Chapter I: Have the Best Mother in the World (1)

The thunder of the cannon had ceased at Vicksburg. The artillery and heavy guns of two great armies were idle and silent; and although more than one hundred thousand men of war, the conquerors and the conquered, were in and about the fallen city, it was as quiet and orderly as a country village. Only the day before, July 4, 1863, I had stood with friends on Fort Hill and witnessed the surrender; but now, July 5, duty and conscience led me into the hospitals where the sick and wounded of the Confederate army were quartered. The hospitals were in a wretched condition because of lack of supplies, and some of the sufferers had been lying through all the long siege.

The battle was always on. Night and day the thunder of the guns and the bursting of shells made night hideous and the day a terror. Every nerve had been for weeks on the rack--in the battle, and yet unable to lift a hand for defence. Almost every hospital had been riddled with shells, and any moment the end might come to any one of them. But now all was quiet. As I passed through the various hospitals distributing supplies, I noticed a boy looking wistfully toward me. I went directly to him. As I took his hand in my own, and looked into his fair frank face, I felt that any mother might be proud of such a boy.

“Have you a mother?” I asked. Instantly his great brown eyes filled with tears, as he answered,

“Yes, madam, I have the best mother in the world.”

His answer pleased me greatly, there was so much of heart and earnestness in it.

“Where does your mother live?”

He mentioned the name of the village near Mobile, Alabama.

“Are you sure she is living there now?”

“Yes, she owns a place in the country near the village. There is nowhere else for her to live.”

“Would you like to have me write a letter to her about you?”

“You couldn’t do it--it wouldn’t get through the lines.”

“Yes, I can send it. I often send letters. I send them through the commanding general when a flag of truce passes.”

“Oh, if you can, do have pity on my poor mother! She is such a good mother. She said to me when I was leaving her: ‘Now, my child, do the best you can. Whatever may happen, be good and true. Don’t swear or drink or forget your mother. Remember your mother is praying for you, and God may have compassion on us and bring you back to me again.’ Oh, if you could only let her know that I’m alive, and that I’ve been good and true, I should be so glad,” and at this last outburst the tears ran down over his face.

I took the directions, and consulted the physician as to his condition; and that night, before I slept in my new quarters, in a house that had been assigned me in Vicksburg, I wrote to the mother about as follows:--

“DEAR MADAM,--I found your son in Vicksburg [giving his name,
company, and regiment]. He was severely wounded in the battle outside
of Vicksburg, and was carried into the city.

His condition is now hopeful. The surgeons tell me he will recover.
He desires me to tell you that he has been good and true, and has
never violated your injunctions.

Though we may differ on the great questions that have led to this
terrible war, I feel it to be my duty as a mother and a Christian to
let you know about your son, and that he still lives.

He will be moved to a Northern hospital; but you can reach him
with home news by writing to my office, Sanitary Commission, St.
Louis, Mo. I will arrange with him to notify me each time he changes
hospitals. You must send your letter unsealed. Write briefly. Say
nothing about the war or condition of affairs in the South or North,
and I think you will reach me.”

The next day I drove over to General Grant’s headquarters with that and some other letters, and gave them to him as I had often done before, to send through the lines. In a very short time I had an answer from the mother. This was her reply:--

“DEAR LADY,--My eyes are full of tears of joy as I write. Your letter
made a rift in the black clouds of sorrow that have hung over us for
weeks. It was like a beam of heavenly glory from the Throne. At first
it seemed too good to believe; but the name and company and regiment
are all right, and it must be so. Your letter found us all dressed in
black. I thought I had reliable news that my boy was killed outside
of Vicksburg, and I did not hope even to find his grave.

Now we are all dressed in white.”

Then followed some family news, and she closed with the following sentence:--

“Give my love to my dear boy, and tell him we are praying for him;
and be assured, dear lady, when we pray for him, we will pray for
you--that you may be kept safely through all the dangers of this
cruel war.”

Frequent letters were sent by the mother, and I kept track of the boy and answered them.

The last time I saw him was just before the close of the war. He was well and strong, but was a prisoner in Camp Douglass, near Chicago, Ill. I hope he reached his home and mother safely.

SEARCHING FOR THE DEAD.

A lady from Philadelphia searched for days over the wide battle-field of Shiloh for the grave of her only child--a bright, beautiful, Christian boy, only eighteen. A detail of men was sent from the regiment to help search for the grave. She was quartered on our Sanitary boat, and I went with her. “They are all buried side by side--all we could find of our regiment,” said the sergeant who had charge of the squad of men sent out to help us search. We scattered, keeping in sight of each other, and in calling distance, and searched thoroughly; but it was not till the second day that we found the grave.

The mother found it first of all. The name was written with a pencil on a bit of board at the head. She gave a call, and waved her handkerchief, and then fell on her knees, with her arms over the mound of earth above her boy. He was all she had on earth; for he was the only child of his mother, and she was a widow. As we gathered about the grave, and saw her frail form convulsed by the sobs of agony she tried to conceal, the roughest and bravest of the men turned away to hide their tears. “He was a good soldier; a good Christian; we had few like him in the regiment,” were the kindly comments that were made by his companions in arms. As I lifted her away from the grave, her eyes, though full of tears, caught sight of a passion flower at the edge of the mound.

