University of Virginia Library

8. PART VIII
WOMEN AND THE WAR

99. "How are you, Sanitary ?"
By MARY ASHTON LIVERMORE (1863)

IT is early morning,— not nine o'clock, for the children are flocking in merry droves to school. The air is resonant with their joyous treble and musical laughter, as with clustering heads and interlacing arms they recount their varied experiences since they parted the night before, and rapturously expatiate on the delights of a coming excursion or promised picnic. With a good-bye kiss, I launch my own little ones, bonneted, sacqued, and ballasted with books, like the rest, into the stream of childhood that is setting in a strong, full current toward the schoolroom. I then catch the first street-car and hasten to the rooms of the Northwestern Sanitary Commission.

Early as is my arrival, a dray is already ahead of me, unloading its big boxes and little boxes, its barrels and firkins, its baskets and bundles. The sidewalk is barricaded with the nondescript and multiform packages, which John, the faithful porter, with his inseparable truck, is endeavoring to stow away in the crowded receiving-room. Here, hammers and hatchets, wedges and chisels are in requisition, compelling the crammed

boxes to disgorge their heterogeneous contents' which are rapidly assorted, stamped, repacked, and reshipped, their stay in the room rarely exceeding a few hours.

I enter the office. Ladies are in waiting, desirous of information. The aid society in another state, of which they are officers, has raised at a Fourth of July festival some six hundred dollars, and they wish to know how to dispose of it, so as to afford the greatest amount of relief to the sick and wounded of our army. They were also instructed to investigate the means and methods of the Commission, so as to carry conviction to a few obstinate skeptics, who persist in doubting if the Sanitary Commission, after all, be the best means of communication with the hospitals. Patiently and courteously the history, methods, means, views, and successes of the Commission are lucidly explained for the hundredth time in a month, and all needed advice and instruction imparted; and the enlightened women leave.

An express messenger enters. He presents a package, obtains his fee, gets a receipt for the package, and without a word departs.

Next comes a budget of letters-the morning's mail. One announces the shipment of a box of hospital stores which will arrive to-day. Another scolds roundly because an important letter sent a week ago has not been answered, while a copy of the answer in the copying-book is indisputable proof that it has received attention, but has in some way miscarried. A third narrates a bugaboo story of surgeons and nurses in a distant hospital, with gluttonous habits, who are mainly occupied in "seeking what they can devour "of the hospital delicacies, so that little is

saved for their patients. A fourth pleads passionately that the writer may be sent as a nurse to the sad, cheerless, most poorly furnished and far-away hospitals.

A fifth is the agonized letter of a mother and widow, blistered with tears, begging piteously that the Commission will search out and send to her tidings of her only son, who has not been heard from since the battle of Grand Gulf. A sixth asks assistance in organizing the women of a distant town, who have just awakened to their duty to their brothers in the field. A seventh is a letter from two nine-year-old girls, who have between them earned five dollars, and wish to spend it for the poor sick soldiers. An eighth begs that one of the ladies of the Commission will visit the aid society of the town in which the writer lives, and rekindle the flagging zeal of the tired ' workers. They propose to cease work during the hot weather, forgetting that our brave men halt not on their marches, and postpone not their battles, because of the heat or of weariness. A ninth announces the death of one of our heroic nurses, who was sent by the Commission a few months ago to Tennessee—a serious, comely girl, with heart as true as steel, and soul on fire with patriotic desire to do something for her country, and who has now given her life. And so on through a package of twenty, thirty, forty, sometimes fifty letters; and this is but one mail of the day.

Now begins the task of replying to these multitudinous epistles— a work which is interrupted every five minutes by some new comer. A venerable man enters, walking slowly, and my heart warms towards him. I remember my aged father, a thousand miles

away, who is, like him, white-haired and feeble. He has been here before, and I immediately recognize him.

"Have you heard anything yet from my son in Van Buren Hospital, at Milliken's Bend? "

"Not yet, sir; you know it is only nine days since I wrote to inquire for him. I will telegraph if you think best."

"No matter;"and the old man's lip quivers, his figure trembles violently, a sob chokes him, his eyes fill with tears, as with a deprecating wave of the hand he says, "No matter now!"

I understand it all. It is all over with his boy, and the cruel tidings have reached him. I rise and offer my hand. He encloses it convulsively in his, leans his head against the iron column near my desk, and his tears drop steadily.

"Your son has only gone a little before you,"I venture to say; "only a hand's breadth of time between you now."

"Yes,"adds the poor old father; "and he gave his life for a good cause— a cause worthy of it if he had been a thousand times dearer to me than he was."

"And your boy's mother— how does she bear this grief ? "

The tears rain down his checks now.

"It will kill her; she is very feeble."

Sympathy and comfort are proffered the poor father, and after a little the sorrowing man turns again to his desolate home.

