THREE YEARS IN FIELD HOSPITALS.
THREE YEARS IN FIELD HOSPITALS.
Antietam.—Hospitals.—Frederick City.—Virginia.—Breaking up of the Hospitals.—Moving North with the Army.
Antietam.—Hospitals.—Frederick City.—Virginia.—Breaking up of the Hospitals.—Moving North with the Army.
When the first sounds of war were heard, and there dimly dawned the startling fact that traitors were imperiling the life of the nation, we all remember how thousands rushed to arms at our country’s call, eager to proffer aid in this her hour of need. City, village, and country alike gave, as their first offering, their young men, the pride and strength of the land.
The first that our quiet valley knew of the preparation for war, a company was being gathered from about our very doors,—with Col. Hartranft (now major-general—and nobly has he won the double stars, to which his bravery entitles him) as their chosen commander. We saw them as they stood beneath the shade of a spreading tree, with uplifted hand, vowing true allegiance to the best government the world hasever yet beheld; and as that roll now shows, many upon far-off battle-fields have sealed it with their blood.
They followed where Burnside led; and all along that way, which occupied four years of these eventful times, we trace their course, marked by the battles in which they so bravely bore their part.
As the soldiers went out from among us, there came the yearning wish to lessen somewhat the hardships of their lonely camp life, especially when sick in hospital or wounded. What each family first began to do fortheirrelatives and friends, soon became general; and thus by uniting together, “Soldiers’ Aid Societies” were formed. With all loyal women of the land, I worked zealously in their behalf; worked, because there was irresistible impulseto do,to act. Anything but idleness, when our armies were preparing for the combat, and we knew not who should be the first to fall, who be calledwidow, or whofatherless. At length the battle of Antietam came so startlingly near, that it brought before us the horrors and sufferings of war as we had never previously felt it. From our midst six women felt called upon to offer their services, for a few weeks, to nurse the wounded. Though strongly urged to make one of the number, I declined. The idea of seeing and waiting upon wounded men, was one from which I shrank instinctively.
But when my husband returned, soon after, with the sad story that men were actually dying for food, home comforts and home care; lying by the roadside, in barns, sheds, and out-houses; needing everything that we could do for them, I hesitated no longer, but with him went earnestly to work in procuring supplies of food, medicine, and clothing. Through the kindness of friends and neighbors, we were enabled to take with us a valuable supply of articles that were most urgently required. Fortunately they were hurried through without delay, came most opportunely, and were invaluable. The name of Antietam is ever associated in my mind with scenes of horror.
As I passed through the first hospitals of wounded men I ever saw, there flashed the thought—thisis the work God has givenmeto do in this war. To care for the wounded and sick, as sorrowing wives and mothers at home would so gladly do, were it in their power. From the purest motives of patriotism and benevolence was the vow to do so, faithfully, made. Itseemeda long time before I felt that I could be of any use—until the choking sobs and blinding tears were stayed; then gradually the stern lesson of calmness, under all circumstances was learned.
We found the men, who had so bravely fought, still scattered over the hardly-contested field. At this time, 6th of October, 1862, they were all under some kind ofshelter. A sad want of suitable food and medical stores was still felt; and though both were forwarded as rapidly as possible, yet it was insufficient to relieve the distress.
At that early day in the history of the war, we found our noble United States Sanitary Commission here, doing a vast amount of good. From their store-room were sent, in every direction, supplies to relieve the greatest suffering. And to it, strangers as we were to them, we daily came for articles which we found, in our visits to the hospitals, were most urgently needed, and which our own more limited stores could not furnish. They were as freely given to us for distribution, as they had been in like manner intrusted to them by friends at home. The Montgomery County delegation occupied one room in a house adjoining the “German Reformed Church Hospital.” In this uncomfortable, little place, crowded with boxes and swarming with hospital flies, the six ladies continued their labors during the day, waiting and working faithfully among the wounded. And so dividing their number that part went daily in the ambulance, which was furnished for their use, to look after and prepare food for those in the country that urgently required it, while the remainder attended to the same kind offices for those who were in town. Of the six who at that time volunteered their services, one remained in the hospital for two years;two others, from that date until the close of the war, were known as reliable, valuable helpers.