She plucked it and took it away as a keepsake, saying, “God is good to give me this token of his own love and passion.” The body was to be taken up and placed in the burial-case she had brought for the purpose. They did not wish her to see it. Officers came and tried to dissuade her. No, she must see him.

“No matter how mangled, I shall know him; and I must know that it is my son.”

And she had her way. He was brought up; and when the blanket which was his only coffin was unrolled, there he was as natural as life.

She clipped a few locks from his wealth of brown hair, and kneeling by her dead, thanked God that he had given her back the body of her son, and for the hope that animated her that they should meet again in heaven. If by any possibility these lines should fall under the eyes of that lady, whose name I have forgotten, she will recognize the story, and I am sure she will be glad to renew the acquaintance with the strange lady who helped her find her boy’s grave.

VERY TIMELY ARREST.

When the lines of battle were near Corinth, Miss., hearing of a hospital at some little distance from the town, I determined to visit it, taking supplies and delicacies with me. Two ladies accompanied me. The driver of the ambulance, who assumed to know all about the roads, and just where to find that hospital, and who had a splendid team of horses, drove us off in good style.

After we had been _en route_ for some time, going at a rapid pace, I questioned the driver, “Are you sure you are on the right road; it seems to me we have come a long way?”

“Oh, yes; I know the road very well.”

“I wonder what those men are running after,” remarked one of the ladies of the company.

It did really seem that men were springing up out of the ground. They were running after us and waving their hands; but the steady, heavy tramp of the feet of our horses drowned their voices; and we failed to hear the oft-repeated command, “Halt!” “Halt!” which came from every direction.

“Just look back! There are a lot of men on horseback coming at full speed,” said one of the ladies.

It was only a moment before the foremost rider was near us, and he thundered out in tones I shall never forget, “Halt!”

Our driver reined in his horses. “Turn your ambulance back as quickly as you can, you fool! You are driving right into the enemy’s camp.”

The driver whipped up his horses and retreated at a gallop, but not until the Confederate sharpshooters had begun to send their bullets flying after the men who had come to our rescue. Some of the missiles came dangerously near to the little ambulance company. The cans and bundles which had been placed upon the seats with so much care, and held with our outstretched hands, now went tumbling into a common heap on the floor, and before the race was over two of us were down on top of them. When we were at a safe distance from the enemy, the horsemen riding near us, a halt was called, and we gathered ourselves up and tried to look respectable after such a rough and tumble ride.

A captain rode round in front, and in a tone which made the cold shivers creep along the spinal column, demanded, “Who is in charge of this ambulance?”

“I am,” I answered with all the self-composure I could command at that instant.

“And so you were trying to reach the lines of the enemy with supplies and this good team and a Union soldier?”

“No, sir. I am as loyal as any man who wears shoulder-straps, and I can prove it. I was trying to reach a hospital with these supplies [naming the hospital]. The driver thought he knew the way, but it seems he did not.”

“That is not a likely story. That hospital is not in that direction at all; and I overtook you near the enemy’s camp, more than a mile beyond where we allow any one to go. Why did you run past our pickets who demanded you to halt?”

“I did not see any pickets, or hear any one call ‘Halt!’ until you came up.”

“You are all under arrest! Driver, you will drive to the headquarters of the commanding general.”

At these words my two lady friends turned very pale; but I laughed, as I was acquainted with the commanding general. Remembering my pass from the Secretary of War, and other important official papers in my possession, I said to the captain who rode alongside of the ambulance, “Would it make any change in your course if I should show you passes from high officials? I have no objection to going to headquarters, but it is a loss of time.”

“No, madam! You are all under arrest. The officers don’t give passes, or send good teams and Union soldiers, to take people into the rebel camps.”

It was of no use to say anything more, for the officer had told the truth. In due time we reached headquarters and were ordered out. I led the procession, clambering out over our scattered supplies as best I could. The captain marched in beside me. The captain gave the military salute, and was about to report that he had brought in these people, captured while trying to run the Union lines; but there were several officers there who knew me, who came forward to shake hands, and the general among them, and he was silenced.

“Is there anything I can do for you to-day, madam?” the general inquired in his most gracious manner.

“Yes, General, there is. I and this forlorn little company whom I have led, and misled, are under arrest for a most serious crime. We were on the enemy’s ground, and were pushing for the enemy’s camp at full speed, when this gallant officer rode down in the face of the enemy and rescued us. I want to thank him before you all.”

Of course further explanation was made, and we were all released. The ambulance driver and myself were admonished “to make certain thereafter that we were on the right road.” I shook hands with the captain and thanked him, and the officers present congratulated him, and we all left headquarters in high spirits.

SAVING THE LIFE OF YOUNG PIKE,

BROTHER OF MRS. SUE PIKE SANDERS, PAST NATIONAL PRESIDENT, W. R. C.