A childish figure drags itself into the room, shuffles heavily along, drops into a chair, and offers a letter. I open the letter and read. He is a messenger-boy from Admiral Porter's gunboats, who is

sent North with the request that the child be properly cared for. Not thirteen years old, and yet he has been in many battles, and has run the gauntlet of the Vicksburg batteries, which for ten miles belched forth red-hot and steel-pointed shot and shell, in fruitless efforts to sink the invulnerable ironclads. Fever, too much medicine, neglect, and exposure, have done their worst for the little fellow, who has come North, homeless and friendless, with the right side paralyzed. He is taken to the Soldiers' Home, and for the present is consigned to the motherly care of the good ladies who preside there.

A bevy of nurses enter next with carpet-bags, shawls, and bundles. A telegram from the Commission has summoned them, for the hospitals at Memphis need them, and straightway they have girded themselves to the work. One is a widow, whose husband fell at Shiloh; another is the wife of a lieutenant at Vicksburg; a third lost her brother at Chancellorsville; a fourth has no family ties, and there is no one to miss her while absent, or to mourn her if she never returns. They receive their instructions, commissions, and transportation, and hurry onward.

Ah! that white, anxious face, whiter than ever, is again framed in the doorway. Is there no possible escape from it? One, two, three, four days she has haunted these rooms, waiting the answer to the telegram despatched to Gettysburg, where her son was wounded ten days ago. The answer to the telegram is this moment in my pocket-how shall I repeat its stern message to the white-faced, sorrow-stricken mother ? I involuntarily leave my desk, and bustle about, as if in search of something, trying to think

how to break the news. I am spared the effort, for the morning papers have announced her bereavement, and she has only come to secure the help of the Commission in obtaining possession of her dead. There are no tears, no words of grief ; only a still agony, a repressed anguish, which it is painful to witness. Mr. Freeman accompanies her to the railroad officials, where his pleading story wins the charity of a free pass for the poor woman to the military line. There she must win her way, aided by the letters of endorsement and recommendation we give her. Bowing under her great sorrow, she goes forth on her sacred pilgrimage.

Soldiers from the city hospitals visit us, to beg a shirt, a pair of slippers, a comb, or a well-filled pincushion, something interesting to read, or paper, envelopes, and stamps, to answer letters from wives, mothers, and sweethearts. They tarry to talk over their trials, sufferings, and privations, and their anxiety to get well and join their regiments, which is better than being cooped up in a hospital, even when it is a good one. They are praised heartily, petted in motherly fashion as if they were children, which most sick men become, urged to come again, and sent back altogether lighter-hearted than when they came.

So the day wears away. More loaded drays drive to the door with barrels of crackers, ale, pickles, sauerkraut, and potatoes, with boxes of shirts, drawers, condensed milk and beef, with bales of cotton and flannel for the sewing-room, all of which are speedily disposed of, to make room for the arrivals of the morrow. Men and women come and go—to visit, to make inquiries, to ask favors, to offer services, to criticise and find

fault, to bring news from the hospitals at Vicksburg, Memphis, Murfreesboro' and Nashville, to make inquiries for missing men through the Hospital Directory of the Commission, to make donations of money, always needed, to retail their sorrows, and sometimes to idle away an hour in the midst of the hurrying, writing, copying, mailing, packing and shipping of this busy place.

The sun declines westward, its fervent heat is abating, and the hands of the clock point to the hour of six, and sometimes to seven. Wearied in body, exhausted mentally, and saturated with the passing streams of others' sorrows, I select the letters which must be answered by to-morrow morning's mail, replies to which have been delayed by the interruptions of the day, and again hail the street-car, which takes me to my home.

100. Gifts for the Soldiers
By MARY ASHTON LIVERMORE (1863)

A POOR girl, who called herself a tailoress, came one day to the rooms of the Commission.

"I do not feel right,"she said, "that I am doing nothing for our soldiers in the hospitals. I must do something immediately. Which do you prefer-that I should give money, or buy material and manufacture it into hospital clothing ? "

"You must be governed by your circumstances,"was the answer made her. "We need both money and supplies, and you must do that which is most convenient for you."

"I prefer to give money, if it will do as much good."

"Very well, then, give money. We need it badly, and without it cannot do what is most necessary for our brave men."

"I will give the Commission my net earnings for the next two weeks. I would give more, but my mother is an invalid, and I help support her. Usually I make but one vest a day, as I do I custom work,' and am well paid for it. But these next two weeks, which belong to the soldiers, I shall work earlier and later."

In two weeks she came again, the poor sewing girl, with a radiant face. Opening her porte-monnaie, she counted out nineteen dollars and thirty-seven cents. She had stitched into the hours of midnight on every one of the working days of those two weeks.

