Chapter IX: Introduction: To Woman's Work (3)

The organization, moreover, did not confine itself to urging upon the women of the State that this was particularly their contribution to the maintenance of the Confederacy. "Iron railings," the address continued, "old and new, scrap-iron about the house, broken ploughshares about the farm, and iron in any shape, though given in quantities ever so small, will be thankfully received if delivered at the Tredegar Works, where it may be put into the furnace, reduced, and wrought into shape or turned into shot and shell." A friendly invasion of the tobacco factories was made by a committee of ladies, consisting of Mrs. Brooke Gwathney, Mrs. B. Smith, and Mrs. George T. Brooker, and the owners cheerfully broke up much of their machinery that was available for the specified purpose. Mrs. R. H. Maury, treasurer of the association, took charge of the contributions in money, plate, and jewelry; the materials and tools were sent to Commodore Farrand, and an agent, S. D. Hicks, was appointed to receive the contributions of grain, country produce, etc., that were sent in by Virginia farmers to be converted into cash. By the end of April the construction had reached an advanced stage; President Davis and Secretary Mallory had congratulated the Ladies' Association upon the assured success of its self-allotted task, and by the sale of articles donated to a public bazaar or fair, almost a sufficient sum to complete the ship was secured.

The _Richmond_ was completed in July, 1862, and although detailed descriptions are lacking all mention made of her is unanimous that she was an excellent ship of her type. Captain Parker says that "she was a fine vessel, built on the plan of the _Virginia_."

Note.--Mrs. General Henningsen received from New Orleans boxes
containing articles to be sold for contribution to building the
Richmond. Among the articles were two beautiful vases, which were
bought by a gentleman of Richmond and are now in the possession of
his family. The Richmond was destroyed on the evacuation of the
Capital City.--J. L. U.

CAPTAIN SALLY TOMPKINS

[By J. L. Underwood.]

Southern women have cared little for public honors nor have they courted masculine titles. But a recent number of the Richmond _Times-Dispatch_ recalls the pleasant bit of history that in the case of Miss Sallie Tompkins a remarkable honor was deservedly conferred upon a worthy Virginia girl by the Confederate authorities.

While yet a very young woman Miss Tompkins used her ample means to establish in Richmond a private hospital for Confederate soldiers. She not only provided for its support at her own expense, but devoted her time to the work of nursing the patients.

The wounded were brought into the city by the hundreds and there was hardly a private house without its quota of sick and wounded. Quite a number of private hospitals were established but, unlike Miss Tompkins's splendid institution, charges were made by some of them for services rendered. In course of time abuses grew with the system, and General Lee ordered that they all be closed--all except the hospital of Miss Tompkins. This was recognized as too helpful to the Confederate cause to be abolished.

In order to preserve it it had to be brought under government control, and to do this General Lee ordered a commission as captain in the Confederate army to be issued to Miss Sallie Tompkins. Though a government hospital from that time on, Captain Tompkins conducted it as before, paying its expenses out of her private purse.

The veterans are proud of her record, and a movement is now on foot among them to place Captain Tompkins in a position of independence as long as she lives.

THE ANGEL OF THE HOSPITAL

[From the Gray Jacket, pages 143-146.]

'Twas nightfall in the hospital. The day,
As though its eyes were dimmed with bloody rain
From the red clouds of war, had quenched its light,
And in its stead some pale, sepulchral lamps
Shed their dim lustre in the halls of pain,
And flitted mystic shadows o'er the walls.

No more the cry of "Charge! On, soldiers, on!"
Stirred the thick billows of the sulphurous air;
But the deep moan of human agony,
From the pale lips quivering as they strove in vain
To smother mortal pain, appalled the ear,
And made the life-blood curdle in the heart.
Nor flag, nor bayonet, nor plume, nor lance,
Nor burnished gun, nor clarion call, nor drum,
Displayed the pomp of battle; but instead
The tourniquet, the scalpel, and the draught,
The bandage, and the splint were strewn around--
Dumb symbols, telling more than tongues could speak
The awful shadows of the fiend of war.

