University of Virginia Library

MISS MARIA M. C. HALL.

AT no time since civilization commenced on this continent,
has so loud a call been made on the patriotism
of the people as in the spring and summer of 1861. The
government was assailed by dangers new, vast, and undefined.
The people of eleven states, with a unanimity that
seemed appalling, had discarded the old love of national
union in which Americans had been educated; and this
languid fealty to the constitution was by no means confined
to the seceding states.

No community was more agitated by diverse sympathies,
and distracted by fierce partisanship, than the society of the
national capital. Many there were, of both sexes, a number
amounting almost to a majority at one time, whose
southern sympathies were neither moderate nor disguised.
Others, again, felt their whole natures stirred with a pure
and holy zeal to do all things, and suffer all things, to sustain
the government just as it was bequeathed to us, and
our national ensign, "with not a stripe erased or polluted,
nor a single star obscured."

Born in Washington, and reared amid the stirring and
historic associations of that political metropolis, Miss Hall
approved, with her whole soul, the efforts that the government
was disposed to make for the preservation of everything

most dear and sacred in American nationality. This
patriotic sentiment took the form of an earnest desire to
make a personal consecration of herself on the altar of
country.

Her father was too far advanced in years to take the field
as a soldier. Brother she had none of an age to shoulder
a musket. She had read of Florence Nightingale, and the
noble work she did in the Crimean war; and, in the enthusiasm
of a spirit naturally strong, and capable of intense
devotion to an object large enough to call out all its powers,
she planned for herself a course of action, and a career of
usefulness, that would in effect be reproducing the Crimean
heroine under our flag, and in the hospitals of our great
civil conflict.

Who shall say how many noble aspirations and unselfish
plans have been inspired by the golden record of that
English girl? By her it was proved that youth and grace,
education and gentleness, charming manners and winning
person, so far from unfitting woman for a life of effective
beneficence among homeless and suffering men, only render
her presence and attentions all the more powerful for good,
by the union of loveliness with efficiency, and by combining
the graces of girlhood with the dignity of the matron.

Thus wrote one of England's sweetest poets of the noblest
of British heroines; and the lines might have been written
with equal justice and propriety of Miss Hall's labors, from
the time she washed the blood and dust from the faces of
those who fought at Manassas, till the last of the long
procession of famished wretches from the Andersonville
stockade had filed through the wards of the Annapolis
Hospital.

From the summer of 1861 till the summer of 1865 —
four long, stern years — Miss Hall thought of nothing, and
cared for nothing, but how she could be most useful to the
suffering defenders of the national Union. No patriot who
shouldered his musket at the successive calls of our president,
felt himself more thoroughly committed to the cause,
or was more determined to march and fight, as long as
marching and fighting remained to be done. While there
were wounded soldiers to be nursed, or famished prisoners
to be fed, — while there remained a hospital that could be
made home-like by the ministry of woman, or cheered by
her song, or illuminated by her smile, — there might be
found for her noble work, happy usefulness, and a blessed
mission.

To her, with as great force as to any who thus devoted
themselves to lives of loyal charity, can be applied the
words which an old English author has written of women
in general: "To the honor, to the eternal honor, of the sex
be it recorded, that in the path of duty no sacrifice is to
them too high or too dear. Nothing is with them impossible
but to shrink from love, honor, innocence, and
religion. The voice of pleasure or of power may pass

by unheeded; but the voice of affliction, never! The chamber
of the sick, the pillow of the dying, the vigils of the dead,
the altars of religion, never missed the presence or the
sympathies of woman. Timid though she be, and so delicate
that the winds of heaven may not too roughly visit her,
on such occasions she loses all sense of danger, and assumes
a preternatural courage, which knows not and fears not
consequences."

In the summer of 1861, when those who were wounded
at Bethel and Manassas were first thrown upon the hands
of the medical department, there was a disposition very
much to disparage, and practically to exclude from army
labor, all females who were not very plain, very practical,
and at least thirty years of age. Miss Dix, whose long
humanitarian labors had entitled her opinion to much weight,
was clear that army nurses should be simply kind-hearted
and efficient. If they were sufficiently advanced in years
to have sons or grandsons in the army, that circumstance
was an advantage in their favor whenever application was
made to be permitted to labor for the soldier.

Miss Hall found all these views as to the proper character
of hospital nurses adverse to her own employment. She
was young, cultivated, and enthusiastic; but she was resolute
in her intention.

Mrs. Fales, of Washington city, was a lady who, during
the long struggle, interested herself in the soldier, and to
her Miss Hall applied for permission to visit the sick
and wounded. The first request was denied. Mrs. Fales
shared the views of Miss Dix, that youth, grace, and talent
were poor recommendations for a hospital nurse. She

tried to discourage the warm-hearted girl by telling her that
the work to be done was very plain, very practical, and
sometimes repulsive; that the men were dirty, and needed
washing; and their hair was all in tangles, and must be
combed out and brushed; that they were very hungry, and
cared for nothing but to get something good to eat. But all
these representations served rather to stimulate than to abate
her desire to go and work among them. It was only more
clear, from Mrs. Fales's account, that these poor fellows
needed nursing; and the kind-hearted woman at length
yielded to the earnest wishes of the noble girl, and took
her to the Indiana Hospital, which was established in an
unfinished wing of the Patent Office. "Now, girls," said
she to Miss Hall and her sister, as she opened the door of
one of the wards, "here they are, and everything to be done
for them. You will find work in plenty."

