Chapter V: Newnan, Georgia (2)

The ladies, wives of officers, attendants, etc., were more difficult to manage, for dread of the "Yankees," combined with the pain of parting with their husbands or friends, who would soon go into battle, distracted them. Fabulous prices were offered for means of conveyance. As fast as one was procured it was filled and crowded. At last, all were sent off except one two-horse buggy, which Dr. McAllister had held for his wife and myself, and which was driven by his own negro boy, Sam. Meantime, I had visited all the wards, for some of the patients were very near death, and all were in a state of great and injurious excitement. I did not for a moment pretend to withstand their entreaties that I would remain with them, having already decided to do so. Their helplessness appealed so strongly to my sympathies that I found it impossible to resist. Besides, I had an idea and a hope that even in the event of the town being taken I might prevail with the enemy to ameliorate their condition as prisoners. So I promised, and quietly passed from ward to ward announcing my determination, trying to speak cheerfully. Excitement, so great that it produced outward calm, enabled me to resist the angry remonstrances of the surgeon and the tearful entreaties of Mrs. McAllister, who was nearly beside herself with apprehension. At last everybody was gone; intense quiet succeeded the scene of confusion. I was _alone,--left in charge_. A crushing sense of responsibility fell upon my heart. The alarm had been first given about eight o'clock in the morning. By three the same afternoon soldiers, citizens, _all_ had disappeared.

Only a few men who, by reason of wounds too recently healed or from other causes, were unable to march or to fight had been left to act as nurses.

I sat down upon the steps of my office to think it over and to gather strength for all I had to do. On either side of me were two-story stores which had been converted into wards, where the sickest patients were generally placed, that I might have easy access to them. Suddenly, from one of the upper wards, I heard a hoarse cry, as if some one had essayed to give the rebel yell. Following it a confused murmur of voices. Running hastily up-stairs, I met at the door of the ward a ghastly figure, clad all in white (the hospital shirt and drawers), but with a military cap on his head. It was one of my fever patients who had been lying at death's door for days. The excitement of the morning having brought on an access of fever with delirium, he had arisen from his bed, put on his cap, and started, yelling, "_to join the boys!_" Weak as I had supposed him to be, his strength almost over-mastered my own. I could hardly prevent him from going down the stairs. The only man in the ward able to assist me at all was minus an arm and just recovering after amputation. I was afraid his wound might possibly begin to bleed, besides, I knew that any _man's_ interference would excite the patient still more. Relying upon the kindly, chivalrous feeling which my presence always seemed to inspire in my patients, I promised to get his gun for him if he would go back and put on his clothes, and, placing my arm around the already tottering and swaying figure, by soothing and coaxing got him back to the bed. A sinking spell followed, from which he never rallied. In a lower ward another death occurred, due also to sudden excitement.

Fearful of the effect that a knowledge of this would have upon other patients, I resorted to deception, declaring that the dead men were better and asleep, covering them, excluding light from windows near them, and even pretending at intervals to administer medicines.

And now came another trial, from which I shrank fearfully, but which must be borne.

In the "wounded wards," and in tents outside where men having gangrene were isolated, horrible sights awaited me,--sights which I trembled to look upon,--fearful wounds which had, so far, been attended to only by the surgeons.

These wounds were now dry, and the men were groaning with pain. Minute directions having been left with me, I must nerve myself to uncover the dreadful places, wash them, and apply fresh cloths. In the cases of gangrene, poultices of yeast and charcoal, or some other preparation left by the surgeons.

Entering Ward No. 3, where there were many badly-wounded men, I began my work upon a boy of perhaps nineteen years, belonging to a North Carolina regiment, who had one-half of his face shot away.

My readers may imagine the dreadful character of the wounds in this ward, when I relate that a day or two after a terrible battle at the front, when dozens of wounded were brought in, so badly were they mangled and so busy were the surgeons, that I was permitted to dress this boy's face unaided. _Then_ it was bad enough, but neither so unsightly nor so painful as _now_ that inflammation had supervened. The poor boy tried not to flinch. His one bright eye looked gratefully up at me. After I had finished, he wrote upon the paper which was always at his hand, "You didn't hurt me like them doctors. Don't let the Yankees get me, I want to have another chance at _them_ when I get well." Having succeeded so well, I "took heart of grace," and felt little trepidation afterward. But--oh! the horror of it. An Arkansas soldier lay gasping out his life, a piece of shell having carried away a large portion of his breast, leaving the lungs exposed to view. No hope, save to alleviate his pain by applying cloths wet with cold water. Another, from Tennessee, had lost a part of his thigh,--and so on. The amputations were my greatest dread, lest I might displace bandages and set an artery bleeding. So I dared not remove the cloths, but used an instrument invented by one of our surgeons, as may be imagined, of primitive construction, but which, wetting the tender wounds gradually by a sort of spray, gave great relief. Of course, fresh cloths were a constant necessity for suppurating wounds, but for those nearly healed, or simply inflamed, the spray was invaluable. The tents were the last visited, and by the time I had finished the rounds, it was time to make some arrangements for the patients' supper, for wounded men are always hungry.

