Angels of the Battlefield

[dawna]

I would like to begin a new thread to honour, individually, the courageous and compassionate women who volunteered as nurses in order to ease the suffering of the wounded and dying, at the time of the Civil War.

We'll start with a "modern day angel," who is the ggg grandaughter (I hope I have that right Martin!) of William Gose Suiter, 8th Va. Cav., and the daughter of our own member 8th Cav, Martin Suiter. Lori willingly, and with compassion, on April 2, 2005, held the hand of an elderly gentlman, who had been injured during a pile-up on the I-75, Macon, Georgia, until he received proper medical attention.

"Far away, there in the sunshine, are my highest aspirations. I may not reach them, but I can look up and see their beauty, believe in them, and try to follow where they lead." ~Louisa May Alcott~

[8thvacav]

Just a little more on Lori. I think she would have made a good nurse in CW.I have five children and love them all. Lori is the middle one. We call her the doer. If Nancy or I are sick, there's Lori. If we need to go 45 miles to Indy to the doctor, there's Lori. As you can tell, I'm really proud of her.

[dawna]

Well, Martin, Lori is an "angel" after all, isn't she? :-)

Dawna

[Nelly28]

This is an incredible story of love and service to others. Thank you, Dawna and Martin, for sharing it. All too often we hear so much about tragedies and little or nothing about the people who so willingly give their time and support to others in need. I will look forward to reading other such stories of these compassionate people.

[dawna]

Phoebe Yeates Levy Pember was a 38 year old widow from Georgia who was appointed matron of Richmond's Chimborazo Army Hospital in November 1862. Her responsibilities included housekeeping and dietary kitchen personnel.Chimborazo became one of the largest military hospitals in the world, housing sixteen thousand patients. As the first female administrator of a hospital, Phoebe was subjected to male ridicule. Occasionally Phoebe had to pull a pistol from her pocket to keep doctors and ward stewards under her control.She was very dedicated and served until the end of the war. In 1879 her memories were recorded in A Southern Woman's Story. It was a valuable account of conditions in Confederate Hospitals and it condemns the drunkenness of surgeons and ward stewards.

[dawna]

Susan Leigh Colston was born in February, 1835, and became a member of one of Virginia's first families. In 1856, Susan married Charles Blackford, judge advocate under Longstreet.




Report from Lynchburg:

May 7, 1864: The wounded soldiers commenced arriving on Saturday, and just as soon as I heard of it, which was before breakfast, I went to see Mrs. Spence to know what I could do for them. She said the ladies had been so shamefully treated by the surgeons that she was afraid to take any move in the matter. I told her I would go and see Dr. Randolph and ask him if we could not do something.

I went down and did so at once and asked him what we could do. He said we might do anything we pleased in the way of attention to them; send or carry anything to them we wished and he would be glad of our help. As soon as I reported to Mrs. Spence what he said she started messengers in every direction to let it be known and I went to eleven places myself. We then determined to divide our provisions into two divisions: the bread, meat, and coffee to be sent to the depot, the delicacies to the hospitals. The reception of wounded soldiers here has been most hospitable. You would not believe there were so many provisions in town as have been sent to them.

On Saturday evening I went up to Burton's factory, where most of the wounded were taken, and found the committee of ladies who had been selected, of whom I was one, just going in with the supper. I went in with them. We had bountiful supplies of soup, buttermilk, tea, coffee, and loaf bread, biscuits, crackers, and wafers. It did my heart good to see how the poor men enjoyed such things. I went around and talked to them all.

One man had his arm taken off just below the elbow and he was also wounded through the body, and his drawers were saturated with blood. I fixed his pillow comfortably and stroked his poor swelled and burning arm. Another I found with his hand wounded and his nose bleeding. I poured water over his face and neck, and after the blood ceased to flow wiped his pale face and wounded hand which was black from blood and powder. They were very grateful and urged us to come and see them again.

On Sunday evening news came that six hundred more would arrive and Mrs. Spence sent me word to try and do something. The servants were away and I went into the kitchen and made four quarts of flour into biscuits and two gallons of coffee, and Mrs. Spence gave me as much more barley, so I made, by mixing them, a great deal of coffee. I am very tired.

May 12th: My writing desk has been open all day, yet I have just found time to write to you. Mrs. Spence came after me just as I was about to begin this morning and said she had just heard that the Taliaferro's factory was full of soldiers in a deplorable condition. I went down there with a bucket of rice milk, a basin, towel, soap, etc. to see what I could do.

I found the house filled with wounded men and not one thing provided for them. They were lying about the floor on a little straw. Some had been there since Tuesday . and had not seen a surgeon. I washed and dressed the wounds of about fifty and poured water over the wounds of many more. The town is crowded with the poor creatures, and there is really no preparations for such a number. If it had not been for the ladies many of them would have starved to death. The poor creatures are very grateful, and it is a great pleasure to us to help them in any way.

I have been hard at work ever since the wounded commenced coming. I went to the depot twice to see what I could do. I have had the cutting and distribution of twelve hundred yards of cotton cloth for bandages, and sent over three bushels of rolls of bandages, and as many more yesterday. I have never worked so hard in all my life and I would rather do that than anything else in the world. I hope no more wounded are sent here as I really do not think they could be sheltered.

The doctors, of course, are doing much, and some are doing their full duty, but the majority are not. They have free access to the hospital stores and deem their own health demands that they drink up most the brandy and whiskey in stock, and, being fired up most the time, display a cruel and brutal indifference to the needs of the suffering which is a disgrace to their profession and to humanity.

"So never lose an opportunity of urging a practical beginning, however small, for it is wonderful how often in such matters the mustard-seed germinates and roots itself."
~Florence Nightingale~

[dawna]

Almira Fales




Almira Fales was the first woman to perform any work for the comfort of the soldiers and in 1860, when South Carolina seceeded, she immediately began preparing hospital supplies. Almira's husband was employed by the government and her sons were in the Army.

During the war, Almira Fales personally used 7,000 boxes of hospital supplies, and distributed to sick and wounded soldiers "comforts and delicacies" to the value of $150,000. She spent several months at sea, attending to the wounded on hospital ships and was under fire during the Seven Days Battle of the Peninsula Campaign - one of her sons was killed at Chancellorsville.

It was said that Almira Fales never failed to awaken smiles and bring about a general air of cheerfulness.

"Campfires and Battlefields" by Rossiter Johnson, page 325

[dawna]

Hannah A. Ropes

1809-1863

Hannah Anderson was born in New Gloucester, Maine to a family of early New England settlers. She married educator William H. Ropes at the age of twenty five; they lived in Waltham, Massachusetts and had four children, two of which lived to adulthood.

When her husband abandoned her, Hannah was left to raise her children and she bloomed in a new found self reliance. When her son was eighteen in 1855, he became a homesteader in the Kansas Territory. Increasingly interested in the abolitionist movement and the westward expansion, she and her daughter also moved to Kansas. But the political turmoil over the slavery issued caused Hannah's return to Massachusetts.

