CHAPTER XIII.

HOSPITAL WORK IN WASHINGTON AND ALEXANDRIA—NEW ARRIVALS OF THE SICK—NINTH CORPS—BATTLES OF THE WILDERNESS—THE WOUNDED ARRIVE—EN ROUTE FOR FREDERICKSBURG—FIRST NIGHT IN THE “BLOODY CITY”—OUR QUARTERS—HOSPITAL VISITS AND HOSPITAL WORK—DISTRIBUTING SUPPLIES—DISTRESSING SIGHTS—SAD INCIDENTS.

I arrived in Washington without accident this time, though the rebels had become very bold, making frequent raids upon the road, tearing up the track, capturing the guard, and doing all sorts of mischief. Immediately upon arriving in Washington, I expected to start for Michigan on a short visit; but, as the army was on the eve of a move, I yielded to the urgent request of the officers of our Association, to remain until the close of the opening campaign, and resumed my work of visiting hospitals, in connection with Mrs. Brainard, who had returned from her visit home three months before. We found plenty to do, as our hospitals were being filled with the sick daily arriving from the army. Many were left from the Ninth Corps, which passed through the city on the 25th instant, on their way to rejoin the Army of thePotomac, having been recalled from the Western department, where they were sent one year before. The corps, at this time, numbered about thirty thousand. They were over three hours in passing a given point. Poor fellows, how worn and weary they looked! There was the Eighth Michigan, to which a dear brother once belonged. How eagerly I watched for Company K! But, oh! a tall, manly form was missing. No familiar face met my eye, no well-known voice greeted me; but while his comrades were marching on to victory and to death, he lay calmly sleeping a few miles distant. No more fatiguing marches, no more sleepless nights, no more suffering, no more hunger or thirst or weariness for thee, brother; thy last march is ended, the last battle fought, and the victory won. Sleep peacefully, brother, until the archangel’s trumpet shall bid thee arise.

The 26th of the month I went to Alexandria, and remained three days, visiting and distributing to the sick and wounded in those hospitals. While there, I had the pleasure of seeing, for the first time, General Burnside—that noble, generous officer, who always did the best he could, if not always the most successful. He was then, and still is, loved for his honesty of heart and integrity of purpose.

Two days more, which were spent in Washington—one in visiting hospitals, the other in packing goodsto take to the front and attending to home duties—brings me down to the first of May.

It will be remembered that, early in this month, the Army of the Potomac struck tents, buckled on their armor, and, at the command of their gallant leader, “whose name was a tower of strength,” moved on with their faces “wilderness-ward,” to scenes of fierce strife, carnage, and death. Soon a series of battles commenced, which scarcely ended until the fall of Richmond. It was a truthful saying, that the battle of the Wilderness was the bloody initiation of the great campaign which was to terminate the war. The 8th of the month several hundred of the more slightly wounded arrived. They had a serious time in making their way from the battlefield to the Rappahannock—a distance of nearly thirty miles—no transportation being furnished them, as all the ambulances were employed in removing the more severely wounded. On their way they were attacked by guerrillas, but finally succeeded in making their escape, after killing several, without losing any of their own number. Those who were unarmed fought with broken muskets, clubs, and whatever else they could lay hands on.

As reports of the fighting continued to reach us, and none of the more serious cases arrived, we applied for passes to go to Fredericksburg—that beingthe new base of supplies for the army, and whither thousands of the wounded were removed from the battlefield—which we finally obtained through our State Agent, Dr. Tunnecliffe, late in the afternoon of the 10th. Early next morning, Mrs. Johnson, Mrs. Brainard, and myself, in company with other volunteer laborers, went to the wharf with our goods, that we might be in readiness to take the first boat that should leave for Belle Plain.

While waiting, three boats filled with the wounded arrived. They were crowded, from the upper-deck to the hold, with scarcely room to pass between those mangled forms, who were suffering not only from wounds, but famishing with hunger. Their hunger, however, was soon relieved, for a large number of delegates of the Sanitary and Christian Commissions were present, with plenty of hot coffee, milk-punch, lemonade, crackers, and the like, which were distributed with a liberal hand to all. As fast as possible they were removed to hospitals, where they could be better cared for. About four o’clock P. M., we went on board the steamer Wenonah. Before leaving the wharf a letter was handed me, dated, “Chancellorsville, May 7th, 1864.” I will quote a single paragraph: “The Twenty-Sixth are all right, but the Fifth are badly cut up; Major Mathews reported mortally wounded.” Oh! how such reportsincreased our impatience, and lengthened the waiting moments into hours, and the hours into days. But at length we leave the shores of Washington. Every heart beats high with the hope that the morning will find us among the wounded at Belle Plain. But we had proceeded only a few miles when a collision occurred, injuring our boat slightly, yet sufficient to cause her to anchor off Alexandria for the night.