I remember gratefully to this day the comfort and moral support I received during this trying ordeal from a South Carolina soldier, who even then knew that his own hours were numbered, and was looking death in the face with a calm resignation and courage which was simply sublime. He had been shot in the spine, and from the waist down was completely paralyzed. After he had been wounded, some one unintentionally having laid him down too near a fire, his feet were burned in a shocking manner. He was one of the handsomest men I ever saw, and, even in his present condition, of commanding presence and of unusual intelligence. I strive in vain to recall his name, but memory in this as in many other cases of patients to whom I was particularly attracted will present their faces only. Calling me to his bedside he spoke kindly and cheerfully, praising my efforts, encouraging me to go on, drawing upon his store of general knowledge for expedients to meet the most trying cases.

Everything that Dr. McAllister did was well and completely done. He was kind-hearted, generous, ready to do or sacrifice anything for the real good of his patients; but his rules once laid down became immutable laws, not to be transgressed by any. His constant supervision and enforcement of rules affected every department of the hospital. In my own, I had only to report a dereliction of duty, and the fate of the culprit was sealed. If a woman, I had orders to discharge her; if a man, the next train bore him to his regiment or to the office of the medical director, upon whose tender mercies no wrong-doer could rely.

Consequently, I had only to go to my well-ordered kitchen to find ready the food which it had been my first care to have prepared in view of the (as I hoped) temporary absence of the cooks. The departing men had all taken marching rations with them, but there was still plenty of food on hand. A bakery was attached to the Buckner. We also owned several cows. In the bakery was plenty of corn-bread and some loaves of flour-bread, although flour was even then becoming scarce.

The cows, with full udders, stood lowing at the bars of the pen. Among the doubts and fears that had assailed me, the idea that I might have trouble with these cows never occurred to my mind. During my childhood my mother had owned several. I had often seen them milked. One had only to seize the teats firmly, pull quietly downward, and two streams of rich milk would follow. Oh, yes! I could do that easily. But when I arrived at the pen, a tin bucket in one hand, a milking-stool in the other, and letting down the bars, crept inside, the cows eyed me with evident distrust and even shook their horns in a menacing manner which quite alarmed me. However, I marched up to the one which appeared the mildest-looking, and sitting down by her side, seized two of the teats, fully expecting to hear the musical sound of two white streamlets as they fell upon the bottom of the tin bucket. _Not a drop could I get_. My caressing words and gentle remonstrances had not the slightest effect. If it is possible for an animal to feel and show contempt, it was revealed in the gaze that cow cast upon me as she turned her head to observe my manoeuvres. I had heard that some cows have a bad habit of holding back their milk. Perhaps this was one of them. I would try another. Removing the stool to the side of another meek-looking animal, I essayed to milk _her_. But she switched her tail in my face, lifting a menacing, horrid hoof. "_Soh, bossy!_" cried I. "Pretty, _pretty_ cow that makes pleasant milk to soak my bread." In another moment I was seated flat upon the ground, while my pretty, pretty cow capered wildly among the rest, so agitating them that, thinking discretion the better part of valor, I hastily climbed over the fence at the point nearest to me and returned to the kitchen.

What should I do now? Perhaps one of the decrepit nurses left in the ward knew how to milk. But no, they did not, except one poor, limping rheumatic who could only use one hand. Just then a feeble-looking patient from the Bragg Hospital came tottering along. He also knew how to milk, and they both, volunteered to try. Much to my surprise and delight, the cows now behaved beautifully, perhaps owing to the fact that, obeying the injunctions of my two recruits, I provided each with a bundle of fodder to distract their attention during the milking process. There was more milk than I could possibly use, as nearly all the convalescents were absent. So I set several pans of it away, little thinking how soon it would be needed.

By the time all had been fed, I felt very weary; but it was midnight before I found a minute's time to rest.

I had made frequent rounds through all the buildings of the hospital, each time finding some one who had need of me. At last, wearied out by the excitement of the day, the sick grew quiet and inclined to sleep. Released for a time, I sat down on the steps of my office to think and to listen: for I did not know anything of the whereabouts of the enemy. The town might have been surrendered. At any moment the Federal soldiers might appear. Just then, however, the streets were utterly deserted. The stillness was oppressive.

If I could only discover a friendly light in one of these deserted dwellings. Oh, for the sound of a kindly voice, the sight of a familiar face!

Doubtless there may have been some who had remained to protect their household gods, but they were women, and remained closely within doors.

Melancholy thoughts oppressed me. Through gathering tears I gazed at the pale moon, whose light seemed faded and wan. There came to me memories of the long-ago, when I had strayed among the orange-groves of my own dear home under a moonlight far more radiant, happy in loved companionship, listening with delight to the voices of the night, which murmured only of love and joy and hope, inhaling the perfume of a thousand flowers. To-night, as the south wind swept by in fitful gusts, it seemed to bear to my ears the sound of sorrow and mourning from homes and shrines where hope lay dead amid the ruined idols cast down and broken by that stern iconoclast--_War_.