Added to this fatiguing kind of labor, there seemed no limit to the numbers who came looking after their dead and wounded, the “loved and lost.” From that little room persons were constantly aided in their search for missing friends, food furnished at a time when it was almost impossible to buy atanyprice, and they directed to lodgings in the town or elsewhere.
Among these was a young wife, whose frantic grief I can never forget. She came hurriedly, as soon as she knew her husband was in the battle, only to find him dead and buried two days before her arrival. Unwilling to believe the fact that strangers told her—how in the early morning they had laid him beside his comrades in the orchard, she still insisted upon seeing him. Accompanying some friends to the spot, she could not wait the slow process of removing the body, but, in her agonizing grief, clutched the earth by handfuls where it lay upon the quiet sleeper’s form. And when at length the slight covering was removed, and the blanket thrown from off the face, she needed but one glance to assure her it was all too true. Then, passive and quiet beneath the stern reality of this crushing sorrow, she came back to our room. The preparations for taking the body to Philadelphia were all made forher, and with his remains she left for her now desolate home.
My imperfect notes of this date are filled with names of terribly wounded men, who are scattered over the entire extent of the field, recalling most vividly scenes that canneverbe forgotten. Those were fortunate who were in barns, where they were sure of a little hay or straw upon which to rest their shattered limbs, while many of the others lingered a few days, with no bed nor pillow other than a knapsack or piece of clothing. And then—the weary marches over,theirlast fight ended, they closed their eyes, and sank to rest. Upon one end of the piazza, at Locust Spring, lay Lieut. Williams, of Connecticut. For three weeks he lingered in intense suffering, and then passed from earth. That same piazza had been thickly strewn with the dying, and the wounded, ever since the battle. In the house were several officers, all seriously wounded. The barns were crowded with the sufferers; among them Lieut. Maine, of the 8th Connecticut—nursed by his wife, patient and gentle, while life lasted. In one of the tents was a zouave; a shell had torn his chin and fractured the shoulder; both legs broken; the fingers of one hand partly gone,—yet he is cheerful, and thinks he got off well. Near him lay a young boy, from Union, Centre County, Penna., wounded in the chest badly, but, as his surgeon said, not fatally. Histhoughts, sleeping and waking, were of home. He was constantly repeating, “Oh, take me to my mother.” And when I told him that I would do all I could for him, that I knew many persons in Centre County, he brightened up and quickly said: “Then youwilltake me to my mother.” Of his wound he never seemed to think, but at each visit we saw that he was fast passing beyond our care; and in a few days, repeating, while life lasted, the same words, he “fell asleep,” and so went to his “long home.” In a miserable little log-house near the Potomac, thirty men lay upon the floor, ill with fever; some had a little straw, but no pillows were to be found; at that time it was unavoidable, but their food was hardly fit for well men; medicines very scarce;—this house the counterpart of many others, both as to occupants, food, etc.
On the same road were several places filled with wounded rebels; in their hurried flight, they had been left by thousands, and now had to be provided for. The Episcopal church in the town had also been taken for their use. The rest of the churches, and half the houses in the place, were crowded with our wounded troops.