The atmosphere was thick with dust, and stifling with the sulphurous smoke that came in clouds from the near battle-field, as I drove around Vicksburg. The air was as hot as a furnace, under the pitiless rays of a June sun, and vibrated with the roar and thunder of heavy artillery and bursting shells, till every nerve was on the rack.

It was unusually late, and I was weary and heartsick.

But as I was on my way to my quarters, I noticed a soldier lying in a field not far from the main travelled road. There was something in the appearance of the man that attracted my attention, and I stopped my carriage and went to him.

At first I thought he was dead; but a closer examination convinced me that he was alive.

The shades of night were gathering around us, and the point where he lay was one of unusual danger.

I hurried back to my carriage, and brought water and restoratives, and began an earnest effort to resuscitate him.

It was not long till he opened his great brown eyes in a questioning way.

“Poor boy!” I said in pitying tones; but he closed his eyes as though he had not fully understood.

After a little he looked up into my face, and said in a whisper,--

“They left me here to die.”

“Oh, but you will be taken care of now, and you’ll get well. Don’t think about dying--just think how soon you will be well again.”

He was a young soldier, not much if any over sixteen or eighteen years old. He was lying there, with all his heavy army clothing on, in a most pitiable condition.

There was a hospital not very far away; and leaving George, my driver, to minister to him, I went up to the hospital and called for the surgeon in charge.

“There is a soldier lying down here near the road who is nearly dead. Will you not have him brought up, and see what you can do for him?” I said.

“Why, isn’t he dead yet?” exclaimed an attendant.

I then learned that the regiment to which the young soldier belonged had been ordered out to the Big Black River, and that all the sick in their regimental hospital had been brought with them to that point--there unloaded and reported to the hospital authorities. The attendants had come down and taken all but this one man, and had left him there to die alone. I was righteously indignant, and I denounced the whole proceeding as _inhuman and scandalous_.

The surgeon and attendants were alarmed.

“Such carelessness on the part of the surgeon, and brutality on the part of men charged with the care of the sick and wounded, were disgraceful!” I declared.

It was not many minutes till the surgeon and attendants with a stretcher were at his side.

Everything that could possibly be done for any one was done for him.

The surgeons had hard work to save him, however.

If I had passed him by unnoticed, they all agreed that he would have been dead by the next morning.

Day after day as I drove about the lines I ministered to him till he was out of danger.

Years passed before I had the privilege of seeing him again. Then he was a great stalwart man, and bore the title of Hon. E. M. Pike, member of the Senate of Illinois.

He is now living at Chenoa, Ill., has a lovely wife and two children, a son and daughter full-grown. He has a large manufacturing establishment there, and is beloved and honored by all who know him.

He has given good proof that he was well worth saving.

A VISIT FROM GENERAL GRANT AND GENERAL McPHERSON.

A few days after the surrender of Vicksburg, I called at General Grant’s headquarters on business.

Generals McPherson and Rawlins were the only officials present with him. I was received most cordially, and inquiries were made by General Grant at once, as to whether the house he had assigned to me was comfortable and satisfactory.

I assured him that it was, and spoke with great enthusiasm of the colored servants left in charge of the property by the owners, who had fled from Vicksburg before the siege. I was especially enthusiastic about the cook.

“Why don’t you invite us up to test her cookery?” questioned General McPherson. I hardly knew what to say, as I had made it a rule to shun all appearances of social life.

“Oh, you would not come; you are all too busy paroling prisoners,” I answered.

“Oh, yes! we would certainly come if you should invite us. Is not that so, General Grant?”

“I shall certainly come if invited,” was General Grant’s reply.

“Then I most cordially invite you.”

“When shall we come?” questioned General McPherson.

“To-morrow, if that will suit you.”

That being satisfactory, they agreed to come the next day at one o’clock, General Rawlins being included in the invitation, which he laughingly said, “We have given ourselves.”

When I returned to my quarters that noon, and announced that General Grant and two other generals were to dine with me the next day, there was great consternation and excitement. I had tented with Mrs. General Stone during the siege, and she had come into Vicksburg and occupied the house with me. She was dismayed at the news. She declared that there was not one decent tablecloth on the premises, that there were no two napkins alike, or two dishes that matched. “The fact is,” she said, “everything in this house mismatches. And how are you going to get them into the dining-room with all the steps torn away? Are they to walk up that inclined plane on the boards?”

I told her I did not know of any other way; but as we had to perform that feat three times a day, I had no doubt they could get up from the hall to the dining-room once. Aunt Dinah, the cook, who was at the head of the colored members of the household, was enthusiastic.

“I tell you, honey, I’ll mak ebery ding shine, an’ I’ll hab de tablecloth so slick a gnat’s heel would fly up on it.”

All the colored people were jubilant. It would be impossible to describe their antics. The little children danced a jubilee; jumping up and down, keeping up a chorus: “Ginnel Grant’s a-cummen! Ginnel Grant’s a-cummen! Ginnel Grant’s de bigest ginnel of dem all!”

