CHAPTER III.
The Campaign of 1864.—Port Royal.—White House.—City Point.
The Campaign of 1864.—Port Royal.—White House.—City Point.
The 9th of May, 1864, Mr. H. left Philadelphia, with a number of other gentlemen, agents of the Sanitary Commission, for the purpose of proceeding directly to the front, to wait upon the wounded—which it was known must be expected in large numbers after the army crossed the Rapidan. The spring was rainy, and the roads horrible, even for Virginia; with so many discomforts surrounding them, and the exposure of lying upon the damp earth, it was thought most prudent for me to remain in Pennsylvania, and continue my labors there, until the weather became settled.
Battles were now daily occurring, and our soldiers falling by thousands. The inaction and feeling of doing nothing for the wounded was unbearable, and a constant source of anxiety and trouble. On the 18th of May, with my friend Miss Lizzie B...., we left home for the hospitals; arrived at Belle Plain the evening of the 23d; the wharf was then crowded with wounded, waiting transportation to Washington; in twenty-four hours all were removed; and we left on aSanitary Commission steamboat, in company with other vessels,—all convoyed by a United States gun-boat. The shores of the bay and rivers were at that time infested by guerrillas, and as the rebels had a wholesome dread of theseboats, in their armed defense was our only safety. At 7P.M., May 26th, anchored at Port Royal; during the night, a barge loaded with government hay was fired by the rebels—it was supposed with the intention of its drifting out among the vessels, and thus destroying much valuable property; fortunately the others could be kept away from it, and no further damage was done. Very early in the morning went on shore, and here had the pleasure of finding Mr. H., who had preceded us by a few hours, with others, was already busily at work.
The Sanitary Commission, with its admirably arranged system of “relief,” was herebeforeany wounded were brought in; and when the long trains began to arrive, hot coffee, farina, crackers, etc. were in readiness to hand to the exhausted, famished sufferers before they were lifted from the ambulances.Two thousandwere now here awaiting transportation; the first food and careallhad upon their arrival was due to them. Night and day—taking turns to sleep—the work of preparing and distributing food among them was continued. Within a few moments after we landed, a long train of ambulances came in sight; andfinding they were moving toward a little Methodist church, we wended our way thither, taking as much as we could carry for their present relief. By the time the first man was lifted out, the little building was in readiness to receive them; benches and stove removed, it was soon crowded to its utmost capacity. Very grateful were they for the trifling relief we gave them; no straw, few blankets, and no pillows used in this hasty transfer arrangement, yet no murmuring word escaped them.
A fine-looking Massachusetts man, with a bone crushed from the knee down,—where mortification was just commencing,—asked in a whisper, as they were placing him within the little chancel: “Could I give him some kind of stimulant to keep from fainting? the pain was agonizing.” The little tin-cup was soon filled, and as quickly drained; with the momentary strength it gave, he could better endure the rearranging of splints and bandages. The surgeon shook his head as he looked at the discolored limb, and to the soldier’s urgent entreaties that “it might be taken off without a moment’s delay,” replied “it could be done better on the boat;” but added, when beyond his hearing, “the morning would find him out of the reach of pain.”
A young officer lay near him, bathing from his canteen his badly wounded foot, and when offered assistance to dress it, replied: “He had the use of both hands,while many had not, and could do without help until they were waited upon.”
All were craving fresh vegetables, onions particularly; and to their inquiries, we determined to get them if the town could furnish them. We tried to purchase from a number of persons, but were always denied; at length a place—evidently the abode of wealth—with a large, well-planted garden, was seen; the same story was repeated: “Would they sell a few onions for the wounded?” “No,” was the chilling response. “But they are begging for them, and you have plenty; name your own price in 'greenbacks,’ but wemusthave them.” Still the same “No, we don’t want greenbacks.” A gentleman of the party then offered gold in exchange. “No, gold was of no use to them.” Finding we were going to appeal to an officer who just then made his appearance, the lady changed her manner, and courteously remarked: “If we would give her farina and lemons, we might have the onions.” From the Sanitary Commission rooms, we soon furnished the articles she wished. Fifty men lay upon the floor of the church, for whom we were pleading: that number of onions was unwillingly counted down; and then the lady, appealing to the officer, asked: “Might she take a pan of clabber to the wounded Confederates next door?” His reply was: “We might, if we chose; she could have no communication with them.” Of course,we could not object; and a little colored boy accompanied us, carrying what Mrs. W. evidently thought a great delicacy. The filthy, ragged-looking rebels crowded round us and the pan, until we were glad to deliver her message quickly and beat a hasty retreat—leaving to the boy the pleasure of disposing of it.