Going into the hospital one evening, I found, lying upon a stretcher near the door, Wm. P. C., of the 12th New York State Vols., “the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.” To my question, if I could do anything for him, he replied: “Not now; he was waitingfor the surgeon to attend to him.” A few hours later, when taken from the operating table, I found him perfectly calm and quiet; after making him as comfortable as could be done for the night, promised to care for him on the morrow. When I first wrote to his mother, it was only to tell her he was wounded. The following day was a decided change for the worse, and he thought he could not live. Even then, it was not upon his own sufferings and death that his mind dwelt, but upon his absent mother and sisters. He would constantly exclaim, “This will kill my mother; oh, break it gently to her.” After messages to them, would ask that some portion of Scripture be read to him, and the prayers which he named repeated with him. Thus occupied, the hours fled too rapidly, as we felt that each moment was precious to him who was upon the brink of that unknown river, whose crossing must bealone. By his lonely bedside, I wept bitter tears for the home so darkened, the light of a mother’s life departed, and the sorrowing sisters of whom he spake. Conscious almost to the moment of his departure, he calmly and trustfully passed “into the spirit land.” Upon the evening of the same day, 13th of October, 1862, with my husband and a lady friend, we accompanied the detachment of his own regiment which carried his body to the grave. In the Lutheran church-yard, with the solemn burial-service of the Episcopal Church,Mr. Holstein committed his remains to the grave. “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.” Soon after came the most touching letter of thanks from his sister. I thoughtthen, as Istillthink, that those kindly words amply repaid me for the little I had done for him, or all Icoulddo, for other soldiers, in the future. A few months afterward we stood again beside his open grave; this time, at the request of his sister, that we should once more look upon the body we had placed there, and know that it wasindeedher brother. Painful as it was, her request was complied with to the letter; the body, disinfected, was prepared for reinterment. With my husband as its escort, the homeward journey was taken; at length reached Utica, N. Y., in safety; then, his last request complied with, carried by loving hands to its final resting-place. Again came words of thanks, dearer far to me than any earthly treasure.
While the army rested in the vicinity of Sharpsburg, in addition to the wounded, scores of fever-patients came pouring in; some new regiments went down by hundreds. About this time the wounded were gathered up from the numerous scattering hospitals, and sent to “Smoketown” or “Frederick City.” As the short supply of medicine, food, and clothing continued, we left, when the party of six went home. Going directly to Philadelphia, came to the house of a relative asthe wedding-party of a dear friend was about proceeding to the church; with the family, we stood around the chancel, as our beloved Bishop Potter pronounced the words which made the twain one; and then, as the guests returned to the house, for a few moments mingled with the crowd. But think of thecontrast! Only yesterday walking among, and waiting upon the mangled, brave defenders of our country’s flag; men who were in want of suitable food, lying upon the hard ground; needing beds, pillows, clothing, covering,—is itany wonder that I turned away, sick at heart, coldly calculating how many lives of noble men might have been saved with the lavish abundance of the wedding festivities which I saw? Of the wedding, I knew nothing more; but quietly withdrew to an upper room. From thence sent notes, imploring help for the wounded, to friends throughout the city: so prompt and abundant was the response, that in forty-eight hours we were on our way back to Antietam, with boxes of medical stores, valued at one thousand dollars. Delicacies, clothing, etc., all selected to meet the wants as we represented. We were again most warmly welcomed by our friends, the surgeons, under whose direction our labors had heretofore been carried on. The supplies, as they said, were in many instances a perfect “Godsend,” as we had articles which it was impossible to obtain there. This time, our location was a betterone, near the Lutheran church, occupying part of a house devoted to fever-patients. A narrow entry separated our room from the one where twenty men laid upon the floor. Here, in one corner, was a graduate of Yale College; his opposite neighbor, a young lawyer, from near Pittsburg, who was an only son; next to him, upon the floor, the son of a Presbyterian clergyman; the rest of the occupants, Eastern and Western men, indiscriminately mingled. All privates. Butall, far superior to the same number from any portion of the rebel ranks that I have ever seen.
The next house was filled in like manner: soon after we came, and before the names and faces of the men were familiar, I went there, carrying some nourishing food. A Pittsburg colonel had just requested that I would find some of his regiment, if possible, thathecould not trace. As I opened the door, and asked, “Are there any from Pennsylvania here?” a number replied in the affirmative; but the one nearest me sank back gloomily upon his handful of straw, murmuring: “Well, as I am from Massachusetts, I supposethatmeans thatweare not to have any of that nice supper.” I quickly corrected his mistake, and explaining my errand, told them the supper was forall: there could be no distinction ofStates, where all the soldiers needed care. Thus early was I taught a lesson I never forgot.
