Chapter III: Part 3

The evening of the 31st, I attended a meeting at the Capitol. Admiral Foot--blessings on his memory--and “Andrew Johnson” were among the speakers. The address of each was characteristic of the man who delivered it. Admiral Foot, as might have been expected, recognized the hand of God in the war, and recommended the people to exercise more faith in his over-ruling providence, firmly believing that all would eventually work out, not only for God’s glory, but for the best interest of our country. Mr. Johnson spoke at length of the state of affairs in Tennessee, and of the nation generally. He believed in meting out to traitors their just deserts--that stern justice, without any sprinkling of mercy, should be the portion of their cup. A slight change in his policy since then!!! During the evening, President Lincoln, and several members of his cabinet, came in. As they entered, the audience rose to their feet; ladies waved their handkerchiefs, gentlemen threw up their hats, while cheer after cheer went up for our chieftain, which echoed and reverberated through the halls and great dome of the Capitol. Every heart seemed to beat in unison with the great heart of Abraham Lincoln, whose care-worn face too plainly told that it was not the weight of years, but the sorrows of a nation, which were bearing him down. None could look upon his sad countenance without feelings of pity and a willingness to share the responsibility which rested with such crushing weight upon his shoulders; and many were the expressions heard, like the following: “Poor Father Abraham!” “God bless him!” “Long live our President!”

It being too late to return to Alexandria after the close of the exercises, I improved the opportunity next day of visiting, with the rest of our party, some of the places of interest in Washington. We first went to the Navy Yard, where to me everything was new. We were shown through the different workshops where the deadly missiles of war, from the Minie-ball to the huge mortar-shells, were being rapidly manufactured to be sent upon their destructive mission. Among the many things of special interest were several pieces of cannon captured during the revolutionary war. We paid a short visit to the White House, but reserved the larger portion of our time to be spent at the Capitol. This magnificent building, with its seven hundred and fifty feet front, and covering an area of three and a half acres, is a grand spectacle. I care not for the mighty cathedrals of the Old World; here is beauty and sublimity combined--sublime in magnitude, and beautiful in its harmonious proportions.

Ascending the long flight of marble steps, we pause a moment in the eastern portico to reflect on the scenes which have there been enacted. This portico is, in the language of one, “the vestibule to the great political temple of the Union,” where all of our Presidents--from Jefferson down to our present incumbent, “A. J.”--have, in the presence of the assembled thousands, taken the oath of office administered by the Chief-Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States. There were uttered those Christ-like words: “With malice toward none, with charity to all.” We pass from this portico into the rotunda, and spend a little time in admiring the elegant paintings which adorn its walls. The finest of these are, I think, the “Embarkation of the Pilgrims” and the “Baptism of Pocahontas;” but the most exquisite of all the paintings in the Capitol is the “Western Scene,” which would require weeks of study to be fully appreciated. The Senate-Chamber and House of Representatives are places of deep and thrilling interest. There were many vacant seats once occupied by men who had sworn to protect the Government against all enemies, foreign and domestic, but who, with violated oaths and perjured souls, went over to the ranks of treason. But neither paintings, nor statuary, nor elegant rooms attracted my attention more than those massive bronze doors, executed by Rogers, in Italy, at great expense and a vast amount of labor.

The 20th of April, the Twenty-sixth Michigan, according to orders, left Alexandria for the Peninsula. How much we missed them when they were gone, how sad we felt, and how we all cried when the boat shoved out from shore that was to bear them away to the field of strife! How long the injunction, “Take good care of Willie,” rang in my ears! How lonely that old building looked where Company “I” had been quartered! How deserted the old campground appeared, how anxiously we watched for any intelligence from the Twenty-sixth, and how frequently letters were received, ending with “Pray for me,” and how often and earnestly we did pray that they might all be kept from falling in the fierce conflict; but, if fall they must, that they might be made meet for the kingdom of heaven.

Their sick were left at Alexandria. I had something over a hundred names of my list belonging to this regiment. A large number were very ill, and many of them soon went to their long home. Oh, what a long array of those poor sufferers pass before me in imagination as I write! There is one delirious with fever; he is constantly talking of home and mother.

“My mother, dear mother, with weak, tearful eye,
Farewell, and God bless you forever and aye;
Oh! that I now lay on your pillowing breast,
To breathe my last sigh on the bosom first pressed.”

But in the stillness of the night, with no dear mother there, he passed away. Here is another, a young man from my own county, over whom for many weeks I had anxiously watched; his aged father is sent for; the poor boy still lingers day after day and week after week, but at length he yields up his young life to the “King of Terrors,” and the gray-headed sire is bereft of the staff of his declining years. Here again are two, lying side by side in the same hospital; one lingers long with typhoid pneumonia, the other is an intense sufferer with rheumatic fever, who goes only two days before his comrade. In the same ward is another--a Massachusetts soldier--to whom it was my privilege frequently to take some little delicacy. He is recovering from a long run of fever; is able to be about the ward, with a fair prospect of going home soon on furlough, when he is suddenly seized with that disease of all others the most dreaded--small-pox; he is removed to the “Pest House,” and we see him no more. Here is still another, wounded in the head; he has become a raving maniac, and is carried off to the Insane Asylum. There are others, many others, but the catalogue would be too long to mention them all, yet such will ever be held in sacred remembrance.