We saw strawberries, cherries, and many early vegetables in her garden, which we could not obtain upon any terms. Knowing how valuable they were to our wounded, as we went back carrying our coveted onions, we told many soldiers where they came from, and advised them, if they knew any of their wounded comrades who needed them, to find more; further instructing them that there was a guard pacing up and down the pavement, to designate an officer’s quarters, and another in the rear to protect his horses. If they were good soldiers, they required no other orders; the hint, it is presumed, was sufficient.
In a small house, crowded with the wounded, was an old gray-headed man leaning against the wall; a ball had taken off part of his tongue; the remaining portion hung, swollen and discolored, from his parched and wounded lips. Unwilling to attempt to swallow the simple food we offered, he made known by signs that it wasfresh milkhe craved. After diligent search, a cow was at length found, picking hay among the wagons; a half pint was soon obtained and given him; hisexpressive gestures of thanks showed how fully he appreciated the kindness. Later in the day another cow was found, and thus he was fed until taken to the boat.
Noticing a neat-looking church that was not a hospital, with a guard in front, we entered and found it to be the Episcopal church. Upon opening the prayer-book on the desk at the “Prayer for all in Authority,” found that the words “the President of the United States” werecut out. By it laid a manuscript copy of prayers for the rebel government. Telling the guard he might look or not, as he chose, that I intended to take that manuscript, and send to the Sanitary Fair, then open in Philadelphia,—first reading it aloud for thebenefitof those present, and putting in its place a leaf upon which were the prayers, set forth by our beloved Bishop Potter, for the army. That they might not be mistaken what it was, wrote upon the margin—“Prayers for the Union Armies of the United States, by Bishop Potter, of Pennsylvania.” The exchange was a fair one,—the rebels, it is hoped, profiting by the sound doctrine which was given—for their erring prayers.
At this place we saw the firstgreatflocking to our lines of the colored population. On our way here, they were observed all along the river banks, rushing down from every plantation and village, with cheers, waving of hats, and other demonstrations of pleasure, manifestingtheir joy at sight of the old flag, whichnowmeantfreedomto them. A motley crowd of men, women, and children were constantly arriving, begging to be protected and sent North. An old gentleman—one of the wealthiest in the town—told us, as we sat upon his piazza watching this strangely exciting scene, thatsixtyof his servants had gone that day, and were in the crowd before us; his great grief was that he was powerless to prevent their leaving, and that he had no one to till his corn crop for him. We afterward heard that the cavalry foraged upon the fields, so he was spared further trouble on that score.
In the town, Mr. H. met an old woman ofeightycarrying, as he supposed, a child in her arms; but upon coming to her and questioning her as to her burden, said she “had her old mother, who was overone hundred; that they were going to the 'land of freedom,’ and could not leavehera slave in Virginia!”
The burial of the wounded who died at this transfer-post was intrusted to the Sanitary Commission. Every soldier was carefully interred, the burial-service used for all, the grave marked and numbered, and all money, valuables, and other articles found upon his person forwarded to Washington, to await the orders of relatives and friends. A plan of the ground was left with an old colored man living near, and the care of the graves given to him—for the purpose of aiding friends whocame for their remains, and knew nothing of any other direction they might have. The same plan, with the numbered graves, was retained by the Sanitary Commission—so that, in case the marks were removed, they couldpositivelyand certainly be identified.
Last March, Mr. H. went to Port Royal, for the purpose of pointing out the resting-place of a Rhode Island soldier, and found that three days after our troops left the town, rebel cavalry entered it,—trampling down every head-board, destroying the graves as much as possible, and threatening to hang old George, if he put them in order. With the numbered plan in Mr. H.’s possession, all marks having been removed, by counting and measurement, the spot was readily found; the skeleton remaining as it had been placed, with his knapsack at his feet.
On the 29th of May, left Port Royal with a fleet of seventy-five vessels bound for White House, on the Pamunkey, where the wounded were now to be sent. Vessels loaded with troops for the front were continually meeting us, far outnumbering those we had sent home weighed down with the wounded “soldiers of the Republic.” As they pass, all were cheering heartily; no note of despondency, as they came within sound of the conflict.
The evening of the 30th, landed at White House; found Gen. Butler’s command here, on their way tothe front; within twelve hours, some of his wounded were brought back; and from that date, much more rapidly than tents could be erected to shelter them, they were sent on. Day and night the interminable trains continued, bringing thousands of wounded men, with the dust and smoke of battle yet upon them.Acresof ground were soon covered with bleeding, mangled men, who had so lately stood unflinching mid the storm of rebel shot and shell; now as bravely they endured suffering, while needing every comfort—thousands not even shielded from the burning sun.
