CHAPTER XV.
PORT ROYAL—FROM PORT ROYAL TO WHITE HOUSE—ARRIVAL OF AGENTS WITH SUPPLIES—BATTLE OF COAL HARBOR—SICK AND WOUNDED SOLDIERS—MAJOR LEWIS—A MASSACHUSETTS SOLDIER—EVACUATION OF WHITE HOUSE—A SAD ACCIDENT—THE DELAY—LAND AT CITY POINT—ARRIVAL OF MR. HOWARD WITH SUPPLIES—A CALL FROM GENERAL GRANT.
PORT ROYAL—FROM PORT ROYAL TO WHITE HOUSE—ARRIVAL OF AGENTS WITH SUPPLIES—BATTLE OF COAL HARBOR—SICK AND WOUNDED SOLDIERS—MAJOR LEWIS—A MASSACHUSETTS SOLDIER—EVACUATION OF WHITE HOUSE—A SAD ACCIDENT—THE DELAY—LAND AT CITY POINT—ARRIVAL OF MR. HOWARD WITH SUPPLIES—A CALL FROM GENERAL GRANT.
After considerable delay, and entertaining many fears lest we should be attacked by guerrillas who were occasionally seen along the shore—until we were joined by a gunboat, under the protection of which we felt secure—we arrived at Port Royal Sunday morning at eight o’clock. Here we left the “George Weems,” which wasen routefor Washington, and went on board the exchange. While lying at anchor, services were held by the chaplain of the Sixth Wisconsin volunteers. His sermon—from the words, “The Lord is my shepherd”—was full of comfort. Those present upon that occasion will, I am sure, ever love to refer to it as one of the bright spots in their army life. Before arriving at Port Royal a touching incident occurred. A rebel soldier was dying, and, in great distress of mind, he asked to be prayed for. Wegathered around his bed—a few professing Christians—and tried to point him to the “Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world.” Precious words of promise were read from the New Testament and prayer offered in his behalf, after which he seemed more composed, but he sank rapidly—as a wound in his neck had broken out afresh and was bleeding profusely—and died, as we hope, trusting in Jesus. Late in the afternoon, learning from Dr. St. Clair, master of transportation, that another boat would leave the next day having better accommodations, I went ashore and put up for the night with a rebel family, which at that time consisted of an elderly lady and a little girl. I learned from the old lady that her husband was dead, and that her two sons were in the rebel army. Her servants had all deserted her. She appeared lonely and disconsolate, not having even the hope of victory to cheer her.
Her house was an old-fashioned vine-clad cottage; the kitchen, with its huge fire-place and massive iron kettles, where the servants had formerly done the work, being separated from the main building, as is customary in the South. A large garden near by was filled with vegetables and flowers and interspersed with shade-trees and shrubbery, the whole being surrounded with a fine boxwood hedge. In one part of the house were the head-quarters of Dr. Snow, of theNinth Corps. Being detained here, contrary to expectation, until Monday evening, I endeavored to make myself useful by assisting about the cooking for the doctor and “mess.” We got up quite a sumptuous dinner, consisting not only of pork, “hard tack” and coffee, as usual, but, in addition, “flour gravy,” stewed goose, berries, and “hoe-cake.” Our Port Royal dinner will certainly not soon be forgotten by those who partook, for it was a right royal one.
Shortly after sundown we took leave of our kind hostess and went on board the steamer “Ocean Wave,” bound for White House Landing, which place had been decided upon as the “new base.” We anchor and await the tide next morning, when we find ourselves sailing down the Rappahannock. It is afternoon when we enter the Chesapeake bay, ninety miles from Port Royal. The day was extremely warm, but a fine breeze blowing from the bay renders the heat quite endurable. The scenery, portions of the way, was fine. I enjoyed the passage very much, especially as it afforded a good opportunity for rest and preparation for another hard campaign.
About seven in the evening we ran upon a sand-bar and anchored for the night. The next morning we entered the York river, and at fiveP. M.the Pamunkey.