Oh! sad memories of the past, how deeply are ye stirred!
The dying soldier haunts me still!
* * * * *

Dying ’mong strangers--dying at night,
Far from his home and his kindred so dear,
Far from the loved ones he left for the fight,
When he bade them farewell, with a kiss and a tear.

Dying with fever--dying at morn,
Just as the sun in the East had arisen;
Leaving his widow and orphans forlorn;
But “tell them I died with my trust still in Heaven.”

Dying unconscious--dying at noon,
Lo! his comrades are closing his eyes;
The work of the soldier forever is done,
But his spirit ascends to his God in the skies.

Dying at evening--dying alone,
Far, far away on the red field of strife,
With no kindred near he leaves his last moan,
And to the cause of his country yields up his life.

Though dying alone, morn, noon or night,
What matters it now the struggle is o’er?
And his spirit is clothed in spotless white,
With the marshalling hosts on the heavenly shore.

_CHAPTER VII._

BATTLE OF CHANCELLORSVILLE--FAIRFAX COURT-HOUSE--VISIT TO THE FIRST MICHIGAN CAVALRY--BRIGADE HOSPITAL--CHANTILLY--BULL RUN--THE BEREAVED BROTHER--MRS. BLAIR--GOVERNOR BLAIR’S ADDRESS--RETURN TO ALEXANDRIA--BACK TO FAIRFAX--STOUGHTON HOUSE--EXCITING RUMORS--MOVEMENT OF THE ARMY--ALONE--NARROW ESCAPE--MAINE LADY--AN EVENTFUL PERIOD.

The month of May was much more eventful, at least with the Army of the Potomac, than any since December. Early in the month the army under General Hooker advanced on the enemy, and Sunday, the third, commenced the disastrous series of battles at Chancellorsville. All had the utmost confidence in “old fighting Joe.” But after a protracted struggle of three days, he was compelled to fall back and recross the Rappahannock. The loss on both sides was heavy. Among the many brave men who there fell was the gallant Berry. A few months previous, I had the pleasure of meeting this noble officer. He, with Surgeon Bonine, unexpectedly made his appearance one cold morning in Alexandria, having travelled all night through snow and mud in their retreat from Leesburg, whither they had arrived on their way to join their command, which was encamped somewhere near Snicker’s Gap, in the Blue Ridge; but, to avoid falling into the hands of the rebels who had cut off their advance, they were compelled to make this hasty retreat. They were weary and footsore, but early next morning were on their way again, and, by taking a different route, reached their command in safety. A few more weary marches bring him down to Chancellorsville, where rebel balls fulfil their bloody mission.

The rebels also lost one of their ablest generals--the “invincible Stonewall.” What greatly added to the horrors of the scene was the burning of the woods, in which many of the wounded are supposed to have perished. Comparatively few of the wounded were brought to Alexandria, and none for several days except “Johnnies.”

Having been laid up nearly four weeks with inflammatory rheumatism in my right ankle, I was compelled to suspend operations until about the middle of the month, when, upon resuming my duties, I found a few of my old patients still quite sick, and some new arrivals; but, on the whole, the number from Michigan, as well as from other States, had greatly diminished since my last visit.

The 20th inst. I went to Fairfax Court-House in company with Mrs. May and other friends. We had a brigade hospital at this place, there being four regiments of Michigan Cavalry encamped in the vicinity, three of which--viz., the Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh--were scarcely six months from home; consequently these were suffering much from fevers and dysentery.

After visiting these hospitals, which we found quite comfortable, yet lacking many things which the sick greatly needed, we found quarters for the night with the First Cavalry, where we were cordially welcomed and comfortably provided for. This was my first night in camp--the first time I slept in a tent--a novel idea, then.

Next morning Colonel Town offered us an ambulance, that we might visit Bull Run battle-field, which we were exceedingly anxious to do before returning to Alexandria, having a twofold object in view when leaving home; one being to see the field which had been twice fought over so desperately, and every foot of ground so hotly contested; the other, to recover, if possible, the body of Colonel Roberts, of the First Michigan Infantry, who was killed at the second battle of Bull Run. Our instructions were such, from one who saw him buried, that we felt sure we could identify his grave. At eight o’clock A. M. we are on our way with an escort of thirty men detailed from the regiment, and several officers, Lieutenant Wheeler in command. As Chantilly’s once bloody field was but little out of our way, we visited that first. Oh! what feelings I experienced as I stood and looked out upon that field, where, only a few months before, was marshalled for deadly combat a mighty host of noble heroes! Among that number was my own dear brother; upon this very field he fell; here for days he lay beneath the scorching rays of a Southern sun, torn and mangled, bleeding, dying--no hope of ever again seeing home or wife or child. Then multiply his case by thousands, and oh, what a scene was here witnessed!

No wonder the gentle moon veiled her face, and the astonished heavens clothed themselves with blackness, and the Almighty uttered his voice in thunder-tones, while the howling of the elements strangely commingled with the groans of the dying.