As I sat thus, buried in thought, a distant sound broke the silence, sending a thrill of terror to my heart. It was the tramp of many horses rapidly approaching. "Alas! alas I the enemy had come upon us from the rear. Our brave defenders were surrounded and their retreat cut off."

I knew not what to expect, but anxiety for my patients banished fear. Seizing a light-wood torch, I ran up the road, hoping to interview the officers at the head of the column and to intercede for my sick, perhaps to prevent intrusion into the wards. To my almost wild delight, the torch-light revealed the dear old gray uniforms. It was a portion of Wheeler's Cavalry sent to reinforce Roddy, whose meagre forces, aided by the volunteers from Newman, had held the Federals in check until now, but were anxiously expecting this reinforcement.

The men had ridden far and fast. They now came to a halt in front of the hospital, but had not time to dismount, hungry and thirsty though they were. The regimental servants, however, came in search of water with dozens of canteens hung around them, rattling in such a manner as to show that they were quite empty. For the next half-hour, I believe, I had almost the strength of Samson. Rushing to the bakery, I loaded baskets with bread and handed them up to the soldier-boys to be passed along until emptied. I then poured all the milk I had into a large bucket, added a dipper, and, threading in and out among the horses, ladled out dipperfuls until it was all gone. I then distributed about four buckets of water in the same way. My excitement was so great that not a sensation of fear or of fatigue assailed me. Horses to the right of me, horses to the left of me, horses in front of me, snorted and pawed; but God gave strength and courage: I was not afraid.

A comparatively small number had been supplied, when a courier from Roddy's command rode up to hasten the reinforcements. At once the whole column was put in motion. As the last rider disappeared, and the tramping of the horses died away in the distance, a sense of weariness and exhaustion so overpowered me that I could have slept where I stood. So thorough was my confidence in the brave men who were sure to repel the invaders that all sense of danger passed away.

My own sleeping-room was in a house situated at the foot of the hill. I could have gone there and slept securely, but dared not leave my charges. Sinking upon the rough lounge in my office, intending only to rest, I fell fast asleep. I was awakened by one of the nurses, who had come to say that I was needed by a patient whom he believed to be dying, and who lay in a ward on the other side of the square.

As we passed out into the street, another beautiful morning was dawning. Upon entering Ward No. 9, we found most of the patients asleep. But in one corner, between two windows which let in the fast-increasing light, lay an elderly man, calmly breathing his life away. The morning breeze stirred the thin gray hair upon his hollow temples, rustling the leaves of the Bible which lay upon his pillow. Stooping over him to feel the fluttering pulse, and to wipe the clammy sweat from brow and hands, I saw that he was indeed dying, a victim of that dreadful scourge that decimated the ranks of the Confederate armies more surely than many battles,--dysentery,--which, if not cured in the earlier stages, resulted too surely, as now, in consumption of the bowels.

He was a Kentuckian, cut off from home and friends, and dying among strangers. An almost imperceptible glance indicated that he wished me to take up his Bible. The fast-stiffening lips whispered, "_Read_." I read to him the Fourteenth Chapter of St. John, stopping frequently to note if the faint breathing yet continued. Each time he would move the cold fingers in a way that evidently meant "_go on_." After I had finished the reading, he whispered, so faintly that I could just catch the words, "_Rock of Ages_," and I softly sang the beautiful hymn.

Two years before I could not have done this so calmly. At first every death among my patients seemed to me like a personal bereavement. Trying to read or to sing by the bedsides of the dying, uncontrollable tears and sobs would choke my voice. As I looked my last upon dead faces, I would turn away shuddering and sobbing, for a time unfit for duty. _Now_, my voice did not once fail or falter. Calmly I watched the dying patient, and saw (as I had seen a hundred times before) the gray shadow of death steal over the shrunken face, to be replaced at the last by a light so beautiful that I could well believe it came shining through "the gates ajar."

It was sunrise when I again emerged from Ward No. 9. Hastening to my room, I quickly bathed and redressed, returning to my office in half an hour, refreshed and ready for duty.

The necessity for breakfast sufficient to feed the hungry patients recalled to me the improvidence of my action in giving away so much bread the night before. It had gone a very little way toward supplying the needs of so large a body of soldiers, and now my own needed it.

There was no quartermaster, no one to issue fresh rations. Again I had the cows milked, gathered up all the corn-bread that was left, with some hard-tack, and with the aid of the few decrepit nurses before mentioned made a fire, and warmed up the soup and soup-meat which had been prepared for the convalescent table the day before, but was not consumed. My patients, comprehending the situation, made the best of it. But the distribution was a tedious business, as many of the patients had to be fed by myself.