The waters of this river, unlike those of the York, are dark and muddy, its banks low and marshy; besides,the river is very crooked and the channel narrow; consequently, it was not at all surprising that we ran aground again soon after dark, where we were obliged to remain until the tide came in the next morning. Point Lookout, where we had an extensive hospital, had been passed, also Yorktown—a place of great historical interest, rendered so, not only during our late war, but the Revolutionary also. Here Lord Cornwallis surrendered his sword to General George Washington. Here also, nearly a century later, McClellan’s mighty army encamped for weeks, besieging the fortifications of the rebels, which they finally evacuated in safety, while his own brave men died by hundreds and thousands, of disease contracted in the pestilential swamps of the Chickahominy.
Tuesday, the 2d of June, we land at White House, our new field of labor. No wounded had yet arrived, though a long train of ambulances could be seen, on the opposite side of the Appomattox, waiting for the river to be bridged in order to cross over. At the same time could be heard the booming of guns, warning us to be in readiness to bind up the wounds they were making.
A delegation from the Sanitary and Christian Commissions went over by boat, with supplies for those having already arrived. Our hospitals were not yet established, though, before night, a large number oftents were in readiness to shelter the wounded as soon as they should arrive. Soon after landing I learned of the timely arrival of Messrs. Kellogg, Cater, and Lapand, from Washington, with supplies; but, a cold, drenching rain coming on, which lasted all night, and having no shelter for our goods, they were not taken from the barge until next day, when Dr. St. Clair kindly loaned us a large tent, and a team with which to bring up our goods. In a short time all were hard at work. Mrs. Nowell, of Philadelphia, volunteered to assist us, and remained with us several days. We cooked over a range outside of our tent until a stove was procured—which was already promised me by Dr. Burmaster, Surgeon in charge of the Second Corps hospitals. At night we made two tents of one, by putting in a canvas partition; and for beds, spread our blankets upon the ground, which, if not the best substitute for feathers or mattress, answered very well. Myfirstnight at this place I was provided for by Dr. Snow, who gave me possession of one of his unoccupied hospital-tents, sent me a stretcher and blankets for a bed, also a warm supper and breakfast—a kindness fully appreciated and gratefully remembered.
The 3d inst., the wounded were arriving nearly all day from the battle of Coal Harbor, among whom I found a cousin—Lieutenant Tracy, of the SeventhMichigan Infantry—whose brother was wounded at the battle of the Wilderness. “Frank” will not, I am sure, soon forget the many times he drew rations from the “Michigan Relief,” at Fredericksburg.
The afternoon of the same day the rest of the Michigan agents and three Pennsylvania delegates, viz.: Mr. Ritz, Mrs. Price, and Miss Sayles, arrived with a large supply of hospital-stores and two additional tents. At this place the Michigan and Pennsylvania Associations worked together. We had our goods in common, and endeavored, to the extent of our efforts, to relieve suffering.
We remained at White House until the 14th—at least I did. The wounded were almost constantly arriving, as battles were daily being fought. Work was the order of the day, and I trust I shall not be considered egotistical when I say wedidwork early and late. Rest belonged only to the past, or was looked forward to in the future; it had no connection with the present.
Going to the numerous hospitals with supplies of all kinds; cooking soups, puddings, custards; making tea, coffee, lemonade, milk-punch; preparing “special diet” for individual cases, dressing wounds, bathing burning brows, receiving dying messages, writing to friends of the disabled and deceased, were among our daily duties. Sad and distressing scenes met usat every turn. Death was a daily visitor. Graves almost hourly increased in numbers; and even then the demand was not fully met, for it was no uncommon sight to see, in going from tent to tent, from one to half-a-dozen lifeless forms wrapped in their blankets, mutely pleading for burial.