Spread out before us was that vast cornfield of which we had read so much, where such desperate fighting was done, and where so many hundreds fell. The tree near which the bold and fearless Kearney fell, was pointed out to us; it was pierced with many balls; there were those old buildings, battered and broken, to which many of the wounded were taken, and upon whose rude floor they breathed their last. The strip of wood skirting the road bore marks of the terrible conflict which raged there--trees pierced with bullets, their branches scattered and torn, while the earth was ploughed with exploding shells. From many of the little mounds scattered far and near, human bones were seen protruding, and sometimes even the skulls were bare, so slightly were they covered. We wandered over the field, picked up a few balls and pebbles, and gathered a few wild flowers as sad momentoes of this sad place, and again “took up our line of march.”

Arriving at Centreville, we called to see General Abbercrombie--the commandant of the post--to have our passes extended, but, to our great disappointment, failed; it being contrary to orders to pass so small a force beyond our picket-line, as the country was over-run with guerrillas. We went on as far as Blackburn’s Ford, passing over part of the first Bull Run battle-field, the very place where our own Richardson, with his band of noble heroes, so bravely fought. The country was one wide-spread desolation. At the ford we hoisted the stars and stripes over the ruins of the old bridge--which was burned by our troops in their retreat nine months before--sang several national songs, gathered a few relics, and, after resting our horses and partaking of a cold lunch, returned to Fairfax. Next morning all except myself returned to Alexandria. Never shall we forget our visit to the First Michigan Cavalry. The friendly cordiality that was manifest; the camp so neat and clean; the dress parade and cavalry drill, such novelties; the presence of ladies spending a little time with their husbands in camp, the hearty greetings of former friends, all combined to make our stay pleasant. Alas! how many of those brave boys, with their noble, kind-hearted colonel, subsequently fell in their country’s service! They sleep the sleep that knows no waking.

I remained at Fairfax until the 28th, sharing the hospitality of Mrs. Manning, matron of the Sixth. During these few days several deaths occurred, one peculiarly sad. He was the third of four brothers who came out together and died in less than three months’ time. The fourth and only surviving one had stood by the dying bed of each of the three, and now he was alone. How deeply my heart was pained for him in his threefold affliction! “Oh!” said he, “I could bear it if father was only reconciled; but he opposed our coming; he said we would all die, that the South would never give up, and that it would only be a useless sacrifice of life; but we didn’t think so, we felt that it was our duty to come, and I have no regrets to offer; they died in a good cause.”

“And not alone an Ellsworth sleeps.
For guarding our bright starry banner,
And not alone the nation keeps
Its watch o’er Lyon’s grave of honor.

“Others have fall’n for that dear flag,
Others as true and noble-hearted,
And be it ours to cherish still
The memory of the brave departed.

“Immortalized shall be each hand
That helped to make our arms victorious;
To live for liberty is grand,
To die for liberty is glorious.”

While here, I met for the first time Mrs. Governor Blair, whose presence was like sunshine. No truer friend had the soldier than Mrs. Blair; she was ever ready, heart and hand, to engage in work for our soldiers. I also had the pleasure of listening to the Governor’s soul-stirring, patriotic address to the Sixth Cavalry. A day or two before leaving the place I rode out to the Chantilly farm, some four miles from Fairfax, on the Centreville road. Upon a portion of this farm the battle of Chantilly was fought. It was once a large estate containing several hundred acres. The large mansion was in ruins; the yard surrounding it contained several acres; the fences were all gone; yet it was lovely, even in its desolation. A gravel carriage way, with shade-trees upon either side, led from the two front gates to the house; shrubbery and evergreens dotted the grounds. In the rear of the mansion, near the garden, was a pleasant vine-clad arbor--everything indicating a once happy home, surrounded by every comfort. An aged couple of colored people were living there in a small cabin, probably their former quarters. The old man said that he had lived there “a heap o’ years,” “that massa and missus and de chil’en run’d away when the Yankees come.” When asked if they had been slaves, he replied, “Yes, missus, we’se allus slaves till Massa Lincoln free us.” “How old are you, uncle?” some one inquired; “I reckon I’se nigh onto a hundred,” was his reply. We rode away, leaving the poor old couple to enjoy their solitude and their freedom.

On returning to Alexandria, I hardly knew the place. The town had been treated to quite “a scare.” The rebels had become very bold and threatening; it was expected that they would make a sudden dash in some night. New lines of fortifications had been thrown up, the streets stockaded, and cannon were even placed in position; but we had no occasion to use them, and they were afterwards quietly removed.

The next day after my return I went to Camp Convalescent with fruit and clothing for our prisoners recently paroled, who were very destitute, as all returned to us from Southern prison-pens were. After returning from camp I visited six hospitals and the head-quarters of each division, and renewed my list of names; to my surprise I found only sixty-five from Michigan, and the majority of those convalescent. Toward the last of May I received word from home that I could no longer depend upon my friends to defray my expenses--which they had been doing for five months. I was therefore obliged to fall back, as my only resort, upon the Association. The first of June I received instructions to return to Fairfax Court-House and remain until further orders, to which place I went the next day, in company with Mrs. Brainard, taking quite a supply of hospital stores. At Fairfax station, a couple of soldiers, who had kindly assisted in loading our goods at Alexandria, again lent us their aid, and succeeded in getting a wagon for our stores, while we, soldier-like, made the distance on foot. The day was excessively warm and the road very dusty; but we rather enjoyed the walk--only four miles--nothing for soldiers!! Arriving at the Court-House, we took leave of our friends. Brown, of the Twenty-seventh Maine, I never saw again, as his regiment was soon after mustered out of the service. Sergeant Babcock, of the First Michigan Cavalry, I saw several times afterwards, but for a long time before the close of the war lost all track of him. I hope they have both been spared to see the return of peace, and long may they live to enjoy its blessings.