I had hardly begun when some of the men declared they "heard guns." I could not then detect the sound, but soon it grew louder and more sustained, and then we _knew_ a battle was in progress. For hours the fight went on. We awaited the result in painful suspense. At last the ambulances came in, bringing some of the surgeons and some wounded men, returning immediately for others. At the same time the hospital steward with his attendants and several of our nurses arrived, also the linen-master, the chief cook, and the baker. With them came orders to prepare wards for a large number of wounded, both Confederate _and Federal_. Presently a cloud of dust appeared up the road, and a detail of Confederate cavalry rode into town, bringing eight hundred Federal prisoners, who were consigned to a large cotton warehouse, situated almost midway between the hospital and the railroad depot.

My terrible anxiety, suspense, and heavy responsibility was now at an end, but days and nights of nursing lay before all who were connected with either the Buckner or Bragg Hospitals. Additional buildings were at once seized and converted into wards for the reception of the wounded of both armies. The hospital attendants, though weary, hungry, and some of them terribly dirty from the combined effect of perspiration, dust, and gunpowder, at once resumed their duties. The quartermaster reopened his office, requisitions were made and filled, and the work of the different departments was once more put in regular operation.

I was busy in one of the wards, when a messenger drove up, and a note was handed me from Dr. McAllister,--"Some of our men too badly wounded to be moved right away. Come out at once. Bring cordials and brandy,--soup, if you have it,--also fill the enclosed requisition at the drug-store. Lose no time."

The battle-field was not three miles away. I was soon tearing along the road at breakneck speed. At an improvised field-hospital I met the doctor, who vainly tried to prepare me for the horrid spectacle I was about to witness.

From the hospital-tent distressing groans and screams came forth. The surgeons, both Confederate and Federal, were busy, with coats off, sleeves rolled up, shirt-fronts and hands bloody. But _our_ work lay not here.

Dr. McAllister silently handed me two canteens of water, which I threw over my shoulder, receiving also a bottle of peach brandy. We then turned into a ploughed field, thickly strewn with men and horses, many stone dead, some struggling in the agonies of death. The plaintive cries and awful struggles of the horses first impressed me. They were shot in every conceivable manner, showing shattered heads, broken and bleeding limbs, and protruding entrails. They would not yield quietly to death, but continually raised their heads or struggled half-way to their feet, uttering cries of pain, while their distorted eyes seemed to reveal their suffering and implore relief. I saw a soldier shoot one of these poor animals, and felt truly glad to know that his agony was at an end.

The dead lay around us on every side, singly and in groups and _piles_; men and horses, in some cases, apparently inextricably mingled. Some lay as if peacefully sleeping; others, with open eyes, seemed to glare at any who bent above them. Two men lay as they had died, the "Blue" and the "Gray," clasped in a fierce embrace. What had passed between them could never be known; but one was shot in the head, the throat of the other was partly torn away. It was awful to feel the conviction that unquenched hatred had embittered the last moments of each. They seemed mere youths, and I thought sadly of the mothers, whose hearts would throb with equal anguish in a Northern and a Southern home. In a corner of the field, supported by a pile of broken fence-rails, a soldier sat apparently beckoning to us. On approaching him we discovered that he was quite dead, although he sat upright, with open eyes and extended arm.

Several badly wounded men had been laid under the shade of some bushes a little farther on; our mission lay here. The portion of the field we crossed to reach this spot was in many places slippery with blood. The edge of my dress was red, my feet were wet with it. As we drew near the suffering men, piteous glances met our own. "Water! water!" was the cry.

Dr. McAllister had previously discovered in one of these the son of an old friend, and although he was apparently wounded unto death, he hoped, when the ambulances returned with the stretchers sent for, to move him into town to the hospital. He now proceeded with the aid of the instruments, bandages, lint, etc., I had brought to prepare him for removal. Meantime, taking from my pocket a small feeding-cup, which I always carried for use in the wards, I mixed some brandy and water, and, kneeling by one of the poor fellows who seemed worse than the others, tried to raise his head. But he was already dying. As soon as he was moved the blood ran in a little stream from his mouth. Wiping it off, I put the cup to his lips, but he could not swallow, and reluctantly I left him to die. He wore the blue uniform and stripes of a Federal sergeant of cavalry, and had a German face. The next seemed anxious for water, and drank eagerly. This one, a man of middle age, was later transferred to our wards, but died from blood-poisoning. He was badly wounded in the side. A third could only talk with his large, sad eyes, but made me clearly understand his desire for water. As I passed my arm under his head the red blood saturated my sleeve and spread in a moment over a part of my dress. So we went on, giving water, brandy, or soup; sometimes successful in reviving the patient, sometimes able only to whisper a few words of comfort to the dying. There were many more left, and Dr. McAllister never for a moment intermitted his efforts to save them. Later came more help, surgeons, and attendants with stretchers, etc. Soon all were moved who could bear it.

Duty now recalled me to my patients at the hospital.

My hands and dress and feet were bloody, and I felt sick with horror.

