University of Virginia Library

LETTER XXIX.

Dear Mother,—. . . . The news about Vicksburg
is confirmed, and all are duly excited; being on the
same river brings it very near to us. The river is now
open,—but I tremble to think at what a probable
cost. It is extremely hot here, and must be still hotter

there. Thousands of men are wounded and sick:
I hope we shall have them here. Our men are convalescing
fast; that is, the greater part. We have over
a thousand, sending off as fast as we can to convalescent
camps and hospitals, to make room, for the newcomers:
we shall be very full. This is what we have
been waiting for; till Vicksburg fell, they could only
send a limited number of the sick; now all will be
sent that can possibly be moved, either here or to
Memphis. It is not so healthy there as here; therefore
as many will be sent north as can be; they travel
on the boats in beds quite well. I wish it were not so
intensely hot; it is hard for the sick,—this month and
August will be like a fiery furnace. I am glad I am
here, able to do something. As I told one of my
nurses this morning, it is of no use minding the heat;
we must make up our minds in the beginning to bear
it this month. August and September are very hot;
but in September we have some cool days, and the
nights are then cooler than the days, which is a great
comfort after working all day. Winter will come before
we know it. I am drinking new milk for supper
now; that has done me good; I buy it at the sutler's;
she keeps a cow. I have what the calf does not want;
I am afraid he does not love me. . . . Is not the news
all around good? Lee in retreat, or cut off, which is
still better, and here, this long and trying siege over.
These were the two points on which so much has depended
lately. I do not think you realize the immense
importance of the opening of the Mississippi. It alters
the position of the whole army of the West, and gives
the greatest blow to the rebels. It was their stronghold;
and they clung to it with a full knowledge of the fact.
The Rebel general, Garnett, was the husband of one of
my nurses; she saw his death in the papers this morning;
she told me of it. He ran away from her with
some one else, disposed of his property so that she could
not get any of it,—they were wealthy,—then entered
the rebel army. Now he is dead. His wife is a beautiful
woman, I should think about twenty-five. She
has clung to the hope that he would return to her.
She is obliged to do something for her support, I understand.
This is a hard world to some. The losses
have been very heavy on both sides; many officers
gone. My other nurses had relatives at Vicksburg;
one other a husband, others brothers and friends. I
have to try and help patients and nurses both now.
I hope help will be sent to us if we need it. I found
in one of the wards a strong man of forty,—his lip
quivering so he could hardly speak to me. His son
was in the fight, and he has not heard whether he is
alive or dead; and so it is, all round.

One of the boys here is very ill; his father came to
see him, and found him asleep. When the boy woke
there was his father by his bedside. You may imagine
the meeting! The old father sits by the bedside fanning
him, and he lies with his hand on his father's knee.
There is an old man here who has been running down
for some time, and so homesick! A few days ago his
wife got here; there was a general rejoicing over her in

the ward; we were so glad she had come to him. The
nurses congratulated them both; it has done him real
good. There was another man here very ill, growing
worse daily. I wrote to his wife to come to him; and
one day when I entered the ward, there she was! I
got a warm greeting from her. She brightened him
up, nursed him as only a wife can, night and day. I
let her stay in the ward, sleeping in the lady nurses'
room. He by and by began to mend, and was well
enough last week to go home with his wife. If he
gets well I do believe it will be due to her; I think
she saved his life. Is not that a happy thought for a
wife?

Talking of other people's homes makes me think of
my mother. I am very happy here now, and I think
people like me tolerably well. I should like to be here
till the war was over; but I do not know where I shall
be placed or sent. I am not quite acclimated yet;
little things hurt me. If I could have been well and
strong at Vicksburg, so as to be as useful as a surgical
nurse, as I know how to be, I should have gone there
three weeks ago; as it is, I am more useful here, perhaps
more so at any rate, for I have a great deal to
look after, arid I try to do all I have strength for. My
position brings me into many pleasant relations with
others. I have no time to accept the courtesies offered
me; but it is pleasant to think I am thought of and
cared for. More than one house has been opened to
me, with the request that I would consider it a home
at all times, especially if I were sick. So I shall not

feel so forlorn again as I did when I came up the river
sick, and thought what a little fool I was to come
West, where I could not keep well and do my work.
I have got well, and work as usefully as I could anywhere.
I think I work easier because I am so much
thinner; they call me here "the little lady." . . .
Caterpillars have come, but I take them among all other
exigencies. I think of sending you a collection of the
insects that enter my room, either by flying or walking,
only I should probably be obliged to send it by the
freight train. They vary in size, but all bite, except
the flies, and they go down your throat if you open
your mouth at all. I speak from personal experience.
I want you should be sure and tell me if father has
his yacht this summer. I do so hope he has. I wish
I could see a good large fish for old acquaintance' sake.