During this period Hannah was increasingly politically active and well connected. She wrote a novel, Cranston House and also published Six Months in Kansas. Like other women of the time, she was called upon to nurse sick friends. A nephew had sent her a copy of Florence Nightingale's newly published Notes on Nursing and Hannah Ropes must have been deeply influenced by Nightingale's writing.

When her son Edward served in the Civil War, she volunteered to serve as a nurse. She was assigned as head matron of the Union Hospital in Washington D.C., where she worked with Louisa May Alcott. She actively decried the appalling conditions - both the lack of sanitation and the indifference and even cruel treatment of the soldiers - and was pro-active in making change. For Hannah Ropes and other women "nurses" this meant butting heads with the military and physicians who resented the presence of women in the makeshift hospitals.

Hannah contracted typhoid pneumonia at that hospital and died at the age of 54. She had kept a diary which was only recently published. Between her diary and correspondence, a different perspective of the the Civl War and the emergence of nursing has been gained. Thus while Hannah Ropes was barely known during her own lifetime, her significant work is available for study and admiration today.

"How little can be done under the spirit of fear."
~Florence Nightingale~

Sources: Brumgardt, J.K. (Ed.). (1980). Civil War Nurses: The Diary and Letters of Hannah Ropes. Knoxville: University of Tennesse Press.
Hawkins, J.W. (1988). Hannah A. Ropes In: Dictionary of American Nursing Biography. M. Kaufman, (Ed.). Westport, CT: Greenwood.
Ropes, H.A. (1856). Six Months in Kansas by a Lady. Boston: Jewett.
Ropes, H.A. (1859). Cranston House: A novel. Boston: Clapp.

[dawna]

Abigail Hopper Gibbons, 1801-1893



Born in New York to an abolitionist Quaker family, Abigail H. Gibbons grew up in a home that often harbored slaves on their way to freedom. Gibbons was also a medical nurse who brought the social convictions she learned at home to her medical and administrative duties. When the US Sanitary Commission was established in 1861 to over see the recruitment of much needed nurses, and ensure adequate medical care to the Union wounded, Gibbons was selected to serve. The Commission set up a training base for the female recruits at David’s Island Hospital in New York, and Gibbons was among them.

Gibbons traveled to Washington D.C., to help at the Washington Office Hospital, where she soon took charge, helping the wounded and distributing supplies from the New York Relief Agency. She also established two field hospitals: in Strasbourg and Falls Church VA. When a site opened for the government at Point Lookout MD, a hotel and 100 cottages were refurbished to create an elaborate hospital complex with accommodations for 1,500 soldiers. It was named the US Hammond General Hospital, after Surgeon General William A. Hammond.

At Hammond General, Gibbons clashed with a woman as aggressive and committed herself: Superintendent of Nurses Dorothea A. Dix, known as “Dragon Dix” for her cold ferocity. Dix and Gibbons vied for control of the hospital, and Gibbons succeeded in being appointed its head matron.

Gibbons served conscientiously at the institution, punctuating her career once again with controversy. She was accused of siphoning hospital to the “Contrabands,” or runaway slaves who came inti the hospital. Further, she refused to return the runaways to their owners. She left Hammond General in 1863 when the site was converted into Point Lookout Confederate Prison. Gibbons continued helping the Union cause and was an active philanthropist until she died in New York in 1893.


"The very requirement in a hospital is that it should do the sick no harm." ~Florence Nightingale~

[dawna]

Louisa May Alcott best known as the author of Little Women was a nurse at Georgetown Union Hospital in Washington DC beginning December 1862. She continued to nurse as long as her health permitted. She left her position in 1863, when she contracted typhoid fever from her patients. During her recuperation, she wrote of her nursing experiences in her first published book called HOSPITAL SKETCHES.The book is valuable for its vivid descritions of medical activities during the war. Appalled by the lack of sanitation, Louisa described the military hospital as a "perfect pestilence box."

An excerpt from Hospital Sketches:

"The night whose events I have a fancy to record, opened with a little comedy, and closed with a great tragedy; for a virtuous and useful life untimely ended is always tragical to those who see not as God sees. My headquarters were beside the bed of a twelve year old New Jersey boy, crazed by the horrors of that dreadful Saturday. A slight wound in the knee brought him there; but his mind had suffered more than his body; some string of that delicate machine was over strained, and, for days, he had been reliving in imagination, the scenes he could not forget, till his distress broke out in incoherent ravings, pitiful to hear. As I sat by him, endeavoring to soothe his poor distracted brain by the constant touch of wet hands over his hot forehead, he lay cheering his comrades on, hurrying them back, then counting them as they fell around him, often clutching my arm, to drag me from the vicinity of a bursting shell, or covering up his head to screen himself from a shower of shot; his face brilliant with fever; his eyes restless; his head never still; every muscle strained and rigid; while an incessant stream of defiant shouts, whispered warnings, and broken laments, poured from his lips with that forceful bewilderment which makes such wanderings so hard to overhear."

"I like to help women help themselves, as that is, in my opinion, the best way to settle the woman question. Whatever we can do and do well, we have right to, and I don't think any one will deny us."
~Louisa May Alcott~

[dawna]

From Thea:

Dorothea Dix

1802-1887

A noted social reformer, Dix became the Union's Superintendent of Female Nurses during the Civil War. The soft spoken yet autocratic crusader had spent more than 20 years working for improved treatment of mentally ill patients and for better prison conditions. A week after the attack on Fort Sumter, Dix, at age 59, volunteered her services to the Union and received the appointment in June 1861 placing her in charge of all women nurses working in army hospitals. Serving in that position without pay through the entire war, Dix quickly molded her vaguely defined duties.

She convinced skeptical military officials, unaccustomed to female nurses, that women could perform the work acceptably, and then recruited women. Battling the prevailing stereo types-and accepting many of the common prejudices herself-Dix sought to ensure that her ranks not be inundated with flighty and marriage-minded young women by only accepting applicants who were plain looking and older than 30. In addition, Dix authorized a dress code of modest black or brown skirts and forbade hoops or jewelry.

Even with these strict and arbitrary requirements, relaxed somewhat as the war persisted, a total of over 3,000 women served as Union army nurses. Called "Dragon Dix" by some, the superintendent was stern and brusque, clashing frequently with the military bureaucracy and occasionally ignoring administrative details. Yet, army nursing care was markedly improved under her leadership.
Dix looked after the welfare of both the nurses, who labored in an often brutal environment, and the soldiers to whom they ministered, obtaining medical supplies from private sources when they were not forthcoming from the government. At the war's conclusion, Dix returned to her work on behalf of the mentally ill.

"I guess I should warn you. If I turn out to be particularly clear, you've probably misunderstood what I said." --Alan Greenspan

[dawna]

From Thea:

Clara Harlowe Barton

(1821-1912)

Born on December 25, 1821 in Oxford, Mass., the youngest of 5 children in a middle-class family, Barton was educated at home, and at 15 started teaching school. Her most notable antebellum achievement was the establishment of a free public school in Bordentown, N.J. Though she is remembered as the founder of the American Red Cross, her only prewar medical experience came when for 2 years she nursed an invalid brother.



