CHAPTER XVI.

MAJOR BARNES—HOSPITALS ESTABLISHED—MRS. JOHNSON RETURNS TO WASHINGTON—ARRIVAL OF MRS. GIBBS—HER RETURN WITH A WOUNDED SON—CAVALRY HOSPITAL—AM TAKEN SICK WITH TYPHOID FEVER—REV. MR. JOSS—HOT WEATHER—A SEVERE STORM—LEAVING CITY POINT—REBEL OFFICERS—THE RELAPSE—RETURN TO MICHIGAN—A DARK PERIOD—MY SISTER’S BEREAVED FAMILY—THE CALL OF DUTY.

As I have before stated, the rest of our agents, with the balance of our goods, arrived the 22d. Mrs. Brainard, however, remained only one night, having received orders to return to Washington, where her services were greatly needed. Our work here was so similar to that at White House, that it is not necessary to enter into details. I will only mention an instance or two, and then pass to a more general account of our work. The day after arriving at City Point, the wounded began to come in in large numbers. Quite early in the morning a long train of ambulances filled with mangled bodies arrived, and halted a short time, until a hospital boat was in readiness to receive them. While busy at work, a soldier came to me in greathaste, and begged me to go and see his major, saying: “He is dreadfully wounded.” Leaving my work, I accompanied him. We hastily passed ambulance after ambulance, until it seemed as though we never would reach the last one. At length he stopped, and, pointing to one of them, said, “He is in that one.” Carefully springing upon the step at the rear of the ambulance, and looking in, I saw Major Barnes, of the Twentieth Michigan, lying by the side of a brother officer, who was also badly wounded. On inquiring what I could do for them, “Oh,” said Major B., “if you could only get me out of this ambulance, for it does seem as though I shall die if I stay here much longer.” I promised to see what could be done, but found that the train would so soon move to the landing, that it was thought best not to make any change until it reaches its destination. I can never forget the look almost of despair depicted on his countenance as I reported this, for all hope of recovery seemed to have left him. Still anxious to do something for him, I hurried back to my tent, and soon returned with a cup of tea and a pillow. “Oh,” he exclaimed, as he drank the tea, “that tastes so good.” Placing the pillow under his head, I bade him be of good cheer, and, with a heavy heart, stepped down from the ambulance. The train moved on, and I saw him no more. A few days after, I learned that he died before reaching Washington.Oh! those sad sights! those tedious, toilsome days! How glad we sometimes were to have the darkness of night hide from view the revolting scenes witnessed by day, when the cooling breeze would fan fevered brows and wounds inflamed, and gently lull to sleep. But even then the moans of some poor sufferer would often reach our ears, causing us to wish for immortal bodies, which would neither wear out nor become weary. But

“The hopes, the fears, the blood, the tearsThat marked the bitter strife,Are now all crowned by victoryThat saved the nation’s life.”

“The hopes, the fears, the blood, the tears

That marked the bitter strife,

Are now all crowned by victory

That saved the nation’s life.”

Our hospitals at this place were very extensive. The Second, Fifth, Sixth and Ninth Corps were largely represented in this department. Tents continued to go up until our little canvas village assumed the proportions of a city. The Cavalry Corps also had a large hospital about two miles from here. Day after day the wounded came pouring in from the battles and skirmishes so frequently occurring. Cannonading was daily heard, frequently rapid and heavy; and occasionally the rattle of musketry and the screeching of shells saluted our ears, while the smoke of battle could plainly be seen, and sometimes even the manœuvering of the troops—thus mingling with our arduousduties great excitement, and occasionally alarm.

In less than two weeks after landing at City Point, Mrs. Johnson left me and returned to Washington for a few days’ rest. Mrs. Gibbs, a lady who was devoting her time and strength to the cause her husband and son were serving, arrived the day she left; yet I greatly missed her, for we had worked together nearly six weeks. Her services, especially as a “dresser,” were invaluable. Mrs. G., finding one of her sons among the wounded, remained only a week, and then returned with him to Washington, and I was again left alone, as far as ladies’ help in our own department was concerned; and yet I was not alone, for nearly every loyal State was there represented by a corps of faithful laborers, all earnestly engaged in the same noble work. Mr. Howard[5]remained in charge of the tents containing our supplies, and worked with a zeal that knew no respite until our Association, having completed its work at the front, was recalled from the field. While here I frequently met “Bridget,” of the First Michigan Cavalry, and occasionally “Anna,” of the Third Infantry, whose services, according to the testimony of the surgeons of those regiments, were invaluable. Theyremained with their respective regiments until the close of the war—sharing the ever-varying and shifting fortunes of the same.