It was not an hour till every colored man, woman, and child in that part of the town knew that at a certain hour the next day General Grant was to be at that house. The colored men searched every sutler’s shop for supplies, and Aunt Dinah did her best in the cooking line. The next morning I went out among the hospitals as usual, but came home before noon, so as to be there when my guests arrived. I found all the neighboring fences about the grounds lined with colored people.

Mrs. Stone said to me as soon as I came in,--

“Now, you must not laugh or object, but Aunt Dinah has sent and got two professional waiters; they are here now, dressed in broadcloth, with swallow-tailed coats and white vests and white gloves.”

Of course I did laugh, and she laughed quite as heartily as myself, at the incongruity of the arrangement. Here, in one of the deserted houses of Vicksburg, that a shell had crashed through, making it almost impossible to get into the dining-room, with nothing in the way of table-outfit but the most ordinary camping utensils, we had two professional waiters, rigged out in a style that could hardly be matched at a state dinner at the presidential mansion, we were to receive great generals. It was indeed laughable. Aunt Dinah felt she ought to explain the matter to me.

“Honey, I want to ’splain ’bout dese ’fessional watahs. Our common niggahs would never do to wait on fine gentlemen. You see, dey’s awkard an’ hain’t got no good close. So I just hir’d dese fashionable watahs case I wanted to have the thing done up right.”

Of course I made no objections. At the appointed hour, General Grant, dressed in military uniform, riding his little black horse that had carried him so often around the fiery lines of Vicksburg during the siege, and General McPherson, dressed in elegant military fashion, tall, stately, commanding, and splendidly mounted, rode up in front of our house.

General Stone, who had commanded the extreme right during the siege, and who had come up from his military camp to dine with us that day, went out and hitched their horses, as there were no orderlies with them.

General Rawlins, who was prevented at the last moment from coming, sent his regrets. Black faces were peeping out from the near houses, and the fences were black with colored people. It was perhaps the one chance of their lives to see their deliverer, the great captain who had opened the prison-house of Vicksburg, and given liberty to all the people.

Everything passed off very pleasantly. When dinner was announced, taking the arm of General Grant, I led the way to the dining-room. Mrs. General Stone took the arm of General McPherson, General Stone having already gone into the dining-room to help us up. The stairs being torn away, and the ascent being made on two planks that stood at an angle of forty-five degrees, he reached down his hands and helped us up. When the two great commanders reached the dining-room, they stood for some time by the broken walls and stairs, and discussed shells as destructive missiles, and speculated as to which battery sent that shell crashing through the house. They finally decided that it came from one of Admiral Porter’s gunboats.

The dinner followed, and was most thoroughly enjoyed. All the praise I had given our cook she justified in that grandest effort of her life.

Aunt Dinah held the door a little ajar so that she could see and hear all that was going on in the dining-room. She said to me afterwards, with a satisfied chuckle, “Oh! Laws a massa, didn’t dey praise my cooken! I never felt so big in my life. Seems to me I’se one of the biggest cooks in the world.”

The professional waiters were skilled and graceful, even though a napkin over a tin platter was used as a tray.

Aunt Dinah said very confidentially afterwards to me,--

“You see, honey, ’twould neber hab done to hab our niggahs done it. T’ey’d been most scar’t to death, and sure to spill something. It won’t do to hab common niggahs waten on high an’ mighty folks like big ginnels.”

The guests enjoyed the dinner and the after visit. The siege; the surrender; the terms of parole; the condition of the people who had been shut up in the city during the siege; their life in the caves; the condition of the hospitals; and “_what next?_” were freely discussed in that frank and easy way that characterized General Grant when he was surrounded by a group of friends he could trust.

When the two great generals took their leave, every colored person in the neighborhood knew that the smaller man was General Grant, and they were watching to get another glimpse of him. Both generals thanked us for inviting them, and assured us that it was the most restful, home-like visit they had enjoyed since the war began.

It was my privilege to dine with them on several occasions after that, and to dine with General Grant at the White House during his presidential terms; but there was not the enthusiasm and novelty on those occasions that clustered around the dinner and visit in the shell-wrecked house after the fall of Vicksburg.

General and Mrs. Stone live at their old home in Mount Pleasant, Iowa; but the two great captains of the Union hosts are gone--McPherson falling in the midst of the struggle on the bloody field of strife near Atlanta, Ga., and Grant, after passing through untold perils, passing peacefully away, and even in death immortalizing Mount McGregor.

LIBERTY HICKS.

As we were on our way to the brick church hospital, at Helena, Ark., a very large man, with his hair curled and hanging over his shoulders, passed us and looked back, my secretary and myself both imagined, in an impudent way. When we reached the hospital we found him there. He put himself in our way as though he wished to speak with us, but we both avoided him. At last he came up and said to me, “Madam, I want to speak with you; there is a man over here that the doctor thinks will die. I thought maybe you’d come over and pray with him. I’ve been trying to lead him to trust the Lord Jesus, but he don’t seem to find the way.”