In 1861 Barton was living in Washington, D.C., working at the U.S. Patent Office. When the 6th Massachusetts Regiment arrived in the city after the Baltimore Riots, she organized a relief program for the soldiers, beginning a lifetime of philanthropy.
When Barton learned that many of the wounded from First Bull Run had suffered, not from want of attention but from need of medical supplies, she advertised for donations in the Worcester, Mass., Spy and began an independent organization to distribute goods. The relief operation was successful, and the following year U.S. Surgeon General William A. Hammond granted her a general pass to travel with army ambulances "for the purpose of distributing comforts for the sick and wounded, and nursing them."

For 3 years she followed army operations throughout the Virginia theater and in the Charleston, S.C., area. Her work in Fredericksburg, Va., hospitals, caring for the casualties from the Battle of the Wilderness, and nursing work at Bermuda Hundred attracted national notice. At this time she formed her only formal Civil War connection with any organization when she served as superintendent of nurses in Maj. Gen. Benjamin F. Butlers command.

She also expanded her concept of soldier aid, traveling to Camp Parole, Md., to organize a program for locating men listed as missing in action. Through interviews with Federals returning from Southern prisons, she was often able to determine the status of some of the missing and notify families.

By the end of the war Barton had performed most of the services that would later he associated with the American Red Cross, which she founded in 1881. In 1904 she resigned as head of that organization, retiring to her home at Glen Echo, outside Washington, D.C., where she died 12 Apr. 1912.
Source: "Historical Times Encyclopedia of the Civil War" edited by Patricia L. Faust
__________________
Thea

"I guess I should warn you. If I turn out to be particularly clear, you've probably misunderstood what I said." --Alan Greenspan

[dawna]

ANNIE ETHERIDGE HOOKS

"Gentle Annie"

Among the army nurses no one was better known than Annie Etheridge, whose maiden name was Annie Blair. Born in Detorit, Michigan, she maried James Etheridge, who enlisted in the 2nd Michigan Regiment and Annie offered her services as a volunteer nurse. She went with the Regiment to war and when it was ordered to Tennessee, she transferred to the 3rd Michingan Regiment.

The Regiment was assigned to the Army of the Potomac where Annie remained until it's term of enlistment expired. She was then transferred to the 5th Michigan Regiment, which was attached to the Brigade in which the 40th N.Y.V. (Mozart Regiment) served. Annie engaged in the Hospital Service and attended to all with a motherly sympathetic manner for which she became known throughout the Second Corpts and Third Corps as "Gentle Annie."

Annie rode on horseback on the march, and in battle she was attended by an orderly who carried the medicine chest. She was fearless, often exposed to rebel bulletls, and was once wounded. Annie comforted many helpless soldiers on the battlefield of carnage and dressed their wounds before they were carried to the surgeons for treatment.

Annie witnessed all the horrors of war and saw men killed while she stemmed the flow of blood from the wounds of those around her. Generals Kearny, Berry, Birney, Sickles, and Hancock held her in high esteem and valued her services. Annie even appeared on the skirmish line, and was often on the line of battle whenver a fight was expected or in progress. For her courageous actions, Annie was awarded the Kearney Medal of Honor. Wherever she appeared the men welcomed her with cheers and extended to her every possible courtesy.

"I think one's feelings waste themselves in words; they ought all to be distilled into actions which bring results."
~Florence Nightingale~

White Roses - Stories of Civil War Nurses
by: Rebecca D. Larson

[dawna]

FREDERICKSBURG, VA:

NURSES AND OFFICERS OF THE U. S. SANITARY COMMISSION

[dawna]

Sophia McClelland

This story comes from Tales of the Civil War.

With the Army of the Cumberland
Mrs. Sophia McClelland


It was in the early autumn of 1861; regiments of soldiers from the North and West were daily passing through Louisville, Kentucky, to points below on the Louisville and Nashville Railroad. I drove down to the depot, and on passing out of the yard from the train of cars, noticed several of the soldiers lying on the platform, some of whom seemed very ill; I had them removed to some vacant rooms over a warehouse on the opposite corner from the depot, Broadway and Ninth Street : then, driving as rapidly as possible to my residence, gathered up as many blankets, comfortables, and pillows as the carriage could hold, and returned to the newly-improvised hospital. In the neighborhood I procured provisions for the men's supper, and candles to give them light for the evening.

This was the beginning, and the general impression seemed to be that in three or four months the trouble would be all over. But every day added to the numbers in the hospital. Regiments were continually marching through and leaving their sick; skirmishes were frequent on the Nashville Road, and there were those coming to be cared for who were disabled by wounds as well as sickness. We were obliged to depend on soldiers taken from the convalescent wards for nurses, who, though most kind, were unskilled and in most cases illy adapted for their duties, requiring patient training and drilling to render them efficient.

After the battle of Fort Donelson, we took down a party of physicians and clergymen and six ladies as nurses, also a quantity of hospital stores from the sanitary rooms, for the use of the wounded and sick. The expenses of this company were borne by private funds.

General Wm. Nelson had his headquarters at Evansville. Indiana. It was necessary to obtain from him a pass to enter within his lines, which extended to Dover, the point nearest reached to Fort Donelson. He refused an audience to our messengers, though backed by credentials from leis personal friend, Dr. Robert Murray, medical director of the department. They called again, when he consented to see them for a few moments, but sent this message: "You will say it is simply impossible to grant passes. I have refused every application, and mean to."

At this report I decided to make a personal appeal, although any friends made every effort to dissuade me, using for argument Nelson's ungracious speech and gruff manners. He was sitting at a table at one end of the long parlor of the hotel. I approached him, supported on either side by any friends, the two gentlemen with whom he had had an interview only a few moments before. General Nelson was a man of commanding presence; he seemed not only tall but very large. He had black hair and eyebrows, with piercing eyes, which he bent on me from the moment we glassed the sentry at the door. Indeed, his countenance was fierce and forbidding as if to intimidate.

After the introduction, he said, "Madam, call you tell me what you want?"

"Yes, general, I have come to ask you for passes."

"Speak louder. I am a little deaf."

"Passes for my little company within your lines; we desire to reach Fort Donelson. You have already been made acquainted with the object of our errand, to care for and healing the sick and wounded soldiers of Kentucky where they may have the attention necessary for their comfort and recovery."

"That is all very well, madam, but we leave no place for ladies," said the general.

"General," said I, "we have not come to be entertained, but on a mission of mercy. .. All we ask of you is; transportation and liberty within the lines to take, care of our wounded."

"But, madam, there are no conveniences, no rooms you can occupy. All these boats you see coming down the river are filled with soldiers, besides officers and crew.''

"General, we will only ask for a chair or two that we may place in some out

"Madam. there are no chairs. No doors to the rooms, nothing but men; everything has been taken out to lighten the craft."

"But, general, we can stand ---."

Then a fearful pause ensued, my heart heating audibly to my own ears, and I was trembling in every nerve so that I could scarcely stand. During this time General Nelson's face remained immovable, while he steadily and sternly gazed into my eyes. After what might have been a few moments of time, though it seemed ages, he said:

"Well, you are a determined woman, and the first one I ever saw who knew what she wanted, and could tell it in a few words."