The work of waiting upon them continued uninterruptedly, all resting in turn;sleepwas almost impossible, as every spot of ground was covered, close up to the canvas, with soldiers who had crept there for shelter. Our duties were many and various: the preparation of food and drinks, directing and overseeing our diet kitchen, occasionally busy for hours among the wounded.
One morning as I came out of our tent very early, before the bustle of the day had commenced, a soldier came walking feebly, leaning upon a comrade’s shoulder, and inquired: “Would I dress his arm? it was untouched since first bandaged upon the field, and he knew was in offensive, bad condition, filled with creeping life!” The man said truly, it lookedbad; and I shrank from the task, but persevered until it was nicelycleansed and dressed. Then with a clean “Sanitary shirt,” the sufferer was delighted and happy, and overwhelming in his thanks. The sincere, heartfelt gratitude of those for whom such trifling services were rendered was ample recompense. Their earnest words of thanks were often more than could be borne—destroying, for the moment, the composure which was all-important. As the work of attending to that soldier went on, hundreds of others, reclining upon the ground, were intently watching the process.
Eager fortheirturn, one after another came slowly up, with the same query from all: “Would the lady dress their wound?” A rough-looking Irishman among the number, having a fearful-looking wound in his head, said “he could bear any painIgave him, if the doctors did not dress it;”—while in the midst of it, one of our best and most experienced surgeons made his appearance; observing what was going on, came to my relief, and, to the utter dismay of the poor fellow, took the sponge out of my hand to show me how much too tenderly and carefully the work was done; at every movement of the sponge in his hand, the soldier’s head bent and shrank beneath the touch, but not one word of complaint escaped him; as the doctor moved away, his thanks werenotfor the kindness shown him, but that he wasgone, and that my unskillful hands would now finish. At this hour the regular dressers commencedtheir work, and the one who had usurped their office gladly disappeared among the heaps of edibles which filled the shelter nearest us.
Our “diet kitchen” was almost entirely supplied from the Sanitary Commission: it seems almost incredible the amount consumed in one day: on the 3d of June,two thousandwere fed from that establishment. The working force consisted of eight soldiers; each had his allotted place, and knew the duties required of him. Caldrons of soup were quickly made: using essence of beef as the foundation, adding to it canned meats and vegetables, hard tack, or corn starch. The capacity of the caldrons varied from thirty to sixty gallons, and during these exciting times they were pushed to their utmost. There were men to act as “hewers of wood and drawers of water;” others whose work was to open the cans, which, as fast as emptied, were thrown into a barrel—and picked up directly by the soldiers to be used as tin-cups for their soup, coffee, etc. Tubs and buckets of milk-punch and lemonade were always in readiness. Apart from the eatables, one corner was appropriated to crutches, arm-slings, bandages, etc.; these were given, and fitted as required. They were clothed, bathed, fed; all hurried, continued work, making it impossible to give an exact account of even one day’s labor. This day’s notes end with: “Gave my only straw pillow to a wounded zouave, SergeantBeecher, from Connecticut; his thanks were enough to make my sleep sweet without it.”
The 5th of June, Mr. Schall came, bringing the body of his brother, Col. Edwin Schall, to be embalmed. He fell at Cold Harbour on the 3d of June, shot through the neck. Connected with this gallant officer’s death is an incident so singular that it is worthy of record: Sunday, the 7th of June, in the Officers’ Hospital in Georgetown, my niece was sitting by her husband’s bedside, watching the passing away of a life now near its close. As the things of earth receded, and another world dawned upon his gaze, the lamp of life flickered and flashed in this its closing scene. Suddenly rousing up, his voice, which had previously been faint and feeble, rang out in a clear, loud tone: “Lieutenant, lieutenant!” A wounded lieutenant lying near him answered: “What is it, captain?” He replied: “I’m not calling you, it is Lieut.-Col. Schall; I saw him fall, and thought the way he was lying perhaps he was dead.” His wife soothed him, telling him “the colonel was all right;” and he sank exhausted on his pillow. But in a few moments called in the same tone: “Lieutenant, lieutenant!” repeating again the same words, that “he had seen him fall,” etc. Again he was soothed to quietness. Fully conscious that death was near, the brave soldier, in a few earnest, never-to-be-forgotten words, sent home the message, that he “gave his life freely forhis country.” Then commending his soul to God, and committing wife and children to the same loving care, in two hours peacefully passed to that land “where there is no more sorrow, or sickness, or pain.” In Captain Bisbing’s death,twohomes were made desolate; he was anonly child; to the home circle of wife and children an irreparable loss, whose sorrows we do not presume to dwell upon. When Mrs. B. returned with her husband’s body to their home, she then first learned that the colonel had fallen—as the captain described—two days previously.Hisbody also was brought home for burial, and interred the day preceding the captain’s funeral.