A little girl, not nine years old, with sweet and timid grace, entered one afternoon, and laid a fivedollar gold piece on my desk. Half-frightened, she told its story. "My uncle gave me that before the war, and I was going to keep it always. But he's got killed in the army, and now mother says I may give it to the soldiers if I want to— and I'd like to. Will it buy much for them?"

I led the child to the store-room, and pointed out to her what it would buy—so many cans of condensed milk, or so many bottles of ale, or so many pounds of tea, or codfish. Her face brightened with pleasure. But when I explained that her five-dollar gold piece was equal then to seven and a half dollars in greenbacks, and told her how much comfort could be carried into a hospital with the amount of stores it would purchase, she fairly danced for joy. "Why, my five dollars will do lots of good, won't it?"

Folding her hands before her in a charmingly earnest way, she begged me to tell her something that I had seen in the hospitals. A narration of a few touching events, such as would not too severely shock the child, but which showed the necessity of continued benevolence to the hospitals, brought tears to her eyes, and the resolution to her lips, to "get all the girls to save their money to buy things for the wounded soldiers."And away she ran, happy in the luxury of doing good.

A little urchin who often thrust his unkempt pate into the room, with the shrill cry of "Matches! Matches! "had stood a little apart, watching the girl, and listening to the conversation. As she disappeared, he fumbled in his pockets, and drew out a small handful of crumpled fractional currency, such as was then in use. "Here,"said he, "I'll give yer suthin' for them are sick fellers! "And he put fiftyfive cents in my hand, all in five-cent currency. I was surprised, and hesitated.

"No, my boy, don't give it. I am afraid you cannot afford it. You're a noble little fellow, but that is more than you ought to give. You keep it, and I'll give fifty-five cents for you—or somebody else will."

"Git eout! "was his disgusted commentary on my proposal. " Yer take it, now. P'raps I ain't so poor as yer think. My father, he saws wood, and my mother, she takes in washin', and I sells matches, and Tom, he sells papers, and p'raps we've got more money than yer think. Our Bob, he'd a gone to the war hisself, but he got his leg cut off on the railroad, in a smash-up. He was a brakeman, yer see. You take this, now! "

I took the crumpled currency. I forgot the boy's

dirty face and tattered cap; I forgot that I had called the little tatterdemalion a "nuisance"every day for months, when he had caused me to jump from my seat with his shrill, unexpected cry of "Matches!"and I actually stooped to kiss him.

He divined my intention and darted out on the sidewalk as if he had been shot.

"No, yer don't! "he said, shaking his tangled head at me, and looking as if he had escaped a great danger. "I ain't one o' that kissin' sort! "

Ever after, when he met me, he gave me a wide berth, and walked off the sidewalk into the gutter, eyeing me with a suspicious, sidelong glance, as though he suspected I still thought of kissing him. If I spoke to him, he looked at me shyly and made no reply. But if I passed him without speaking, he challenged me with a hearty "Hullo, yer! "that brought me to an instant halt.

101. A Too Successful Tombola
By ELIZA RIPLEY (1862)

IN the neighboring city of Baton Rouge we organized the Campaign Sewing Society: its very title shows how transient we regarded the emergency; how little we deemed the campaign would develop into a four years' war. There many of us received our first lessons in the intricacies of coats and pantaloons. I so well remember when, in the glory of my new acquirements, I proudly made a pair of cottonade trousers for a brother we were fitting out in surpassing style for service, my embarrassment and

consternation when I overheard him slyly remark to my husband that he had to stand on his head to button them— they lapped the wrong way! Stockings had also to be provided, and expert knitters found constant work. By wearing a knitting bag at my side, and utilizing every moment, I was by no means

CONFEDERATE MONEY.

[Description: Illustration of various types of Confederate bills]

the only one able to turn off a coarse cotton stocking, with a rather short leg, every day.

From the factory in our little city— the only one, by the way, of any size or importance in the state we procured the cloth required for suits, but in the lapse of time, the supply of buttons, thread, needles, and tape, in fact of all the little accessories of the sewing room, was exhausted, and to replenish the stock our thoughts and conversation were necessarily

turned into financial channels. I cordially recommend to societies and impecunious institutions the scheme in all its entirety that we adopted, as vastly superior to the ordinary and much maligned fair; the plan was the offspring of necessity; the demand was so instant and urgent that we could undertake no fair or entertainment that involved time, work, or expense.

A tombola, where every article is donated and every ticket draws a prize, was the happy result of numerous conferences. The scheme was discussed with husbands and brothers; each suggested an advancement or improvement on the other, until the project expanded so greatly, including all classes and conditions of donors, that it was quickly found that not only a large hall, but a stable and a warehouse would also be required to bold the contributions, which embraced every imaginable article from a toothpick to a cow!