Not unfrequently the sick and wounded were obliged to lie a long time upon the ground in the burning sun, before shelter could be provided. The 6th of the month, a large number belonging to the Ninth Corps were thus unsheltered and unprotected from the heat of day and the chilling dews of night. Among these there was one whose emaciated form and imploring look particularly attracted my attention, and seemed to demand special aid and sympathy. This was James E. Rouse, a member of the Michigan Second. Placing my umbrella over him, I finished distributing my lemonade and crackers, and then tried to find a vacant place in some tent to which I could remove him; but without success. The best I could do was to make a bed on the shady side of one of the tents, underneath the ropes, which I covered with a shelter-tent. To this he was taken, bathed, and provided with clean clothes. The few days he remained there, I took him his meals regularly. A cup of tea and a few mouthfuls of toast were about all he would take at a time. At length he was removed into a hospital.He still continued to fail, and in a few days he was gone. But instead of being sent to Washington, as I was told, he had been removed into another tent, where I found him the evening before leaving the place, dying. As I approached his bed—if bed it could be called—he recognized me, and tried to speak, but was too far gone to say much. A few words about home, in which I caught the words, “wife—my children,” were all I could understand. Soon he became unconscious, and apparently near his end. Remaining as long as I could be of any service, I returned to my quarters, and called again early next morning to see him, but he was gone. I learned from the nurse that he died during the night, and was already buried.
Sunday, the 5th, among the many who were brought from the field, was the body of Major Lewis, of the Eighth Michigan volunteers, who fell mortally wounded at the battle of Coal Harbor. Dr. Fox, of the same regiment, came in with the body, and was the first to break the heart-rending news to the widowed wife.
The coat in which he fell was left in my care, and forwarded to her the first opportunity. Oh! sad reminder of bloody scenes and a hero’s death! His last words were about wife and country. He would have her know that, even in death, she was not forgotten.“But,” said he, “I would live that I mightserve my country longer.”
“Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead,Dear as the bloody grave;No impious footsteps here shall treadThe herbage of your grave.Nor shall your glory be forgotWhile Fame her record keeps,Or honor points the hallowed spotWhere valor proudly sleeps.”
“Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead,Dear as the bloody grave;No impious footsteps here shall treadThe herbage of your grave.Nor shall your glory be forgotWhile Fame her record keeps,Or honor points the hallowed spotWhere valor proudly sleeps.”
“Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead,Dear as the bloody grave;No impious footsteps here shall treadThe herbage of your grave.Nor shall your glory be forgotWhile Fame her record keeps,Or honor points the hallowed spotWhere valor proudly sleeps.”
“Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead,
Dear as the bloody grave;
No impious footsteps here shall tread
The herbage of your grave.
Nor shall your glory be forgot
While Fame her record keeps,
Or honor points the hallowed spot
Where valor proudly sleeps.”
There was one I cannot fail to mention. A noble Massachusetts soldier was mortally wounded, yet unconscious of his fate, until informed of it by a Christian surgeon, who advised him, if he had any accounts with eternity to settle, to attend to them at once. “What,” he quickly replied, “am I going to die?” He appeared greatly distressed, for the thought of death had not before entered his mind. Taking from under his pillow photographs of a beautiful-looking woman and sweet little girl—his wife and child—he looked at them a few moments with tear-dimmed eyes, and then exclaimed: “My God! Can I leave them? Shall I never see them again?” Oh, it was hard for him to die and leave them, but he never saw them more, for in a few days he was numbered with the “Boys in White.”
The 10th inst., having received a call from SurgeonBonine—who was in charge of the third division Ninth Corps hospital, situated at the extreme front—for supplies, I sent an ambulance load of stores, consisting of canned fruits and meats, condensed milk, loaf-sugar, pickles, lemons, wine, brandy, etc., which I drew from the Sanitary and Christian Commissions, and to his care they were entrusted for distribution, as the appeal was for himself as well as those in his charge. Hear his words: “For God’s sake, Julia, send me something I can eat, or I shall die.”
Perhaps there are those who might think I did wrong in trusting to care of a “doctor” sanitary stores. Now while I would not, for a moment, excuse the course pursued by many army surgeons during the war, in appropriating for their own use articles designed only for the sick, yet there were times and places—especially during an active campaign—when a faithful surgeon, working night and day among scenes the most revolting, needed, and was justly entitled to, something more than “hard tack.” When far from the base of supplies, and not even a sutler in the army, money was of little account. Let one such as Dr. Bonine have fainted at his post of duty, and many lives would have been sacrificed in consequence. All honor to surgeons, as well as to other officers who are faithful in the discharge of duty.