Mrs. B. and I went directly to the head-quarters of the hospital of the Sixth, and after resting a few moments and partaking of a dinner which the matron--Mrs. Manning--prepared for us, we made a tour through the hospital, which consisted of several tent wards and a large three-story brick house--the one in which General Stoughton was captured by the rebels a few months previous. I found that five had died since leaving them a few days before; there were still many others very sick. We each called for a towel and basin of water, and went to work bathing the feverish brows and dry and husky hands of typhoid’s suffering victims.

Mrs. Brainard remained a couple of days and returned to Washington. I was soon comfortably provided for. Doctor Wilson, the Brigade Surgeon, furnished me with a good wall tent, which the boys fitted up nicely by flooring, making table, bedstead and chairs, and surrounding it with evergreens, which made my little home as pleasant and inviting as one could desire.

About the first work I did was to clean the brick house of which mention has been made. I worked hard two days and a half, assisted by several soldiers detailed from the ambulance corps. The windows, paint and floors looked as though they had been for a long time strangers to soap and water. After I had finished cleaning, and arranged the beds to my liking, supplying those that were destitute with sheets and pillows, I made flower-vases and bouquets with flowers gathered from Secesh gardens, and tried to make the place assume a somewhat home-like appearance. The Seventh seemed to suffer more from disease than the other regiments, yet there was much sickness in all of them. It was often my painful duty to stand by the dying-bed and go down with the departing soul to the “River’s” brink. And then another sad duty remained--that of writing to the friends of the deceased; and I sometimes thought this the saddest part of all. I never held a dying hand until the pulse grew still without wishing I might exchange places with some dear absent one. I will give an extract from a letter received from a bereaved wife, which will express the language of thousands of hearts:

“How thankful I am for your kindness to one dearer to me than all earthly friends. Oh, it is hard to give him up!--it seems like tearing my poor heart in pieces. I would have given worlds, had I possessed them, for the privilege of sitting by his side, as you did, even for one short hour. Oh, how anxiously I had looked forward to his coming home, that we might once more enjoy life together. My dear husband did not go into the army for money or pleasure, but because he felt it his duty to serve his country in her hour of peril, and to defend the old flag which had always protected him.... His poor little fatherless children, they know not what a blessing they have lost; but I am comforted with the thought that he is at rest.”

While I found much to do, I was quite well supplied with material to do with--our association at Washington sending me from time to time additional supplies. I recollect at one time, among other things, was a box of lemons, which was more acceptable than anything else, coming at a time when the weather was oppressively hot, and there being so many cases of fever. The Christian Commission gave me permission to draw from their stores such things as I was not supplied with. During my stay at this place, various and conflicting rumors were constantly afloat, causing much excitement and some alarm. I speak from personal experience. I had not as yet become accustomed to “camp rumors,” and, though I did not feel particularly afraid, I did feel at times a “little agitated.”

The evening of the 7th, a messenger was despatched in great haste from division head-quarters to the hospital department with orders to hoist a “red flag” early the next morning, for it was reported that Lee was advancing in the direction of Fairfax.

Soon we were summoned to go to work making flags. Accordingly we assembled in the basement of the “Stoughton House,” where a bright fire was blazing on the hearth, and went to work. We made two large flags, which at early dawn were spread to the breeze, in elevated positions, which we hoped would command the respect and consideration of the rebel chief. After finishing the flags, I packed my trunk, that it might be in readiness to send to Washington in the morning, should the report be confirmed. As for myself, I resolved, with the other ladies, not to desert the sick, but stay and share their fate, whatever it might be. It was quite late when we retired that night, and I must confess my sleep was somewhat disturbed with unpleasant dreams: several times I awoke and listened to hear the tread of the advancing foe, but listened and looked in vain.

Again, on the 26th instant, there was considerable excitement at our department. Moseby, it was feared, would make a sudden dash into camp before morning, and carry off considerable plunder, if no prisoners. That evening Dr. Spalding was called to go to the camp of the Sixth--some nine miles distant--to see an officer who had been taken suddenly sick. Before leaving, he handed me the key to his trunk, saying: “If Moseby should make a dash in here to-night, try and secure my papers, and, if possible, my money.” But I did not have a chance to display my bravery, or to call into exercise my skill in secreting valuables; and yet our fears were not at all times groundless, for the country was infested with roving bands of guerrillas, ever ready for plunder. Occasionally a man shot on picket by these desperadoes was brought in, and not unfrequently a squad of cavalry-men was sent out to scour the country for these worse than rebels. Skirmishes and battles were of frequent occurrence.