[5]He has also ceased from his labors, having died of typhoid fever two years ago.

I made but one visit to the Cavalry Hospital while at City Point, on account of its long distance from the other hospitals. It was situated in a most delightful place. A beautiful lawn with its green carpeting gradually sloped toward the river, which rolled peacefully along at the foot of the hill, its banks skirted with a variety of trees, beneath whose grateful shade convalescents reclined, some with books in hand, others playing at cards, or some other “innocent” amusement, to while away the tedious hours of the long, hot day. The tents were the most comfortable of any I ever saw in the field. Each patient was provided with a good bed, not the narrow hospital cot, but what are called single beds, and furnished with mattress, sheets, pillows, and a “patched” quilt, in lieu of the coarse army blanket. The wards were decorated with evergreens, and everything looked neat and clean. Instead of clouds of dust, the air was bright and clear. Compared with our Infantry hospitals, surrounded with sand and dust, it seemed like an earthly paradise. But, amid all these natural beauties, many a brave heart ceased to beat; for Death sought out this lovely retreat, and bore hence his victims. Though far more comfortable, the sick were no better supplied with delicaciesthan those in other hospitals. Hence we divided our stores with them, sending, from time to time, such things as they most needed.

While there was so much to be done, duties daily increasing, my work for the summer was rapidly drawing to a close. The fever which had so long threatened me finally obtained the mastery. The 6th of July, I did my last day’s work at that place. From that time until I left City Point—four weeks later—I was almost entirely confined to my bed. During that illness I learned from sad experience how to sympathize with the sick around me; but, when comparing my condition with theirs, I found I was so much better off than they, that I had no heart to complain. While I had a bunk—narrow and hard though it was—many of them had none. My tent could boast a floor, theirs could not. Besides, I was daily supplied with ice and numerous other articles which many a poor soldier did not get. For these things, I was indebted to the Rev. Mr. Joss, of the Sanitary Commission, but for which, especially the ice, I do not think I should now be here to express to him, through these pages, my gratitude. Though having good medical treatment, I feel that, under the blessing of God, I owe my life to this reverend gentleman.

I have ever looked upon my acquaintance withhim as strikingly providential. While at Fredericksburg, I was led by the providence of God to care for a brother of his, who was supposed to be mortally wounded, but who finally recovered, and, hearing of my illness, directed this brother to find me and return the favors shown him. They were returned an hundredfold. Oh! that hot, dusty July; those long, weary days and sleepless nights; the scorching sun, beating down upon my tent; the swarms of flies; that little rusty tin pail, out of which, for the want of something better, I drank my gruel; the heated, suffocating atmosphere; the anxiety to be at work; how fresh in memory!

As the season advanced, the heat became more intense and the dust more intolerable. The long trains of army wagons that were constantly moving to and fro, only a few rods from us, were scarcely visible, being so completely enveloped in clouds of dust.

On the night of the 24th, there was a sudden and most grateful change in the weather. A heavy rain-storm came up, accompanied with high wind and severe thunder and lightning. It was a gloomy night, yet full of grandeur. My tent swayed to and fro in the wind; bright flashes of lightning and almost Egyptian darkness rapidly succeeded each other, while the crashing of thunder was far more grand than any dischargeof artillery of human invention. Many tents were blown down, whose occupants were left to the tender mercies of the storm. When the morning dawned we seemed to be in a new world. The air was clear and pure, our clean white tents glistened in the sunlight, the slow-moving trains were in full view, the trees and bushes were relieved of their dusty coats, and all nature, animate and inanimate, seemed to rejoice.

