University of Virginia Library

MRS. ELIDA RUMSEY FOWLE.

LATE in the fall of 1861, an irregular and wretched-looking
crowd of Union soldiers moved slowly up one
of the broad avenues of the national capital. Coming
from a great number of regiments, without proper organization
or esprit du corps, emaciated, sallow-looking, and
ragged, how fearfully had they changed from that gay,
confident, and shouting army, that in July had moved out
from Arlington Heights, with "On to Richmond!" for their
watchword! Yet they were the same men. Only these
poor fellows had been captured in the disastrous rout of
Bull Run; had been marched, in the midst of taunts and
jeers, into the rebel capital; had been confined in that
wretched and filthy slaughter and tobacco house in Richmond,
over which the sign "A. Libby & Co." had been
fastened — a name now infamous in military history.
During the long, hot months of August, September, and
October, the poor fellows had sweltered in that reeking
pen, breathing foul air, eating miserable rebel army rations,
and apparently forgotten by that great government for
which they had so freely fought, and which they had
thought abundantly able to reach and protect her citizensoldiers
in all parts of the world. Yet, in the city that
once rang with the eloquence of Patrick Henry, a city that

had given to America such men as Jefferson, Madison, and
John Marshall, they had been jeered at, insulted, and starved
for the crime of having volunteered to save the national ensign
from dishonor, and the national unity from destruction.

They halted for some time before one of the government
buildings, these rough, unhappy looking men. They were
conscious of being dirty and seedy looking. They had
been captured in a battle which loyal Americans were
nowise proud to mention; and though they had done their
duty, and done it nobly, and borne their insults and discomforts
with soldier-like patience, yet, standing thus
crestfallen under the towering dome of the Capitol, the
enthusiasm with which they had enlisted was all gone; the
proud Americanism that had swelled in their bosoms was
dull and cold. In short, these exchanged prisoners were
demoralized by disaster and suffering, and had for a time
become indifferent to the glories and traditions of their
country.

As they stood or sat there on the ground, a pleasantspoken
gentleman — a clerk at one of the desks of the
navy department — stepped among them, and said, "Boys,
how would you like to hear a little song this morning?"
"O, very well, I guess," was the somewhat languid
response.

He retired for a moment, and returned with a young
lady, whose modest manner and flushed face told, better
than any words, how entirely unaccustomed she was to
making any public exhibition of her vocal powers. She
sang the first stanza of "Star-spangled Banner." As the
almost forgotten strains of that great national song rang

out on the cool autumnal air, every soldier started up from
his attitude of languor and indifference, and came nearer
to the fascinating singer.

They formed a circle around her, and as those on the
outside of the ring complained that they could not see her,
some one said, "Make a stand for her." Instantly, as
though a command had been given, fifty knapsacks were
unslung, and piled in a rude pyramid before her. She
stepped upon it flushed, and still more animated by this
sudden and novel mode of expressing their high appreciation
of her effort, and sang the remaining stanzas with a
warmth and enthusiasm that surprised her as much as it
delighted the soldiers. The effect upon the men was
marvellous.

The pleasant memories of singing schools and sleigh rides
were revived. They thought of their sisters, and "the
girls they left behind them." The bloody afternoon at Bull
Run, and the long, dreary days within the loathsome walls
of Old Libby, the suffering, the blood, and deaths were all
forgotten. They only remembered that the glorious old
flag still floated from the top of the "imperial dome," and
that America was still the "land of the free and the home
of the brave."

Miss Rumsey stepped down from that little rostrum of
soldiers' knapsacks animated with patriotic enthusiasm, and
inspired with a new and noble purpose.

Others might idly regret that they were women, and
could not take the sword or bayonet in the holy cause.
Others, again, might follow the camp, and minister in person
to the wounded and dying. She, too, had a gift and a
mission. There was good for her to do in soothing, cheering,
and sustaining the soldiers. The rare and beautiful
gift of voice could now be consecrated on the altar of
patriotism, and the songs which she had learned and practised
to please her father and enhance the attractions of his
home, might now fan the dying flame of patriotism in a
thousand war-weary bosoms; they might ring along the
wards of the great hospitals, bring joy back to many a
faded eye; or, breathed low and sweet at the pillow of the
dying, they would smooth the ruggedness of the dark
valley, and awaken holy aspirations for the

From that time on, till after the battle of Gettysburg,
and near the close of the war, Miss Rumsey gave herself
unremittingly to labors for the good, the comfort, the
social, moral, and mental well-being of the soldier. She
was as wholly devoted and absorbed in such voluntary
labors as though she had enlisted, and was in duty bound,
and under a military oath of consecration.