How that great stalwart fellow was transfigured before us from a rowdy to a saint. And as we went about the hospital everybody said, “If it wasn’t for Liberty Hicks I don’t know what we would do.” It was not long till a great cake of ice was floating about in the barrel of tepid water that stood near the pulpit, and lemons from our supply were in many a fever-parched hand. We found out afterwards that Liberty Hicks was an Illinois soldier, and though big, coarse, and strong of body, he was as tender in his ministrations as a woman, and as faithful as tender. And although it was not our privilege to ever meet him again, our good wishes have ever followed him.

Liberty Hicks was a grand hospital worker. I heard of his labors afterwards, for he accompanied the sick up the river. But like many others he overworked, and I learn from his daughter who lives near him in Illinois that he is permanently disabled. It must, however, be a great consolation to him now, in his old age, to know that by his faithful services he saved many precious lives.

TRADING TOBACCO FOR COFFEE.

Governor Samuel J. Kirkwood and some of the state officials of Iowa came down to visit the army during the siege of Vicksburg. I was invited to go with the distinguished visitors on a tour of inspection, as was also Mrs. General Stone.

Among the points of danger visited was the fortifications on the “Extreme Right,” which was up above Vicksburg and down to the water’s edge. The fortifications were so near together that the men could talk back and forth.

Our boys had a printing-press and type, and there were men who could write sensational news of the success of the Union army to order.

They would buy a St. Louis paper, and then get out an “Extra.”

“SURRENDER OF LEE--CAPTURE OF JEFF. DAVIS--RICHMOND TAKEN.”

The particulars of all these events would be given in the most plausible and convincing manner.

A stone was tied to the papers, and some wag would call out,--

“Say, Rebs, do you want the latest news? Newspapers are just in from St. Louis. The war is over.”

“Yes, throw them over;” and over they would go.

But the Confederates would not believe a word unless it was favorable to their cause, and they laughed loud and long over the “lies of the Yanks.” But they kept it up on the principle that “everything is fair in war.”

“Put up your head above the embankment, and you will soon see whether the war is over or not,” the soldiers on the other side would say. On that day, while we stood there, some of the Iowa officials put their hats on their canes, and had them perforated by bullets.

A voice came over the ramparts, “Say, Yanks, do you want some tobacker?”

“Yes.”

“Will you trade coffee for tobacker?”

“Yes; throw it over, and we will throw over enough coffee to pay for it.”

We waited in expectation a little while, then a warning came,--

“Look out there, Yanks!”

All stepped back out of danger. A cloth that had once been white, but had evidently been in the trenches, came over filled with a lot of the most abominable tobacco I had ever seen.

After due inspection, the cloth was shaken a few times and filled with coffee, and a warning cry given,--

“Look out, Rebs!” and over the coffee went.

“All right; thanks;” and the firing was resumed.

There was, I learned afterwards, trading all along the lines.

THE HOSPITALS OF VICKSBURG AT THE TIME OF THE SURRENDER.

Early on the morning of the 5th of July, the roadways being opened, I drove into Vicksburg. On every side the evidences of the severe struggle were visible. The concentrated fire of shot and shell had riddled nearly every building.

The solid shot had done much less damage than the shells, which, after striking, usually exploded. The solid cannon-balls cut clean round holes in the solid brick walls, with less damage to the walls in most cases than could have been done by a mason’s chisel. But the murderous shot and shell had come from every direction, and scattered the household goods and the inmates, killing many citizens and soldiers, and wounding many more. The whole city was an immense hospital.

And it is but kindly and fair to say, just here, that no city was ever more heroically defended; and that the gallant force inside of Vicksburg did not yield until starvation stared them in the face. There was nothing to eat in the city. The soldiers had been on short rations for a long time; the citizens were without food. Cattle, horses, mules, dogs, cats, rats, and mice had been devoured. The sick and wounded in the hospitals had been sustained on mule soup for a long while, and the supply of mules was about exhausted. There was no living creature in the shape of dogs and cats and rats to be seen in the streets or about the houses--all had been eaten for food.

The United States government issued rations to the starving people at once. I visited the hospitals immediately. I had large supplies of hospital stores, which were sent to me by Mr. Yeateman of St. Louis, President of the Western Sanitary Commission, who was a Southern gentleman, and who, though loyal to the Stars and Stripes, yet felt deep sympathy for the Southerners in their terrible sufferings; and also from Louisville and elsewhere, for I, too, was linked by ties of blood to the people of the South, and the history of Kentucky was interlinked with the history of my ancestors.

These immense supplies were sent me, in anticipation of the surrender, for the Confederate Hospital of Vicksburg. Some of the hospitals were in a most wretched condition; the men being without beds or pillows, or any other comforts for the sick. This was especially true of what were called the “field hospitals;” the hospitals immediately in the rear of the fighting force, into which the wounded were carried before being transported to the permanent hospitals.