It was but a few days until they wereallmoved intoour house, and this same Massachusetts soldier, Mr. B., was one that required more kindness and attention than any of the others, during the short time he lived. In the same room was Jim C., a boy of nineteen, belonging to the 32d Massachusetts Vols.; he had been very ill with fever, but was thought convalescent; but owing to some imprudence, there was a relapse, and he sank rapidly. When he knew there was no hope of his recovery, his greatest comfort seemed to be to have the Scriptures read to him; recognizing my voice, called: “Oh, pray for me! I have sinned, have sinned; but I repent, and 'believe in God the Father,’” etc. “Jim, who taught you the Creed?” “I don’t know; but I want to say it all;” so it was repeated with him; and again, with the earnestness of a child, the Lord’s Prayer was uttered. He listened with the closest attention, as different passages were recited to him; and would frequently interrupt the reading, saying: “Yes, Idobelieve; say that over again.” It was a most affecting sight, the dying boy begging God’s forgiveness of his sins, that he might be “taken up,” as he expressed it; and then his body laid in the earth without a fear. The few days he lingered were all thus spent, and when death was near, almost to the last moment that consciousness remained, and his voice could be heard, prayers for pardon were upon his lips. The evening of the 24th of October, 1862, hesuddenly and peacefully died. Early the following morning, wrapped in his blanket, he was given a soldier’s burial in the little church-yard.
“Leave him to God’s watching eye;Trust him to the hand that made him.”
“Leave him to God’s watching eye;Trust him to the hand that made him.”
“Leave him to God’s watching eye;Trust him to the hand that made him.”
“Leave him to God’s watching eye;
Trust him to the hand that made him.”
At this time our valued friend, Mrs. E...., who had been the directing power among the party of six, and who returned with us to Sharpsburg, had unmistakable symptoms of camp fever. She was taken home as quickly as possible; the attack at first seemed a light one, until an unlooked-for relapse brought her within the very shadow of the “dark valley,” and she appeared sinking beyond all human skill. But prayers were heard, and answered, and a life so precious spared to be the sunlight of her husband’s home, and a blessing to all around her.
Her sister, “Miss Lizzie,” then came to assist: from this period almost to the close of the war, she was my excellent co-worker. Among the wounded at Antietam, Gettysburg, and in Virginia, her kind ministrations will be long remembered.
The 26th of October the army, which had been resting for more than a month in the vicinity of the battle-field of Antietam, took up its line of march southward; by the evening of the same day their camping-grounds were nearly all vacated. The 30th of the month, thelast of the troops were moving, and the town looked deserted; but in the hospitals the duties continue the same, and cases of the deepest interest are daily found. Of the numbers we had known upon our first arrival, many had gone to their “dreamless sleep” by the side of comrades who had early fallen; and we now saw many hillocks in the little inclosures, where a few weeks ago lonely graves were found.
The little hospital in our house continues full. When a soldier dies, his vacant place upon the floor is soon filled by another; and thus thenumberremains the same. D—g, from Pittsburg, an orphan, with only an elder brother to grieve for him, was a case that seemed particularly hard. “Leave of absence,” at the right time, might possibly have saved his life; but his furlough came a few hoursafterdeath had released the suffering body from sorrow and disappointments.
Mr. B., the Massachusetts soldier, mentioned some time since, was now extremely ill: as I was busied in waiting upon them, one Sunday morning, he inquired if I would write home for him, as he dictated; and replying that I certainly would, he directed me where to find his little writing-case, preferring that his own paper and envelopes should be used, that his wife might recognize his writing upon them. In a calm, composed manner, speaking so clear and distinct that the surgeon involuntarily paused in his work to listen, he gave the partingmessages to wife and children; wished a lock of his hair cut for his wife, while he was living; then, taking a ring off his finger, it was inclosed, as he directed, to his little daughter; after disposing of other keepsakes to his children, added: that their likenesses, with his wife’s, that had so often comforted him in hours of sadness, and weary marches, though dimmed with the smoke and dust of battles, would be buried by his side. This wasallhe had of his distant home—pictures that were so dear, that even when life was gone, they must not be separated from him. Then, giving instructions as to the final disposition of his property, and the education of his children, he commended them, in a few earnest words, to the loving care of their Heavenly Father. As he directed, I closed the letter, and kept it until a few days later, when another was added to it, to say that the patient sufferer was at rest. Death, to him, was not unlooked for, though it came suddenly; as I was reading to him in the evening, he fell asleep, and never more wakened upon earth. In the morning we found his lifeless body, wrapped in his blanket, lying in the entry near our door,—the same resting-place that his fellow-soldiers had found. The first coffin that we knew used in the hospital was made for Mr. B., of rough boards—the remains of our packing-boxes. His request was faithfully carried out, and the pictures placed beneath his folded hands.