The discouragements and annoyances of hospital labor,
as Miss Hall found it, had not been overstated by Mrs.
Fales. The surgeons afforded few or no facilities for the
successful discharge of her duties; and for some time she
was rather tolerated as a young lady who had a whim to be
indulged, than appreciated as a true and earnest worker.
She labored for nearly a year at the Indiana Hospital, being
much of the time a solitary visitor, and all the year the
only regular and persistent worker. For a part of the
time, rather than be turned out of the hospital as a volunteer,
after the general order to that effect, she was enrolled
as "nurse," and drew army pay. This service at the Indiana
Hospital lasted for a year, from July, 1861, to July,
1862. It was never pleasant, nor in any respect flattering.

She had no position of command. She was not, as afterwards,
the head and centre of a platoon of hospital nurses,
all acting under her advice, and subject to her direction.
But the duties were assumed in a spirit of genuine loyalty
and self-sacrifice, and they were carried through with uncomplaining
fidelity and patience to the end.

In the summer of 1862, Miss Hall, with many other
ladies, bore a part in the fatigues and disappointments that
attended the close of the Peninsula campaign. She went
to Harrison's Landing on the hospital transport Daniel
Webster No. 2, and at one time remained there for two
weeks. In that position she met and coöperated with that
indefatigable and most admirable army worker, Mrs. Harris,
and conceived the highest admiration for a character where
the zeal of the Christian missionary seemed to be united
with the keenest insight and the most practical sense.

For a week or two after her return from Harrison's Landing,
Miss Hall was at her home in Washington, having
made an arrangement to go out with Mrs. Harris as soon
as there should be an urgent call from the field.

In a few days the battle at Antietam Creek was fought;
and almost before the result of that long and bloody struggle
was known, she received the telegram from Mrs. Harris,
"Meet me at McClellan's headquarters." In prompt obedience
to the call, she hurried to the front, finding much
difficulty, unattended as she was, in penetrating the lines,
and was unsuccessful in reaching either the commanding
general or her friend and fellow-laborer. As night was
closing over the confused and bloody field, she found herself
at a hospital where most of the wounded were rebels,

whom the rude fortunes of war had thrown helpless upon
the hands of the Federal surgeons. The surgeon in charge,
who very much needed assistance, begged Miss Hall to
remain and aid him. This she was reluctant to do, both
on account of her desire to find Mrs. Harris, and because
she preferred to work for the loyal sufferers. But these
objections were soon overcome, and she entered upon her
work.

One of her first experiences in this hospital was quite
touching. It was on the morning after her arrival. As she
entered one of the wards the usual sight met her eye. A
long row of narrow cots, with only space enough between
to admit the passage of an attendant and surgeon; men
lying very quietly, and nothing in their dress, manner, or
language to indicate which side they had taken in the recent
bloody struggle. She talked a little while to a wounded
Union boy, and gave him some writing materials. She
then spoke to another sufferer, and served him in a similar
manner. On the next cot was lying, very quietly, a man
of a settled and resolute countenance. "Would you like
to have writing materials also?" said Miss Hall to him.
"It wouldn't be of any use, ma'am," was his quiet reply.
"Why not?" said she; "are you wounded in the arm?"
"Yes," said he, "in the right shoulder; but that's not the
only reason." "Perhaps I can write for you; tell me what
to say, and I will write it down." "It would be of no use,"
was his reply. "Why not? Isn't there some one that would
like very much to hear from you?" "Yes, indeed; I have
an old mother, who would be very glad to hear from me;
but no letter would reach her now." "Yes, I think it

would," she replied. "Uncle Sam can take letters anywhere,
and he gives special attention to the letters that his
boys write." His face now grew more sober than before,
and the eyes were fixed directly on the ceiling. "Uncle
Sam isn't likely to do much for me," said he, slowly; and
then, unwilling for a girl to see a tear upon the cheek of a
soldier, he drew the sheet over his face, and added, in a
half-smothered voice, "my mother lives in South Carolina."
She went at once to the surgeon in charge, and asked if
letters could not be sent to South Carolina by flag of truce?
"Certainly, Miss Hall," said he; "there is no difficulty at
all about it, and I will send as many as you are willing to
write." There was, after that, no discrimination made by
her. A wounded soldier was a suffering man, no matter
whether he had fought under Lee or McClellan. Miss Hall
remained at this hospital more than a week, and then went
to the hospital of French's corps, where Mrs. Harris was at
work. Here she continued another week.