In these hospitals I found men lying on the floor with their knapsacks under their heads, sweltering in their heavy army clothing. We found afterwards that their clothing was full of vermin. One poor man who looked very ill, and seemed to be suffering much, lay on the floor of one of the first hospitals I visited. I stopped to speak with him, coming close beside him. A Confederate surgeon sprang forward, and, taking me by the arm, said, “Please, lady, don’t go so near, you are in danger of getting vermin on you.” I had the satisfaction within the next twenty-four hours of seeing that hospital thoroughly cleansed, and every soldier lying clean and comfortable in a cot-bed between clean sheets, and his head resting on a soft white pillow; while a bonfire just in the rear of the building was consuming all the old clothing and former contents of the hospital. The Confederate surgeons were retained in the hospitals where the Union army found them, and many of them were faithful, gentlemanly men. I remember very kindly the medical director, or chief surgeon, of Pemberton’s army, although I have forgotten his name. He seemed very anxious to improve the condition of the hospitals, and was very grateful for help and supplies. The wounded were lying on the floor because there were no beds for them; they were starving--dying for lack of proper nourishment because there was little or no food for them, and so the hospitals were necessarily in a wretched state.

The hospitals in the centre of the city were in better condition. There were many incidents connected with my visits to these hospitals which I should be glad to record, but space will not allow.

A VISIT TO CAPTAIN WALKE’S GUNBOAT.

Among the gallant Union officers who distinguished themselves for wisdom and bravery was Captain Walke, commander of the _Carondelet_. I knew him personally as a benevolent Christian gentleman. No one who knew him doubted his profession of faith in the Divine Redeemer.

While his gunboat was lying at Cairo, just before the battle of Fort Donelson, he came into the church one Sabbath morning and quietly took a seat. The minister who was expected disappointed the audience.

As soon as that was made known, Captain Walke arose and went into the pulpit, opened the Bible, and saying, “Let us worship God,” read the One Hundred and Third Psalm. Closing the book, he talked most impressively of our duty to God and to man, and of the boundless, measureless love of Christ, and, offering an earnest prayer, dismissed the congregation with the long-metre doxology.

The people, who had been held with almost breathless interest by the eloquent, forceful words of the stranger, began to ask, “Who is he?” And great was their surprise when they learned that the man who filled the pulpit that day was Captain Walke, commander of the _Carondelet_, an iron-clad that with bristling cannon was lying at anchor near the town.

It was at Cairo that I first met Captain Walke. As he was often at the chief ports where the army was protected by gunboats, I had the privilege of meeting him occasionally.

Two days before the running of the blockade at Vicksburg, a little company of us went over from the Sanitary boat to bid Captain Walke godspeed and farewell.

He had just completed the task of pouring two barrels of coal-oil over his gunboat, and whitewashing the lower deck, where the guns were to be loaded by the light of the whitewash.

The oil was to prevent solid shot from adhering; striking a smooth oiled surface they would be more likely to fly off on a tangent, he explained by way of apology, as the gangway was reached, and the dresses of the ladies were besmeared with coal-oil. The sides of the _Carondelet_ were more than three feet thick, and consisted of alternate layers of wood and iron.

In answer to the question,--

“Is not the eve of a battle a season of great anxiety?” he said,--

“No; the time of anxiety with me is when I am putting the ship in order. When I have done all that I can do, then I can serenely trust in God.”

In the course of the conversation, he said that the most beautiful sight he had ever seen was the bursting of shells against the side of his ship, sending out volumes of fire, and scintillations of light like a cloud of glory.

Our godspeeds and good wishes were earnest and heartfelt. We all felt that it might be a last farewell.

He went through the fiery channel in safety, but I never saw his face again.

His death occurred not a great while thereafter.

A grand, true Christian gentleman, and a brave soldier, was Captain Walke.

HOSPITAL ABUSES--PUTTING LOGWOOD IN THE COFFEE.

There was a very large hospital at Madison, Ind., which was very much crowded in 1864-1865 with the sick and wounded. I established a special-diet kitchen there for the preparation of food for the very sick and the severely wounded, and placed one of my lady helpers in charge. She had scarcely assumed the supervision of the cookery till she began complaining of the quality of the food, especially of the coffee. As she put it: “There is nothing in this hospital fit for a well man to eat, much less these sick and wounded and dying men.”

I was in Washington at the time; but I telegraphed to Miss Louisa Vance, one of the shrewdest and most careful workers of the Christian Commission, to report at the hospital at Madison, Ind., and await instructions. I met her there with carefully written instructions: “Go on with the work, and don’t complain, but watch. There is something wrong in that hospital; _find out what it is_. The government furnishes good supplies and good coffee; find out what becomes of them, but don’t, for the life of these men, let the surgeon and hospital steward know that they are suspected. Make frequent errands to the room of the commissary,” etc. She was not long in finding out as to the cheating and adulteration. The first clew was obtained because of the rule in that hospital, that a barrel be placed beside the kitchen door, and all the coffee-grounds emptied into it. “Boys,” she said to some of the men who did the cooking, “why do you put the coffee-grounds there? They have been used; they are no account.”

“It’s the surgeon’s orders.”

“He has them hauled away and emptied, I suppose?”

“No; he has them dried on the commissary floor.”

“Gives them to poor people, I suppose?”