The hall was soon overflowing with minor articles from houses and shops. Nothing was either too costly or too insignificant to be refused : a glass show-case glittered with jewelry of all styles and patterns, and bits of rare old silver; pictures, and engravings, old and faded, new and valuable, hung side by side on the walls ; odd pieces of furniture, work-boxes, lamps and candelabra were arranged here and there, to stand out in bold relief amid an immense array of pencils, tweezers, scissors, penknives, tooth-picks, darning needles, and such trifles; the stalls of the stable were tenanted by mules, cows, hogs with whole litters of pigs, and varieties of poultry; the warehouse groaned tinder the weight of barrels of sugar, molasses, and rice, and bushels of meal, potatoes, turnips and corn. Tickets for a chance at this

miscellaneous collection sold for one dollar each. As is ever the case, the blind goddess is capricious : with the exception of an old negro woman who won a set of pearls, I cannot remember anyone who secured a prize worth the price of the ticket. I invested in twenty tickets, for which I received nineteen leadpencils and a frolicsome old goat, with beard hanging down to his knees, and horns like those which brought down the walls of Jericho. Need I add that the general commanding refused to receive that formidable animal at Arlington ?

The tombola was a grand, an overwhelming success; without one dollar of outlay— the buildings and necessary printing bad been donated—we made six thousand dollars. Before this sum could be sent to New Orleans, that city was in the hands of its captors.

Thus cut off from the means of securing necessary supplies, and at the same time for facilities for communication. with those whom we sought to aid, the Campaign Sewing Society sadly disbanded. The busy workers retired to their own houses, the treasurer fled with the funds for safe-keeping, and, when she emerged from her retreat, six thousand dollars in Confederate paper was not worth six cents.

102. "I am a Southern Girl"

103. The Yankee Wounded
By B. ESTVAN (1863)

I TOOK a great interest in the fate of the poor wounded prisoners in the hospitals at Richmond, firstly, because, owing to the animosity which prevailed

against the Yankees, I fancied they would not be much cared for; and, secondly, because I was aware, that, even with the best intentions, the Government could not do much for so many as thirty thousand wounded men. Richmond, at that time, had the appearance of a great hospital. Every public building was filled with the sick and wounded. Many of the patients had never been in action. Bad food, insufficient clothing, and want of proper attention had brought them into a state of disease. Two surgeons to attend upon six hundred patients were all I found in one hospital; happily, among the prisoners there were a few medical men, who did what they could to alleviate the suffering of their comrades. I shuddered at the spectacle I had to witness; the wounds of many had not been attended to, and their clothing was stiff from clotted blood. I did what I could to improve their condition, I went from bed to bed, promising to exert all my influence in their favor, and many a poor fellow looked me his silent thanks.

I called upon General Winder to represent the case of these unfortunate men. Whilst every attention was paid to our own wounded and sick by the inhabitants, the unfortunate prisoners were allowed to rot and die. General Winder could not withstand my appeal, and promised me his assistance. I then appealed to the German and Irish population to come forward and do something for the poor prisoners, and in a few hours that appeal was responded to. I myself sent everything I could spare from my ward. robe. Many a bottle of wine and parcel of lint, prepared by German ladies, now found their way to the hospitals, and the Irish population, with their natural good nature, brought all the linen they could spare

to the surgeons of the prisoners. When it is considered that the persons who did this ran the risk of being arrested by the secret police, the very smallest gifts rank as great sacrifices, for even a glance of pity at a poor sick enemy would have brought them under the suspicion of being traitors to their country. In a few days some sort of system was introduced into the prisoners' hospital. The sick were attended to and waited upon, received changes of linen, and were cheered with the hope of recovery. Many a tear rolled down their pale checks, and many a blessing was bestowed on me on the day when I took leave of them, and I left with the conviction that I had preserved the life of many a brave fellow.

After the seven days' fight before Richmond, hundreds of wounded, friend and foe, were brought into Richmond, where for a long time they were left exposed to a broiling sun upon the platform of the railway station. I went with a friend of mine, Captain Travers, son of an admiral in the Confederate fleet, to the station, to render help. Owing to the destruction of the Merrimac, Captain Travers was out of employment, and was in plain clothes. Captain Travers was a fine-looking man, had travelled far, and was a perfect gentleman. When we reached the station, the greatest confusion prevailed; groups of wounded lay in all directions, a number of benevolent ladies, with their black servants, were distributing tea, coffee, chocolate, and broth, to the wounded.

However, I soon observed that they took no notice of many of the sufferers. Some one touched my spur, and on looking down, I beheld one of those ghastly faces which can never be forgotten. It was that of a stately-looking soldier of the enemy, in full uniform.