Our party having for some time consisted of Mr. H., myself, and friend, we stayed until the town was deserted; the few that were left being taken to “Smoketown” and “Locust Spring.” Our services no longer required, we went home the last of November; staying there only long enough to arrange about the forwarding of supplies to us, as we should need them in the hospitals.
Another trip to Antietam and Harper’s Ferry, and Mr. H. returned, ill with the fever; fortunately, it was not a serious attack. We remained there only long enough to nurse him through it, when our trips to the hospitals at Antietam and Frederick City were resumed. While in the latter place, our home was the house of a well-known loyal family. Theyfelt, what we at the North knew nothing of, that loyalty meant life was at stake, homes deserted, property destroyed, and the friends of early, happier years,allgiven up,—for what? devotion to the country, and the flag!
As “Stonewall’s” men marched through the town, they manifested their contempt for the “Starry Flag” by trailing it in the dust, at their horses’ feet, as they rode along. Our friends, pained to know of their ill deeds, and unwilling to look upon the disgraceful act they were powerless to prevent, closed their doors and windows, that they might be out of sight. Their old neighbors pointed them out to the rebels, as they passed exultingly through their streets, as hated Unionists.But their joy was of short duration; soon driven out by our forces, and many prisoners taken, a long line of the captured were marched by their door. Now wastheirhour of triumph; the flag which had been so cautiously concealed, and sacredly guarded, was brought from its hiding-place, and secured to the staff. Mrs. J...., an elderly lady, a Virginian by birth, determined theyshouldagain pass under the flag they had dishonored.
“In her attic window the staff she set,To show that one heart was loyal yet.She leaned far out on the window-sill,And shook it forth with a royal will.”
“In her attic window the staff she set,To show that one heart was loyal yet.She leaned far out on the window-sill,And shook it forth with a royal will.”
“In her attic window the staff she set,To show that one heart was loyal yet.She leaned far out on the window-sill,And shook it forth with a royal will.”
“In her attic window the staff she set,
To show that one heart was loyal yet.
She leaned far out on the window-sill,
And shook it forth with a royal will.”
The rebels could only threaten, as they moved on, that if again in possession of the city, they and their home were doomed. Some months after this had occurred, I stood by that attic window as she related the story, and pointed out how defiantly she had waved it over them. Its weight was as much as I could raise, and yet, in the excitement, my friend was all unconscious of it. It was long after, before I saw or heard of Whittier’s “Barbara Frietchie,”—that charming story, so told that it will live for ages to come; and have often wondered whetherhisoriginal andmyfriend were the same. In visits to the hospitals, collecting and distributing articles needed among the wounded,the time was occupied until the battle of Fredericksburg.
Soon after as possible, we went to Virginia, and remained in the Second Corps Hospital, near Falmouth. Army life taught, perhaps,allwho were in it many useful lessons. I never knew before how much could be done, in the way of cooking, with so few utensils. We thought we had some experience in that line at Sharpsburg, but here the conveniences were still fewer. When we commenced, a little “camp-stove,” very little larger than a lady’s band-box, fell to our lot, upon which to prepare the “light diet,” as it is termed. Three articles—a coffee-pot, a half-gallon tin-cup, and a small iron-boiler—were the sum total of kitchen furnishing: we soon learned to manage nicely; by beginning in time, were always ready at the tap of the drum. For several weeks, seventy men were daily supplied with all the “light diet” they required, prepared upon it; our soldier assistants worked admirably with it;—and gradually, from the Sanitary Commission and friends at home,thisdepartment was fitted for work; an abundance of delicacies could be made with the condensed milk and fresh eggs, which were regularly forwarded to us; bread and biscuit were also sent, with farina, wines, butter, dried fruits, etc., so that the men fared well. Penn Relief, Reading, Pottstown, Danville, and some portions of Montgomery County,were the sources from which our supplies, atthistime, principally came. From the commencement until the close of the war, they never wearied in well-doing; but worked on devotedly, as only those could whose hearts were in it. The memory of them, and their good deeds, will ever be lovingly cherished by those whose hands were made the channel through which this stream of life-sustaining gifts flowed.
