A PAINFUL ACCIDENT.
THE smoke of the battle-field at Shiloh had cleared away; the dead had been buried; the wounded gathered up, and their ghastly wounds dressed—so that the people who came crowding to the battle-field saw little of the horror of war.
Among the multitudes who came down with supplies and words of sympathy and encouragement was Governor Harvey of Wisconsin, a grand, loyal man. He walked over the battle-field, the scene of the recent terrible conflict, and through the hospitals improvised for the accommodation of the thousands who had been wounded, and over the score and more of steamboats where many of the wounded were quartered.
He had given his promise of support to the men who stood between the North and the sword and torch of war. And now, with a hasty farewell to the crowd of distinguished patriots and officers who came down to wish him Godspeed on his return to the loyal State of Wisconsin, he stepped upon the single plank that bridged the little spacebetween the shore and the boat. There were a few steps forward—a misstep—a sudden plunge, and the flowing tide ingulfed him out of sight. There was a moment of awful suspense—he did not rise. Men plunged into the water, reaching out their hands in every direction to find the lost one, but alas! he was not found till life was extinct.
The boat on which he was going to take passage was lying just above our sanitary boat, and a number of us saw him make the misstep and fall.
That was a sad day to us all—a sad day for the Army of the Tennessee—a sad day for the State of Wisconsin—a sad day for the wife, a grand, noble woman, who, crushed by the heavy blow, waited in almost speechless agony for the bringing home of her dead.
But in those heroic days women did not sit down in speechless grief to weep over their dead, but, crushing back their tears, consecrated themselves to the cause of humanity and their country.
Mrs. Governor Harvey was no exception to this rule. Still staggering under this stunning blow, she consecrated herself to service in the Sanitary Commission and to the hospital work, and in blessed and unwearying service for others solaced her own deep grief. Who shall know how much comfort and encouragement the presence of this fair, beautiful, refined lady brought into the hospitals where so many homesick and pain-wearyboys lay on their beds, longing for the sight of a woman’s face, and tender touch of a woman’s hand?
Often amid the sickening scenes of the overcrowded hospitals, I met her on her weary round of holy service.
And at the close of the war she was active in the establishment of a home for the orphan children of soldiers in Wisconsin.