"You are a German officer,"he said. "Yes, comrade,"I replied; and his eye brightened. "Then I beg of you, most earnestly," he said, "to get me a cup of coffee."Both Travers and myself immediately went up to a lady who belongs to one of the best families of the South, and who had just passed the poor fellow by, without taking any notice of him. 11 Madam St. Clair,"I said, "will you give me a cup of coffee for a wounded man ? ""Oh, certainly,"she said, and her servant handed me a cup. I hastened back, but whilst I was stooping down to give it to the wounded man, some one pulled me by the sleeve, and to my astonishment, it was Mrs. St. Clair, who, in a harsh voice, asked me if I was aware I was helping a miserable Yankee. " No, madam,"I replied, "I do not know that, but I know that he is a brave soldier, as is proved by his wounds."At the same time I gave this prejudiced woman a look of scorn, which made her beat a hasty retreat, and I then gave the coffee to the wounded man. Tears ran down his furrowed, sunburnt cheeks, and having somewhat recovered himself, he whispered to me, " I am a Swiss; I served for ten years in the Kabermatter regiment at Naples, but never thought I should die in such a hole as this."I endeavored to console him as best I could.

Captain Travers now arrived with a basket of strawberries, and pressing some between his fingers, put them into the poor fellow's mouth. Whilst thus occupied, a man seized him by the arm, and said, "I arrest you."It was one of the police agents. Captain Travers drew himself up to his full height, "On what ground?"he said. "Because you are helping the enemy,"he replied, "and all the ladies here are

talking about it.""If it is your intention to arrest me, you can do your vile work at the American Hotel, where I am staying. My name is Captain Travers."As if he had been bitten by a snake, the miserable wretch started back, pleaded duty and the instigation of the ladies as his excuse, and went away.

104. A Nurse's Experience
By LOUISA MAY ALCOTT (1862)

PRESENTLY Miss Blank tore me from my refuge behind piles of one-sleeved shirts, odd socks, bandages and lint; put basin, sponge, towels, and a block of brown soap into my hands with these appalling directions :

"Come, my dear, begin to wash as fast as you can. Tell them to take off socks, coats, and shirts, scrub them well, put on clean shirts, and the attendants will finish them off, and lay them in bed."

If she had requested me to shave them all, or dance a hornpipe on the stove funnel, I should have been less staggered; but to scrub some dozen lords of creation at a moment's notice, was really really—. However, there was no time for nonsense, and having resolved when I came to do everything I was bid, I drowned my scruples in my wash-bowl, clutched my soap manfully, and assuming a businesslike air, made a dab at the first dirty specimen I saw, bent on performing my task vi et armis if necessary. I chanced to light on a withered old Irishman, wounded in the head, which caused that portion of his frame to be tastefully laid out like a garden, the

bandages being the walks, his hair the shubbery. He was so overpowered by the honor of having a lady wash him, as he expressed it, that he did nothing but roll up his eyes, and bless me, in an irresistible style which was too much for my sense of the ludicrous;

A NORTHERN BELLE.

[Description: A bust of a woman with a flower-bonnet and a ribbon around her neck.]

so we laughed together, and when I knelt down to take off his shoes, he "flopped "also and wouldn't hear of my touching " them dirty craters. May your bed above be aisy darlin' for the day's work ye are doing!—Woosh! there ye are, and bedad, it's hard tellin' which is the dirtiest, the fut or the shoes."It was, and if he hadn't been to the fore, I should have gone on pulling under the impression that the "fut " was a boot, for trousers, socks, shoes, and legs were a mass of mud. This comical tableau produced a general grin, at which propitious beginning I took heart, and scrubbed away like any tidy parent on a Saturday night. Some of them took the performance like sleepy children, leaning their tired heads against me while I worked, others looked grimly scandalized, and several of the roughest colored like bashful girls. One wore a soiled little bag about his neck, and as I moved it to bathe his wounded breast, I said:—

"Your talisman didn't save you, did it?"

"Well, I reckon it did, marm, for that shot would have gone a couple of inches deeper but for my old mammy's camphor bag,"answered the cheerful philosopher.

Another, with a gun shot through the cheek, asked for a looking-glass, and when I brought one, regarded his swollen face with a dolorous expression, as he muttered:—

"I vow that's bad! I warn't a bad looking chap before, and now I'm done for. Won't there be a thundering scar? and what on earth will Josephine Skinner say?"

He looked at me with his one eye so appealingly that I controlled my laughter, and assured him that if Josephine was a girl of sense, she would admire the honorable scar, as a lasting proof that he had faced the enemy, for all women thought a wound the best decoration a brave soldier could wear.