The 9th, a severe cavalry fight took place at Beverly Ford, on the Rappahannock, and, a week later, the battle of Aldie. Everything indicated that an active, and, we hoped, a decisive campaign was about to open.

The 14th, news was received that Hooker was on the move, and early the next morning this report was confirmed, for the wagon-train of the Twelfth Corps was actually parked within sight. Soon the artillery began to come in, and then the infantry. All day and night troops continued to arrive, until the great Army of the Potomac was encamped around us. The thousands of camp-fires, and the fine martial music discoursed by various bands, made it a scene surpassingly grand. A day or two after, I witnessed the artillery review by General Hooker. I have no words to describe it.

* * * * *

But the ever-shifting scenes of war soon change the programme, and those weary, foot-sore troops are again on the move, as yet scarcely rested from their fatiguing march from Falmouth, through heat and dust almost intolerable; but, before leaving, a kind providence sent a plentiful shower upon the thirsty earth, laying the dust and cooling the heated atmosphere; otherwise the number of those who gave out by the way must have been greatly increased.

General Hooker retained his head-quarters at Fairfax a few days longer, but was soon after superseded by General Meade, who, with this mighty army, was soon engaged in the terrible conflict of Gettysburg.

Hooker was soon after assigned to a command in the West, and a few months later we hear of him “fighting above the clouds” at Lookout.

“Ah! see where the chief leads on his stern band,
’Mid the swift hail of death so calmly advancing,
To strike the proud bulwarks by rebel hosts manned,
Death certain and quick from every side glancing.
’Tis now the mid-hour of the battle’s dread light;
Oh! faint soldier, say, how goes the fierce fight?
Our broad starry banner, our hope and our pride,
Doth it rise, doth it fall on the mountain’s dark side?

“Amid the cannon’s loud roar and the shriek of the shell,
The wave of fierce battle rolls louder and higher;
Enveloped in smoke, hoarse shouts alone tell
That our hopes are still rushing on through that fire;
But see where it glides up the mountain’s dark side,
Now lost in the smoke, now flaunting out wide.
Oh, rebellion has fallen! let traitors despair,
For our banner now floats in the mountain’s pure air.”

Later in the afternoon of the 24th, orders came to break up our hospitals, and before daylight the next morning the sick were all removed; at sunrise the cavalry were on the move. Mrs. Maryweather, matron of the Fifth, going with them on the march, Mrs. Manning had an opportunity to go to Washington, on horseback, while I was left alone to get away as best I could with the remainder of my stores. Oh, how lonely and desolate everything appeared! Tents struck, blankets, pillows, and dishes scattered about, nothing left in the line of edibles but “hard tack.” Of all the loneliness I ever experienced that day caps the climax. The first thing I did was what any silly woman would have done--gave myself up to a good cry; and then I went to work packing up, and trying to save the best of the bedding. About noon a drizzling rain came on, which added gloom to loneliness. I had about made up my mind that I should not get away that day, and was trying to fix up some nice little speech to make to his excellency, Mr. Moseby, in case he should give me a call, which, in all probability, he would do before morning--when, as misery likes company, I was not a little comforted to find that Rev. Mr. Chapin, a “Christian Commission” delegate, had not left the place, but was also waiting an opportunity to remove his goods to the station, and who would likewise be honored with the company of this distinguished guest(!) But my little speech was never made, for about three o’clock transports came to remove the hospital stores. On the arrival of the first team, I hastily inquired of the driver if he would take a few things for me to the Station. “Yes,” he replied, “and yourself in the bargain.” What a sudden change came over the face of everything! Even the misty rain, a short time since so gloomy, is now just what we need to lay the dust. How pleasant and cheerful the plain, homely face of the driver looks: no fears now of “Moseby and Co.” Being provided for myself, I next interceded, successfully, too, for Mr. Chapin. Our goods are soon piled into the wagon, and we quite comfortably seated on the top of the load with our heads reaching the canvas above; but a queen in her chariot was never happier than I. The farewell look is given Fairfax, and we are off for the station, but are too late for the train, so have to wait until six o’clock, when the last train leaves, and we have no more communication with the place for several months. The balance of army supplies not removed up to that time was burned. Arrived at Alexandria about eight o’clock, in the rain and mud.

In looking over the paper the next morning, about the first thing I noticed was “Moseby at Fairfax Court-House.” Two Union ladies living a few miles from Fairfax, in the vicinity of Vienna, were made unwilling captives.

* * * * *

As I was returning from Washington the next day, where I had been to look after my Fairfax patients, I met on the boat a lady with a little child, who had come from Maine to see her husband, who was sick at Camp Convalescent. What a look, almost of despair, was depicted on her countenance when she learned that this camp was nearly four miles from Alexandria, the going very bad, and there being no public mode of conveyance. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “What shall I do? what shall I do? Were it not for my child, I would go on foot.” It was my happy privilege to relieve her distress by assuring her that a way should be provided. Arriving at Alexandria, I ordered an ambulance and carried her to the camp. What a happy meeting! Had I never before seen gratitude, I saw it then.

