this organization was made against the soldier’s wishes, who, if able to do duty, preferred to be sent to his regiment. But a soldier’s duty is to obey orders, irrespective of his wishes. I recall several instancesin which soldiers were severely punished for refusing to serve in the “Invalid Corps,” as it was called. I will mention one. A soldier was kept in the guard-house forty days, court-martialed three times, and he still refused to put on the “Invalid” jacket. An appeal in his behalf was finally made to the War Department, when the Secretary ordered his release. He had always been a good soldier, never refusing to do duty in the field, and he insisted, as he could no longer serve his country there, he should receive his discharge. I knew others who would refuse to be transferred, but, after lying in the guard-house a few days, would submit. One, who had been a good soldier in the field, seemed to consider it a disgrace to serve where there was no danger, or, if not a disgrace, there was at least no honor attached to the service.

The hospital connected with this camp was never as well supplied as those in the city. Disease in almost every form found its way thither—fevers, pneumonia, rheumatism, that insidious disease—consumption, and even small-pox. Upon one of my next visits to this hospital, I found a young man of the Seventh Michigan, who was a great sufferer from inflammatory rheumatism. He was extremely anxious to go home, and requested me to see the surgeon in regard to his discharge. On inquiry I found that his papers would be ready as soon as he was able totravel. He was removed to Mr. Clark’s—formerly of Ann Arbor, at that time residing near the hospital—where, with the most tender nursing, he so far recovered as to be able to go home in a few weeks. He continued to improve for a short time after reaching home, but was suddenly taken worse and died; and another victim was added to the many occasioned by neglect and exposure while at Clifburn.

It may be asked whose business it was to care for these. I answer, the Sanitary Commission. After the Government had provided barracks and blankets, it was the place of this great organization to begin where the Government left off, and to have made those convalescents comfortable. Thousands of dollars were almost daily being poured into its coffers by patriotic, self-sacrificing friends in the North, and in three days’ time, and even less, after those barracks were occupied, they should have been supplied with plenty of good, warm bedding; and vegetables, in large quantities, should have been daily issued. Many valuable lives would thus have been saved to gladden homes now lonely and desolate. Let honor be given where honor is due. This commission did, as it ought with the means at its disposal, a world of good; but there was at times bad management somewhere, and an injudicious use of its funds, for, while its supplies were wasting and rotting instore-houses, soldiers were suffering and dying for want of them. It may be argued that this could not have been avoided, there sometimes being a scarcity of help; but that could easily have been remedied, as hundreds—yea, thousands—stood ready to “volunteer” their services—all they wanted was the privilege of working for soldiers. Or these wasting goods might have been given to other societies, which would have gladly received them, and with willing hands prepared and distributed them to those for whom they were designed.

As I was leaving camp, after the visit to which I have referred, I was met by a soldier who wished me to ascertain whether his discharge-papers had been forwarded to the office of the Medical Director.

I returned to the office and made inquiry concerning them, and learned that they were to be forwarded that afternoon. Notifying the soldier, I again started for home, but, before passing the limits of the camp, I was hailed by an old man with silver locks and bent form, who wished to know if I could do anything for him. “If so, for God’s sake,” he said, “render me some assistance.” I listened to his story, which was indeed a sad one. It was as follows:

When the war broke out, he was the owner of a handsome property in Missouri. He was driven fromhis home by rebel hordes, his buildings were burned, and all personal property either destroyed or confiscated. He came North, when himself and three sons enlisted in the Union army. His sons had all been killed—the last one, a little drummer-boy, only a few days before—and himself nothing but a wreck. He had served nearly three years in the ranks as a private soldier, and now asked to be discharged from the service. “You have made a great sacrifice,” I said. “Yes; but we did it cheerfully. The country is worth it all, and a thousand times more,” he answered. “If I could do any good by staying longer, I would not ask to go home; but, you see, I’m of no account now,” holding up his thin, emaciated hands. “The boys were fine lads; but they’re gone, and I shall soon follow.” I was moved to tears by his pitiful story, and again retraced my steps to the office, briefly related the old soldier’s statement, and requested that he might have an early examination, and obtained a promise that he should. The poor old man, on hearing this, was too grateful to express his thanks; he could only say, “God bless you! God bless you, my child!” His discharge at length came. He called to bid me “good-by,” before leaving the city; but whether he now lives to enjoy the blessings for which he fought, or has gone to meet his sons on the further shore, I cannot tell.