In the early part of October, all the field hospitals that
had been established in and around Antietam were broken
up, and the wounded conveyed to the General Hospital at
Smoketown, then in charge of Dr. Vanderkieft. To this
place Miss Hall went, and labored for nearly nine months.
The special diet department had been commenced and
systematized, in a very thorough and admirable manner,
by Miss Tyson, of Baltimore, who, however, on account
of failing health, was obliged to retire from the field.
Not long after Miss Hall's arrival there, two very excellent
and efficient ladies came to her aid from Philadelphia
— Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Husband. Between these

three ladies the hospital was divided into sections, each
having from two to three hundred patients under her
charge. Miss Hall's duties here were at once arduous and
monotonous; but as they were noble and beneficent, she
was more than contented. In the midwinter Mrs. Lee and
Mrs. Husband went down to the front, at Falmouth; and
from January till May, 1863, when this hospital was discontinued,
Miss Hall was, for the greater part of the time,
the only lady in regular attendance. For a few weeks, in
the summer of 1863, she was at home. When Gettysburg
was fought she was very solicitous to reach the front, and
engage in field service; but not meeting with any encouragement,
she yielded to the earnest solicitations of Dr.
Vanderkieft, who, having become thoroughly impressed
with the excellence of her service, and her fine administrative
talent at Antietam, begged her to come to Annapolis,
where he was in charge of a General Hospital, and coöperate
with him in his labors there. Although much preferring
service at the front, she went to Annapolis, and for
two years — from midsummer of 1863 till midsummer of
1865 — her labors there were incessant, her vigilance unceasing,
and the executive ability which she displayed was such
as to command the admiration of every person in the corps
of hospital workers, and of all who visited the establishment.
Much of this success is to be attributed to the entire
appreciation and hearty approval which she always enjoyed
of Dr. Vanderkieft, the surgeon in charge. Upon her first
going there, the doctor gave her, as he called it, a separate
command, making her superintendent of section number
five, embracing all the hospital tents in the parade ground.
Her immediate assistant here was Miss Helen M. Noye, of
Buffalo, N. Y. Miss Noye was a person who fell far short
of Miss Dix's idea of a hospital nurse, being very much
under thirty years of age, enthusiastic, graceful in person,
and winning in manners. But Miss Hall found her a hearty
worker and cheerful assistant.

During the time that she was in charge of section number
five, Mrs. Tyler, of Baltimore, was lady superintendent of
the wards in the building. A very earnest laborer, thinking
nothing done while anything remained undone, her
duties wore upon her health to such an extent that
in the spring of 1864 she was obliged to resign her
position and retire. Miss Hall then became lady superintendent
of the entire hospital. At times there were
more than four thousand persons under her care, and
although she had from ten to twenty assistants, to whom
separate wards were assigned, her labors of visitation were
as unremitting as ever. Her mind seemed to be in all
parts of the hospital, and she recollected the peculiarities
of almost every case. Her judgment as to the fitness of
her assistants was unerring, assigning to each such duties
or such wards as she was best fitted for. During the
latter part of the time, a great number of the patients
were those wretched victims of rebel malignity who had
come out alive from that forever infamous concentration
of horrors, the Andersonville stockade.

Miss Hall describes the condition of these unhappy men,
when they were first received at Annapolis, as in the last
degree pitiable and appalling. Sometimes, in looking at
them, she would find herself involuntarily carrying her

hand to her cheek, to see if it were possible that their
flesh was like hers, human and vitalized. The combined
effect of starvation, cold, sickness, and filth, had, in many
cases, parched the skin and flesh, so that they looked like
mummies, that by some strange witchery had been evoked
from the catacombs. "They seemed," she says, "to have
come from some strange outer world, some horrible land
of dimness and groans; `a land of darkness, where no light
is;' a world where the comforts, the sympathies, and the
hopes of common life are utterly excluded." The minds
of many of these poor creatures had been temporarily, at
least, crushed by the fearful ordeal. They seemed like
persons awaking from some long and horrible nightmare,
and would say, in their plain, but touching way, "Boys, does
'pear strange — don't it? — to see folks moving 'bout that
are white and clean?" "I declare, boys, it's like a streak
of daylight to see a woman moving about here." "Boys,"
said she, one day, to a group of them, "how did you live
through it? I would have supposed that the last one of
you would have died in such a place." Instantly there was
a chorus of answering voices, "Because we were right,
Miss Hall — because we were right, and knew we were;
that's what kept us alive." Then a grim old Tennesseean,
with a shaggy, weather-beaten mat of yellow beard, added,
"'Twas the flag that kept us up; if we'd been rebels, we
should all have perished to death."

The effect of this life upon the bad was to make them
worse. A returned prisoner was cursing one day in the
hospital, and the surgeon reproved him, saying such language
was not permitted there. "I don't care," said he.

"But I should suppose that you would respect God if you
didn't respect men." "I'm not afraid of God, nor of hell,"
said he; "I have lived through that stockade, and I can
live through hell."

Others, again, were brought to reformation by their sufferings.
Miss Hall was one day passing by a cot of a poor,
little, famished-looking boy, who turned a bright, fine eye
upon her, and seemed to wish she would speak to him.
"I think it has done me good," said he; "I think that I
shall be a better boy now that I've got out." "This is a
very good time to begin," said she. "I have begun
already," he replied, pulling a little Testament from under
the edge of his mattress; "I promised my God, that
if ever I did get out from that horrible place, I'd never
forget him any more, and I read this every day."