June the 7th, wounded still pouring in; frequently orders would be sent to us to prepare to feed a train of wounded five miles in length. I do not know how accurate that estimate may have been, but it seemed to us as though theyneverwould end. Upon each arrival of the wagons, would be found some who had gone to their final rest during the roughness of the way,—suffering alone in the midst of so much misery, without any of the kind words and tender ministrations which we, at home, love to lavish upon those who we know are entering into the “dark valley.”
One of our party, while distributing food and drink at night, noticed a corporal’s arm over the side of the ambulance, and offered to him a cup of punch; findinganotherhand stretched out for it, called, “thatis for the corporal;” the reply was, “he has been dead for hours.”
Many, of necessity, were buried by the roadside, or wherever they chanced to be; but when practicable, the bodies were brought on and interred in our little cemetery—making this desolate land truly “sacred soil.” The site selected was just without the intrenchments, near the burial-ground of the Peninsular campaign: in it the graves remain as they were left two years previous; some few inscriptions still legible. Major D. H. Von Valkenburg, 1st New York Artillery, killed May 31st, 1862, was the only officer’s grave to be seen. The inscription on a head-board, at the grave of a sergeant, was re-cut by a comrade on the second anniversary of his death.
The Sanitary Commission continued superintending the burial of the dead, their chaplains performing the service at the grave; the record kept in the same order as before mentioned.
Among a large number which arrived at this time was a man who had lain between the breast-works of the two armies forfivedays without care, and no food except the very small quantity he had with him when wounded; one leg was amputated, the other dressed, before he was brought to the hospital; he will soon be sent to Washington, and his surgeon thinksmayrecover.
Transports leave daily, crowded with the wounded.Among the thousand that were to-day fed from our diet kitchen were numbers of officers, worn out and weary, who had been sent from the front with various orders. The unusual activity indicates that our stay here will be short.
Eight hundred captured rebels brought in, guarded by a negro regiment—the most humiliating thing tothemthat could have occurred; the sight was so novel that we all left our tents to look at them; one of our men, recognizing his former owner, ran up with a pleased look to speak to Massa Charles, but he refused to recognize him, and moved on with the crowd; among them is a rebel woman, sergeant of artillery—she was thelastto leave the gun when captured.
The 13th of June, we packed all that could be spared on the Sanitary Commission barge; we remain for the purpose of waiting upon any wounded that may yet be sent; after the removal had fairly commenced, and all in confusion, several hundred arrived; all of whom were fed and provided for at our diet kitchen.
Nearly all the wounded hurried off to-day; all that can in any way limp to the wharf do so; preparing rations for the trip. Guerrillas reported near us; two of our soldiers, who went beyond the picket lines to forage, were caught, stripped of their clothing, and sent back to camp. It taught the boys a useful lesson—that they must be satisfied with their positionas it is.
White House, from very early times, has been aplace of historic interest; here General Washington met his wife, and from here they went to the little church four miles distant to be married. At the commencement of the war, it belonged to the Lee family; during Gen. McClellan’s administration was carefully guarded, so much so that, when our soldiers were lying upon the wet ground, heaps of unused boards were near the buildings. The house was afterward destroyed by fire, trees cut down, fences and out-buildings removed; at the time we were there, two tall chimneys alone remained to mark the spot. Some distance from the ruins of the house, a few dilapidated negro cabins were standing, occupied by very old people, who had been slaves on the plantation all their lives. Before leaving, we supplied them with food, clothing, and medicines sufficient to last them six months; it was all secreted, before we left, to secure it from the rebels.
June 15th, 1864. This day last year, moving with the “Army of the Potomac” northward; now preparing to move, with the same army, south. Three times this morning the order was given to proceed to the boat, but each time recalled; tents are all gone, and we wander listlessly about in the hot sun, or sit upon the boxes containing all our present “worldly goods.” The soldiers who comprise our “kitchen department” take it all very philosophically;theywhile away the hours lounging upon the ground, singing “When thiscruel war is over,” and other favorite songs. At 12M.the final order came to start, and the odd-looking party slowly trudged along, each laden with what they considered indispensable for the trip; a hot, dusty walk, without umbrellas, to the wharf—a mile distant; at the last moment procure an additional supply of “hard tack” and pork, in case of emergency, and have with us five days’ rations for our party.