As I was recrossing the battle-field accompanied by Dr. Welford, of Virginia, the same terrible scenes were presented to the view. The ground was littered with the accoutrements of soldiers,--carbines, pistols, canteens, haversacks, etc. Two cannon lay overturned, near one of which lay a dead Federal soldier still grasping the rammer. Beneath the still struggling horses lay human forms just as they had fallen. Probably they had been dead ere they reached the ground, but I felt a shuddering dread lest perhaps some lingering spark of life had been crushed out by the rolling animals.

We had nearly reached the road when our attention was arrested by stifled cries and groans proceeding from a little log cabin which had been nearly demolished during the fight. Entering, we found it empty, but still the piteous cries continued. Soon the doctor discovered a pair of human legs, hanging down the chimney, but with all his pulling could not dislodge the man, who was fast wedged and only cried out the louder.

"Stop your infernal noise," said the doctor, "and try to help yourself while I pull." By this time others had entered the cabin, and their united effort at length succeeded in dislodging from the chimney,--not a negro, but a white man, whose blue eyes, glassy with terror, shone through the soot which had begrimed his face. He had climbed up the chimney to escape the storm of shot, and had so wedged himself in that to release himself unaided was impossible. Irrepressible laughter greeted his appearance, and I--I am bitterly ashamed to say--fell into a fit of most violent hysterical laughter and weeping. Dr. Welford hurried me into the buggy, which was near at hand, and drove rapidly to town, refusing to stop at the hospital, landing me at my room, where some ladies who came from I know not where kindly helped me to bed. Under the influence of a sedative I soon fell into a deep sleep, awakening at daylight to find my own servant (who had returned with other negroes during the night) standing at my bedside. The surgeons had sent a little of the precious _real coffee_, of which there was only one sack left. Upon awakening, I was to be at once served with a cup. A warm bath followed. By six o'clock I was once more at the hospital, ready for duty, after two days and nights, during which, it seemed to me, I had lived for years.

Even at this early hour, Buckner hospital presented a scene of great activity. Some of the surgeons had remained all night on duty, and were still busy; while others, having snatched a few hours of sleep, were now preparing for their trying work.

In almost every ward lay a few wounded Federals, but, all the spare beds having been filled, a long, low, brick building, on the corner opposite the drug-store, once used as a cotton-pickery, was fitted up as comfortably as the limited hospital-supplies at our command would allow for the Federals exclusively, and they were permitted to have the attendance of their own surgeons, although ours always responded readily, if needed.

These Federal surgeons appeared to me to be very indifferent to the comfort of their patients, and to avoid all unnecessary trouble. They were tardy in beginning their work the morning after the battle, and, when they were ready, coolly sent in _requisitions_ for _chloroform_, which, having been (contrary to the dictates of humanity and to the customs of civilized nations) long since declared by their government "contraband of war," was almost unattainable, and used by our Confederate surgeons only in extreme cases. In all minor, and in some severe, operations the surgeons relied upon the manly fortitude of the patients, and, _God bless our brave boys_, they bore this cruel test with a courage fully as worthy to be recorded as the most brilliant action on the battle-field.

On the morning in question, as I made my early rounds, there met me everywhere ghastly reminders of the battle,--men shot and disfigured in every conceivable manner. Many, fresh from the hands of the surgeons, exhausted by suffering, looked as if already Death had claimed them for his own. Attendants were constantly bearing into different wards fresh victims from the operating-rooms, where the bloody work would still go on for hours. These must have immediate attention,--must be closely watched and strongly nourished. This was _my_ blessed privilege; and, thanks to the humane and excellent policy adopted by General Johnston, and continued by General Hood,--both of whom looked well to the _ways of quartermasters_ and _commissaries_,--the means to provide for the sick and wounded were always at hand,--at least, up to the time of which I write.

Some of my favorite patients, whom, previous to this battle, I had nursed into convalescence, were now thrown back upon beds of pain. In one corner I found a boy whom I had nursed and fed through days and nights of suffering from typhoid fever. His name was Willie Hutson, and he belonged to the ---- Mississippi Regiment. Two days ago he had been as bright as a lark, and pleading to be sent to the front. Now he lay, shot through the breast, so near death that he did not know me. As I bent over him with tearful eyes, a hand placed upon my arm caused me to turn. There stood Dr. Gore, his kind face full of sympathy, but greatly troubled, at his side a Federal surgeon in full uniform. Dr. Gore said, "This is one of my old chums, and--" But I cried out, "Oh, doctor! I _cannot_,--look" (indicating with my hand first Willie, then the entire ward)! Passing swiftly out, I fled to my office and locked myself in, shedding hot tears of indignation. The dreadful work of the invaders had been before my eyes all the morning. I felt as if I could have nothing to do with them, and did not wish to see one of them again. They had not only murdered my poor boy Willie, but dozens of dearer friends. They were even now running riot in the home I loved. They were invaders!

I could _not_ meet them,--could not nurse them.