The next scrubbee was a nice looking lad, with

a curly brown mane. and a budding trace of gingerbread over the lip, which he called his beard, and defended stoutly when the barber jocosely suggested its immolation. He lay on a bed with one leg gone and the right arm so shattered that it must evidently follow; yet the little Sergeant was as merry as if his afflictions were not worth lamenting over, and when a drop or two of salt water mingled with my suds at the sight of this strong young body so marred and maimed, the boy looked up with a brave smile though there was a little quiver on the lips, as he said:—

"Now don't you fret yourself about me., miss; I'm first rate here, for it's nuts to lie still on this bed, after knocking about in those confounded ambulances, that shake what there is left of a fellow to jelly. I never was in one of these places before, and think this cleaning up a jolly thing for us, though I'm afraid it isn't for you ladies."

"Is this you're first battle, Sergeant ?

"No, miss; I've been in six scriminages, and never got a scratch till this last one; but it's done the business pretty thoroughly for me, I should say. Lord! What a scramble there will be for arms and legs when we old boys come out of our graves on judgment Day. Wonder if we shall get our own again? If we do, my leg will have to tramp from Fredericksburg, my arm from here, I suppose, and meet my body, wherever it may be."

The fancy seemed to tickle him mightily, for be laughed blithely, and so did I; which, no doubt, causes the new nurse to be regarded as a light-minded sinner by the Chaplain, who roamed vaguely about, informing the men that they were all worms, corrupt

of heart, with perishable bodies, and souls only to be saved by a diligent perusal of certain tracts, and other equally cheering bits of spiritual consolation, when spirituous ditto would have been preferred.

105. In the Hospital
By JAMES KENDALL HOSMER (1863)

My first visit to the hospital put me face to face with its gloomiest spectacles. A mail had come, and

it fell to me to distribute to the patients their letters. I had been giving letters to well men, had my own pocket full, was happy myself, and had come from among men as happy as men ever are; for I have discovered the secret of happiness to be hidden in mail-bags. I rushed up the stairs leading to the second story of the building, the rooms of which are used as part of the hospital. Two or three doors were before me. I opened the first, and found myself alone in the presence of a corpse. It was the body of a man who had died the night before. He lay in full soldier's dress, decently brushed coat with military buttons, and with a white cloth covering the face. He was buried in the afternoon; the regiment drawn up in a hollow square, solemnly silent, while the service was performed: then standing reverently while the body and its escort with the muffled drum moved to the burial. I have heard of the wail of the fife, but never made it real to myself until then, when across the parade-ground, down the street, then from the distance, came the notes of the Dead March.

In the next room to the one in which lay the corpse, the floor was covered with pale, sick men. Now they have rough bedsteads or bunks; but then there was nothing but the mattress under them, and sometimes only the blankets. One or two attendants, as many as could be spared from the regiment, had the care of the whole; but they were far too few. One poor man was in a sad way, with inflammatory rheumatism, which made it very painful for him to stir;— crouching, wrapped up in blankets over the fire, or stretched out on a floor. God pity the world if it has sights in it more melancholy than a military hospital!

The hospital of our regiment is only in part located in these rooms, of which I have been writing. Most of the patients (I am sorry to write, they are very numerous) are in a larger building, once a hotel, which lies a few rods outside the lines. Well do I know the

road thither now, by night or day, by storm or sunshine; for, after the doctor's visits, it is my work to go to the hospital-steward after the medicines and comforts for my sick men. How many times already have I climbed the steep clay bank of the parapet, then slid down into the ditch outside!—a hill of difficulty in bad weather, when one's feet slip from under him in the slimy soil. The old bar-room of the hotel is now the hospital-kitchen and head-quarters of the surgeon and steward. Above the bar is a flaring gilt sign, "Rainbow Saloon"; and below it, along the shelves which once held the liquors, are arranged the apothecary stores of the regiment. The steward is constantly busy,—one of the hardestworked men in the regiment, I believe; for he prepares pills and powders by the thousand, and the rattle of his pestle is almost constant.

In the rooms above lie the sick men, and in one apartment the surgeon is quartered. Every morning, just at light, "surgeon's call"is beaten; and from each company a sergeant marches off at the head of a long line of sick men to be prescribed for. These men are unwell, but not so badly off as to be obliged to leave their ordinary quarters for the accommodations of the hospital.

Let us go up stairs into this second story. At the head of the staircase, the door of a room is ajar; and I see the bed on which generally is lying one of the sickest patients of the hospital, some man near to death,— a comfortable, canopied bed, a death-bed for numbers. To-night, poor Paine, of our company, who died a little while ago, has just been laid out there. An entry runs north and south, from which, on each side, open the doers of other sick-rooms,

where men with fever and dysentery, with agues, and racking, lung-shattering coughs, lie stretched on mattresses. Here is one with ghastly fever-light in his eyes; there, one pale and hollow-checked. Wrapped to the chin in blankets, some are; some parched with the fire of disease,— their buttons and gay dress-coats, the finery in which they used to appear at dress-parade, hanging forlornly overhead.