“I don’t know,” answered one; but there was a general laugh among the men in the kitchen.

She made an excuse to go to the commissary-room; and there, sure enough, on the floor, was a large pile of old coffee-grounds. The men employed there were busy stirring and turning it over to hasten the drying process. She asked for something in a careless way, and then said as she was leaving,--

“You have a good lot of coffee, boys. What in the world are you going to do with so much coffee?”

“The surgeon in charge is going to sell it, I guess;” and then they all laughed. She felt sure from their manner that these men knew all the secrets of that commissary department, and it must be her business to get it from them. But I was urging her to be careful; for if false charges were brought against the surgeon in charge of a large hospital, it would injure the diet-kitchen service all along the line. We were in daily correspondence. She had tested the coffee every way she could think of, but could not decide as to how it was adulterated. She had a new white-pine sink put in the kitchen, and poured out some coffee on that. It stained the boards logwood color. She knew now at least _one_ article of adulteration. She looked the men of the commissary well over, and picked out one, an innocent young fellow, that she thought she might surprise into a confession. Waiting her chance, when no one was near, she faced him with the terrible question:--

“Why do you men in the commissary-room put logwood and every other vile stuff in the coffee for our poor sick and wounded men to drink? Have you no conscience? Do you want to kill them?”

The poor boy turned pale, and staggered back as though he would fall, as he stammered,--

“We have to do it; it’s the surgeon’s orders. Indeed, Miss Vance, we can’t help it;” and he dashed away as fast as he could go, to tell the others.

“O boys! Miss Vance knows all about the cheating here, and the logwood and everything in the coffee.”

As they wanted to set themselves right with Miss Vance, the others, as soon as they could, went to her to apologize, and to assure her that it was orders. She assumed not to believe that a surgeon would give such orders, and said she could not believe till she saw the orders. They brought them, and also the surgeon’s instructions for mixing, and various other devices for cheating.

“Now, boys, don’t say a word about this till I can see what I can do.”

Of course I got all these facts as quick as the mail could bring them. I wrote her “to be careful, to make copies of all the papers and records of the false entries in the books, and take these men one by one to a justice of the peace or notary public, and have them swear to everything;” for, if the surgeon should suspect what she was doing, he would at once relieve them, and order them to join their regiments, and she would be left to stand alone. I started for Louisville, Ky., the headquarters of Assistant Surgeon-General R. C. Wood, at once, and requested Miss Vance to send to me there all the papers in the case, which she did.

As I read over the villanous record of cheatery, and the disgusting compounds he had put into the old coffee-grounds for the poor sick and wounded men to drink, my soul was hot within me with righteous indignation. When I went into the office of General Wood the next morning I was in a mood for strong talk. He gave me his usual cordial greeting.

“General Wood, if you please, I would like to see you alone,” I said.

He looked surprised, as I had never made such a request before.

“Certainly,” he said, and nodded to the two or three clerks in the room to withdraw. As soon as the door was closed behind them I began:--

“I came to report Dr. R----, of the Madison Hospital.”

“Dr. R----? Why, he is one of my best surgeons! What has he done?”

“You may think he is one of your best surgeons, but my opinion of him is that _he ought to be hung higher than Haman_.”

The general looked greatly surprised, as he had never heard me use any such emphatic terms about any one before. “Please, madam, explain,” he said.

“He is cheating and starving the soldiers, and selling their good coffee, and giving them a little coffee mixed with logwood and other vile adulteration.”

“Impossible! That is entirely impossible.”

“Nevertheless, it is true; and he is _cheating you_ in making up his hospital returns. I have the proof here in my hands.”

He turned pale. “Can such a thing be possible?” he gasped.

“It is possible,” I said. “See for yourself;” and I handed him the true returns, with the affidavits.

He brought out the official returns which had been sent by the surgeon, and we compared them.

“He’s a villain, a heartless villain,” the general would mutter at each new exhibition of the surgeon’s rascality.

When we had gone through with the papers, he said in a most emphatic way,--

“I will punish that man to the full extent of the law.”

“No, general: he will elude you; he will find some way to escape. If dealt with by military law he will escape; but I have a plan that will reach him.”

“What is your plan?”

“To go to Governor Morton of Indiana, and lay the facts and these papers before him, and put the whole case in his hands. The hospital is in his State, and I don’t think he can get out of the clutches of Governor Morton.” My words were like the shock of an electric battery. He sprang to his feet, and walked the floor in a most excited state of mind. At last he calmed himself enough to speak, and facing me, he said,--

“Madam, do you wish to kill me? Do you wish to kill me? Do you wish to stab me to the heart?”

“Certainly not. I have the highest respect for you. I believe you are innocent in this matter; but I do not want that villain to escape.”

“_He shall not escape._”

“What will you do?”

“I will send up Inspector Allen right away.”

“No; that won’t do. Inspector Allen has been going up month after month, and has not seen a thing wrong. No; I am sorry to say it, but I do not believe you can bring this man to justice. Governor Morton is my only chance to secure that.”