May 12th, 1864.

At six o’clock this morning, the Wenonah, richly laden with hospital-stores and volunteer laborers, left Alexandria and steamed down the Potomac. Fort Washington is soon passed, Mount Vernon left in the distance, and other places of less importance appear and recede from view.

As we near our place of destination, cannonading is heard, rapid and heavy. A terrible battle is raging. Oh! how we long for “the wings of the morning,” that we may fly to the relief of the wounded; but our anxiety does not accelerate our speed. About one o’clock we anchor a short distance from Belle Plain, where we remain until nearly dark, when we are all taken on board the Young America, and carried over to the landing; but we cannot go ashore, as we would be entirely without shelter forthe night, and the rain, which has been falling all the afternoon, still continues.

Before leaving the Wenonah, it was suggested by some one that we have a prayer-meeting, and that those wishing to attend would assemble in the cabin, which in a few moments was filled to its utmost capacity with delegates from both the Sanitary and Christian Commissions, the ladies on board, and officers and soldiers. Among the number present were many eminent Christian men and ministers of the gospel, the names of a few of whom I obtained, viz.: Drs. Smith, Castle, Porter, McLaughlin, of Philadelphia, Dr. Howlett, of Washington, and Dr. Dobbins, of Trenton, New Jersey. Among the ladies present was one whose name has become a household word in thousands of homes throughout our land, because of her untiring efforts in behalf of the sick and wounded. I refer to Miss Clara Barton, of ——, Massachusetts. The meeting was a most solemn and impressive one. The afternoon was dark and gloomy, the sky overcast with clouds, and the rain falling; while ever and anon our ears were saluted with the boom of the cannon, which plainly indicated that the conflict was still raging, and every moment new names were added to the long list of sufferers. The solemnity of the occasion,and the deep impressions then made, must—it seems to me—follow each of us through life.

Nine o’clock next morning we were taken into a barge and carried ashore. The wounded were arriving by hundreds, and I may say thousands, to await transportation to Washington. The two great Commissions and a few State Reliefs were there with abundant supplies of food; so all hands went to work feeding those poor, suffering, half-starved soldiers with crackers, hot coffee, and light bread—which we cut into slices and spread with apple-butter. Thus we worked on, wading through mud to the top of our boots until noon, when, in company with Mrs. Johnson, I started with part of our goods for Fredericksburg—transportation being furnished us through the kindness of Lieutenant Chase, of the Ambulance Corps. The mud was deep and the roads badly cut up; but fortunately we did not share the fate of some of the wounded, whose ambulances were overturned on their way to Belle Plain. It was after dark when we reached the Rappahannock, which we crossed on pontoons, and nearly eight o’clock when we arrived at the head-quarters of the Christian Commission in the “bloody city” of Fredericksburg. On our way we met several thousand prisoners captured by the Second Corps the day previous. Among these were Generals Edward Johnson and George H. Stewart.It was said that General Johnson was so affected as to shed tears when General Hancock extended to him his hand after he was taken, declaring that he preferred death to captivity. But the other, with an air of haughtiness, replied: “I am General Stewart, of the Confederate army, and under present circumstances I decline to take your hand.” General Hancock’s dignified reply was: “And under any other circumstances, General, I should not have offered it.”

We, with three other ladies who were on a similar mission, found quarters for the night in the parlor of the worthy (?) ex-Mayor Slaughter’s fine residence, upon whose carpet we had the honor of sleeping!! Being very tired, we slept soundly, in spite of our hard bed. Part of the building was used for a hospital. Mrs. Slaughter was still there, but her husband, not caring to fall into the hands of the “hated Yankees,” had left for parts unknown.

I will again add a few extracts from my journal.

May 10th.