He then turned to his private secretary, who was sitting at his table, anal made a remark in a low tone; then, recollecting for the first time his position as host, invited us to be seated. The secretary wrote a few lines on a sheet of paper, and placing it in a yellow envelope, touched a bell. The orderly, of making his appearance, was directed where to carry it. I received the pass, and was consigned to the care of one of the most courteous officers in the Federal service, Colonel Hazen, of the Forty-first Ohio.

In justice to General Nelson, I will say it was never my privilege to meet with greater consideration than he extended to our little company. During the two hours of waiting for our boat he seemed the graceful, polished gentleman; laughed and made merry over the sallies of wit and humor, and withal showed a sympathetic tenderness and solicitude for his sick soldiers that went far to remove the previous prejudice I had formed of his austerity. Poor fellow! His tragic death occurred a few months afterwards result of a quarrel with General Jeff. C. Davis. The circumstances of the difficulty are well known. We should judge leniently of those faults of character which, had they been curbed, might have been trained into virtues, and hold in remembrance only his lofty patriotism and undaunted courage.

We reached Smithland, Kentucky, but could get no boat to take us to the fort, nor could we obtain an overland conveyance of any description. We were looked upon with suspicion. Some even hinted that we were spies. We could not buy food. No one would sell to us nor give us shelter; even at the miserable place they called a hotel, they refused to allow us to sit down. We walked all over the town, followed by one or two persons, who, by a motion or sign, indicated their suspicions to any one who seemed disposed to favor it. Therefore, there was nothing for us to do but, to leave the place, and from the aspect of affairs, to do that as quickly as possible seems most prudent. We applied for admission on the government boat, "Silver Moon," and shortly reached Paducah.

What a scene was there presented! The river as far up as the eye could reach was covered by a fleet of steamers, with gay colors flying and bands of music playing, laden down to the water's edge, with soldiers. Each regimental band played its own favorite airs, but all had a note for "The Girl I Left behind Me."

General W. T. Sherman was then in Paducah, to whom I reported for duty, and from him I received orders to go to Mound City and Cairo, take from the hospitals there all the sick and wounded, and leave them at the points nearest their lines. This would make place for others who were expected soon, as a battle seemed impending. He also directed us to draw commissary stores and other supplies at Cairo, and report on our return to Paducah, where we would then take aboard all the wounded prisoners for whom we could find place.

"And now, my dear madam," said General Sherman, "I desire to say to you that the prisoners are to receive the same attention as our own men; no distinction is to be made in the management or treatment of the prisoners by the surgeons or nurses."

Then turning to Dr. McDougal, the venerable medical director, he inquired of him what quantity of medical supplies would be necessary for us to take for the use of 150 sick and wounded, for nine days.

We were obliged to wait at Paducah for our boats. Every available craft was used ill the service, not only for the transportation of troops and supplies, but to convey a large number of people who were anxious about their friends, and also sightseers who had curiosity to visit the scene of battle. We busied ourselves for two days in aiding the surgeons and citizens, who were untiring in their efforts to relieve the suffering. Churches, stores, and school

I was becoming impatient and restless in waiting, therefore determined to take the boat that first arrived, and trust to chance to have the other one overtake us. We brought on board about sixty prisoners; half of them were wounded men, the others were suffering from the effects of measles and colds from exposure. They coughed almost incessantly, and there was not all ounce of opiate or sedative to be found this side of Cairo. It was in the evening and nearly dark when we reached Cairo. We had very few provisions and our needs were extremely pressing. In order to get our order on the commissary honored it was necessary to report at headquarters at once. The, to make matters still more desperate, our boxes of sanitary stores. containing bedding, clothing, and bandages, had gone astray; wehad been placed in such straits for the bandages that some of us had taken our underclothing and torn it into strips to bind up the wounds of the suffering soldiers.

A long line of cars from Chicago had just come in, and for fifty minutes continued drilling back and forth until it was quite dark. There were no lamps or lights on the wharf, save here and there what seemed a flaming torch of some resinous substance which only partially lighted all the vicinity. As soon as the cars stopped long enough, I climbed through and over them to the other side. The mire was knee deep. At every step, I was obliged to extricate one foot before I could plant the other down. I lost one congress gaiter in the mire, and was obliged to present myself at headquarters with one shoe ob and the of other foot covered with a badly soiled stocking. I received a pair of heavy army shoes, and endeavored to hunt up the representative of the Sanitary Commission of the Northwest. I worked all that Sunday morning.

Crowds assembled at the wharves of the several towns as our boats passed. and we were greeted with cheers. Deputations of ladies were allowed to come on, who brought many needed delicacies -- milk, fresh. butter, and home made biscuits. Oh, what a feast it was for the wounded and sick when the ladies distributed it to all. Federal and Confederate alike!

Surely it was a picture worthy of the skill of an artist of the realistic school. On reaching Louisville the military authorities took charge, and the sick were removed to the different hospitals.

gfvc

"The martyr scarifices themselves entirely in vain. Or rather not in vain; for they make the selfish more selfih, the lazy more lazy, the narrow narrower." ~Florence Nightingale~

[dawna]

Ruth Helena Sinnotte


I WAS COMMISSIONED BY MR. YEATMAN in Saint Louis, Missouri, as nurse at large, and sent on board the steamer Imperial, a hospital boat plying between Saint Louis and Pittsburg Landing; Dr. Gove, surgeon in charge, and Dr. Bixby, assistant surgeon. I remained on board the Imperial until the Tennessee River had fallen so low the boat could go no ****her, and went out of the hospital service. I was then sent by the medical director on board the Ella, and remained on that boat until she went out of hospital service, and became a transport boat. Then Dr. Douglass, the medical director, sent me to Monterey, in Tennessee, the receiving hospital of Corinth, Mississippi, Corinth battlefield, in charge of Dr. Eaton; I think he was from New York. While there I was sun-struck, and on the third day was attacked with yellow jaundice. I then obtained a furlough, and went home to Illinois. As soon as able, I reported to Governor Yates, who ordered me to go South with the 113th, or Board of Trade Regiment, Colonel Hoge.

The colonel put my name on the muster roll as matron for three years, or to the close of the war. I went to Memphis with the regiment, and we encamped at Camp Peabody, about two miles from the city. When they went on the Tulahoma raid, I accompanied them, by particular request of Colonel Hoge. The fourth day, was sent with all the sick to Holly Springs, Mississippi.

I was there a number of weeks, and before Bragg took the place, was ordered to Memphis. On the way I was told the troops had gone down the river, and General Wright advised me to keep on down to the fleet. I did so. While with the Vicksburg fleet, one day I noticed the boat I was on was dragging her hawser from the tree where she had been fastened. I reported to the captain. He said, "I know it." There was no steam on, and we were drifting down the river. The captain said we were going to Vicksburg, and were only a half mile from the line between the two armies. Among the sick was a captain of one of the companies of the 113th Illinois Regiment. I immediately went to him and reported the treachery on board of the boat. He could do nothing, as he was too ill to raise his head. He swore me, and gave me the necessary signal. I went on the hurricane deck; no one was there, no one on the pilot house. I gave the Signal as he told me. In a moment I saw it answered. Immediately the Von Pool came down and towed the boat to the upper end of the fleet, and put a stop to our going to Vicksburg. All of the crew, from the captain to the chambermaid, were so very angry they would have killed me had they known I was responsible for the change of programme.