I shall never forget with what majesty he stood before me. He looked like a patriarch,--tall, straight, commanding, with his crown of gray hair, his fair and kindly face. _A perfect Christian gentleman_ of the old school, too honest and true himself to suspect others as frauds.

“Mrs. Wittenmyer,” he said, “you could not possibly do me a greater injury; such a thing would likely lead to my removal. You certainly do not desire that. Have I not co-operated with you in all your great plans, removing from one hospital to another surgeons at your suggestion? Have I not placed steamers and trains to carry your goods, and extended to you the hearty co-operation and aid of this office? Why should you wish to injure me?”

“I do not wish to injure you. I only want to bring this rogue to justice. You have done _all_ that any one could do for me, and the influence of your high office has helped me all along the lines. I shall ever hold you in grateful remembrance for your kindness and co-operation; but I cannot stand by and see our sick and wounded men treated in this way, and not do my utmost to bring such a rascal to justice.”

“He shall be brought to justice. I will make this proposition to you: I will appoint a commission to investigate, bring charges against and court-martial him, and you may select the commission.”

“But he will resign as soon as he knows they are going to bring charges.”

“I will not accept his resignation.”

And so this plan was agreed to; as over the opposition of the assistant surgeon-general, who had been my ablest helper, I saw it would not do to go, as I wished to do, to Governor Morton.

I selected Dr. Clendening, medical director of that department, as the president of the court. I knew him to be a true gentleman, of sterling integrity, who would do his duty without fear or favor. The others were among the best medical men of the army.

The last I heard of Dr. Clendening he was in the regular army, and stationed at St. Louis. I think he is still living, as are most of those who are familiar with the facts here recorded. The commission received the documents, went to Madison, and verified all Miss Vance’s statements, and sat down together to formulate the charges. But as soon as the committee came on the ground, Surgeon R---- telegraphed his resignation to Surgeon-General Barnes at Washington. It was accepted by telegraph, and he was on a train far away. The commission was greatly disappointed, and General Wood was very much humiliated over the affair. Shortly afterwards, returning to Washington, I spoke to the surgeon-general about the case, and gave him my views about Dr. R----’s rascality. But the hospital was soon cleaned up; the old coffee-grounds and logwood were dumped out upon the “common,” and good food and plenty of it was served to the men.

I was not known to Dr. R---- in the case; but Dr. Clendening and the other members of the commission, and Miss Vance, will know how the reform was brought about. I do not give the full name of the surgeon, as he may have repented in sackcloth and ashes for aught I know; but there is little danger of my forgetting his name. Miss Vance is now living in California.

REMINISCENCE OF GENERAL GRANT.

One of the strongest evidences of General Grant’s nobility of character was his respectful treatment of the men in the ranks. They were all men, and were treated as men. He did not toady to the officers, or bully the privates. His attitude to all was respectful and considerate.

He was more approachable to the men in the ranks than were many of his inferior officers.

An ambulance driver at City Point told me this story:--

“The road was narrow, and I was allowing the horses to jog on at a slow pace, when an officer rode up and said, ‘Drive your ambulance to one side, please, and allow my staff to pass.’

“I was paralyzed when I looked up and saw it was General Grant who was talking to me so nice and polite. I looked back and saw a lot of officers coming, and you may be sure I got out of their way as quick as I could. Most officers would have sworn a blue streak because I was in the road, but that isn’t General Grant’s way; he is a mighty nice man.”

I had occasion to call at an officer’s headquarters to report that there were supplies at the landing for his regiment. He was very much pleased that I had taken the trouble to call on him personally, as he was from my own State. As we sat in his tent talking socially, a private soldier came to the tent-door, made the military salute, and was about to speak, when the colonel thundered his words of command:--

“Begone; what business have you coming to my headquarters?”

“The lieutenant sent me to”--

“Begone, I tell you.”

The soldier turned away deeply humiliated, and no doubt indignant. I, as indignant as the soldier, arose, and without ceremony left the tent. I have never thought of that officer since, that I did not want to go back to that lost opportunity, and tell him how mean and ignoble he was.

FRED D. GRANT--THE BRAVE ORDERLY AT VICKSBURG.

Nearly every day during the siege of Vicksburg, General Grant rode around the fiery line of the besieged city on his little black horse; and his son Fred, about thirteen years old, who acted as his orderly, followed about fifty yards in the rear.

It was a wild ride over the rough, roadless fields and bluffs in the rear of our batteries, where the enemy’s guns were ploughing the ground here and there, over which they were riding.

Almost every day, as I drove about the lines, at some point or other I would see General Grant and his brave little orderly riding at full speed in the face of the long lines of the enemy’s batteries, and within range of their murderous fire. But most of all to be feared was the surer fire of the Confederate sharpshooters.

They were never within speaking distance, being much nearer the batteries than was the roadway along which I drove.

There was great anxiety for General Grant during the siege. Personally he was beloved by officers and men, but there were deeper reasons. His life was so important to the Union cause, that his death would have been the greatest calamity that the army could have suffered. Officers and civilians warned and entreated him, but as far as I could see he made no change in his course.