The “Montauk,” a government vessel, is crowded with our corps officers, surgeons, nurses, and attendants; on our vessel, and the canal-boats which are lashed to its sides, there are six hundred persons. We were hardly out of sight, not yet ofsound, when the rebels attacked the small force which had been left to guard the trains, and drove them within the intrenchments; fortunately, a portion of Sheridan’s cavalry came up soon after it commenced and routed them thoroughly.
We steamed slowly down the Pamunkey; came to West Point and York River about six; anchored at dark: at daybreak, moved on down the York River. This evening, full rations could not be issued to the men, a mistake having been made about the supplies being placed on the wrong boat—a load ofiron bedsteadssent in their place.
The morning of the 17th, the men still short of rations, and trouble threatening, the Sanitary Commissiongave them the pork and “hard tack,” with coffee, which had been provided in case of need. This restored peace and order again. Soon after we came up with the rest of the fleet; anchored below Fort Powhatan; an order was sent to the supply-boat for rations, and no further difficulty occurred. Here we were detained while Gen. Grant was crossing with his army to the south side of the James River. The pontoon bridges upon which they passed were the objects upon which all eyes were fastened. The roads leading to the river could be traced by the clouds of dust which hung heavily over them. This was thesecondtime we had seen that grand army moving in “battle array.” In the evening signal lights were seen flashing upon the hill-tops and from their camping grounds; the shipping was beautifully illuminated with various-colored lanterns; and though in the midst of war, the river, with its numerous lights, had a gay, holiday look.
On the 18th of June the pontoons were removed, and we pass on up the James; at 1P.M.landed at City Point; the town filled with wounded. In the evening, walked through the dust two miles to the site selected for the hospital, which is a wheat-field on the Appomattox. The continued heavy firing near Petersburg plainly heard. A few tents were arranged for the surgeons, nurses, etc., and in refreshing sleep all else was soon forgotten.
In the morning,ourrations were very scanty—we had but the remains of what we brought with us from White House. Before a stove could be had, or caldrons in readiness, those who were slightly wounded came straggling in; soon the number increased; and then trains came in sight, and were unloaded upon the ground. Battle-smoked and scarred, dusty, weary, and hungry, the poor fellows came—looking longingly at anything to eat; from early morning until late at night, the scene was the same as White House—thronged with wounded; the worst cases sheltered in tents, the others lying upon the now trodden wheat. It was impossible, with the few conveniences at hand, to prepare food for all that number. The night was far advanced before we were ready for the rest we so much needed, and then retire, with wounded and dying men lying upon the ground close to our tent. How heartless it sounds, athome, to sleep undersuchcircumstances!
The next day, commenced 5A.M.Nothing before us all the day but wounded; wounded men at every step you take. Three times that day we fedsix hundredmen (when the number is given we know it to be accurate, as it is taken from the morning-report at headquarters), not counting the stragglers who received a cup of soup, farina, or crackers, as the need might be.
The first boat-load sent off to-day; June 20th; but others directly fill their places. All that makes endurable this voluntary life of toil, and saddening scenes, is the simple fact that we know some lives are brightened by the care we strangers give to sick or wounded men. Every train brings with it cases of especial interest: one man, as he was lifted from the ambulance, almost with his parting breath, gave his name, company, and regiment; and thenslept, to wake no more to pain and agony. Upon the ground lay a little French boy, so low he could scarcely speak; as I quietly sponged, with cool water, his face and hands, his lips quivered, and from his firmly-closed eyestearswere slowly trickling; perhaps it may have reminded him of a mother or sister’s care, in the far-off land of his birth.
The weather is now intensely warm, June 24th. Clouds of dust fill the air; and though the hospital is some distance from the traveled road to the front, yet by four o’clock the rows of tents which stand but a few yards from us are obscured, and the river, about one square distant, is invisible.
The Sanitary Commission, with the consent and approval of the “authorities,” again select the spot for the cemetery, and continue to superintend its arrangements and the burial of the dead. During the past week, two hundred have come to this “silent city;” two hundred were sent North to-day, all “walking cases,”as the surgeons say; but such walkers are not often seen outside of afieldhospital. I happened to be passing as the sad procession came in sight; of course stopped to give them a kind word, and say good-by. As the motley-looking crowd, in their hospital uniform of shirt and drawers,—a few wearing caps and shoes, many without either,—came near, the first sentences I heard were from the “advance guard,” the best walkers of the party, who shouted: “Here we come, reinforcements for Grant.” Another calls: “Keep step; left, left.” “Weare the cripple brigade,” said his comrade with the crutch. “This is war,” in a sadder tone, from a faint-looking corporal, as he feebly passed by. Some too ill even to raise their eyes, move slowly, painfully on, step by step, through the burning sand to the boat. Many who are really unfit, start to walk, as they say, imagining they will get home sooner. The stretcher-bearers bring up the rear, to pick up those who fall exhausted by the way.