The nurses, too, looked jaded and worn: and no wonder; for, with a dismal contagion, the torpor and weariness in the faces about will communicate itself to the attendants and visitors, and the most cheerful countenance can hardly help becoming forlorn. Our chaplain and colonel (both good, energetic, and useful men) make it part of their daily duty to go to every couch, and befriend the poor fellows lying there; and their visits are the golden hours of the day at the hospital,—waited and prayed for. The doctor's apartment is large. In one corner are piled up the "stretchers,"the cots with handles, which are meant to carry wounded men off the field. At daybreak, each day, this room is filled with the procession which answers the surgeon's call.

Now I am a nurse in the hospital; though in the room, my " ward,"I have only two patients, and can make things more comfortable than in most of the rooms. Only two patients: but they both have this terrible fever; and I fear (God knows how much!) for this young brother. Yet I must veil my apprehension. To-night, a letter must be sent North. My heart is sinking; but I must counterfeit light, heartedness, lest they take alarm.

106. Barbara Frietchie
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER (1863)

107. A Midnight Flight
BY ELIZA RIPLEY (1862)

THE only exact date I can remember, and that I never forget, was the 17th of December.

The weather was warm for the season, a thick fog hung over the river, obscuring objects only a few yards distant. As I stood by the window, in the early morning, completing my toilet, the white, misty curtain rolled up like a scroll, revealing a fleet of gunboats. Far as the eye could reach, up and down and around our point, the river was bristling with

gayly flagged transports, anchored mid-stream, waiting for the dissipation of the mist to proceed. In a twinkling all was excitement with the hurry and bustle of our immediate departure.

A breakfast eaten "on the fly "as it were, a rushing here and there, and packing of necessaries for our journey, God only knew whither, we did not care where, so we escaped a repetition of scenes that had made us old before our time, and life a constant excitement that was burning us up. William was despatched to the city on a tour of observation. He returned, to report ten thousand men and the most warlike demonstrations that the darky's genius could invent; pickets to be stationed away beyond Arlington, and all of us to be embraced within the lines and made to "toe de mark.""Mars Jim, and every white man what harbored a Confederate soldier de time of de fight, was to be tuk prisoner."The more William told, the more he remembered to tell; and, long before he was through with his recital, I was perplexed, bewildered, and almost distracted.

The negro men were summoned from their quarters to help load the wagon. We put in cooking utensils, some dishes and plates, bedding and a small mattress, a few kegs and boxes of necessary provisions, a trunk of clothing, some small bags and bundles—that was all.

The mules safely locked in the stable, the harnesses all ready to slip on, extra straps and ropes thrown into the wagon—too excited to sleep, we threw ourselves on our beds for the last time; too tired to talk, sore at heart; too worn out to weep. There we lay in a fitful and uneasy slumber. In the dead stillness of the night there came a low tap at our chamber

door. "Mars Jim! "My husband was on his feet with a bound. "Your niggers is all gone to de Yankees; de pickets is on our place, and dey done told your niggers you would be arrested at daylight."The speaker was head sugar maker on an adjoining plantation, himself a slave. "Call Dominick and tell him to get my buggy ready while I put on some clothes,"was the only response. I lighted the candle and hurried my husband off—, while he whispered directions for me to join him immediately after breakfast at the house of a neighbor, five miles back of us, which he could speedily reach by going through the woods, and to have one of the men drive the wagon, and one drive the ambulance through the'longer but better wagon-road.

That was all—and he was gone. I did not lie down again, but wandered around in an aimless sort of way, too distracted to do a useful or sensible thing.

At the first appearance of dawn I aroused William to prepare breakfast, and Charlotte to get the table ready. Before the children were awake, I was down at the stable, having William and Willy hitch up the teams. I saw with half an eye that William was not in sympathy with our plans, and knew intuitively that my husband distrusted him. He who had been my husband's valet in his gay bachelor days and our confidential servant, our very aid and help in all my bright married life, had had his poor woolly head turned by that one trip to town, and asserted his independence at the first shadow of provocation. William failing me, I knew I must seek other help.

Being ready and eager to start, I immediately went down to the quarters, a half-mile distant; there I waited, going from cabin to cabin, and walked to the

dwelling-house and back again. Willy stood by the hitched-up teams, and Sabe, near by, held the baby in her arms, while little Henry clung to her skirts. Then back to the quarters. This man "had a misery in his back—had had it ever since the crevasse " ; that man "never druv in his life—didn't I know he was de engineer?"Another man "wouldn't drive old Sall-she was de balkiest mule on de place; you won't get a mile from here 'fore she takes de contraries, and won't budge a step."