We had several wounded officers among the load of sick and disabled men on my first trip from Pittsburg Landing to Saint Louis, Missouri. Our transport was the Imperial. Each officer had an orderly to wait upon him. The attendant of one, a colonel, came to me and said, "Are you afraid of the colonel?" I replied I was not. Then said he, "I wish you would see if you can do anything with him, but I really fear he will kill you." "Oh, no; I will go: where is he?" He pointed the way, keeping well out of sight of the officer.

When I came to the stateroom he occupied the door was ajar. I looked ill and said, "Good morning, Colonel." He answered, "What do you want here?" "I came to see if you have had breakfast." "No, and don't want any." But I said: "You must eat something. I will see what I can get that you may relish." I went to the kitchen, toasted a slice of bread, poached an egg, poured it over the toast, made a bowl of chicken broth, and a cup of green tea and apple jelly made up the breakfast. I put it on a waiter with a white napkin (these things were for officers only), went to his room, and said, "Now see what of this you can eat." "Can't I get rid of you? I wish I had something to throw at you, but I have thrown everything I can get at that Dutchman," meaning his attendant. I said, "You must eat; there is no other way for you." "I will tip over that cart of yours," and he made a spring toward the tray. I said, "Sir, stop such pranks, and take some of this food immediately." He then grabbed the toast, crammed it all into his mouth, the broth followed with a gulp, the tea and jelly in turn, all in less time than I am telling you. I said to him, "That was pretty good, wasn't it?" "Good enough." "Will you eat more if I get it for you?" "I suppose I can if I must." I prepared the same amount. He ate it all, using a knife and fork.

I then asked why he treated me so badly when I was only trying to help him. He told me this story: "I am from Marion County, Illinois. I was acknowledged to be the richest man in the county. I raised a whole regiment and equipped it. They chose me their colonel. I had a wife and child, a little girl. I settled all my business, made my will, appointed my wife administratrix and guardian of my child. I took my regiment, was accepted, and went to the front. As soon as I was gone, my wife sold everything I had and put the money in the Confederate cause, took my child and went to New Orleans, her former home. I was in the battle of Pittsburg Landing; had my leg shattered, and amputated at the hip. Now I have lost my property, my wife and my child, lost my leg, and what have I to live for?"

I waited a moment, then said, "You must live,

For the good that needs assistance, For the bad that needs resistance,
For the future in the distance, And the good that you can do."

He was all right to the end of the trip, and ate his food as I gave it to him. He was left at Saint Louis. I think he was put into Benton Barracks. We went back to Pittsburg Landing for another load of the mangled human freight. On our return to Saint Louis I learned the colonel was dead,--had died because he would not eat.

Mrs. Ruth Helena Sinnotte

Edinborough Press Inc.

"Our Army Nurses"

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The Baroness Von Olnhausen Nurses At Alexandria


(Mary Phinney)

One of the women who responded to Dorothea Dix's call for volunteers was Mary Phinney, who had married a German emigre, Baron Gustav von Olnhausen. On her husband's death she moved to Illinois, and from there went to nurse at the Mansion House Hospital in Alexandria. After the war she traveled in Germany, then returned to a nursing career. Her picture of conditions in the hospitals is doubtless exaggerated, yet that many of the doctors were incompetent and corrupt and that the regular medical service looked with disdain on women nurses is abundantly clear.


Miss Dix, who had been appointed by the President head of the army nurses, took me from Washington to Alexandria to the Mansion House Hospital. She told me on the journey that the surgeon in charge was determined to give her no foothold in any hospital where he reigned, and that I was to take no notice of anything that might occur, and was to make no complaint whatever might happen. She was a stern woman of few words.

There seemed to be much confusion about the Mansion House-which before the war was a famous hotel-and every part of it was crowded. She left me in the office and went in search of Dr. S. The sight of the wounded continuously carried through on stretchers, or led in as they arrived from the boats that lay at the foot of the street on which the hospital stood (this was just after that awful Cedar Mountain battle [August 1862), seemed more than I could bear, and I thought Miss Dix would never come. At last she appeared, with Dr. S., who eyed me keenly and, it seemed to me, very savagely, and gave me in charge of an orderly to show me to the surgical ward, as it was called. It consisted of many small rooms, with a broad corridor, every room so full of cots that it was only barely possible to pass between them.


Such a sorrowful sight; the men had just been taken off the battle-field, some of them had been lying three or four days almost without clothing, their wounds never dressed, so dirty and wretched. Some one gave me my charges as to what I was to do; it seemed such a hopeless task to do anything to help them that I wanted to throw myself down and give it up. Miss Dix left me, and soon the doctors came and ordered me to follow them while they examined and dressed the wounds. They seemed to me then, and afterwards I found they were, the most brutal men I ever saw. They were both volunteers, and one was a converted Jew who was constantly proclaiming it.

So I began my work, I might say night and day. The surgeon told me he had no room for me, and a nurse told me he said he would make the house so hot for me I would not stay long. When I told Miss Dix I could not remain without a room to sleep in, she, knowing the plan of driving me out, said, "My child" (I was nearly as old as herself), "you will stay where I have placed you." In the mean time McClellan's army was being landed below us from the Peninsula. Night and day the rumbling of heavy cannon, the marching of soldiers, the groaning of the sick and wounded were constantly heard; and yet in all that time I never once looked from the windows, I was so busy with the men.

One of the rooms of the ward was the operating-room, and the passing in and out of those who were to be operated upon, and the coming and going of the surgeons added so much to the general confusion. I doubt if at any time during the war there was ever such confusion as at this time. The insufficient help, the unskilful surgeons, and a general want of organization were very distressing; but I was too busy then and too tired for want of proper sleep to half realize it. Though I slept at the bedsides of the men or in a corner of the rooms, I was afraid to complain lest I be discharged.

I was horribly ignorant, of course, and could only try to make the men comfortable; but the staff doctors were very friendly and occasionally helped me, and some one occasionally showed me about bandaging, so by degrees I began to do better. The worst doctor had been discharged, much to my joy, but the other one, despite his drinking habits, stayed on. After the morning visit it was no use calling upon him for anything, and I had to rely on the officer of the day if I needed help. I know now that many a life could have been saved if there had been a competent surgeon in the ward.

At this time the ward was full of very sick men and sometimes two would be dying at the same time, and both begging me to stay with them, so I got little sleep or rest. Moreover, I had no room of my own. Occasionally a nurse would extend the hospitality of the floor in hers, and I would have a straw bed dragged in on which to get a few hours' sleep. This, with a hurried bath and fresh clothes, was my only rest for weeks. It was no use to complain. The surgeon simply stormed at me and said there was no room;, while Miss Dix would say, "You can bear it awhile, my child; I have placed you here and you must stay." I was at that time her only nurse in the Mansion House. Later she succeeded in getting rid of all the others and replacing them With her own.