Early this morning the Provost Marshal obtained for us a house to which our goods were soon removed, after which we were ready for duty. The building had once been a store; the counter and shelves being left, we occupy them with goods. The family in an adjoining room consists of an old lady and one daughter,who, of course, claim to be loyal. However, they are very kind, and gave us a large upper room with good beds, and otherwise comfortably furnished for a sleeping apartment. No one could listen to their story without feelings of pity. They have suffered much during the war, being obliged to share their hospitality with both friend and foe, exposed to dangers from the missiles of destruction and death which have made such wide-spread desolation, and left in ruins this once beautiful city. Their own building, and even the room in which I write, bears testimony to the terrible effects of shell and ball.

A stove was furnished us in the morning, the “boys” supplied us with wood, and we went to work with a right good will, Mrs. Johnson to cooking, and I to visiting hospitals and distributing as fast as she could cook.

Such scenes of wretchedness and of terrible suffering I have never before witnessed. I found the wounded lying upon the hard floor without pillows, and many without a blanket, so closely crowded together that there was scarcely room to pass between them. Officers and soldiers are lying side by side. There, if never before, they are all on a common level. To the untold suffering experienced from broken bones and shattered limbs, is added that of hunger, many having eaten nothing for three and fourdays previous to their arrival here; and thus they are dying not only of wounds, but of starvation.

In the six hospitals to-day visited, I found many Michigan soldiers, and among these are several of the Twenty-Sixth volunteers, from whom, only a few weeks since, I parted at Stevensburg, when imagination was so busy picturing these horrid scenes. Among this number is Colonel Saviers, wounded in the lungs; Captain Johnson with a foot amputated; Lieutenants Grisson and Dopson severely, though less seriously wounded; Mr. Waters with amputated thigh, and many others whose names I do not recall. The food which I have to-day distributed consisted almost entirely of chicken-soup and crackers, in dealing out which I made no distinction, but gave to all as far as my supplies would go.

Early this evening I went out again in company with Mrs. Johnson, and remained until twelve o’clock, dressing wounds and doing what I could to relieve the suffering of our poor boys. Among the many incidents to-day observed worthy of note, I will mention but two. While distributing my crackers and soup to the inmates of a large church, where there are perhaps a hundred and fifty or two hundred poor sufferers lying side by side upon the floor, nearly all seriously and many mortally wounded, my ears were saluted with the voice of song, and, looking around tosee from whom it came, I saw a poor fellow with a severe wound in both arms, whom some one had raised up from his hard bed. He was sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall, singing as cheerfully, and apparently as joyously as if he were seated at the social hearth with his own dear family. It was a scene which brought tears to my eyes, for the voice of song strangely mingled with dying groans, and I thought that one who could shut his eyes to the scenes of distress around him, and so far forget his sufferings as to attune his heart and voice to singing, must indeed have experienced the blessedness of the Christian’s hope. In this hospital is another with eight wounds. He lies on a stretcher entirely helpless. While feeding him I entered into conversation with him, when, to my surprise, I found that he entertained hopes of recovery—which seems to me would be almost miraculous.[4]The rest of our party arrived this afternoon with the balance of our goods.

[4]Some two years ago, to my great astonishment, I met this man, who, though having recovered, is badly crippled for life.

Sunday, the 15th.

Another busy day. It has seemed but little like the Sabbath. After taking supplies to four different hospitals, and distributing, and working among the wounded until late in the afternoon, I came home andprepared chicken-soup, and carried to Planter’s Hotel—assisted by Mr. Green—sufficient for nearly four hundred men. Michigan soldiers of the Ninth Corps are here largely represented. Among these are many seriously wounded. My attention was particularly called to two such by Chaplain May—viz., Captain Donohue of the Eighth volunteers, and Lieutenant Joss, of the Second, each with an amputated thigh. But little hope is entertained of their recovery. I tried to speak encouragingly to them, having been requested to do so by the surgeon, Dr. Fox; yet it seems almost wrong to endeavor to inspire with hope of recovery those for whom nearly all hope has fled. Promising to see them often and do all I could for them, I left, feeling that it would be only a short time that they would need anything, except the soldier’s blanket and a few feet of earth.

In this hospital I found several wounded in the face, among whom is Sergeant Clark, also of the Eighth. The ball lodged somewhere in the mouth, and has not yet been found. It is very distressing to see him; his tongue is swollen to an immoderate size, and protrudes from his mouth. He is unable to speak, or take nourishment, except liquids. There are hundreds of cases, each peculiarly sad, and each presenting itself as an object of sympathy.