We still depended entirely upon home-supplies for our own use; frequently, during that winter, our bread wasfourorfiveweeks old; we never called it stale even then, though at home we would think it unfit for the table in as many days. Several trips were made to Washington, to purchase bread for us; at length, at the request of the surgeon in charge, we drew army rations, and were spared much trouble. Our dwelling was a little “Sibley” tent, whose only floor was the fragrant branches of the pines—giving additional care to our attentive “orderly,” in its frequent renewing; there, while fully occupied, the winter slowly wore away. The deep mud, and impassable roads, cut by the army, precluded travel; no chaplain, thatIever saw, came to our camp until the roads were in good order: men sickened and died, with no other religious services, save the simple Scripture reading, and prayers, which I was in the daily practice of using for them; and which invariably were received with apleasant “thank you,” and adding: “We are always glad to see you, and have you read to us.”
A boy, belonging to the 148th P. V., George S. L...., whose home was in Centre County, Penna., was very low from hemorrhage; his nurse came to ask ifIwould try to induce him to eat; he had refused all food that had been offered, and it was important that his strength should be kept up: I prepared some article as directed by the surgeon, and took it to him; when I entered the tent, he was lying with closed eyes, and a face colorless as the canvas above him; I spoke, telling him that I came, at the surgeon’s request, to feed him, that he was not to speak or make any exertion—merely swallow what I gave him. The blue eyes openedwide, scanned my face steadily for a moment; possibly satisfied with the scrutiny, no objection was made, and he really enjoyed the slight repast. I told him at such an hour I would be there again, and would prepare his food and drink. For two weeks, all he ate was what I gave him; during that time was a very decided change for the better, and he could now converse without danger. The week preceding the battle of Chancellorsville, we were obliged to go home for a short time; but left, to carry on the work, my valuable assistant, Miss P. When George found we expected to leave, he cried bitterly, exclaiming that “he knew he should die, if I left him;” and thanking, and blessing me for my care.
As soon as it was possible, after the battle, to get within our lines, we were at our posts. During our absence the hospital had been moved two miles, and was now located near Potomac Creek. Of course, as soon as we arrived, my first inquiry was for George; the surgeon replied, “he was living, that was all; was in a stupor, and knew no one.” I could not realize that the boy must die; when I hastened to his tent, and spoke, asking if he knew me, his reply was, calling me by name: “Do you think Ievercould forget you?” My daily reading was again resumed; the blue eyes now regularly brimmed over at my approach: it was his expressive, silent greeting; though apparently insensible to all around him, my voice would at any time rouse him, and a faint smile light up his wasted face. He lingered a few days longer, and then, one quiet morning, with the precious words of faith and hope yet sounding in his ears, he gently passed from earth.
Trains of wounded were still coming from the late battle, when we arrived; some had lain for many days upon the field, and were gathered up in out-of-the-way places; one such group, of five, “shot to pieces,” as they said, were entirely overlooked, until found by a New Hampshire chaplain, who brought them water for their wounds, and obliged the rebels to bring them food: finding they had not died, as they had hoped, they sheltered them slightly from the weather; and atlength, to their great joy, they were sent to our lines. In the number were many badly, some singularly wounded. While the hospital continued crowded, the duties were wearisome, giving but little time, either day or night, for any of the attendants to rest; there was much daily occurring of interest among those who now filled the wards.