Her father's house was opposite Judiciary Square, and
several hospitals were situated within a short distance. Of
these she became a frequent, and, in many cases, a regular
and constant visitor. And in all the wards she visited, she

never hesitated to afford the soldiers the benefit of her
vocal powers whenever she was requested; and very often
she volunteered to sing for those who were strangers, and
unacquainted with her gifts, and with her promptness to
comply with that request when made. On Sabbath afternoons,
and often during the week, she, in company with
Mr. Fowle and other Christian gentlemen, visited various
hospitals, and held soldiers' prayer meetings in different
wards, singing the most familiar and widely-known songs
of religious love and worship.

Yet these labors, important and valuable as they were,
are regarded by her and her friends as secondary and incidental
merely, as compared with the great and admirable
enterprise with which her name was chiefly associated, and
for which she is held in grateful remembrance by tens of
thousands of soldiers.

It was mainly by the exertions of Mr. Fowle and Miss
Rumsey that the Soldiers' Free Library, on Judiciary Square,
in Washington, was established, the building erected, the
books contributed and arranged, and the library conducted.
During some epochs in the war, Washington city contained
as many as twenty thousand sick, wounded, or convalescent
soldiers. By far the greater portion of these men
could read, and two thirds or three fourths of them were
in such health as to be able to move or hobble about
on crutches; and thus, above all things, they needed
some wholesome and moral amusement during convalescence.

A library free to all soldiers, and well supplied with
papers, magazines, and all sorts of valuable and entertaining,

yet moral books, was an institution of the utility of
which there could be no doubt, and whose power to cheer,
elevate, and entertain could not be over-estimated. Miss
Rumsey had numerous friends, in different villages in the
north, who were known as soldiers' friends, and who knew
her as an efficient and constant hospital visitor. She was
the almoner of the various comforts and delicacies which
had been contributed by various soldiers' Aid Societies in
Connecticut, Massachusetts, and New York. To these
societies Miss Rumsey now applied, and very handsome
returns of books and papers were made. During the year
1862 these books and magazines were distributed by Miss
Rumsey and Mr. Fowle in their hospital visits. In a little
more than a year they distributed two thousand three hundred
and seventy-one Bibles and Testaments, one thousand
six hundred and seventy-five books and magazines, forty
thousand tracts, thirty-five thousand papers, twenty-five
reams of writing paper, nine thousand envelopes; and of
"creature comforts," over three thousand shirts and drawers,
great quantities of towels, sheets, gowns, slippers, wines,
and jellies.

During this period, they conducted nearly two hundred
singing meetings at hospitals, or in camp. In the fall of
1862, the arrangements then in operation were found inconvenient
and inadequate to supply the literary demands at
the hospital, and the plan was conceived of raising a sum
sufficient to erect on some public ground a building of
sufficient size and proper construction, to be used as the
Soldiers' Free Library.

To carry forward this worthy enterprise, Miss Rumsey

and Mr. Fowle gave in Washington, Boston, and various
other places, a number of vocal concerts, the proceeds of
which were to be devoted to the purchase of the necessary
lumber, and procuring labor for constructing the
library.

These concerts were a success. Their principal feature
was the songs of Miss Rumsey, and particularly those stirring
and patriotic airs which she sang to so many of the
soldiers. The Star-spangled Banner, as sung by her, was
always received with rounds of applause, and every mark
of the warmest enthusiasm. "The Young Recruit" and
the "Battle Cry of Freedom" were also favorite and effective.
Another song, of soft and pathetic character, met
with great success, and had a touching private history. It
was called "The Dying Soldier Boy." In May, 1862, soon
after the bloody action at Williamsburg, Miss Rumsey, in
her hospital visits, found a poor boy, only seventeen years
of age, at the Patent Office Hospital, who had suffered from
typhoid fever, and this was followed by consumption. Day
by day he grew paler and weaker, till at last he could speak
only in whispers. Yet the dear little fellow was conscious
that he was about to die, and was prepared to go. Miss
Rumsey was much interested in his case, and at twilight
she would often visit him, and at his request would, in a
low, soft voice, sing in the ear of the dying soldier boy
songs of Jesus and of heaven that he loved to hear. One
evening, just as the sun had set, she found him failing
rapidly; he "wanted to hear a hymn," he whispered.
That charming little melody, called "Nearer Home," was
his favorite. It begins thus: —

A group of sympathizing soldiers gathered around his bedside.
Her voice choked and faltered, and the tears stood
upon her cheeks, as she sang the first, second, and third
stanzas. Before commencing the fourth she glanced down
at the pallid face, and saw that a fearful change had come
over the marble features. King Death had stolen upon
him as he listened, and stamped his royal signet on the
countenance of the boy soldier. The last human sounds he
had heard were the plaintive tones of that sweet vocalist,
singing to him of the heavenly home and the starry crown.
A poetical version of this affecting scene was made by Mr.
Fowle, in the following stanzas, which Miss Rumsey sang
to the tune of "Annie Laurie:" —

Another favorite piece of Miss Rumsey, which she gave in
nearly all the concerts, was composed by the same gentleman,
at the time when the first rebel flags which had been
captured at Fort Donelson and Roanoke Island were exhibited
at the Capitol in Washington, on the anniversary of the
birth of the Father of his Country, February 22, 1862.
Miss Rumsey usually sang it to the air of "Bunker Hill."