Among the hospitals I have visited to-day, is theOld Theatre, where I saw so many terribly mangled bodies last evening. I took a quantity of pillows, chicken-soup, and crackers. The moment I entered the hospital, oh, what begging for pillows came from all parts of the room! “Please, give me a pillow, I’m wounded in the head, and my knapsack is so hard,” said one. Another wants one for the stump of his arm or leg. “I don’t think it would be so painful if I only had a pillow, or cushion, or something to keep it from the hard floor; there, that small one will do for me; please lady, let me have that.” “Oh,” said another, “if I only could have one of those pillows for my back; it is all raw from lying on the hard floor; Oh! can’t you spare me one?” For a few moments I stood with the pillows in my arms, unable to decide what to do. I could not supply all, and to whom should I give? The calls did not cease until the last one was given out, and then the cry was, “Can’t you bring more?” Concluding they were as needy as any, I came home, got another armful, and returned, thus supplying the worst cases in that room. While there, an incident occurred, to which I can never refer without weeping. As I was busy dishing out my broth, a friend of mine, Lieutenant Grisson, who was himself wounded, said: “I wish you would see if you can’t do something for that captain who lies the third from me; he is dreadfully wounded.” On going to him, Iinquired if there was anything I could do for him, and if he would like a little broth. “Just a little, if you please,” he said. After placing a pillow under his head, and another under his back, I fed him as much as he wished, then asked what more I could do for him? He looked up with tearful eyes, and said: “Oh, you are so kind, I don’t know what to call you, unless it be sister.” “Very well,” I replied, “I’ll be your sister; but tell me, Captain, is there nothing more I can do for you before I go.” “If you will please write a few lines to mother.” Taking her address, I inquired whether there was anything in particular he wished me to write. I shall never forget the expression of his countenance as he looked up and said: “Oh! give hersomeencouragement, but tell her I’m trusting in God.” He hesitated a few moments, and then added: “It will be so hard for mother, for she is a widow, and I am her only son.” I tried to speak a few words of comfort, telling him that if his trust was in God all would be well, for his hopes were anchored upon a sure foundation, and the one in whom he trusted would be the widow’s God. In a moment the thought of the anguish that would soon pierce that lone widowed mother’s heart, rushed upon my mind, and poor, weak human nature was overcome, and I could only bow my head and weep. The poor fellow seemed fully conscious of the fact that hemust die; and while he would have his mother know the worst, he wished the sad intelligence to be gently broken. The language of his heart seemed to be, “Who will care for mother, now?”

After giving out the rest of my supplies, I bade the “boys” good-evening, with a promise to see them again soon, and left this wretched hospital only to visit another nearly, if not quite, as bad. This was formerly a large grocery-store, only a short distance from our quarters. Mr. Green and Mrs. Johnson accompanied me to this abode of misery. As we entered the building, oh, what a sight met our eyes! A small piece of candle was burning upon the counter—it being about nine in the evening—which but dimly lighted the large room, making the bloody scene before us all the more horrifying. There lay the wounded, stretched upon the floor side by side, in close proximity, weltering in blood and filth.

They were faint and hungry, some having only a short time before arrived from the battle-field, with wounds still undressed, their blankets and clothing saturated with blood, and not unfrequently covered with vermin. It was a sight well-calculated to appal the stoutest heart; but, nerving ourselves for the task, we went to work feeding those poor sufferers, bathing and dressing their wounds. While busy, a call frombehind the counter attracted my attention, and on going to ascertain who was there I found two soldiers, who said they were nearly starved, and wished to know if we hadn’t something for them too. “Certainly,” I replied, and, taking a large cup, I filled it with hot broth, and crept along on my hands and knees to where they were lying, for I did not dare trust myself to walk, fearing I should stumble over them, as it was so dark, the candle having been removed to another part of the room, and the space between them and the counter so narrow.

I learned that one of them belonged to the Eighth Michigan. When I told him that I too was from Michigan, the poor boy burst into tears and wept aloud. “Oh,” said he, “can’t you get me out of this filthy place? for it seems as though I shall be eaten up alive.” But, as every spare foot of space was occupied, we were obliged to leave them there for the night, but requested the nurse to remove them in the morning, even if they had to be taken out of doors. I came home late in the evening, weary and foot-sore. Since then, have written several letters for soldiers, and the midnight hour finds me still with pen in hand.

The wounded have been arriving since early this morning; new scenes of distress await us on the morrow.“As we look around, we see the work of death on every side. Rank after rank is falling on the battlefield of life, and the cold earth on which we tread is arched with graves.”

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