Our nearness to the “front,” within sound of musketry and cannon, prepared us for whatever might occur, so that we were always anticipating more than passed around us. As soon as transportation could be had, the number in the hospital was lessened by sending the patients North. And now that milder days gave promise of the coming spring, the “surgeon in charge” commenced the work of beautifying the grounds; soon the sloping hillsides were covered with a neatly planted garden, containing a large variety of vegetables. Flowers, roots, and seeds were sent to us; and as if by magic, beds of flowers were scattered everywhere; many springing into beauty in the form of thecorps badge—needing but a few weeks’ sunshine and showers to perfect the red color of the division. Rustic work of the most artistic order graced the grounds; all this was done for a twofold reason—to give employment to the convalescents, and amusement to the patients. In front of our tent was a rustic arbor, so complete that any of our country homes would prize it for its beauty.
Work went on, and everything madeapparentlyas lasting as though we expected to spend the summer within sight and sound of rebel batteries. A few days previous to the army moving, a portion of the sixth corps was sent across the river to attract the attention of the rebels in that direction, and to ascertain what force they had remaining. We were close to one of our batteries during a portion of the time this was occurring, intently watching the skirmishers, and the rebels, that were plainly seen in the woods near them. Within a few minutes after we left the spot, the rebels again renewed their leaden compliments to the battery where we had been: they returned them in like manner; in the distance, we plainly heard the sharp firing which ensued. Things continued in this way until Saturday, the 13th of June, 1863: while at dinner, the order was received to break up the hospital; quietly and rapidly was it obeyed; the ambulances were in readiness to take all who could not walk, and intwo hoursthe seven hundred men were on their way to the station. It was surprising to see how quickly crutches were thrown aside, and all whocould, were willing to start for the cars—exulting in the prospect of going that much nearer home. When the order to “break up” was given, the gardener was putting the finishing touches to some ornamental rustic work about our tent:instantlyhammer and hatchet were thrown aside, flowersremained unplanted, and, with a hurried “good-by,” he fell into line with his comrades. The remainder of that day was a busy scene of destruction and confusion; but the night found us still occupying our tent, though nearly all the others, except a few of the officers’ quarters, had been “struck.” The next day, Sunday, came with all the loveliness of June; but there was nothing inoursurroundings to point it out to us as a day of rest.
Almost the first object which the early morning revealed to us was the Army of the Potomac in motion. Looking down upon the plain beneath, far as the eye could reach, was a moving mass of men, horses, and artillery, with the heavy army wagons and trains of ambulances; gleaming through and above it all, in the bright sunlight, were thebayonets—upheld by that heroic column, which the future record proved to be firm and enduring as their trusty steel. Itwasa grand sight, never to be forgotten; in one continued stream, this mighty army poured along. At six in the evening, our hospital train of empty ambulances was in readiness; and then the torch was applied to all that remained of so much beauty about our camp. We sat, quietly watching the flames as they curled and flashed from one arbor to another, encircling in a wall of fire the evergreen screens which had so pleasantly shielded us from heat and dust, and crumbling into ashes in afew moments the work of months. All hospital and army property which could not be transported, was thus consumed, two officers remaining to see that the work of destruction was complete; what could not beburned, the axe rendered useless. As the flames lessened, we took our places and moved on with the train, expecting to join the division at Stafford Court House; halting there long enough for a hasty supper, the march was resumed. To lookers-on, if any could be found in that desolate region, it must have presented the appearance of an almost unending torch-light procession: as from nearly every ambulance and wagon was suspended a lantern, to point out the dangers of an unknown road. At the crossing of Aquia Creek, rested for an hour; and here all were glad to sleep, even for that short time. A little distance beyond, passed a Connecticut battery of six siege guns—32-pounders, each drawn by ten horses. Very early in the morning, the sixth army corps came up, moving quickly by, cheering as they passed, and calling, “On for Pennsylvania!” Breakfasted near Quantico Creek, in a rebel house; the occupants enjoyed our coffee, as a luxury beyond their reach since the commencement of the war; on the surrounding hills, found many deserted rebel camps, abatis, and defenses of various kinds. This day’s march brought us to Dumfries, and camped in its vicinity at 11P.M.,the occupants of our ambulance most thoroughlyused up, all but myself; assisted in arranging our little tent, prepared lunch, and made very strong tea with thick, muddy water—tired and hungry as we were, it was not as unpalatable as one would imagine. After three hours’ rest, the order was given, quietly, to move quickly as possible, but cautiously, as we were in sight of rebel camp fires. Here, as elsewhere in this hurried journey, whenever such orders were given, some of the soldiersranwith our ambulance, steadying it, as the wretched roads required. The rebels were continually harassing the rear of our column.Wehad left Stafford Court House late in the evening; the next morning our cavalry had a short fight with them there.
