 | MISS MARY E. SHELTON. Women of the war : |  |
Hospital Scenes.
The inconvenience, suffering, and unpleasant consequences
of ignorance of military regulations, endured by
women who went to take care of sons, husbands, or brothers,
sick in southern hospitals, might form an interesting,
though sad chapter in the history of our great war, and
I give you some instances.
At the sunset of a sultry day, I sat by my window,
writing to the "friends at home," when my door was thrown
unceremoniously open, and a lady entered, exclaiming,
"What shall I do?" I knew from her face that she was a
quiet, respectable, though uncultivated woman, and that
forced her to this abrupt entrance and question.
I gave her a chair, and listened to her story. Her husband
had been so severely wounded in the leg as to make
amputation necessary; and she had left home with a hundred
dollars, which she had borrowed from a friend, and
had come all the way to Nashville.
She had never travelled before, and had been troubled so
much in getting passes and transportation, that her nervous
system seemed quite exhausted.
Boarding and lodging were so dear that she found it impossible
to pay for them in the city, while hospital regulations
would not allow her to stay there. The surgeon said
it would be weeks before her husband would be able to go
home. "I cannot stay — and if I go back, he will die!
What shall I do? What shall I do?" she cried, wringing
her hands, and sobbing bitterly.
I proposed to walk into the ward and see her husband,
while I thought what I could do for her. To my surprise
she took me to the cot of one of my "special cases." "Is
it your wife that has come?" I exclaimed. "Yes, it's my
wife," he replied, while his eyes filled with a happy, peaceful
light. "O Hattie, I have dreamed so often of your coming,
that I am afraid I shall wake and find — But no, you are
here — ain't you, Hattie?"
"Yes, Charlie, yes;" and the tears fell fast upon the
clasped hands. The surgeon in charge consented to let
her occupy an empty cot next to her husband, and the
nurses changed him from the centre to one corner of the
ward. For her board she helped us in the "special diet
kitchen."
Eternity only can reveal the good done by her in the
month she was in that large ward, containing a hundred
beds. She remembered that Christ had said, "Inasmuch as
ye have done it unto one of the least of these, ye have done
it unto me;" and day and night occupied her spare time in
administering to her husband's fellow-sufferers.
One day of the fifth week of her stay, I saw a cloud on
her sunny face, and inquired the cause. She said a man had
died in the ward, and the nurses had carried him out head
foremost, and that she and her husband deemed this a bad
sign. She had tried to divert his attention from it, but he
had replied, "It is no use, Hattie; I shall go next." And
he did. I cannot calmly recall that parting scene. You
who have laid a dear one under the sod, near your own
home, while friends and relatives wept with you, can know
a part of her grief. But you who have, like her, left the
dear dust to mingle with that of strangers, can realize the
depth of her woe. As the carriage was announced to take
her to the depot, she shrank back, exclaiming, "How
can I go home to my children! I promised I would
not return without their father; and to leave him in the
cold ground!" Hers was indeed a sad case. Her trip
home would use up the last of the borrowed money, and
she would have to take in washing to support her children
and pay back the borrowed hundred dollars.
One day, a well-dressed, intelligent woman called at the
door of the diet kitchen, and asked to see one of the "Christian
Commission" ladies. The surgeon had sent her to me to
help her find her husband, and the directions were, "Bed
noticed that she trembled with excitement. I inquired if
she was tired, and she said, "No," though she had slept none
since leaving her home. We entered the ward, and the
nurse pointed out the bed, but it was empty. I looked at
her, and saw she was deadly pale, and hastened to assure
her that there was some mistake, as she would not have
been sent from the office to look for her husband if he had
been dead. While I had been talking to her, the ward-master
had referred to his book, and told us her husband's
leg had been amputated a few days before, and he was then
moved to ward four. Again her face was in a glow, and I
could hardly keep her from rushing in unannounced. We
could see his face from the door, and I thought him asleep.
As I was holding her by the arm, and beckoning to one of
the men to come to us, he opened his eyes full upon her.
Such a scream as he gave! She bounded from me, and in
a moment had her arms around his neck, both crying and
laughing at the same time. I am sure neither of them
uttered a whole sentence for fifteen minutes, so overpowering
was the joy of their meeting. His recovery was almost
miraculous, and one month from the time she came, she
started home with her husband. The wife remarked, as
she bade us good by, that she was not half so happy the
morning she started on her bridal tour as she was now,
taking her husband, though he left one leg in a southern
grave.
Persons unaccustomed to hospital life can hardly imagine
how absorbing it was. Nor can they conceive how we could
of those poor wrecks of humanity, from whom life had
been well nigh driven by southern bullets. Surely God
will forgive us, if — as the long months of untold suffering
rise before us, when we went in and out among the sufferers,
while they wore out life in the vain hope of returning
health, and finally were carried to the grave under the
folds of the dear old flag — a bitterness comes to us that no
words can express, and we cannot help rejoicing that God
has said, "Vengeance is mine, and I will repay."