Two of these concerts realized the sum of three hundred
dollars, and this was immediately expended in the purchase
of lumber for the building of the Soldiers' Free
Library. Upon the opening of the next session of Congress,
in December, a joint resolution passed both houses,

appropriating the ground necessary for the erection of the
building. Early in January the following note was handed
to Miss Rumsey.

Other concerts were now given, and the proceeds appropriated
to the same purpose, so that within a few weeks,
in the early part of the year 1863, Mr. Fowle and Miss
Rumsey had the gratification of seeing their most laudable
and self-sacrificing efforts crowned with success. A building
sixty-five feet long, and twenty-four feet wide, was
erected, containing a library-room, a room for hospital
stores, and a reading-room, which, with appropriate ceremonies,
was dedicated to the free use of the soldiers. After
the building was completed and dedicated, a circular was
issued to the friends of soldiers everywhere, requesting
contributions of magazines, pictorial papers, and books.

The results of this appeal, and the proceeds of several
concerts given in Boston and vicinity, were so handsome
in pecuniary returns and in books, that soon after the
library opened it contained twenty-five hundred volumes.
This number was soon swelled to three thousand, and before
the war closed there were six thousand volumes of
good reading matter on the shelves of the institution. For

some time Miss Rumsey acted as librarian. But afterwards
convalescents, not able to return to line duty, were successively
detailed for this purpose. One who acted for some
time in this capacity was a loyal Virginian from the valley
of the Shenandoah.

The following letter from him conveys the sentiments
of at least one soldier on the value of the Soldiers' Free
Library: —

During all the time that Miss Rumsey was laboring thus
persistently and nobly to found the library, the visits to
hospitals and camps, and the Sabbath exercises in the
Representatives' Hall, and among the soldiers, were by no
means discontinued.

In that dark and calamitous campaign of August and
September, 1862, she at one time went out into the primary
hospitals, and labored among the wounded and dying
of a disastrous battle-field. It was just after the second
battle of Bull Run, fought August 30, 1862. Mr. Fowle
obtained an ambulance, and Miss Rumsey loaded it with
some four hundred and fifty loaves of bread, meat, spirits
of all kinds, bandages, lint, shirts, and other descriptions
of stores. Leaving Washington late on Saturday afternoon,
they drove out by way of Bailey's Cross-Roads, and
reached Centreville very early on Sunday morning.

They halted at a little building near the road, which was
already nearly full of the wounded. As others arrived, or
were brought in, they were laid on those first brought, care
being taken, however, to lay a wounded arm upon a sound
leg, and a mutilated leg upon a body where its weight
would not give pain. The stacks of wounded were thus
laid up on all sides of the little room, and the blood that
flowed from so many open veins ran down and stood in a
deep crimson pool all over the middle of the room. For
some time Miss Rumsey remained in the ambulance, giving
out bread to the famishing boys, who crowded around as
soon as it was known there was anything to be eaten there.
Most of them had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours, and
were hopelessly separated from their supply trains. After

she had given out most of the bread and other edibles, she
stepped down from the ambulance, and went inside, to see
if she could be of use to the sufferers there.

Certainly there was enough to be done, and she felt that
the only way to keep from being overcome by such an accumulation
of horrors was to plunge at once into active usefulness.
She offered to dress the arm of the first man she
saw. He had received a ball directly through it the day
before, and a field surgeon had dressed it, and wrapped it
so tightly that it was now paining him terribly. Miss Rumsey
knelt beside him, and slowly undid the bandage. The
flesh was entirely colorless, and the pain was relieved as
the pressure was removed. She then brought some water
and a sponge, and began to wash the wound.