The morning of the 16th of June was cool and delightful, but the mid-day heat was intense; the soldiers feeling it painfully, but bearing it cheerfully. From this place onward, our course could be traced by the blankets, coats, and knapsacks thrown aside by the foot-sore and weary men; broken, abandoned wagons and disabled horses, seen all along the route. The difficulty of procuring water was greater than any previous time; numbers of wells by the roadside were observed filled with stones; the water was always muddy and bad, and could be had only at long distance from the road. This day found both men and horses needing a full night’srest: quite early in the evening we halted at the edge of a beautiful wood in Fairfax County, and in its shade our little tent was pitched; with the dawn we were astir, deeply thankful for our safe, refreshing rest and shelter during the night. Of course, in all this journey, our bed was a soldier’s couch—theground; with a gum-blanket, and satchel for a pillow, could at any time or hour sleep soundly.
We crossed the stony Occoquan at Wolf’s Ford; on the heights were the remains of formidable-looking rebel fortifications. Here, June 15th, 1863, we heard the first tidings that the rebels were in Pennsylvania; the excitement the news created was intense. This day’s heat told sadly upon the men; despite their eagerness to reach Pennsylvania, they could not bear up, and many fell by the wayside from exhaustion: in one division, one hundred and twenty reported with sunstroke. During the hurried march, numbers of cavalry horses had been abandoned by their riders, who only required a few days’ rest to recruit, and again they were ready for duty. They were to be seen all along our route, undisturbed by the passing column, except when caught by some of the foot soldiers. It was amusing to observe the ingenious arrangements made to answer for the horses’ trappings: a piece of old tentcanvas was soon converted into an admirable bridle; another piece of the same shelter kept the saddle (ablanket) in its place: thus mounted, he would be delighted; and day by day added to the number ofthisescort. There were constantly exciting incidents: sometimes we were in a dangerous position, from our driver losing his place in the line; then the crossing of the infantry through the train, the frequent breaking down of bridges, and the delay caused by disabled wagons constantly impeded our progress.
Near “Union Mills,” our troops camped for the night in “line of battle;” our little tent was pitched upon the banks of the stream, in rear ofourarmy, almost within bugle-call of the rebel lines. Here the order was given to reduce officers’ baggage to twenty pounds, forward the surplus to Washington—or destroy it. Many officers and men came with the request that we would take charge of money and valuables for them. It was a touching sight—upon the eve of a battle, as it was thought—to see keepsakes, from loved ones at home, intrusted to comparative strangers, hoping thus to save them in case of attack, which here, near the old “Bull Run” battle-ground, seemed imminent. I wore under my coat a belt, and carried the costly sword belonging to it under my dress. A civilian, as my husband was, could not do so without danger of arrest, whileIwould pass unnoticed. The large amount of money and valuables in our possession were brought safely to Philadelphia, the former soon restored to itsrightful owners; the sword with some other articles were unclaimed till near the close of the war.
As a battle was anticipated, and we were now accessible to railroad, near Sangster’s Station, it was thought advisable to proceed without delay to Alexandria and Washington, from whence we could readily return if our services were needed. After remaining some days in Washington, Mr. H. was threatened with an attack of malaria fever—warning us to proceed homeward without delay. We came to it, worn out and wearied as we were, as to a haven ofrest.