University of Virginia Library

MEMOIR
OF
EMILY ELIZABETH PARSONS.

NOTHING could be farther from the wishes,
the tastes or habits of my daughter Emily,
than an effort to magnify the events of her life
into undue importance, or to found upon them
claims for unusual regard. But she had some peculiar
traits of character, and some unusual opportunities
for usefulness, in connection with the
civil war, of which this brief and simple record
may be interesting to the friends for whom alone
it is intended.

She was born March 8, 1824, and died May 19,
1880.

From her childhood she manifested more than
common energy, and a disposition to earnest and
persistent activity. But this natural tendency was
combated and suppressed, to a large extent, by

many physical hindrances. These were so oppressive
that they who knew best what she did, and
under what disadvantages she labored, could not
but be surprised that she was able to accomplish so
much. But she never seemed to yield to dispiriting
circumstances; or, indeed, to obstacles which
it was possible to overcome.

When about five years old she ran a sharp pair
of scissors into the pupil of her right eye. The
wound soon healed, but the iris and the lenses
were badly torn, and the eye, though not much
disfigured, was so much injured that she was entirely
unable to make any use of it. A sympathy
with the wounded eye, or, perhaps, the extra work
thrown upon the other eye, weakened it, so that
she never had that unimpeded sight that they
have who possess healthy organs.

When seven years old, she was extremely ill
with scarlet-fever. The disease left her totally
deaf. From this she gradually recovered, and in
adult life was able to hear whatever was distinctly
addressed to her, but could not join freely in general
conversation.

When about twenty-five years old, she injured
an ankle very severely, breaking some of the
cords. It was exceedingly painful, and for some

time she made no use of her foot. It gradually
grew better, but never entirely well; and she was
under medical treatment for it at brief intervals
during her life. She could and did walk a great
deal, seldom complaining, although the pain and
weakness sometimes compelled entire rest. But
she suffered much from lameness, and when obliged
to stand or walk for a long time continuously, the
pain compelled a temporary abstinence from all
use of the foot. But as long as it was possible to
discharge her duties, she did so, regardless of the
suffering, and yielding to it only upon strict compulsion.

None of these hindrances, nor all of them together,
prevented her from doing all in her power
to relieve the suffering of any whom she could
reach. This seemed to be her prevailing purpose.
She had only the opportunities which offer themselves
to unmarried women who seek for them, until
in 1861 the war of the eebellion broke out.
She at once declared her desire to enlist in the
army as a nurse. I confess that I yielded to her
wishes with great reluctance; for it seemed to me
that her blindness, deafness and lameness, offered
obstacles to her usefulness as a hospital nurse which
could not be overcome. But her wishes were too

strong to be resisted. She knew the difficulties
under which she labored, but earnestly desired to
make the effort and do as much as she could. She
was advised by those who knew, that there was an
abundance of willing but uninstructed service of
this kind offering; and she attended the Massachusetts
Hospital, in Boston, as a volunteer nurse,
sleeping at home, but passing her days in the hospital.
There she was kindly received by the
whole medical staff, and carefully instructed in
such work as might be required of her in the duty
she proposed to undertake. She remained more
than a year,—until she was assured that she was
entirely competent to do useful work as a nurse in
a military hospital. Then she volunteered in that
capacity.

She was at once appointed to the hospital at
Fort Schuyler, near New York, and left home
for that hospital Oct. 15, 1862. Under the labor
and exposure of the post, her health broke
down, and in the beginning of 1863 she went
to New York, visiting a friend. In a few weeks
she was summoned, somewhat urgently, to St.
Louis. Without any delay, she went at once
from New York to St. Louis, and reached that
city on Jan. 26, 1863, The hospital there, called

the Lawson Hospital, was one of the largest
military hospitals in the country. She was at
once appointed a nurse in that hospital. Here
she remained but a few weeks, when she was
asked to take charge of the nursing department
on board a large steamer, which was to go down
the Mississippi to bring up the sick and wounded
to the hospitals. On February 12, 1863, she
started down the river, and went as far as Vicksburg,
where the conflict was then going on. She
returned in about a month to St. Louis. There
she was at once attacked by malarial fever, contracted
on the river. She was quite ill for a considerable
time, and her letters, when she was able
to write, bear the strongest testimony to the exceeding
kindness and tenderness with which she
was treated at the house of a stranger who had
become a friend.

When she recovered her health, she was assigned
to the great hospital in St. Louis, called the
Benton Barracks Hospital, and was placed at once
in charge of the whole nursing department of this
hospital, which was prepared at first for two thousand
patients, and later, for twenty-five hundred.

I was then, and am now, wholly unable to account
for this. I can explain it only on the supposition

that, at the breaking out of the war, this
country had no experience which prepared our citizens
for the work of war. Multitudes of important
and arduous offices, both in the army and out
of it, were to be filled; and they who had the appointing
power could only make the best use they
could of the material offered them, and judge of it
as well as they could by the evidence they had.
Some of these appointments were successful, and
others were not. It will be my effort to exhibit,
mainly from my daughter's letters, what duties
were assigned to her, and in what way she discharged
them.