Peace has come to us at last; and now, when almost a
year has passed since we sat in front of the White House,
and looked upon the great army, "with banners," marching
through the streets of Washington, — and the tears came
more freely than the smiles, as we gazed at the bronzed
faces, torn banners, and thinned ranks, — still those scenes
are too vivid for us to realize that the work of the war is
over, and that the dear, blessed hospital days shall come
back to us no more forever. We call them "blessed days,"
because the joy of ministering to the suffering filled our
hearts with a melody before unknown. But, as "the darkest
day has gleams of light," so our usually dark days were
often illumed with gleams of brightness. One gleam,
especially bright, came to us November 4, 1864. It was a
dull, rainy day; such a day as, glancing at the hospital
windows, you would not fail to see pale faces, full of weary
longing, looking forth. We had been all the morning in
the "diet kitchen," and the dinner for our large family of
over three hundred, on special diet, was well under way.
A rustle at the door, and looking up, we greeted Mrs. E.
She was always the bringer of good tidings, and this time
especially so.
"We have eight boxes of grapes for you," she said; "the
nicest Catawba, Isabella, &c.; and as it is a gloomy day, it
will be pleasant to distribute them at once, and show the
men that they are not forgotten by the friends at home."
We acted upon the suggestion immediately, and, accompanied
by the officer of the day, to tell us who could have grapes,
we were soon passing from cot to cot. It was wonderful
how the men brightened up. They could scarcely have expressed
more gratitude had we given them clusters of gold
instead of grapes. One elderly man sat on the side of his
cot, and seemed very impatient as we paused to say a word
to others near him. He had been long prostrated with a
fever, and we were surprised to find him sitting up; for
only a few days before we had taken him a few grapes, and
they were the first thing he had eaten for days. We knew
nothing would cheer the old man more than a little pleasantry.
So, as I came up, I said, with much solemnity,
laying the grapes on his stand, "To thy shrine, O hero of
the war, I bring my humble offering" — but stopped short
at that, for I discovered that his eyes were full of tears.
He then went on to tell me, that one week before he had
felt sure he must die. He could eat nothing, and felt himself
sinking slowly into the grave. Then the grapes were
brought him. In all his life he had never tasted anything
half so refreshing. The first thing he did was to pray God
to bless the good women that sent them. He took no
more medicine, and his recovery was rapid, dating from the
and a house full of little children, that will bless
the Commission while life lasts," said the old man, with
fervency; and I turned away, lest my own tears should
mingle with the grateful soldier's.
In one corner of one of the wards lay a man thin and pale,
and with eyes sufficiently glittering to represent the Ancient
Mariner. As we came near, we saw he was looking almost
fiercely at the dish piled high with grapes. As we laid an
unusually generous amount on the stand, he smiled grimly,
and began crowding them into his mouth. The officer of
the day came up in haste, and said that man must not have
any; they would injure him. He was not to be so treated,
and clutched them in both hands. The doctor, finding remonstrance
in vain, took the grapes from him by force, as
he was too weak to cope with a strong man. A disappointed
child could not have wept more bitterly than he
did, to be deprived of the only thing he had wanted for
months. My heart ached for him; but the doctor's word
was law, and we could only tell him how sorry we were. We
were very careful, afterwards, to have the doctor go ahead,
and point out any that could not have grapes, so as to avoid
such disappointments in future. Here and there we found
a man that would look longingly at the grapes, but shake
his head, and say there were others so much worse than he
that they should have them. How glad we were to be able
to say, we have enough for every man in the hospital!
We had one case of a soldier that had been wounded, —
shot through the breast, — and were thinking how much he
would enjoy the grapes. To the surprise of all, he shook
wound produced such nausea that he had not been able to
eat anything for some time. He would enjoy the grapes so
much but for that! There came to me a bright thought —
just arrived from the young ladies of Mount Pleasant,
Iowa — one box hospital stores, handkerchiefs, slippers,
pillow-cases, and a few bottles of perfumery. It took but
a moment to go to our room, return, and the soldier
found himself surrounded by far more savory odors than
ever floated from
"Araby the Blest."
that evening ate his supper.
Not a great while after, as we entered the hospital gates
with a basket of flowers — the last of the season — to
brighten for a few days the wards, we were surprised to see
the same soldier walking slowly towards us. He bowed
politely, and to our "What! you able to be out?" he
replied, —
"Yes, miss, the grapes and cologne saved me."
But it would be impossible to write out one half of the
interesting occurrences connected with that one day's distribution
of grapes.
One bright day in July, as we passed through the wards,
many of the men told us, that they thought if they could
get out into the sunshine, and see the trees and flowers
growing, it would almost cure them. They were worn out
with staring at the bare walls of the Gun Factory Hospital,
and would so like to see something green.
Accordingly there was a "council of war" held in the
diet kitchen, and the result was, that two very demurelooking
women, wearing the badge of the Christian Commission,
started out to steal. With covered hand-baskets
they went directly to the cemetery. But they surely could
not intend making any depredations there, for every few
steps were signs — "Five dollars fine for breaking, or in
any way injuring, the shrubbery." They went all round the
grounds, and soon ascertained that there was only one
grave-digger in the enclosure, and he in a remote part of
the grounds. Whether the Nashville people ever discovered
that day's work this deponent saith not; but one thing
is sure: a table in Number One Hospital was soon covered
with flowers, from two well-filled baskets. The next
question was, What would be done for vases? That question
was soon answered. The cans from which the condensed
milk had been taken for the pudding were just the
thing. Soon every ward was bright and fragrant with
flowers. If the perpetrators of the crime had had any
compunctions of conscience before, they all vanished as
the thanks of the men came to them from every ward.
While the summer lasted, the flowers did their good
work, but no one could tell where they came from.
| MISS MARY E. SHELTON. Women of the war : | |