The next day, two hundredbad caseswere sent: two of the number were soon carried up again from the boat, wrapped in their blankets, signifying that they had “fought their last battle,” and were now ready to be laid beside their fellow-soldiers in the cemetery. They died upon the wharf, while waiting to be carried on the boat.
The contrabands have been coming to the hospitalin large numbers, for protection, for some days past; in their hasty flight, they pick up the very articles we would think they did not need—probably leaving what would be useful. A group of fifty just passed, well loaded: one with a bed upon his shoulders; another, a box as large as he was; many of the women carrying cooking utensils; a little fellow, of six or eight, wearing a gentleman’s coat, the skirts sweeping the ground, a stove-pipe hat upon his head,—the style of twenty years ago,—and, above all, a huge cotton umbrella! Many of the young girls wore flounced silk dresses, evidently “confiscated” frommissus’swardrobe. Their arrival quite enlivened the hospital; they were in every direction greeted with continued shouts, which mark of attention seemed gratifying to them. Rations are furnished them by government, and tents supplied for their use; all who wish to remain are employed in some way, the rest are sent to Washington.
July 4th, all the North expecting some great battle or success, whilehereit is so quiet that it seems almost like a real Sunday. Salutes are heard from every quarter in honor of the day; and at the front, the “Petersburg Express” sent its compliments into the town, at intervals of fifteen minutes, to remind them of the day we celebrate. This morning Dr. C...., of Massachusetts, told me of a young soldier in his ward that he knew must die; while attending tohim, dressing his wound, the man inquired in a cool, calm manner: “Doctor, what is to be the result, life or death?” The doctor hesitated a moment, and said: “There isonechance intenthat you may live.” He was quiet for a little while, then, with a bright, beaming smile, replied: “Better than that, doctor; God is good!” “Well, my boy,” answered the surgeon, “that chanceisthe best.” He has all the care that can be given him; but with a wounded, fractured thigh, the doctor says the “chance” is evenlessthan he stated.
A steam fire-engine has been furnished to force water from the river to the hospital, for sprinkling the streets and to cool the heated tents. Gen. Grant was walking through the hospital a few days since, and observing how much they suffered from dust, said “his wounded men must be better cared for; the streets must be watered, if it took a regiment of men each day to do it.” As his word islaw, the engine came: a large force of negroes have it in charge, and already the good results are seen. Water-tanks were afterward built, more engines and hose obtained, and all day long the street-sprinklers are at work. The dust continues fearfully deep; it is the only thing that moves aboutfreely.
The third division of the sixth corps marched by today, to embark on transports; going North, it is said, tolook after Ewell’s corps—that, we hear, is destined for another raid upon Pennsylvania. Numbers of “volunteer aids” have been obliged to give up their work here; many ill with fever; Mr. H. obliged to go home for a few days’ rest, thoroughly worn out with the arduous labors which have occupied him since early in the spring. Each corps hospital has its share of the colored population:oursettlement for them is on the river bank; from there we hear their voices as they join in their evening worship; going into their meeting, we found them kneeling upon the earth, praying earnestly that “God would bless good President Lincoln,” and “all do great Union armies;” that “He would take care of de breddern and sisters, now they be in a foreign land;” then, interrupting the prayers, a voice commenced—
“O, praise an’ tanks! Do Lord he comeTo set de people free!”
“O, praise an’ tanks! Do Lord he comeTo set de people free!”
“O, praise an’ tanks! Do Lord he comeTo set de people free!”
“O, praise an’ tanks! Do Lord he come
To set de people free!”
Prayers and their simple music were strangely blended, but all in the most devout manner.
On the 14th of July, a floor was put in our tent; previous to this, the deep dust was the only carpet we had; an arbor of evergreen branches was also placed at the two entrances; now sheltered from the scorching sun, we are very comfortable—quite luxurious living, and certainly we should never complain while sick andwounded lie upon the ground. But, in contrast withthisdwelling, sometimeswillcome before us thoughts of a country home in Pennsylvania, with cool, airy rooms, and pleasant surroundings of shade- and fruit-trees, abundantly-planted gardens, etc., until the longing to be there seems irresistible. The absorbing duty in which we are engaged, is all that can make us forget it.
July 30th. Rebel fort blown up at seven this morning; the cannonading and firing during the night which preceded the explosion were fearfully distinct, so much so as to prevent sleeping. Large numbers of wounded were brought in to-day, principally to the ninth corps and the colored hospital. Among the colored troops,fourout of every five of their officers were either killed or wounded; yet the men behaved bravely.