Alexandria, March, 1863

I thought it best not to trouble you with an account of how we have been living lately,-everything cut off, nothing but coffee (so poor and with hardly ever milk) and dry bread for breakfast; for dinner bread and meat (and such meat! always the tail or neck or some other nasty part), and at night coffee and bread again. Being hungry is nothing to being so insulted. We knew we had a right to all our rations; and while Dr. S. was here we always urged Mrs. B. to ask him, and so put us out of the power of these cooks. They hate us because we are decent women and will fight for the soldiers' rights, thus cutting off their resources. For some reason she never would; she thought he would believe us selfish or something.

One day it was past all bearing. I was positively so hungry I could have eaten cat's meat. I sat over the fire after supper, tired and hungry and wondering if the good I did was balanced by my suffering (more from insults than anything else), when all at once it struck me to go to Dr. Page myself. it was eight o'clock; I found him alone, and he listened to all my story. He seemed so surprised at it, said we had not even one privilege we were entitled to, called the Steward-who is just the meanest, hatefullest (oh, help me to a word, I don't care if it is profane) man that ever lived-and told him that in future we were to draw our own rations and have our own cook.

I felt so elated, and when I announced it next morning the women actually embraced me. . . .

When our own battles were settled, then it was time, when good feeding had given us a little strength, to put in for our patients; so last Sunday morning I opened fire. Dr. C. has that department, so I attacked him; but. he was mad when I told him the patients would starve only for the nurses, who had to buy everything the sickest men ate. He denied it, and said he knew his nurse did not do it.

So she was called, and said she did; then the others were called; and, at last, we had about every nurse and doctor in the house growling and snarling. Dr. C. said they had everything according to the new diet table; some of the doctors denied it and some of them backed him up; at last we all adjourned to some underground room (the bread-room) to read the table list, when it proved that they got nothing in the quantity even that was ordered there; and as to quality, Lord help them! How I wish you could have heard the row! It went on all day; even in the evening everybody was called up and talked to; and the result is that it has been a little better this week, though far from the mark, and soon (if it grows less every day) it will be back to the old standard, for that wretch H. or somebody will miss the money and get it back if possible.

So you see our path is not all rose-leaves, and you can see, too, one of the many impositions put upon the noble fellows who are throwing away their lives for such men as these. Are all men naturally bad? That's going to be the only religious question I shall study in the future. I guess this war will make me religious, for one. I am getting a good deal more patient and forgiving than I used to be, but I'll never forgive the Rebels who kill them.

"Diary of Mary Phinney"

"If it is a crime to love the South, its cause and its President, then I am a criminal. I would rather lie down in this prison and die than leave it owing allegiance to a government such as yours." ~Belle Boyd~

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Lucy Seaman Bainbridge



A VISIT TO WASHINGTON with my mother, in 1864, brought about an immediate change in my life. We were guests at a public dinner where one of the speakers told of the need of nurses at the war front--a vital need, for which there was no adequate supply. At that time our country had no trained nurses; the women who took upon themselves that duty had only their home-experience and common-sense on which to rely. I went into service with hardly that much knowledge, I was so very young. Through the courtesy of The Outlook I am able to include here an account of my work as printed in the issue of May 28, 1919, bearing the title: Sister Ohio. A Memory of the Civil War.

The speaker at the dinner was the Ohio Military Agent, head of the Ohio Soldiers' Aid Society. He told of the terrible suffering at Fredericksburg, and continued: "The conditions are worse than in the winter of 1862, when so many dead and wounded lay along the banks of the Rappahannock and the Army of the Potomac was so sorely pressed. Without going into the causes or blunders which brought this, the fact is that by the river and in the city streets and on the floors of the houses our men are sick, wounded and suffering, helpless and dying. It is an awful condition there." Strange talk for a dinner table, but it was a time of war!

"I am here to send down a relief party to do what it can for those poor, brave boys of ours," the Military Agent went on. "In our State, furloughs have been granted so that great numbers of our young men may leave business, and the Rev. Mr. Prugh, an Ohio clergyman of good standing, will be the head of the party. There is also ready to go one efficient woman; she will arrive to-morrow, but I cannot send one woman alone.

Turning to my mother he asked: "Will you go? You have had wide experience and could give most valuable help. Can you not go down with the party? And take your daughter along--she can help."

Because of a telegram she had received informing her of sickness at home, my mother was compelled to answer that her going was impossible."But you may send my daughter," she added, "and I will go as far as Acquia Creek with her to see, whether or not, she can be of any use."

IT WAS NO GALA PARTY on that transport which took us down from Washington to meet the train from Fredericksburg. There was nothing before us but work for suffering, dying men. It was understood from the first that hardly the ordinary courtesies of social life were to be observed. If women were to go into that kind of service, they were to be ready to do fully their part, and in no sense to become a burden to the men who were so greatly needed. This was understood.

Oh, what a procession that was from train to transport! Men hobbling, limping, staggering— each man able to help lending a hand to those utterly helpless. There were few stretchers; blankets, and even sheets, were used for carrying the men who could not walk. Wounded, sick, and faint, they reeled from the railway to the friendly boat, where they gladly lay down on the hard boards. A narrow pathway was left between the feet of the two rows of men packed closely together on the floor of the transport. The few doctors were indeed busy, and very quickly used my mother's practical knowledge of nursing and medicine. In the midst of groans, creaking of machinery, and swash of the river, and no one to direct her, what could a girl do? Only this: A pail was found and filled with water; then lips were moistened, dried rags soaked with blood around the wounds wetted, and bits of old flannel shirts, made to serve as temporary bandages, eased up by the water. Water! Water! Water! How the men on that hard floor, packed closely together, craved the comfort of it on face and hands and wounds!

"Good!" said the doctor, as he hurried by. "Now make some punch--can you? We must keep these fellows alive till we get them to Washington." All through that night--long for the poor men but short to us who worked--we fought pain and death. Kneeling on the floor beside the men, one and another looked up as the comforting water or the spoonful of punch touched his lips, and said feebly, "Oh, bless ye! God bless ye!"

ON REACHING WASHINGTON, our boat was quickly emptied. The men were lifted into ambulances and sent to the hospitals, but many were laid away in quiet rest at Arlington. We made ready promptly to return for another boat-load. "I shall be very pleased if you will spare your daughter to go down to the base of supplies with our party," said the Military Agent gent, very cordially, to my mother. "All of them ask this, and Mr. Prugh, the leader, will take her under his wing." And so I went to the Front.

There was no pretty nurse's cap or white uniform to wear, but just plain, every-day clothes--a gingham dress and apron; no dainty and becoming white veil with a red cross over my forehead or on my arm. My distinguishing mark was simply a badge of red silk pinned on my left breast, on which were printed in gilt the words "Ohio Relief." Thus I went down the Potomac under the special guardianship of my leader, whom I called Father Prugh. At Port Royal on the Rappahannock, White House Landing on the Pamunkey, and, finally, at City Point, I had experiences of war which memory will never lose. How much was accomplished is a problem for the arithmetic of eternity!

The State of Ohio gave us stores of condensed milk, dried, toasted bread, crackers, sugar, canned fruits, jellies, and so forth, and our Practical State sent to each of us women a good umbrella, to be used against sun and rain. Away down within the boom--boom--boom of the cannonading, close to the Front, what could our party of untrained though willing people do? Surely, What could a mere girl really accomplish? Yet, after all, woman's work is made up of little things, and these "littles," put together, make the whole. So with that thought I worked.