Once again I endeavored to make my exit from camp, but was met by two more requesting a similar favor; but, not daring to trespass upon the doctor’s good-nature any more that day, I told them they would have to wait until I came again, and so made my escape.

Not long after this I spent nearly half a day in running about trying to get transportation for a soldier of the Nineteenth Maine, who had obtained a furlough. How glad I was when I saw the poor old man on his way to the depot, and how richly paid I felt for my trouble, when he turned and said, as I parted with him, “Good-by, God bless you; I’ll tell my wife I shouldn’t have got home these two days if you hadn’t helped me.” Then, with what an elastic step he hurried on, lest the train should leave him, forgetting that he was weak and feeble. It will be seen from these few incidents that our duties did not consist altogether in preparing and distributing supplies. In fact, that was but a small part of our work—there were, at almost every visit, so many errands to do, questions to answer, and messages to deliver, that they greatly increased our labors, but these were only parts of the great whole.

The 24th inst. Mrs. B. and I spent the entire day in cooking, as we wished to surprise the boys at Clifburn by giving them a little something extra for dinnerthe next day; all the hospitals in the city were to have a “Christmas dinner,” and we feared this would be wholly overlooked. Our fears proved true, as far as those not in the immediate hospital department were concerned.

Christmas came, bringing chilly winds and biting frosts; but before noon we were on our way to Clifburn with well-filled baskets, accompanied by a couple of soldiers who volunteered their assistance. Arriving in camp, it was heart-sickening to see those who had left homes of plenty, crowding around us, and, like children, begging for a piece of “Christmas pie!” The remembrance would not be so sad could all have been served, but there were hundreds who received nothing; and, when all was given out, they fell back a few paces, and gave three rousing cheers for the Michigan ladies, those who received nothing cheering with the rest. Oh, could these have shared the bountiful Christmas dinners at home, how many hearts would have been gladdened and made happy! As we were ready to start upon our mission that morning, we were met at the door by Mr. Moses, who surprised us, Mrs. B. and myself, with a present of forty dollars each, in behalf of Michigan gentlemen residing in Washington. The gift was truly appreciated.

The 28th of the month, Mrs. Brainard left forMichigan, and did not return until about the 1st of April; so I was again left alone, with the work that both had been doing devolving upon me.

Supplies continued to reach us—many through the personal efforts of Mrs. Brainard. I also received a nice barrel of goods from Brighton, Mich., and another from Harbor Creek, Penn., also ten dollars in money. The last day of the month, I was happily surprised by receiving a call from Professor Holden, formerly of Kalamazoo College. He found me busy at work preparing articles for distribution. After asking many questions, and inquiring into the nature of my work, and how long I had been engaged in it, he said: “We didn’t know what we were preparing you for, when you were with us at Kalamazoo. We never dreamed that you would so soon engage in a work like this.” His heart was in full sympathy with the good cause, and, when about to leave, he placed a five-dollar bill in my hand, saying, as he did so, “I will add so much to your Christmas present.” If, as he turned away, he was five dollars poorer in purse, he was much more than that richer in blessings.

One afternoon, as I was returning from Alexandria, I met a lady on the boat, whom a few hours before I had seen in a hospital anxiously inquiring for her son. She was sitting alone in one corner of thecabin, rocking to and fro, wringing her hands and sobbing aloud, apparently oblivious to all around her. I at once divined the cause of her sorrow, which her own words confirmed—she was too late! They were just closing his coffin when she found him. It seemed as though her poor agonized heart must break. He was her only son, his term of enlistment had nearly expired, and she was joyfully anticipating his speedy return home, when the dreadful tidings reached her that he was mortally wounded—accidentally shot by a comrade. The first train that left after she received this sad message was bearing her away from her Eastern home to the coffin-side of her dead. The hope of receiving from his own lips his last words and dying blessing had buoyed her up during that sad journey; but this last hope having been taken from her, she was overwhelmed with grief. No words of mine could afford her consolation. Like Rachel of old, she refused to be comforted. “My poor boy! oh, my poor boy!” she continued to repeat amid tears and sobs, until we parted at Washington.