Look! Look! What gentle form with cautious step
Passes from couch to couch as silently
As yon faint shadows flickering on the walls,
And, bending o'er the gasping sufferer's head,
Cools his flushed forehead with the icy bath,
From her own tender hand, or pours the cup
Whose cordial powers can quench the inward flame
That burns his heart to ashes, or with voice
As tender as a mother's to her babe,
Pours pious consolation in his ear.
She came to one long used in war's rude scenes--
A soldier from his youth, grown gray in arms,
Now pierced with mortal wounds. Untutored, rough,
Though brave and true, uncared for by the world.
His life had passed without a friendly word,
Which timely spoken to his willing ear,
Had wakened God-like hopes, and filled his heart
With the unfading bloom of sacred truth.
Beside his couch she stood, and read the page
Of heavenly wisdom and the law of love,
And bade him follow the triumphant chief
Who bears the unconquered banner of the cross.
The veteran heard with tears and grateful smile,
Like a long-frozen fount whose ice is touched
By the restless sun, and melts away,
And, fixing his last gaze on her and heaven,
Went to the Judge in penitential prayer.

She passed to one, in manhood's blooming prime,
Lately the glory of the martial field,
But now, sore-scathed by the fierce shock of arms,
Like a tall pine shattered by the lightning's stroke,
Prostrate he lay, and felt the pangs of death,
And saw its thickening damps obscure the light
Which make our world so beautiful. Yet those
He heeded not. His anxious thoughts had flown
O'er rivers and illimitable woods,
To his fair cottage in the Western wilds,
Where his young bride and prattling little ones--
Poor hapless little ones, chafed by the wolf of war--
Watched for the coming of the absent one
In utter desolation's bitterness.
O, agonizing thought! which smote his heart
With sharper anguish than the sabre's point.
The angel came with sympathetic voice,
And whispered in his ear: "Our God will be
A husband to the widow, and embrace
The orphan tenderly within his arms;
For human sorrow never cries in vain
To His compassionate ear." The dying man
Drank in her words with rapture; cheering hope
Shone like a rainbow in his tearful eyes,
And arched his cloud of sorrow, while he gave
The dearest earthly treasures of his heart,
In resignation to the care of God.

A fair man-boy of fifteen summers tossed
His wasted limbs upon a cheerless couch.
Ah! how unlike the downy bed prepared
By his fond mother's love, whose tireless hands
No comforts for her only offspring spared
From earliest childhood, when the sweet babe slept,
Soft--nestling in her bosom all the night,
Like a half-blown lily sleeping on the heart
Of swelling summer wave, till that sad day
He left the untold treasure of her love
To seek the rude companionship of war.
The fiery fever struck his swelling brain
With raving madness, and the big veins throbbed
A death-knell on his temples, and his breath
Was hot and quick, as is the panting deer's,
Stretched by the Indian's arrow on the plain.
"Mother! Oh, mother!" oft his faltering tongue
Shrieked to the cold, bare wall, which echoed back
His wailing in the mocking of despair.
Oh! angel nurse, what sorrow wrung thy heart
For the young sufferer's grief! She knelt beside
The dying lad, and smoothed his tangled locks
Back from his aching brow, and wept and prayed
With all a woman's tenderness and love,
That the good Shepherd would receive this lamb,
Far wandering from the dear maternal fold,
And shelter him in His all-circling arms,
In the green valleys of Immortal rest.

And so the angel passed from scene to scene
Of human suffering, like that blessed One,
Himself the man of sorrows and of grief,
Who came to earth to teach the law of love,
And pour sweet balm upon the mourner's heart,
And raise the fallen and restore the lost.
Bright vision of my dreams! thy light shall shine
Through all the darkness of this weary world--
Its selfishness, its coolness, and its sin,
Pure as the holy evening star of love,
The brightest planet in the host of heaven.