Because of lack of army supplies, or because they were tied up with red tape, more poor fellows were brought wounded and helpless back from the Front than there were tents to cover them. On the grassy floor they were laid close together, with an orderly to care for them as best he could. When the tents were filled to the utmost, other men from the battle and rifle pits were left outside on the grass.

One very hot day a soldier lay with upturned face exposed to the pitiless heat of the Virginian sun. The bandages around his arm and leg were stiff and hard with blood. Was he black or white? Dirt, powder, and sunburn made it difficult to determine. Was he dead or asleep? He did not move. To inexperienced eyes he did not seem to breathe even, but water on the rags about the wounds, water on his lips, water on his face and head, had the desired effect, and his eyes slowly opened. With such material as I could find in the vicinity, a little improvised tent was put up over his head, face and neck. One of the doctors, coming hurriedly by and seeing my attempt to protect the man from the hot sun, called out, "Bully for you, Miss Ohio! I'm awfully busy, but I'll try to come back and give you a little help with that fellow. Feed him some punch."

Among the wounded men lying in one of the tents another day—men recently brought from the very Front and waiting to get to Washington—was a soldier who called out, "Say, Ohio Relief, what's your name, please? "Pointing to my badge, I replied, "There's my name." "Well, Sister Ohio," said the soldier, "I am from that State too, and the worst of it is I am hungry, and the orderly has too much to do to bother with me. What are you going to do for a fellow who wants to eat and can't feed himself?" Both arms were shot through and he was helpless. I soon found that he was ready for bread-and-milk, and liked it better than anything else. So my supplies of crackers, toasted bread, and condensed milk were put to good use. I fed my wounded Ohioan for several days, until he was carried to a Washington hospital.

Many months afterwards, this same soldier, in the uniform of a Major with his left sleeve empty, called at my home in Ohio, and said: "You see, I found out your name and who you were. So I have come to thank you and to have some bread-and-milk with you. But you won't have to feed me this time." Later, this soldier honoured me with the suggestion that I take bread-and-milk with him all his life!

Outside a tent, under the ropes which held it in place, lay a soldier-boy, groaning, and doubled-up with pain. "I'm just sorry for him, Miss Ohio," said the orderly, in a kindly voice, "but he can't be 'lowed in the tent; it's chuck full of wounded men now. He's got the cramps and he don't stay in one spot very long. He was over the other side until a few minutes ago. I'm too awful busy to 'tend to him.'' In my supplies were medicines for dysentery, and so I went to work. Careful feeding, regular medicine, a warm blanket on the grass, with the added oil of kindness, did the work, and in time the lone boy was in fair condition for the next boat-load to Washington.

When other duties to the suffering soldiers allowed a respite, Father Prugh held a short, informal service of song and cheer, in each tent. Here a girl could really help.

Frankey was a Michigan boy. Our duty was first to the men of Ohio, and after that to any one else. The lad had been terribly hurt, shot through both arms and one leg, and his wounds were full of gangrene and vermin. Frankey had lied about his age and had run away from home to enlist. He was only a boy.

"Miss Ohio," said the doctor, "that little fellow thinks he is to have a furlough and that he is to go home to his mother. But he isn't. He's going to die. Don't make him feel badly—but—oh, well, do as you like." The boy responded to every kindness and wanted "Sister Ohio" to take care of his precious possessions—green-and-yellow skein of sewing-silk taken at Fairfax Court-House, and a ring he had cut out of a nut when his leg had been hurt, but when he could still use his arm. He talked of his furlough and his mother and the Sunday School, and how glad he was that he had been in the fight.


At last his mind was turned to the thought that, perhaps, he might not be able to go home to his mother; that his furlough was to be a very long one, and that in the Father's house he would meet his mother and tell her how sorry he was that he had lied. At the service that Sunday afternoon he asked that we sing his favourite hymn. It may sound a bit old-fashioned now, but the boy loved it—"There is a happy land, far, far away." He tried to join in the singing; and when we sang the hymn—"I have a Saviour in the Promised Land," he wanted us to go over it twice. Before the next boat-load was shipped to Washington, Frankey had entered into the land where there is no war. He said "good-bye" that Sunday afternoon and gave me as a token of remembrance the tiny skein of silk; the other things I was to send to his mother. "Please, Sister Ohio," he said, "you tell her I am all right inside, and you are my sister, you know. Maybe I won't be here to-morrow, so will you kiss me ‘good-bye,' 'cause my mother ain't here?" So I kissed him.

At the end of a row of men lying on the ground in one of the tents, one day, was a man so wounded that he had severe hemorrhages. "Don't waste any time on him, Miss Ohio," an orderly said. "He is a goner; he will never get to a hospital." The poor fellow knew it himself, all too well, but, as I sat by him, he said, "Will you write to my wife and tell her to make my children know that I gave my life for my country? I want my boy to know about his father. Tell them I thought of them." The story was written in full. I added a tiny lock of hair and a special message from the father to the boy who bore his name, and as I read it to the suffering man, his gratitude was expressed in a whispered "God bless you."

"Everyone has inside of him a piece of good news. The good news is that you don't know how great you can be. How much you can love. What you can accomplish. And what your potential is. ~Anne Frank~

Edinborough Press Inc.

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The leadership's insistence on mature women caused a stir among the younger generation who seemed most ready to head to war. Jane Stuart Woolsey wittily remarked that, "Society just now presents itself the unprecedented spectacle of many women trying to make believe that they are over thirty." Georgeann Woolsey, Jane's sister, applied for a nursing post, although she was twenty-eight. To her pleasant surprise, she was accepted "by dint of taking the flowers out of my bonnet and the flounce off my dress; by toning down, or toning up, according to the emergency, I succeeded in getting myself looked upon with mitigated disapprobation."

Katherine Wormeley complained that her dress, sans hoops, was "rather medieval." Jane Grey Swisshelm described the ideal dress as "entirely destitute of steel, starch, whale-bones, flounces, and ornaments of all descriptions; should rest on the shoulders, have a skirt from the waist to the ankle, and a waist that leaves room for breathing." The outfit, she said, "led most people to mistake me for a nun."

Edinborough Press Inc.

"Conceit spoils the finest genius. There is not much danger that real talent or goodness will be overlooked long; even it it is, the consciousness of possessing and using it well should satisfy one, and the great charm of all power is modesty. ~Lousisa May Alcott~

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CORNELIA HANCOCK

"Cornelia Hancock was a young lady of twenty-three when she responded to the call of her brother-in-law, Dr. Henry Child of Philadelphia, to help out as a nurse. A New Jersey Quaker, she found in nursing her vocation; after the war she worked with Southern Negroes and among the Philadelphia poor.

Her letters, covering her nursing and hospital experience from Gettysburg to the Wilderness and beyond, are simple, vivid and sincere."