In working for the soldiers, every little deed of kindness was so fully appreciated, and so richly rewarded with thanks and tears, that there was a pleasure experienced in it no where else to be found.

The month of July, 1863, was an eventful period in the history of the nation. A period of hope and fear, of joy and sorrow, of excitement and alarm, of bloody conflicts, of defeat and victory, of untold suffering and death.

Lee’s advance into Pennsylvania, the terrible battles of Gettysburg, of Falling Waters, the surrender of Vicksburg and Port Hudson, the wearisome march from Vicksburg to Jackson, in which so many died from exhaustion, from thirst and the oppressive heat, the re-taking of Jackson, the capture of Huntsville, Morgan’s raid into Ohio, the great draft riot in New York, and much else of importance that transpired during the month of July, are too well remembered to need repetition here. The nation has not yet forgotten the joyful tidings, that the discomfited Lee was in full retreat from Gettysburg; nor the wild bursts of enthusiasm, the shouts of victory that rent the air when the news came flashing over the wires that Vicksburg, “the city of an hundred hills,” “the heroic city,” had fallen. Fortune, the “fickle goddess,” so long, it would seem, in league with the enemy, became propitious and smiled upon our cause.

_CHAPTER VIII._

PLACES OF INTEREST IN ALEXANDRIA--BALTIMORE--A SINGULAR STORY--DEATH OF A MASSACHUSETTS SOLDIER--THE SERIOUSLY WOUNDED--ERIE--MY SISTER’S SICKNESS--HARRISBURG--YORK--REBEL WOUNDED--A PARALYTIC--WASHINGTON HOSPITALS--FREQUENT BATTLES--NEW ARRIVALS--MRS. GRAY--AFFLICTED FRIENDS--DR. TRUE.

On returning to Alexandria I found comparatively few Michigan men in the hospitals, and these mostly convalescent; therefore my work in this place entirely ceased for several weeks.

Among the few places of interest to a stranger visiting Alexandria is the little brick church where George Washington used to worship. Though the building has undergone repairs, the old-fashioned square pew formerly occupied by this good man and his family remains unchanged; the plate on the door bears this inscription: “Washington’s pew.” Another place of interest is the “Slave Pen.” Within this dingy enclosure thousands of human beings have been crowded like cattle for the market, and from thence brought forth to the auction-block. It still bears the name of him who once trafficked in flesh and blood. “Rice & Co., Dealers in Slaves,” may to this day be seen--though dimly--over the main entrance. A fresh coat of paint has been added, as if ashamed to stand out boldly in the pure light of liberty. But the place of all others of the most deep and thrilling interest in this slavery-cursed city, is the place where “the Boys in White” lie sepulchred. At the present time--November, 1869--instead of three hundred turfless graves, as at my first visit, there are more than thrice as many thousand grass-covered mounds, each with a neat, white head-board bearing the name of him who fell in freedom’s holy cause, or that saddest of all sad words, “Unknown.”

To this sacred “rest” long pilgrimages will be made through coming years by those who mourn the loved and lost, and who, “with cautious step and slow,” will wander amid this sea of graves, anxiously looking for some cherished name.

Near the entrance stands a little rustic chapel, occupied by a one-armed soldier, who has charge of the grounds--which are most beautiful, being interspersed with trees, shrubbery and flowers, while cooling fountains and pleasant arbors adorn the quiet place. Henceforth, in the spring-time of the year, willing hands will cull sweet flowers as a floral offering to our heroic dead!

“Forever be these sacred fields
Decked in immortal beauty,
Where sleep the brave who fought and fell
For freedom and for duty.
They lie on glory’s camping-ground,
On high their deeds recorded;
No nobler act on history’s page,
On fame’s, no prouder lauded.”

* * * * *

The 16th of July I was called to Washington, where I received instructions to go to Baltimore, as many of the wounded had arrived there from Gettysburg. I was greatly disappointed, for I had earnestly hoped to be sent to Gettysburg, believing that I could do vastly more good there than any where else at that particular time. However, on the morning of the 18th I took the eleven o’clock train for Baltimore. On the way I fell in company with a lady who called herself Jimmeson, though her true name, she told me, was Frank Abel. Her story was indeed a strange one. It was as follows: Her husband entered the service with the rank of captain in a Kentucky regiment of cavalry, and she as his first lieutenant. Her husband was killed at the first battle of Bull Run, after which she was employed as a scout by General Sigel. She had endured many hardships, visited several battle-fields, and assisted--as she belonged to the medical staff--in performing amputations and dressing wounds. She was once captured by the Rebels and confined in Libby Prison several weeks; but at the time of which I write she claimed to be a Government detective in the City of Washington, and was then on her way to Baltimore to arrest a woman with whom she had had a quarrel. What became of her after we parted at Baltimore, whether she found her victim or not, I never learned, for I have neither seen nor heard of her since.

Arriving in Baltimore, I proceeded directly to the Rev. Mr. Reid’s, where I obtained board. This was the same Christian family by whom sister and I were so kindly and hospitably entertained when we first arrived in Alexandria on our sad mission.