A young lieutenant from the ninth corps called to tell us he had been wounded in the late engagement, and that he had been promoted; with his twin brother, he entered the service at the very commencement of the war; the other, a lieutenant, fell at South Mountain; but —— passed unhurt through numberless battles, until this time; and was determined to remain with his regiment after being wounded, until told by the surgeon that if he did so he would lose his foot, probably his life; very reluctantly he came to the hospital. When his commission was received, his comrades asked him if he was aware that “in their regimentpromotion meantdeath?” and then going over the list of names, such and such a one had been promoted, and soon after fallen, his reply was: “Yes, he knew all that; but should accept it just the same, if he was conscious that death came with it—was perfectly willing to takehischance with the 'boys!’” With him was a frail-looking lad, wounded in the head; the lieutenant found him, after the fight, near the intrenchments,sobbing; as he came near, the boy called that he was wounded, and quickly said: “Willyou write to my father, and tell him I did my duty as a good soldier?” “Yes,” was the response; “but first bear your woundasa soldier.” The sobs were instantly stilled, and he went with the lieutenant to the hospital; his elder brothers were in the army, and he had long been anxious to join them; but he was—
“Only a boy! and his father had saidHe never could let his youngest go.”
“Only a boy! and his father had saidHe never could let his youngest go.”
“Only a boy! and his father had saidHe never could let his youngest go.”
“Only a boy! and his father had said
He never could let his youngest go.”
His parting command had been to “do his duty; that he would rather know his son had fallen in battle, than hear he was a coward.” Painfully wounded in the head, he yet remembered the injunction; his great anxiety was, that his father might know he had obeyed him.
The streets of this city of tents are gradually assuming a much more cheerful appearance: arbors areerected at the front and rear of the tents, thus forming a continuous shelter and pleasant walk for the patients.
August 4th was the national fast-day; the camp unexpectedly short of rations, so many fasted who would not otherwise have obeyed the President’s proclamation; a sermon at headquarters, in the evening, by the first division chaplain. A party composed of the ladies in the hospital were invited, with the surgeons, to take a trip up the James in the Sanitary Commission boat; through the dilatoriness ofoneof the ladies,allwere detained; when we at length reached the wharf, it was only in time to see the boat slowly steaming on its way with not more than eight or ten of the invited party on board. Disappointed and sadly vexed, we retraced our steps; but when, a few hours after, they returned with the mournful tidings that, near Turkey Bend, they were fired upon by guerrillas,—the engineer instantly killed, two Sanitary agents wounded, one mortally,—we saw how providential was our detention; had all gone, the conspicuous dress of the officers would have made them a fair mark for the rebels; with a larger company, the loss of life would probably have been greater. The boat was obliged to put on more steam, and proceed on her way until they came to the gun-boat which brought them in safety beyond the reach of rebel bullets. The large Sanitary flags were floating from the mast, conclusive evidenceto the guerrillas that the vessel belonged to that noble organization whose field of labor embraced all the wounded within our lines; Union and rebel alike kindly cared for.
August 9th, a terrible explosion occurred on board the ordnance barge at City Point; at the moment, I was occupied in the arbor in front of our tent, and so had an unobstructed view; with the first shock stooped to the earth, as though struck upon the head; the tent quivered as though itmustfall; it seemed soverynear that the first thought was, the rebels are shelling the hospital; finding that not correct, the next surmise was, Gen. Grant’s headquarters have been blown up. There now rose to a great height a dense column of smoke, spreading out at the top in form of an umbrella, and from it fell a shower of death-dealing missiles; it literallyrainedmuskets; shells flew in all directions; some passing over us, exploded beyond the hospital. The scene upon the bluff near the landing was sickening: dismembered bodies were strewn about the ground, the dead and dying side by side; the wounded were soon gathered up and brought to the hospital.
Thecauseof the accident could not be accounted for, until upon the trial of the villain Werz, a rebel witness related how he had done it: making some excuse to see the captain, was told he was not on board, insisting the package that he had for him could be given to noone else, asked permission to place it upon his table; as he did so, arranged the fuse, and withdrew to a place of safety. The explosion soon occurred, as he anticipated, destroying many lives, principally among the colored laborers; the others having gone to dinner. A large amount of government property was destroyed, and many buildings.