She remained in that post until late in 1863,
when she was again attacked with malarial fever,
and was so ill that it was thought necessary for her
to return home. She came home, recovered her
health, and in March, 1864, returned to St. Louis.
She resumed her post in the hospital, and remained
there until late in the autumn of that
year, when she was again attacked with malarial
disease, and finally returned home.

During the years she passed in St. Louis, her
family received many letters from her. In the
midst of her work it seemed to comfort her to
communicate with her distant home, which she had

never left before. I have found it very difficult
to choose such parts of these letters as it would be
well to print. Of course, of some of them the
whole, and of all a large part, relate to family
and home matters, which there is no reason for
printing. I am very doubtful whether the selection
I have made is a wise one. To me they are all interesting;
but I cannot expect them to be so to others.
I have been guided in my final choice by what
I have already said is the purpose of this sketch.
That is, I have selected only parts of such letters
as seem to me to exhibit the work she did, and the
manner in which she did it. What I print, I
print just as it was written, for I wished it to remain
obvious that these letters were written without
the slightest thought of their ever meeting
other eyes than those for which they were written.

I have omitted nothing more unwillingly than
the letters in which she often expresses her grateful
acknowledgment, not merely of the universal
kindness she met with from all with whom she had
any relations in St. Louis, but of the tender and
constant care bestowed upon her, when she most
needed it, by those who took her, a stranger, to
their homes when sick, and made her feel indeed
at home there. Gentlemen like Mr. Yeatman, so

well known through the country for his services in
the Sanitary Commission, and Mr. Hasard, the
President of that Commission, under whose direction
she was, and whom she was constantly meeting,
held it to be their duty to take good care of
her. Not content with this, they spared no opportunities
of manifesting the most constant, careful,
and considerate attention to everything which
could conduce to her comfort,—and, indeed, to all
her wants and wishes.

I have already mentioned some of the obstacles
to my daughter's usefulness. She had, however,
two characteristics which must have been helpful.
One was great fearlessness. Very seldom did I
know her to manifest fear of anything. This
must have made it easier for her to encounter
some of the risks to which she was called upon to
expose herself. Another useful quality was the
entire absence of what is called nervousness. There
are ladies who shrink from the sight of blood, and
some who faint at even hearing of it. So far as I
know, my daughter had no weakness of this kind,
but faced at once wounds however ghastly, or assisted
at surgical operations, without shrinking or
tremor, and was never disturbed by the sight of
death.

On the whole, I should infer from her letters
that she was successful in her work. But I have
other evidence of this, of a kind which may be
more satisfactory. Miss Sophia Knight, of Boston,
a friend of my daughter, and a most intelligent lady,
requested of her an opportunity to be of service,
and joined her at Benton Barracks, and was there
for some six months in 1864. In a letter to me
she says,—

Mr. Yeatman of St. Louis, to whomn I have already
alluded, and who was widely known and will
be long remembered for his devotion to his most
important duties during the war, writes me as
follows:—

In 1867 was published in Philadelphia an octavo
volume entitled "Woman's Work in the War."
It contains sketches of the lives of a great number
of women from all parts of the Northern States,
who were of service in the war. It is, so far as I
know, accurate; and it seems surprisingly so, considering
the large number of those concerning
whom exact inquiry had to be made. A glance at
the book shows that the records of different hospitals
were examined and other sources of information
made use of. Emily E. Parsons is one of
those spoken of. I quote from the notice of her,
the following extracts.

After stating her decided wish to volunteer in
the war, this notice goes on, thus:—

After describing her service in that and another
hospital the book goes on:—

On June 18, 1864, my daughter was notified to
attend a meeting of the medical staff of the hospital.
She attended, expecting nothing unusual,
and took her customary place. As soon as the staff
was assembled, Drs. May and Russell rose, and Dr.
May made an address to her, closing as follows:—

This goblet, or vase, was of silver, lined with gold,
and beautiful in form and workmanship. She
brought it home, showed it to her parents, brothers,
and sisters, then locked it up and kept it locked
up. I have been able to find, among her intimate
friends, but one who ever saw it. I believe no
one else out of her own family ever saw it; and
of her cousins and many friends I have found
one or two only who ever heard of it. Her
brother, Charles Chauncey Parsons, was absent
from home, in the army, at the time she returned.
He is sitting by me as I write, and tells
me he never saw the vase, and never heard of
it until to-day.

I think this circumstance illustrates one trait
in her character. She very seldom referred in any
way to any of her past services, and I never heard

from her one word in relation to them, or to any
of her work, which has the slightest flavor of display
or self-ascription.

I now quote again from the book already referred
to, "Woman's Work in the War":—

I will now let her letters speak for themselves.
I begin with those sent home from Fort Schuyler.
There are but a few of them, and I give extracts,
more or less copious, from every one of these.