The 11th, it was rumored that the place was soon tobe evacuated, and the next morning an order to that effect was received; accordingly our goods were packed, and Sunday afternoon were put into a barge ready to be sent to the new “base.” The wounded were being removed as fast as transportation could be procured, though at this time there were nearly two thousand not yet sent off; besides, the afternoon of the same day, Dr. Smith, of the Twenty-seventh Michigan volunteers, came in with sixty more, forty of whom were Michigan men, and, therefore, especially entitled to our supplies. The doctor immediately appealed to us for aid; but, our goods having all been removed, he applied to the Sanitary Commission.
It having been suggested that a part of the Michigan delegation should remain with a portion of our supplies, until all the hospitals were broken up, Mrs. Johnson and myself volunteered to stay; but it being neither convenient nor thought best to have any of our stores brought back, we applied to the Christian Commission, and obtained permission to draw on them; but our stores and cooking-utensils being gone, we could accomplish but little, and, by the request of one of the Sanitary agents, went and assisted in their low diet kitchen. Mrs. J. finally concluded to go with the rest of our agents, who left Monday evening, the 13th inst., and the next day, at 5P. M., I went on board the steamer “New Jersey,” and was soon sailingdown the Pamunkey on our way to City Point, leaving, forever it may be, “White House,” with not only its hundreds and thousands of its newly-made graves, but also the many grass-covered mounds of McClellan’s braves.
“Bend in love, O azure sky!Shine, O stars! at evening time.Watch where heroes calmly lie,In their faith and hope sublime.”
“Bend in love, O azure sky!Shine, O stars! at evening time.Watch where heroes calmly lie,In their faith and hope sublime.”
“Bend in love, O azure sky!Shine, O stars! at evening time.Watch where heroes calmly lie,In their faith and hope sublime.”
“Bend in love, O azure sky!
Shine, O stars! at evening time.
Watch where heroes calmly lie,
In their faith and hope sublime.”
The ground occupied by our hospitals at this place consists of a large estate containing five thousand acres, formerly owned by the widow Custus, afterwards the wife of George Washington. The mansion, I am sorry to say, was burned during the war, and, at the time I was there, nothing remained to mark the spot where it stood except the tall chimneys. A few days after arriving at this our field of labor, Mrs. Plumb, one of our agents, returned to Washington with a brother, whom she found severely wounded. We regretted to lose her services, for we had no more efficient worker than Mrs. P. Though meeting her there for the first time, I soon learned to highly esteem and love her, as every one must who knows her, for she is a noble Christian woman, just such an one as was needed in the army. Another excellent lady who came to assist us in our work was Mrs. Gridley,from Hillsdale, in whom we found an earnest and efficient laborer—a lady in every sense of the word. Her two sons were serving their country—one in the army, the other in the navy.
Mrs. Mahan, also of Hillsdale, having volunteered her services, was at this time employed in Washington. She remained about six months, and returned home, leaving a record bright with noble deeds. Among the many from my own State who were engaged in the work of caring for our soldiers, I know of none whose zeal for and devotion to the cause surpassed that of Mrs. Tunnecliffe and Mrs. Millard, wives of our State agents in Washington. Early and late, they might be found either in a crowded office, endeavoring to render assistance to the numerous applicants who appealed to them for aid, or out on some errand of mercy, looking after the neglected and those who seemed to have no helper. One of our number—Mr. Ritz, of Pennsylvania—who was devoted, soul and body, to the cause he was serving, has long since ceased from his labors and received his reward. Others are scattered far and wide, no more, perhaps, to meet, until the final “muster-roll” is called.
It was my pleasure, while at White House, frequently to meet that good man, Professor Estabrook, whose efforts in behalf of the suffering have causedhis name to be cherished in thousands of homes beyond the limits of our own State. He is one of those of whom it was said: “Ye are the light of the world.”