It is painful thus to reveal the thoughts of my wicked, unchristian heart; but thus I reasoned and felt just then.

After a while a note from Dr. Gore was handed me. He said (in substance), "I know how bitterly you feel, but pray for strength to cast out evil spirits from your heart. Forget that the suffering men, thrown upon our kindness and forbearance, are _Yankees_. Remember only that they are God's creatures and helpless prisoners. They need you. Think the matter over, and do not disappoint me. Gore."

I do not believe that ever before or since have I fought so hard a battle. God helping me, I decided to do right. The short, sharp contest ended--I acted at once.

On my way to the Federal wards, I met more than one hospital-attendant carrying off a bloody leg or arm to bury it. I felt then, and saw no reason to alter my opinion afterwards, that some of their surgeons were far rougher and less merciful than ours; and I do not believe they ever gave the poor, shattered fellows the benefit of a doubt. It was easier to amputate than to attend a tedious, troublesome recovery. So, off went legs and arms by the wholesale.

I had not been five minutes in the low, brick ward, where lay the most dangerously wounded Federals, when all animosity vanished and my woman's heart melted within me.

These were strangers and unwelcome, but far from home and friends, suffering, dying. The surgeon said to me, "Madam, one-half the attention you give to your own men will save life here."

The patients were all badly, many fatally, wounded. They were silent, repellent, and evidently expectant of insult and abuse, but after a while received food and drink from my hands pleasantly, and I tried to be faithful in my ministrations.

I believe that most of the soldiers in this ward were from Iowa and Indiana.

One I remember particularly, a captain of cavalry, who was shot through the throat and had to receive nourishment by means of a rubber tube inserted for the purpose. A young man in a blue and yellow uniform--an aide or orderly--remained at his side day and night until he died. His eyes spoke to me eloquently of his gratitude, and once he wrote on a scrap of paper, "God bless you," and handed it to me. He lived about five days.

The mortality was very considerable in this ward. I grew to feel a deep interest in the poor fellows, and treasured last words or little mementoes as faithfully for their distant loved ones as I had always done for Confederates.

Among the personal belongings taken from me by raiders at Macon, Georgia, was a large chest, full of articles of this kind, which I intended to return to the friends of the owners whenever the opportunity offered.

In another ward were several renegade Kentuckians, who constantly excited my ire by noting and ridiculing deficiencies, calling my own dear boys "Old Jeff's ragamuffins," etc. One day Dr. Gore happened to be visiting this ward when these men began their usual teasing. Something caused me to eulogize Dr. Gore and all the Kentuckians who had sacrificed so much for "The Cause." One of these fellows then said, "Well, I'm a Kentuckian too, what have you got to say about me?" I replied, "I think you hold about the same relation to the true sons of Kentucky that Judas Iscariot bore to the beloved disciple who lay upon the bosom of our Saviour." Then walked out of the ward.

It was rather a spiteful repartee, I must confess, but was provoked by many ill-natured remarks previously made by this renegade, and had the good effect of putting an end to them.

We were comparatively safe once more,--for how long no one knew. I now became very anxious about the men in the trenches at Atlanta who were lying day after day, always under fire. Suffering from insufficient food, exposed to the scorching sun or equally pitiless rain, sometimes actually knee-deep in water for days. The bombardment was heavy and incessant, ceasing only for a while at sunset, when carts were hastily loaded with musty meat and poor corn-bread, driven out to the trenches, and the rations dumped there. Many of my friends were lying in these trenches, among them my husband. In addition to other ills, the defenders of Atlanta were in instant danger of death from shot or shell. I could not bear it. The desire to see my husband once more, and to carry some relief in the shape of provisions to himself and his comrades could not be quelled. Many things stood in the way of its accomplishment, for, upon giving a hint of my project to my friends at Newnan, a storm of protest broke upon my devoted head. Not one bade me God-speed, _everybody_ declared I was crazy. "A _woman_ to go to Atlanta under such circumstances; how utterly absurd, how mad." So I was obliged to resort to deception and subterfuge. My first step was to request leave of absence, that I might forage for provisions to be sent to the front by the first opportunity.