August 12th, a few of the ladies in the hospital, with some Sanitary Commission officers, went at 2P.M.on board the little tug-boat “Gov. Curtin” to Point of Rocks, Bermuda Hundred, and City Point,—the first rest away from the wounded since this campaign commenced, in May; took tea on board the supply-boat of the Commission, which is anchored at City Point wharf. The short trip did us all good, and we returned refreshed, ready for our daily duties. When we reached our hospital, found the tents and every place of shelter filled; hundreds of men lying upon the ground; occupied until late in the evening waiting upon them. Cannonading again heard up the James River. The second corps is moving somewhere, and the hospitals crowded in consequence. During all that week there seemed to be no cessation of the firing; wounded were constantly sent in; and old scenes were again and again repeated.
A young lawyer, sergeant in a New York regiment, is so deeply grateful for the little done for him—imagining, as many others do, that he would have died withoutit. An elder brother had fallen in one of the early battles of the war, and then he thought he must take his place. Whenheenlisted, it almost broke his mother’s heart; and now he often asked, would she ever see him again? We fearednot, and as soon as possible hurried him off to a more favorable climate and better care. Near him lies a Vermont sergeant, who tells me he has been a wanderer in many lands; but that away up in Vermont his mother is always working for the hospitals; he never could see the use of it, but now will write and tell her it is returning in blessings upon her son.
The fight at Deep Bottom sent to us many wounded, the most serious cases taken without delay to Washington. The day before this battle, as the men marched wearily by the hospital, covered with dust, ignorant of their destination, all were exulting in the prospect of going to Pennsylvania; still further to confirm them in the belief, they were embarked at City Point and the transports started down the river; proceeding on their way until darkness concealed them from view, they silently turned about, and movedupagain, to be taken into the battle. While it was raging, a company of the 57th New York was commanded by a sergeant; unwilling to occupy the position, as his comrades told me, he was lagging behind; a corporal near him could bear it no longer,and stepped out to lead the men as though he had always been accustomed to command. Gen. Barlow sat upon his horse, quietly observing the whole manœuvre; and when the fight was over, sent for the corporal, telling him at such an hour to report to Gen. Hancock’s headquarters. The man left, wondering what had been done; and when he returned according to orders, the two generals consulted together for a few moments, the corporal was called in—and when he left the tent, it was with the rank ofcaptain, as a reward for his gallant conduct. He again entered the battle, filling the position he so well merited; but within an hourfell dead, shot through the heart.
Similar cases were reported to us where bravery was encouraged by promotion upon the field, to show that deeds of valor were appreciated by their leader. Gen. Hancock possessed, in a remarkable degree, the power of exciting enthusiasm among the mighty hosts he so often led to victory. We, who have been with this corps long enough to become “veterans” in the service, may well be pardoned for the interest we feel in the enduring fame they and their intrepid commander have achieved.
The hospital again crowded with the wounded and sick, which are sent North as rapidly as the transports can take them. “Hancock’s cavalry”—as the rebels style the second corps, from a way they have of appearingin most unexpected places—again “on the move,” which accounts for the late unexpected addition to our numbers.
September 9th. The first time during the summer, rode as far as Gen. Meade’s headquarters, which is within sight of our fortifications, and within shelling distance of the rebels—if so inclined. Passed, both going and returning, through most fearfully desolate-looking country. Part of it has been beautiful, as the remains of fine orchards and the ruins of large houses testify. Where the families remained in their homes, they were not molested; if the house was vacant, it was certain to be destroyed by the army. Met hundreds of men returning from Northern hospitals to duty; they look well, while those we send to the front are miserable in comparison. Graves scattered by the roadside, and gathered in clusters where hospitals or camps have been located, marking the course of the army. Near a deserted house, the large garden was made a burying-ground: many of its quiet sleepers are, doubtless, mourned for in Northern homes—somewhose resting place will never be known.
“From Western plain to ocean tide,Are stretched the graves of those who diedForyouandme.”
“From Western plain to ocean tide,Are stretched the graves of those who diedForyouandme.”
“From Western plain to ocean tide,Are stretched the graves of those who diedForyouandme.”
“From Western plain to ocean tide,
Are stretched the graves of those who died
Foryouandme.”
My husband’s health, which had not been goodduring the summer, was now so much affected by the climate, that a change for him was all-important, and he again went North. We remained a few weeks longer, continuing the same routine of duties—varied only by the sad scenes around us.
While in the midst of so much excitement, in the times which formhistory, we were unconscious of it all: it was our daily life. Now, in these peaceful days, we begin to realize where we have been, and inwhatwe have taken part.
Early in November, we left, expecting to return, after a few weeks’ rest, and resume our position in the corps hospital; but Mr. H.’s health was so much impaired that it was not thought prudent for us to do so until cold weather. With a glimpse of home and its comforts, in three days we again commenced visiting the “Aid Societies” and schools, and continued uninterruptedly until January; during that time, met several thousands.