The contact of water and the gentle pressure of the
sponge soon removed the dried and coagulated blood, and
the wound commenced to bleed afresh. Soon the blood
began to flow in little spouts, and as there was no surgeon
present, she became alarmed. Some of the crimson stream
fell upon her dress, and the floor was everywhere red. It
was a hot summer morning, and she had been travelling all
night. The room, too, was crowded, and the smell of
human blood was strong. All these, operating together,
were too much for Miss Rumsey. All at once she found
her consciousness failing her, and in a moment she was as
helpless as any of the wounded that lay upon the floor.
She was taken out to the ambulance, and the usual restoratives
of cold water and fresh air applied. With the return
of consciousness she began to chide herself — "To think
that I have come all the way from Washington to bind up

the wounds of these soldiers, and here the first case of running
blood I see I have to become faint and helpless! I
won't faint. I will go back, and work among those poor
fellows; that's what I came here for, and I'm determined to
accomplish something." So in a few moments she was back
again among the bleeding men, a little paler than before,
but resolute. She went on binding up wounds, bathing
them with water, cooling parched lips, and giving stimulants
to those who had lost much blood, laboring thus all
day till nearly nightfall. Two or three other parties, that
had come out from Washington on similar errands of mercy,
seeing her thus efficient and useful, left their hospital supplies
with her, and thus she was kept busy throughout the
day. The good things were given out to privates and
officers without discrimination, the only requirement being
that they needed something. Their little hospital would
hold about fifty, and as fast as their wounds were dressed
they were sent off in ambulances to Washington. Only
two soldiers died under their care: one, whose name and
regiment were unknown, wandered in from the battle-field,
fell down speechless from sheer exhaustion, and died in a
few moments. His body was searched in vain for papers
that might disclose his name and regiment, but no clew was
ever obtained. A grave was dug beside the little hospital
on Sunday evening, his body was decently interred, and
the grave marked with that saddest of all inscriptions,
"Unknown."

The other who died was a non-commissioned officer in a
New York regiment. He had been struck in the breast,
and the severe concussion produced inward bleeding, of

which he died, unable to speak; but a letter from home
was found in his pocket, and proved that he was a dutiful
and good son. A small sum of money was found with the
letter, of which Miss Rumsey took charge; and immediately
upon reaching Washington she wrote a full and feeling
account to his distant and stranger friends. She had the
gratification of receiving a prompt and grateful answer from
his father, and her first letter was published in connection
with a funeral sermon preached at Springwater, N. Y.,
in commemoration of the virtues of Corporal James F.
Snyder.

A few months later, as she was nursing in one of the
hospitals on Judiciary Square, and near her home as well
as the Soldiers' Free Library, in which she took so great
and constant interest, she found one of the patients in a
very dangerous state. He had been wounded at Chancellorsville,
and hopes were entertained that he would recover.
But the injury was close to a main artery, and the suppuration
extended so as to involve its tissues, and he suddenly
commenced to sink from internal bleeding.

When he found his strength failing, he desired to have the
Bible read and prayer offered at his bedside. Then turning
to Mrs. Fowle, he said there was one thing more that he
would like to say before he died. "Will you, kind lady,
write to Miss —, to whom I have been engaged for the
last two years, and break to her the sad news? Tell her
all I have said; send her my pocket memorandum, my
gold pen, and the twelve dollars in the book." A few
moments after, he added, in a clear but faint voice, "Tell
Deming," — a wounded comrade from the same town, —

"if he ever gets well, to tell my friends that I was wounded
bravely fighting for my country, and die happy."

The sacred duty of carrying out the last wish of this
dying patriot was carefully performed.

This was but one of many similar instances, and a great
number of letters have been received by her from the
friends of deceased soldiers, assuring her of their esteem
and gratitude, in language like the following: "My Bible
teaches there is a reward in store for you, aside from the
present satisfaction of having done what you could to
relieve the sufferings of a fellow-mortal, for Christ said,
`Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these
my brethren, ye have done it unto me.'"

In the spring of 1863, after the completion and opening
of the Soldiers' Free Library, and as there was much less
demand for constant hospital labor, Miss Rumsey was
united for life with the gentleman whose name has several
times appeared on these pages, and who labored constantly
and most effectively with Miss Rumsey for the physical and
moral well-being of the soldier.

As Mr. Fowle and Miss Rumsey had acquired almost a
national reputation by their admirable and extensive labors,
and as they had long been connected with the Capitol choir,
their marriage was celebrated in the House of Representatives,
and by their old and intimate friend and associate in
every good work, Chaplain Quint.

Though retaining a constant and lively interest in the
Union and its defenders, the duties and enjoyments of Mrs.
Fowle, since the close of the war, and for a year previous,
have been the blessed and womanly enjoyments of a home

made sacred by love and enriched by the sweetest fireside
melodies.

In the midst of these pleasures, the richest memories
of her life are of those active and crowded months when
the national fortunes were lowest, and she was laboring
with hands and feet, with needle, pen, and voice, to relieve,
to sustain, to cheer, and to soothe the weary, destitute, or
dying Union soldier.