Dr. McAllister very kindly accorded me his permission, placing at my disposal an ambulance and a driver, advising me, however, not to follow the main road or the beaten track which had already been drained by foragers, but to go deep into the piny woods. Said he, "Only one of our foragers has ever been through that region, and his reports were not very encouraging. The people want to keep all they have got for home-consumption, and greatly distrust 'hospital people,' but if success is possible, _you_ will succeed." In anticipation, this ride into deep, odorous pine woods seemed delightful. When the ambulance with its "captured" mule drove up before my door, I gayly climbed into it, and, waving merry adieux to half-disapproving friends (among them Dr. Hughes, with his distressed face, and _Diogenes_, who looked daggers at me), set off in high glee. The ride along the pleasant road was lovely; early birds sung sweetly; the dew, yet undisturbed, glistened everywhere, the morning breeze blew freshly in my face. As the sun began to assert his power, I became eager to penetrate into the shady woods, and at last, spying a grand aisle in "Nature's temple," bade the driver enter it. For a while the result was most enjoyable. The spicy aroma of the pines, the brilliant vines climbing everywhere, the multitude of woodland blossoms blooming in such quantities and variety as I had never imagined, charmed my senses, and elevated my spirit. Among these peaceful shades one might almost forget the horror and carnage which desolated the land. The driver was versed in wood-craft, and called my attention to many beauties which would have otherwise escaped me. But soon his whole attention was required to guide the restive mule through a labyrinth of stumps and ruts and horrible muddy holes, which he called "hog wallows;" my own endeavors were addressed to "holding on," and devising means to ease the horrible joltings which racked me from head to foot. After riding about two miles we came to a small clearing, and were informed that the road for ten miles was "tolerbal clar" and pretty thickly settled. So after partaking of an early country dinner, also obtaining a small amount of eggs, chickens, etc., at exorbitant prices, we resumed our ride. That expedition will never be forgotten by me. At its close, I felt that my powers of diplomacy were quite equal to any emergency. Oh, the sullen, sour-looking women that I sweetly smiled upon, and flattered into good humor, praising their homes, the cloth upon the loom, the truck-patch (often a mass of weeds), the tow-headed babies (whom I caressed and admired), never hinting at my object until the innocent victims offered of their own accord to "show me round." At the spring-house I praised the new country butter, which "looked so very good that I must have a pound or two," and then skilfully leading the conversation to the subject of chickens and eggs, carelessly displaying a few crisp Confederate bills, I at least became the happy possessor of a few dozens of eggs and a chicken or two, at a price which only their destination reconciled me to.

At one house, approached by a road so tortuous and full of stumps that we were some time before reaching it, I distinctly heard a dreadful squawking among the fowls, but when we arrived at the gate, not one was to be seen, and the mistress declared she hadn't a "_one_: hadn't saw a chicken for a _coon's_ age." Pleading excessive fatigue, I begged the privilege of resting within the cabin. An apparently unwilling assent was given. In I walked, and, occupying one of those splint chairs which so irresistibly invite one to commit a breach of good manners by "tipping back," I sat in the door-way, comfortably swaying backward and forward. Every once in a while the faces of children, either black or white, would peer at me round the corner of the house, then the sound of scampering bare feet would betray their sudden flight. Suddenly I caught sight of a pair of bare, black feet protruding from under the bed. Presently an unmistakable squawk arose, instantly smothered, but followed by a fluttering of wings and a chorus of squawks. So upset was the lady of the house that she involuntarily called out, "_You Isrul!_" "Ma'am," came in a frightened voice from under the bed, then in whining tones, "I dun try to mek 'em hush up, but 'pears like Mass Debbel be on dey side, anyhow."

Further concealment being impossible, I said, "Come, you have the chickens ready caught, I'll give you your own price for them." She hesitated--and was lost, for producing from my pocket a small package of snuff, to which temptation she at once succumbed, I obtained in exchange six fine, fat chickens. As I was leaving she said, in an apologetic tone, "Well, I declah, I never knowed you was going to light, or I wouldn't have done sich a fool-trick."

Stopping at every house, meeting with varied success, we at last, just at night, arrived at a farm-house more orderly than any we had passed, where I was glad to discover the familiar face of an old lady who had sometimes brought buttermilk and eggs to the sick. At once recognizing me, she appeared delighted, and insisted upon my "lighting" and having my team put up until morning. This I was glad to do, for it was quite out of the question to start on my homeward journey that night. Greatly I enjoyed the hospitality so ungrudgingly given, the appetizing supper, the state bed in the best room, with its "sunrise" quilt of patch-work. Here was a Confederate household. The son was a soldier. His wife and his little children were living "with ma" at the old homestead. The evening was spent in talking of the late battle. Here these women were, living in the depths of the woods, consumed with anxiety, seldom hearing any news, yet quietly performing the monotonous round of duty with a patience which would have added lustre to the crown of a saint.

I talked until (wonderful to relate) my tongue was tired: my audience being the old, white-haired father, the mother, the wife, and the eager children, who were shy at first, but by degrees nestled closer, with bright eyes from which sleep seemed banished forever.

The next morning when, after a substantial breakfast, I was once more ready to start, every member of the family made some addition to my stores, notably, a few pounds of really good country butter. This was always highly prized by the soldiers. As a general thing, when the cows were fed upon cotton-seed the butter was white and "waxy," this was yellow and firm. The oldest girl brought me a pair of socks she had herself knitted; one of the little boys, six eggs laid by his own "dominiker," which he pointed out to me as she stalked about the yard proud of her mottled feathers and rosy comb.