The 14th of January, I went to the army with supplies for our sick in field hospitals. Arriving at “Brandy Station”—some seventy miles from Washington—I was set out in the mud with my goods, no one to meet me as I expected; cold, gray clouds were hanging overhead, and a chilly wind whistlingamong the tents. Here, for the first time, I experienced the great difficulty there was in finding any particular regiment in the army. Each seemed like a little isolated town, so wholly absorbed with its own cares and duties that frequently the nearest encampment was neither known by name or number—recognized only in the broad sense of “Uncle Sam’s boys.” Yet there was a common interest and sympathy existing among all who wore the army blue; no matter what part of the Union they hailed from, they were all enlisted in the same cause, fighting beneath the same flag, and for the same grand result.

Having my goods removed to a little rise of ground where the mud was not quite so deep, I climbed its slippery side and took my post as guard; but, in spite of my vigilance, a firkin of butter was carried off, though I recovered it—taken through mistake of course (!!)

On inquiry, I was surprised to find that no one there even knew that there was such a regiment in the army as the Twenty-sixth Michigan—neither could they tell me anything about General Custer’s Cavalry Brigade. I next inquired for the First Division, Second Corps—to which the Twenty-sixth belonged. “About four miles from here,” was the reply. It was getting late; there was no possible chance that I could see to obtain accommodations atthe station over night. The roads were almost impassable, and, as yet, I had no conveyance and no prospect of procuring one before the next day. My first thought was to store my goods and start on foot, but I was dissuaded from this course by the boys declaring that I could never get through if I started; and I afterwards learned how utterly impossible would have been the undertaking. But what was to be done? Everything looked discouraging, and I almost felt like giving up in despair. I resolved, however, to make one more effort to get some sort of a conveyance, and again inquired if there were not a Second Corps ambulance still at the station? I had asked the same gentleman several times before, and every time received a negative reply—a positive “no.” But, not knowing what else to do, I kept repeating my question, and this time a doubtful answer was given by one who really seemed to pity me in my deplorable condition; and the very doubt expressed in his reply, “I think not—however, I’ll go and see,” kindled a new hope in my heart. In a moment he disappeared behind boxes of “hard tack,” bales of hay and sacks of grain, while I remainedin statu quo, being for once the central object of attraction. This soldier was soon the bearer of good news: the only ambulance remaining would leave in a few moments. The driver soon made his appearance, who kindly offered to take meto the Twenty-sixth, as his regiment—the Eighty-first Pennsylvania—was brigaded with the same and encamped near it. What goods I could not take with me were stored with the Provost Marshal until the next day. Those four miles through deep mud, over corduroy roads and across bridgeless streams are at length made in safety, and the driver returns to his quarters rich in the possession of a few pounds of sweet, yellow butter, while I am heartily greeted and cheerfully welcomed to the cabin homes of the Twenty-sixth. Many regrets are expressed that my letter had not been received, in consequence of which no one knew of my arrival at the station. But that tedious waiting in wind and mud is soon forgotten, for familiar faces, pleasant smiles, and cordial greetings are met on every hand.

I could hardly realize that this was the same regiment that, nine months before, we bade adieu as it left the shores of Alexandria for the seat of war. To some of their number, alas! it proved a long farewell, for they were left sleeping their last sleep on the bank of the James. After resting a little and partaking of a warm supper, which was prepared with neatness and dispatch, I paid a visit to the hospital, which reminded me of the home of the pioneer. It consisted of a low, one story log cabin, with two rude chimneys and a ruder floor. Oneither side of the room was a row of cots, which consisted of pine boughs and a blanket laid across poles elevated a little from the floor, with another blanket, or perhaps two, for covering—sheets and pillows they had none. These were occupied by the sick.

As I passed through the hospital, stopping a few moments at the bedside of each patient, and telling them I had come with sanitary stores which had been sent by friends at home expressly for them, their countenances brightened, while some declared, that they felt a hundred per cent. better for knowing they were thus kindly remembered.

Upon a calm, still day, with two blazing, crackling fires, the hospital, though rude, presented a pleasant, cheerful aspect; but, upon a damp, windy day, this cheerful aspect was driven away by dense volumes of smoke, which would come pouring down the chimneys, making it almost impossible to remain inside; yet all seemed to think it was the best that could be provided for them under the circumstances, and uncomplainingly submitted to their hard lot. There was considerable sickness in the regiment at this time, one great cause of which, I have no doubt, was the location of the camp—it being low and wet, and, I am sorry to say, was poorly policed. Death was not an unfrequent visitor. Some three or four, in asmany days, had obeyed his stern mandate and gone—ah! whither?