The 2d of August, I left City Point, in company with Mrs. Johnson (who had been with me some ten days), and was taken to Washington. On the steamer—the “Vanderbilt”—on which we took passage, were twenty-one rebel officers, prisoners of war. As they frequently passed my window, I entered into conversation with them. The war, as a matter of course, was the subject discussed; but they all, with one accord, acknowledged the hopelessness of their cause, and confessed that it would have been better had they not appealed to the sword. They said they had no desire to divide the Union; but they thought their “rights” had been infringed upon, and for these they were fighting. I inquired what “rights” they had lost, or had been “infringed upon.” All were silent a moment, then one replied: “Our rights in regard to slavery.” The interference of the North with this institution they believed to be the cause ofthe war; and yet they confessed that, if it were even so, it was no just cause for declaring war. I never conversed with a rebel who could give an intelligent answer to the questions concerning the loss of his “rights,” but they would invariably fall back, as a last resort; upon the interference of the North with slavery.

Arriving in Washington, I was taken to the house of a lady widely known for her labors of love for the soldiers—a loyal Washingtonian, the only one of her family who remained true to the cause of freedom and right during the dark days of the rebellion. The fatigue of the journey brought on a relapse, so that I was not able to leave the city for five weeks. I then returned to Michigan, and remained through the winter, recruiting my health and collecting money for the benefit of the soldiers.

I learned during that illness, as I never could in health, how to appreciate the gratitude so often manifested by soldiers, even for trifling favors. I can now understand the feelings expressed by a wounded soldier in a letter received from him since the close of the war, in which he asks if I remember the flowers I gave him while in a hospital at Fredericksburg; and then spoke of the good they did him, and the tears he shed over them. “Why,” he added, “for a while they caused me to forget my pain, and I felt a renewedcourage to bear my sufferings more bravely, for to me they were a token of sympathy, and I felt that I was not forgotten.” As I perused this letter, how vividly I recalled a little incident that occurred in my own experience, while sick at City Point. One afternoon, Dr. Smith, of the First Michigan Cavalry, brought me a bunch of beautiful wild-flowers, most delicately tinted. I had not seen a flower, or scarcely a green leaf or a spire of grass for weeks before, which caused them to be the more fully appreciated. Oh, how many times during those lonely hours they were as a friend to me, with whom I conversed; and often-times tears would unbidden start as I gazed upon their loveliness, for of all the beautiful things in this beautiful world, they alone adorned my “canvas home.” They were placed in a cup by my bed, where they remained until they began to wither, and their little petals to fall off; then I pressed them in my Bible, and I still cherish them as sweet mementoes from a fragrant oasis in that sandy desert.

The simplest favor was sometimes most blessed in its results. The following I had entirely forgotten until reminded of it by the soldier long after he was mustered out of the service. The summer of 1864, while in a hospital at White House landing, he had a severe attack of neuralgia. As I was passing one day through the ward in which he was lying, he inquired if I knewof anything that would relieve him. I recommended something—I do not remember what—which I promised to bring him the next day; but when, returning to my quarters, I began to think of his sufferings, and his look of appeal for help, I could not rest until my remedy had been tried. Though nearly night, and more than half a mile distant, I returned with the medicine, bathed his face, gave directions for its use, and left him with the assurance that it would help him. I never saw him again, until the time to which I refer, when he called my mind to this circumstance. “Oh,” said he, “that medicine acted like a charm; it effected a perfect cure; for from that hour neuralgia and I parted friendship.”

The summer of 1864 was a dark period—perhaps the darkest in the history of the rebellion. Thousands, yea, tens of thousands of lives were sacrificed at the battles of the Wilderness, Spotsylvania, Cold Harbor, and those in the vicinity of Petersburg, seemingly to little or no purpose; yet they all had reference to the grand result soon to be achieved. The terrific explosion of the 30th of July was distinctly heard at our quarters, a distance of ten miles. Among the many who fell upon that fearful day, was the eldest son of Rev. Alfred Cornell, of Ionia—an exemplary, Christian young man, whose life was full of promise. But as “Death loves a shining mark,” one ofhis deadly shafts was aimed at him. The object of those weeks of mining was not obtained; Petersburg was not taken, Richmond was lost, and our starving soldiers must wait many more long months before the day of their release dawns. Oh! how many times during war’s dark hours we felt like exclaiming,

“The dead are everywhere!The mountain-side, the plain, the wood profound,All the wide earth, the fertile and the fair,Is one vast burying-ground!”