We arrived at City Point, the 18th. Had a pleasant passage from White House, though a little tedious, as we were delayed at Fort Powhattan, on the James, from Thursday evening until Saturday morning, by the army crossing the river on pontoons a few miles below us. On our way we passed the famous Rip Raps, where many of our soldiers and others were sentenced, for various crimes, to hard labor during the war. The place where that brilliant engagement between the little Monitor and the iron-clad Merrimac occurred, March 9th, 1862, was pointed out to us. The accommodations on the “New Jersey” were good. All the ladies were provided with comfortable state-rooms; but we came to short rations before arriving at our place of destination, as we divided with some sick soldiers who were with us, and were delayed thirty-six hours.
A sad accident occurred about two o’clock the morning after leaving White House, while anchored in the Pamunkey waiting for the tide. All was still as midnight, when suddenly there was heard a plunge, struggling, splashing, and cries for help from below. At the same instant several voices were heard exclaiming,“A man overboard!” A life-preserver was immediately thrown him, but, there being a heavy mist on the surface of the water, it floated past him unnoticed. The incoming tide was rapidly bearing him away. I endeavored, but in vain, to throw him my life-preserver, by crowding it through the small window of my state-room as he floated by. A life-boat was lowered and two men went in pursuit; soon another boat followed. The poor fellow’s cries for help could still be heard. I watched him out of sight, and even then I could hear him call out, “This way, this way, gentlemen, hurry up; I can’t keep up much longer;” and then the reply, “We’re coming, we’re almost there, keep up good courage.” At length the splashing of the oars dies away, and the voices become fainter and fainter; yet we can still hear the boatmen call, “Where are you?” and the reply, very faintly, “Here, here, this way!” but soon it ceases, and we all wait in almost breathless silence for the return of the life-boats. Soon we catch the sound of the splashing oars, and eager voices are heard asking, “Did you save him?” Our hearts almost cease to beat and the blood nearly freezes in our veins as we hear the reply, “No, he went down when we were almost in reach of him.” Oh, how much harder for the dear friends at home to part with him thus than if he had fallen in battle;thatthey might have expected, butthisthey were wholly unprepared for. Landing at City Point, I reported to Dr. Dalton, medical director, but was disappointed in finding that the rest of our agents had not yet arrived, though they left White House twenty-four hours in advance. The cause of the delay, however, we learned from Mrs. Johnson, who arrived toward evening the same day. There had been an order issued that none of the State Relief Associations should be permitted to go to the new “base” without permission from the Secretary of War. Hence they had no alternative but to remain at Fortress Monroe until they could despatch some one to Washington for the requisite passes, which delayed them until the 22d.
The goods belonging to the Christian Commission, which were loaded in the same barge with ours, were removed to another boat, and Mrs. Johnson came on as one of their delegates. While in doubt as to what course to pursue, being without supplies, we were here, as at White House, providentially provided for by the arrival of Mr. Howard from Washington with hospital stores. Before morning the wounded began to arrive, and with their arrival began our work. Our hospitals were not yet established, though the location was decided upon. It was situated about a mile from the Point, along the bank of the Appomattox; and the next day scores of tents went up, whichwere soon filled with the wounded. Soon after landing at City Point I was joyfully surprised in meeting an old friend—Mr. Fox, of Kalamazoo—a volunteer laborer in the cause of humanity. But the great event of the day was the honor of a call from General Grant, the great American hero, who came into our tent, sat perhaps twenty minutes, conversed freely about the war, and seemed to take a great interest in the work in which we were engaged. To the inquiry whether he would be in Richmond by the 4th of July, he shook his head and replied, “No, not by the fourth; I have not laid my plans to that effect. I shall go there; I’m just as sure of it as can be, but we have more hard fighting to do first.” He then added: “I am nearly worn out, for I have scarcely had a day’s rest since the war began.” Before leaving he gave each of us his autograph, shook hands and bade us “good-by.” We assured him he should still have our prayers, as he already had our confidence. He thanked us, and was gone.