There were six hospitals in Baltimore, situated from one to four miles apart. As a general thing I found them more comfortable than any I had previously visited; and yet there was much suffering which the most tender care could not alleviate. I will give a single extract from my journal which will convey something of an idea of the sad, distressing scenes there witnessed:

_July 28th._

Visited Jarvis Hospital, and distributed lemons, oranges, and blackberries. This has been one of the saddest visits I have made since coming to Baltimore. In one of the wards was a sergeant of the Ninth Massachusetts volunteers, dying. His wife and mother had just arrived. The dying man recognized them, and, taking the hand of his wife, kissed her, and then kissed his mother, bade them farewell, closed his eyes, and was soon gone. The circumstances of his death are most aggravating. His wound was dressed with bandages and lint taken to the hospital by rebel women, which, upon examination, were found sprinkled with cayenne pepper. He suffered the most excruciating pain from the time the bandages were first used, which so irritated and inflamed the wound that death was the result. After escaping the deadly effects of rebel lead, a fiend in friendship’s guise takes his life. A hundred deaths at the hands of a manly foe would not be half so trying. But this is only another example of the malignity and cruel hatred born of and nursed by Secession. At the dying man’s head was one seriously wounded, and a great sufferer, while at his feet was another, holding in his hand a letter from home, containing the sad news that two of his children lay at the point of death. His quivering lip and tear-dimmed eye were more potent than words in expressing his overwhelming sorrow. In another ward was a poor man who had lost both eyes, by his side was a young boy with a sweet, pale face, who, in addition to his wounds, was delirious with fever; a few cots from him was another young man with five wounds, whose clenched hands and convulsed frame expressed untold agony. A little farther along was an old man with a deep sabre-cut in his head, and another in the back of his neck; another was suffering greatly with a wound in the ankle. Time would fail me to mention the many with an arm off, a leg amputated, wounded in the head, in the lungs, and in every other conceivable manner. From none of those with whom I have conversed to-day have I heard one word of regret expressed for going into the army; but, on the contrary, many were anxious again to cross sabres and try their muskets with the enemy. It is an astonishing fact that, notwithstanding all the suffering experienced in our hospitals, an air of cheerfulness pervades them all. It seems unaccountable, unless we look upon it as a miraculous display of God’s all-sustaining power and grace.

* * * * *

Next day I again visited the same hospital, taking sundry articles for distribution. While there I attended the funeral of the sergeant whose sad death I have already noticed. Services were held in the open air, beneath the spreading branches of beautiful shade-trees. The solemn scene was one not soon to be erased from memory. The young wife and aged mother were the only mourners to follow his remains to the grave. But, alas! how many a poor soldier dies with none to drop a tear to his memory until the intelligence is borne over mountains and across valleys, through fruitful plains and gloomy forests, to some humble cottage on the lawn. Oh! then what tears are shed--and all the more bitter because they cannot even fall upon the grave of him they loved so well. And yet there is a still deeper grief. Many there are, who, could they only know _where_ their dear ones sleep, would feel that the bitterest dreg was removed from their cup of sorrow. Alas! their fate will only be known when the great book of God’s accounts is unsealed. Many a heart responds to the painful truth expressed in the following words:

“Not among the suffering wounded,
Not among the peaceful dead,
Not among the prisoners--‘Missing’--
That was all the message said.”

On the evening of the 30th, as I returned from my work, I found a letter informing me of the dangerous illness of my eldest sister--Mrs. Clark--residing in Erie Co., Penn., and an urgent request to come to her immediately. At eight o’clock I was at the depot waiting for the first train going West. Arriving in Erie I found my sister still living, though but little hope of her recovery was entertained; yet it pleased a kind Providence to spare her life. I remained with her until she was considered out of danger, and then returned to my hospital work, leaving her in care of another sister--Mrs. Smith--who had already been with her nearly two years, her husband being in the army. I can even now see the pale face of my poor sick sister as she threw her arms around my neck and gave the parting kiss, saying, as she did so, “I shall never see you again on earth.” Ah! I have since experienced the bitter truth of those words; for, in little more than a year from that time, she went to her eternal home.

“She is not dead, but sleepeth!”
Resting from the toils of life--
Safely moored her bark, and anchored
Far from earthly care and strife.

“She is not dead, but sleepeth!”
Once the gracious Master said
To those who sought Him, weeping
And sorrowing for their dead.

“She is not dead, but sleepeth!”
In the grave so calm and still,
She waiteth for the trumpet’s call,
Resting in her Father’s will.

“She is not dead, but sleepeth!”
Thy blest words, O Christ, we trust;
For though the body slumber long,
Thou wilt raise the mouldering dust.

Then cherished friends, long parted,
That glorious morn shall meet;
All washed from sins in Jesus’ blood,
And in a Saviour’s love complete.

And kindred souls, united,
Their way to heaven shall wing;
While, with their songs triumphant,
The heavenly arches ring.

According to instructions, on my return to Washington I stopped at Harrisburg, and spent three days in visiting the six hospitals in that city, looking up Michigan soldiers, and supplying immediate wants. Rebel wounded were scattered through all of these hospitals, faring the same as our soldiers. Entering into conversation with them, I inquired what hope of success the South had left, and their unanimous reply was, “Our cause is hopeless.” The Federal victories of July had well-nigh discouraged them. They expressed great surprise at the kind treatment they received; they had not expected this at the hands of the hated “Yanks.”