“Ask not—the lonely hearthstone tellsToo plain the mournful story:Gone, in their beauty and their pride,To swell the ranks of glory.”

“Ask not—the lonely hearthstone tells

Too plain the mournful story:

Gone, in their beauty and their pride,

To swell the ranks of glory.”

At my next visit, a few weeks later, I was able to report a great change for the better. In the absence of superior officers, Major Saviers—a man possessing rare executive ability—was in command. The campground had been drained, sidewalks of split wood built, the streets bordered with evergreens, and many other improvements made.

Leaving these poor sick men cheered with the promise that, as soon as my goods arrived, they should be made more comfortable, I was givencarte blanchepossession of a little cabin, which I found “swept and garnished” after the most approved style of the soldier. A bright fire was blazing on the hearth, a narrow cot—similar to those in the hospital—stood in one corner of the room, a rude table in another, and a camp-chair in the third. These, with a couple of shelves on one side of the cabin, containing sundry culinary articles together with the accoutrements of war, constituted the owner’s household goods. Being quite weary I retired early, yet I cannotsay that I felt much rested next morning; but I wondered all the more how those poor sick men could lie upon such beds.

As soon as my goods arrived I furnished the hospital beds with sheets and pillows, the patients with clean handkerchiefs and a few dressing-gowns, besides dried fruit, jellies, wine, and butter, also papers and magazines. I found several sick in their quarters which the hospital could not accommodate; these I visited and supplied with such things as they were mostly needing. Never was anything, I am sure, received with more gratitude than were those few supplies which it was my pleasure to distribute.

This regiment, unlike many, was blessed with a kind and faithful surgeon, and a chaplain worthy of the name. My next visit was to the Fifth and Sixth Cavalry; but there was far less sickness in these regiments than when I visited them at Fairfax, notwithstanding their increased hardships and exposures, their frequent raids, skirmishes, and battles. But many, for whom this toughening process was too severe, had fallen out by the way, and were left to sleep in unmarked yet honored graves. At the little broken, dilapidated town of Stevensburg, where fences and “hoops” were unknown, and sallow faces gave evidence of the “dip”—where chimneys were leaning from perpendicular as if contemplating a changeof base, and where windows could boast of more rags than panes of glass—was our Cavalry Brigade Hospital; but it contained comparatively few sick. Good nursing and proper food, no doubt, would have saved any who were in the hospital at that time. The beds were much better than those in infantry hospitals. Each cot was furnished with a tick filled with hay, which was obtained by cutting the horses’ rations a little short; but, in other respects, they were about on a par with field hospitals generally. Here I disposed of the remainder of my goods, and, on the morning of the 17th, left the sick, with a promise to come again soon, with a larger supply of sanitary stores. Arriving at Brandy Station, I found the train had left, and, not knowing what to do, I appealed to the Provost Marshal, from whom, to my great relief, I learned that Mrs. Mayhew—an agent for the Maine Association—had her head-quarters in an old building not far away. The house was pointed out, and, in a few minutes more, I was the welcome guest of this excellent lady and her friend, Mrs. Painter, of New Jersey. It being the Lord’s day, we attended service at the C. C. chapel. That was a day long to be remembered. How solemn the service! And what a good class—or speaking-meeting—followed! What a beautiful sight to see those brawny, stalwart soldiers stand up for Jesus! Early Monday morningI assisted in feeding a train of sick who were on their way from Culpepper to Washington. These ladies held themselves in readiness to start with broth, crackers, tea and coffee, as soon as a train of the sick or wounded arrived. Who can estimate the good thus accomplished by those two earnest, Christian women?

At ten o’clock the same morning, I started for Washington, accompanied by Mrs. Mayhew. When in the vicinity of Union Mills—some twenty-five miles from the city—a collision occurred a few miles ahead of us, in consequence of which we were delayed twelve hours. The day was gloomy, cold, and rainy; our car leaked badly. We were without food, nothing to read, and, in fact, nothing to do but to sit still and wait, and hope every moment that the train would start. We were wholly unprepared for such an emergency. Those twelve hours seemed lengthened into as many days, and not until twoA. M.were we safely quartered in my own room, cold, hungry, and drenching wet. Next day we both began to experience the effects of a severe cold, which for some time seriously threatened us, but we managed to keep at work.

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