I could have sat down and wept my very heart out. It was long past noon; the harnessed mules had to be fed, and William made out to say: "We had better take a little snack, and give it up; if we stayed home, Mars Jim would come back; the Yankees didn't have nothin' 'gin him."

At last old Dave said he "warn't no hand wid mules, but he 'lowed he could tackle old Sal till she balked."There was no time for bargaining for another driver now. I caught at Dave's offer before he knew it, only stopping long enough to bid all the deluded creatures a hasty goodby.

Dave was hurried by my rapid steps back to the stable, and Sabe came out with the tired children. just as I thought we were fairly off, William announced, "Sence you was gone a Yankee gunboat is cum down, and I see it's anchored 'tween us and Kernel Hickey's."A peep around the corner of the house confirmed the truth of his statement. Hastily grasping a carpet-bag, lying ready packed in the ambulance, I ascended to my bedroom, took from it two large pockets quilted thick with jewels which I secured about my person, while Charlotte put the breakfast forks and spoons in the bottom of the bag.

When I returned to the teams, everybody was standing about, apparently waiting to see what "Miss 'Lize "would do now. Summoning every effort to command a voice whose quaver must have betrayed my intense emotion, I directed Willy to mount the wagon, a few last baskets and packages were tossed into the ambulance, and Henry's little pony tied behind. I got in, then the little ones and Sabe; Dave shambled into his place in front; the curtain cutting off the driver's seat was carefully rolled up, so I could have an unobstructed view, and Willy was told to lead the way.

So I rode away from Arlington, leaving the sugarhouse crowded to its utmost capacity with the entire crop of sugar and molasses of the previous year for which we had been unable to find a market within 96 our lines,"leaving cattle grazing in the fields, sheep wandering over the levee, doors and windows flung wide open, furniture in the rooms, clothes too fine for me to wear now hanging in the armoires, china in the closets, pictures on the walls, beds unmade, table spread. It was late in the afternoon of that bright, clear, bracing day, December 18, 1862, that I bade Arlington adieu forever.

108. The Johnny Reb's Epistle to the Ladies
By W. E. M. (1862)

109. The Angel of the Battle-field
By SURGEON JAMES L. DUNN (1862)

THE Sanitary Commission, together with three or four noble, self-sacrificing women, have furnished everything that could be required. I will tell you of one of these women, a Miss Barton, the daughter of judge Barton, of Boston, Mass. I first met her at the battle of Cedar Mountain, where she appeared in front of the hospital at twelve o'clock at night, with a four-mule team loaded with everything needed, and at a time when we were entirely out of dressings of every kind; she supplied us with everything; and while the shells were bursting in every direction, took her course to the hospital on our right, where she found everything wanting again. After doing everything she could on the field, she returned to Culpepper, where she staid dealing out shirts to the naked wounded, and preparing soup, and seeing it prepared, in all the hospitals. I thought that night if Heaven ever sent out an angel, she must be one, her assistance was so timely. Well, we began our retreat up the Rappahannock. I thought no more of our lady friend, only that she had gone back to Washington. We arrived on the disastrous field of Bull Run; and while the battle was raging the fiercest on Friday, who should drive up in front of our hospital but this same woman, with her mules almost dead, having made forced marches from Washington to the army. She was again a welcome visitor to both the wounded and the surgeons.

The battle was over, our wounded removed on Sunday, and we were ordered to Fairfax Station; we

had hardly got there before the battle of Chantilly commenced, and soon the wounded began to come in. Here we had nothing but our instruments—not even a bottle of wine. When the cars whistled up to the station, the first person on the platform was Miss Barton, to supply us again with bandages, brandy, wine, prepared soup, jellies, meal, and every article that could be thought of. She staid there until the last wounded soldier was placed on the cars, and then bade us good-by and left.

I wrote you at the time how we got to Alexandria that night and next morning. Our soldiers had no time to rest after reaching Washington, but were ordered to Maryland by forced marches. Several days of hard marching brought us to Frederick, and the battle of South Mountain followed. The next day our army stood face to face with the whole force. The rattle of one hundred and fifty thousand muskets, and the fearful thunder of over two hundred cannon, told us that the great battle of Antietam had commenced. I was in a hospital in the afternoon, for it was then only that the wounded began to come in.

We had expended every bandage, torn up every sheet in the house, and everything we could find, when who should drive up but our old friend Miss Barton, with a team loaded down with dressings of every kind, and everything we could ask for. She distributed her articles to the different hospitals, worked all night making soup, all the next day and night; and when I left, four days after the battle, I left her there ministering to the wounded and the dying. When I returned to the field hospital last week, she was still at work, supplying them with delicacies of every kind, and administering to their

wants—all of which she does out of her own private fortune. Now, what do you think of Miss Barton? In my feeble estimation, General McClellan, with all his laurels, sinks into insignificance beside the true heroine of the age—the angel of the battle-field.