At York, the city so disgracefully surrendered to the rebels a few months previous, there was but one hospital; it consisted of barracks built upon an extensive plan. While here, I visited the city cemetery, where about fifty of “the boys in white” were buried. As I stood by those turfless mounds, my heart was deeply pained, and I wondered that, in a large Northern city, no hand was found to plant a single flower upon a soldier’s grave. But though neglected, though without turf or flower,

“On fame’s eternal camping-ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And glory guards with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead.”

The 2d of September I took leave of my sick and wounded boys, of whom I found so many more than at Harrisburg, and returned to Washington, where the work of visiting hospitals in both that city and Alexandria was assigned to me, as Mrs. Brainard had not yet returned from Gettysburg, whither she was sent soon after the battles in July. My first visit was to Alexandria. Among the many whom I found in those hospitals was one peculiarly sad case. Near the centre of a large ward lay one whose motionless appearance attracted my attention; I noticed that he did not even make an effort to brush away the flies that were crawling over his face. On going to his cot I found that he was a complete paralytic; he could only move his head slightly and the little finger of one hand. This severe shock of paralysis was occasioned by striking his head against a stone while driving. He had then been in that condition several months, with very little perceptible change; but he was hopeful, and believed that he should get well. Poor boy! I often thought how true in your case the saying, “Were it not for hope, the heart would break.” During his stay at the hospital I saw but little change for the better, and never heard from him after he left it. I often think of the poor, pale-faced, patient, hopeful paralytic, and wonder what has become of him.

Of the fourteen large hospitals in Washington, ten consisted of barracks and tents, containing from twenty to thirty, and even as many as eighty wards each. The barracks would accommodate from fifty to sixty patients each, and the tent wards about twenty. These buildings were not all constructed upon the same plan, but were variously arranged. In some, the barracks extended along three sides of a square enclosure, with head-quarters at the front; in others, they enclosed a triangular piece of ground with head-quarters at the apex; while in others this building was in the centre, with barracks extending to the right and left, and tents in the rear, and thus on for all the others--each being constructed upon a plan independent of the rest. Within the enclosed space were the kitchen, dining-room, chapel, and laundry, and the balance of the ground was devoted to gardening purposes and to the cultivation of flowers. The front yards were also beautifully laid out, containing gravel walks, evergreens, flower-beds, and in some were cooling fountains. The barracks were long, one-story, whitewashed buildings. In going through some of these, it seemed like entering the home of the fairies: the long row of cots on either side of the ward, with their clean pillow-slips and snowy counterpanes, the walls adorned with paintings and beautiful frames made by convalescents, while to each piece of scantling overhead were tacked sheets of red, white, and blue tissue-paper curiously cut, each piece representing the different corps badges. There was the new and full moon, the plain and Maltese cross, the clover-leaf, the diamond, the star, the acorn and the cross-sabre. The slightest breeze would keep these silken curtains gently swaying to and fro, making the sight really enchanting.

All hospitals were not thus highly favored with tasty wardmasters and nurses; but in some they seemed to vie with each other in seeing whose ward should be the most gorgeously and beautifully decorated.

The work of looking up from all these hospitals those belonging to any particular State was no light task, yet it was done by several State associations besides our own. Perhaps no more thorough or efficient work of the kind was done by any State than Massachusetts. Maine did a noble work for her soldiers, but her agents were more generally employed in the field, where there was a greater need of laborers. At this time, Michigan men were largely represented in the hospitals in Washington. At Lincoln I found seventy, at Finly forty, about the same number at Campbell, a large number at Armory square, and so for all the hospitals in the city, besides the many at Camp Stoneman, Camp Convalescent, and Fairfax Seminary.

Every few days accessions were made to our already large numbers by fresh arrivals from the army, as the cavalry were almost constantly on the skirmish-line, and engagements frequently occurring. The 13th of the month--October--there was a brisk fight at Cattell’s Station; the 14th, at Bristow Station; the 18th, near Manassas Junction, and a few days later at Beverly Ford; and thus the army continued to fight, and the wounded to arrive. The sixth of the month the steward of the Ninth Cavalry came from Culpepper with a large number of sick. He reported the sick at that place in a very destitute and neglected condition. On his return I sent a few things by him, only, however, what he could take in the car with him, as I could not get transportation for even one small box. I tried to get a pass to go down with supplies, but orders were imperative--there was no use trying. Mrs. Gray, a lady from Pontiac, Michigan, worked hard for weeks to obtain a pass that she might go and see her sick husband, who was supposed to be lying at the point of death; but all in vain. Tears and entreaties were alike unavailing. She frequently went with me to the hospitals and assisted in the work of distribution, thus trying to forget her own sorrow while administering to the wants of others. Another lady, Mrs. Brockway, came from Michigan to obtain, if possible, the body of her son, who was killed a few days before her arrival; but she could go no further. Through the influence of our State agent--Dr. Tunnecliff--the family succeeded in getting an order for his body to be sent to Washington. For her husband who was sick she obtained a furlough, and returned to her home rejoicing while she mourned.

_October 18th._