“The dead are everywhere!

The mountain-side, the plain, the wood profound,

All the wide earth, the fertile and the fair,

Is one vast burying-ground!”

But we are comforted with the thought that they died not in vain. No,

“They have fallen, they have fallen,In the battles of the free,And their fame will be rememberedIn the ages yet to be.

“They have fallen, they have fallen,

In the battles of the free,

And their fame will be remembered

In the ages yet to be.

“They have fallen, they have fallen,In a high and holy cause,Fighting for our starry banner,For our country and its laws;For the glorious cause of freedom,For the land our fathers loved;For the rights, which, spite of sceptres,Man proclaimed and God approved.“They have fallen, they have fallen,In the fierceness of the strife,Leaving us to bear the battle,And the burden of this life;While their disembodied spiritsWing their way to realms above,Where they sing their songs of triumphRound the great white throne of love.”

“They have fallen, they have fallen,

In a high and holy cause,

Fighting for our starry banner,

For our country and its laws;

For the glorious cause of freedom,

For the land our fathers loved;

For the rights, which, spite of sceptres,

Man proclaimed and God approved.

“They have fallen, they have fallen,In the fierceness of the strife,Leaving us to bear the battle,And the burden of this life;While their disembodied spiritsWing their way to realms above,Where they sing their songs of triumphRound the great white throne of love.”

“They have fallen, they have fallen,

In the fierceness of the strife,

Leaving us to bear the battle,

And the burden of this life;

While their disembodied spirits

Wing their way to realms above,

Where they sing their songs of triumph

Round the great white throne of love.”

The following is the amount of money collected while in Michigan, in the winter of 1865:

In regard to the children’s fair here mentioned, I would say that it was held by only three little children, viz.: Ella May, Frank and Ida Knappin. The weather was cold and rainy, but they did not mind the cold, for their hearts were in their work. The tableaux at Chelsea were gotten up almostentirely through the earnest efforts of Miss Josie May and Miss White, who, I believe, have never before had credit therefor.

Had I begun my work of collecting a little earlier, before the holiday season was over, during which fairs had been held, and various other means employed to raise money, I might have doubled, and perhaps tripled the amount collected; for nearly every place I visited I was met with, “Why didn’t you come sooner? A week or two earlier, and we might have raised twice as much as we now can.” But if the money only went for the desired object, it mattered little through what channel it was conveyed. I would take this opportunity to acknowledge publicly the receipt of thirty dollars from friends in Muir and vicinity, ten from South Jackson, and twenty from Salem, besides a few dollars from individual persons as a present to myself. I here renew my thanks to each and every donor; for it was only through occasional donations of this kind that I was enabled to continue my work so long. One of my former teachers at Kalamazoo, to whom I was indebted thirty dollars for money hired while in school, kindly took up the note, thus relieving me of all anxiety of how that debt, though small, was to be paid.

I know of no better way than through the pages of this little book to notify the members of the Twenty-sixthregiment of Michigan Infantry of the beautiful gold watch, with chain, pin, and corps badge, purchased with the money so generously donated by themselves in the spring of 1864. It is handsomely engraved with name, date, and regiment. To me it has a value far exceeding its intrinsic worth, for many of those represented in the gift are now “sweetly embalmed and hid away in white.” Those who survive will please accept the gratitude of the recipient, by whom their memory will ever be sacredly cherished.

I returned to WashingtonviaHarbor Creek, Penn., where I visited the bereaved family of my sister who died the previous October. Had I consulted my own ease or pleasure, I should have yielded to the earnest entreaties of those motherless boys, and remained with them while their loss was so fresh in memory and so keenly felt; but duty pointed her finger to the thousands of sick and wounded in our hospitals, many of whom, like themselves, were boys in their teens, having been tenderly reared, each one some mother’s darling or some father’s fond hope, far from home and its comforts, their young lives going out one after another in those distant hospitals, in the camp or on the field of carnage—and I could not turn a deaf ear to her call. Fifty dollars more, contributed by friends in Harbor Creek for soldiers, were added to the amount collected in Michigan.

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