Even the baby came toddling to the door saying, "Heah, heah," and holding out a snowy little kitten. The old gentleman, mounting his horse, offered to "ride a piece" with us. Thanks to his representations to the neighbors, I was able in a short time to turn my face homewards, having gathered an excellent supply of chickens, eggs, hams, home-made cordials, peach and apple brandy, and a few pairs of socks. The old farmer also showed us a way by which we could avoid a repetition of the tortures of yesterday, and rode beside the ambulance to the main road. I remember well how he looked, as he sat upon his old white mule, waiting to see the last of us. His hat, pushed back, showed a few locks of silvery hair; his coarse clothes and heavy, home-made boots were worn in a manner that betrayed the Southern gentleman. The parting smile, still lingering upon his kindly face, could not conceal the "furrows of care," which had deepened with every year of the war. But, alas! I cannot recall his name, although I then thought I could never forget it.

Upon arriving at Newnan, I lost no time in preparing my boxes for the front. Everything was cooked; even the eggs were hard-boiled. There was sufficient to fill two large boxes. Having packed and shipped to the depot my treasures, I prepared for the final step without hesitation, although not without some doubt as to success in eluding the vigilance of my friends. Announcing my determination to see the boxes off, I--accompanied by my maid--walked down to the depot just before train-time. There was only one rickety old passenger-car attached to the train. This, as well as a long succession of box-and cattle-cars, were crowded with troops,--reinforcements to Atlanta. Taking advantage of the crowd, I, with Tempe, quietly stepped on board, escaping discovery until just as the train was leaving, when in rushed Dr. McAllister, who peremptorily ordered me off; but, being compelled to jump off himself, failed to arrest my departure. I was in high spirits. On the train were many soldiers whom I had nursed, and who cared for my comfort in every way possible under the circumstances. I was the only lady on the train, so they were thoughtful enough to stow themselves in the crowded boxes behind, that I might not be embarrassed by a large number in the passenger-car. At last, as we approached Atlanta, I heard the continuous and terrific noise of the bombardment. The whistle of the engine was a signal to the enemy, who at once began to shell the depot. I did not realize the danger yet, but just as the train "slowed up" heard a shrieking sound, and saw the soldiers begin to dodge. Before I could think twice, an awful explosion followed; the windows were all shivered, and the earth seemed to me to be thrown in cart-loads into the car. Tempe screamed loudly, and then began to pray. I was paralyzed with extreme terror, and _could_ not scream. Before I could speak, another shell exploded overhead, tearing off the corner of a brick store, causing again a deafening racket. As we glided into the station, I felt safer; but soon found out that every one around me had business to attend to, and that I must rely upon myself.

The shells still shrieked and exploded; the more treacherous and dangerous solid shot continually demolished objects within our sight. For a few hours I was so utterly demoralized that my only thought was how to escape. It seemed to me _impossible_ that any body of soldiers could voluntarily expose themselves to such horrible danger. I thought if _I_ had been a soldier I must have deserted from my first battle-field. But at last I grew calmer; my courage returned, and, urged by the necessity of finding shelter, I ventured out. Not a place could I find. The houses were closed and deserted, in many cases partly demolished by shot or shell, or, having taken fire, charred, smoking, and burnt to the ground.

All day frightened women and children cowered and trembled and hungered and thirsted in their underground places of refuge while the earth above them shook with constant explosions. After a while I grew quite bold, and decided to stow myself and my boxes in the lower part of a house not far from the depot. The upper story had been torn off by shells. I could look through large holes in the ceiling up to the blue sky. The next move was to find means of notifying my husband and his friends of my arrival. I crept along the streets back to the depot, Tempe creeping by my side, holding fast to my dress. Then I found an officer just going out to the trenches, and sent by him a pencilled note to Lieutenant Cluverius, thinking an officer would be likely to receive a communication, when a private might not. Soon after sunset, my husband joined me, and soon after many friends. They were all ragged, mud-stained, and altogether unlovely, but seemed to me most desirable and welcome visitors.

One of my boxes being opened, I proceeded to do the honors. My guests having eaten very heartily, filled their haversacks, and, putting "_a sup_" in their canteens, returned to camp to send out a fresh squad. The next that came brought in extra haversacks and canteens "for some of the boys who couldn't get off," and these also were provided for.

With the last squad my husband was compelled to go back to camp, as just then military rules were severe, and very strictly enforced. I passed the night in an old, broken arm-chair, Tempe lying at my feet, and slept so soundly that I heard not a sound of shot or shell. Very early next morning, however, we were awakened by a terrible explosion near us, and directly afterwards heard that within a hundred yards of our place of refuge a shell had exploded, tearing away the upper part of a house, killing a man and his three children, who were sleeping in one of the rooms. This made me very uneasy, and increased Tempe's terror to such an extent that she became almost unmanageable. During the next day I actually became accustomed to the noise and danger, and "with a heart for any fate" passed the day. At night my levee was larger than before; among them I had the satisfaction of seeing and supplying some Alabama, South Carolina, and Tennessee soldiers. That night the bombardment was terrific. Anxiety for my husband, combined with a shuddering terror, made sleep impossible.