Gettysburg, July 8th, 1863

My Dear Sister,


We have been two days on the field; go out about eight and come in about six-go in ambulances or army buggies. The surgeons of the Second Corps had one put at our disposal. I feel assured I shall never feel horrified at anything that may happen to me hereafter. There is a great want of surgeons here; there are hundreds of brave fellows, who have not had their wounds dressed since the battle. Brave is not the word; more, more Christian fortitude never was witnessed than they exhibit, always say-"Help my neighbor first he is worse."


The Second Corps did the heaviest fighting, and, of course, all who were badly wounded, were in the thickest of the fight, and, therefore, we deal with the very best class of the men-that is the bravest. My name is particularly grateful to them because it is Hancock. General Hancock is 'very popular with his men. The reason why they suffer more in this battle is because our army is victorious and marching on after Lee, leaving the wounded for citizens and a very few surgeons. The citizens are stripped of everything they have, so you must see the exhausting state of affairs. The Second Army Corps alone had two thousand men wounded, this I had from the Surgeon's head quarters.


I cannot write more. There is no mail that comes in, we send letters out: I believe the Government has possession of the road. I hope you will write. It would be very pleasant to have letters to read in the evening, for I am so tired I cannot write them. Get the Penn Relief to send clothing here; there are many men without anything but a shirt lying in poor shelter tents, calling on God to take them from this world of suffering; in fact the air is rent with petitions to deliver them from their sufferings....


I do not know when I shall go home-it will be according to how long this hospital stays here and whether another battle comes soon. I can go. right in an ambulance without being any expense to myself. The Christian Committee support us and when they get tired the Sanitary is on hand. Uncle Sam is very rich, but very slow, and if it was not for the Sanitary, much suffering would ensue. We give the men toast and eggs for breakfast, beef tea at ten o'clock, ham and bread for dinner, and jelly and bread for supper. Dried rusk would be nice if they were only here. Old sheets we would give much for. Bandages are plenty but sheets very scarce. We have plenty of woolen blankets now, in fact the hospital is well supplied, but for about five days after the battle, the men had no blankets nor scarce any shelter.


It took nearly five days for some three hundred surgeons to perform the amputations that occurred here, during which time the rebels lay in a dying condition without their wounds being dressed or scarcely any food. If the rebels did not get severely punished for this battle, then I am no judge. We have but one rebel in our camp now; he says he never fired his gun if he could help it, and, therefore, we treat him first rate. One man died this morning. I fixed him up as nicely as the place will allow; he will be buried this afternoon. We are becoming somewhat civilized here now and the men are cared for well.


On reading the news of the copperhead performance, in a tent where eight men lay with nothing but stumps (they call a leg cut off above the knee a "stump") they said if they held on a little longer they would form a stump brigade and go and fight them. We have some plucky boys in the hospital, but they suffer awfully. One had his leg cut off yesterday, and some of the ladies, newcomers, were up to see him. I told them if they had seen as many as I had they would not go far to see the sight again. I could stand by and see a man's head taken off I believe-you get so used to it here.


I should be perfectly contented if I could receive my letters. I have the cooking all on my mind pretty much. I have torn almost all my clothes off of me, and Uncle Sam has given me a new suit. William says I am very popular here as I am such a contrast to some of the office-seeking women who swarm around hospitals. I am black as an Indian and dirty as a pig and as well as I ever was in my life-have a nice bunk and tent about twelve feet square. I have a bed that is made of four crotch sticks and some sticks laid across and pine boughs laid on that with blankets on top. It is equal to any mattress ever made. The tent is open at night and sometimes I have laid in the damp all night long, and got up all right in the morning.


The suffering we get used to and the nurses and doctors, stewards, etc., are very jolly and sometimes we have a good time. It is very pleasant weather now. There is all in getting to do what you want to do and I am doing that....

Pads are terribly needed here. Bandages and lint are plenty. I would like to see seven barrels of dried rusk here. I do not know the day of the week or anything else. Business is slackening a little though-order is beginning to things will be right. One poor fellow is hollow-wounding fearfully now while his wounds are being dressed.

There is no more imporpriety in a young person being here provided they are sensible than a sexagenarian. Most polite and obliging are all the soldiers to me.


It is a very good place to meet celebrities; they come here from all parts of the United States to see their wounded. Senator Wilson, Mr. Washburn, and one of the Minnesota Senators have been here. I get beef tenderloin for dinner.-Ladies who work are favored but the dress-up palaverers are passed by on the other side. I tell you I have lost my memory almost entirely, but it is gradually returning. Dr. Child has done very good service here. All is well with me; we do not know much war news, but I know I am doing all I can, so I do not concern further. Kill the copperheads. Write everything, however trifling, it is all interest here.



From thy affectionate
C. Hancock





Contraband Hospital, Washington, Nov. 5th,1863


My dear Sister:



I shall depict our wants in true but ardent words, hoping to affect you to some action. Here are gathered the sick from the contraband camps in the northern part of Washington. If I were to describe this hospital it would not be believed. North of Washington, in an open, muddy mire, are gathered all the colored people who have been made free by the progress of our Army.


Sickness is inevitable, and to meet it these rude hospitals, only rough wooden barracks, are in use-a place where there is so much to be done you need not remain idle. We average here one birth per day, and have no baby clothes except as we wrap them up in an old piece of muslin, that even being scarce. Now the Army is advancing it is not uncommon to see from 40 to 50 arrivals in one day. They go at first to the Camp but many of them being sick from exhaustion soon come to us. They have nothing that any one, in the North would call clothing. I always see them as soon as they arrive, as they come here to be vaccinated; about 25 a day are vaccinated.


This hospital is the reservoir for all cripples, diseased, aged, wounded, infirm, from whatsoever cause; all accidents happening to colored people in all employs around Washington are brought here. It is not uncommon for a colored driver to be pounded nearly to death by some of the white soldiers. We had a dreadful case of Hernia brought in today.


A woman was brought here with three children by her side; said she had been on the road for some time; a more forlorn, worn out looking creature I never beheld. Her four eldest children are still in Slavery, her husband is dead. When I first saw her she laid on the floor, leaning against a bed, her children crying around her. One child died almost immediately, the other two are still sick. She seemed to need most, food and rest, and those two comforts we gave her, but clothes she still wants.


I think the women are more trouble than the men. One of the white guards called to me today and asked me if I got any pay. I told him no. He said he was going to be paid soon and he would give me 5 dollars. I do not know what was running through his mind as he made no other remark. I ask for clothing for women and children, both boys and girls.


Two little boys, one 3 years old, had his leg amputated above the knee the cause being his mother not being allowed to ride inside, became dizzy and had dropped him. The other had his leg broken from the same cause. This hospital consists of all the lame, halt, and blind escaped from slavery. We have a man & woman here without any feet, theirs being frozen so they had to be amputated. Almost all have scars of some description and many have very weak eyes.


There were two very fine looking slaves arrived here from -Louisiana, one of them had his master's name branded on his forehead, and with him he brought all the instruments of torture that he wore at different times during 39 years of very hard slavery. I will try to send you a Photograph of him be wore an iron collar with 3 prongs standing up so he could not lay down his head; then a contrivance to render one leg entirely stiff and a chain clanking behind him with a bar weighing 50 lbs. This he wore and worked all the time hard.


At night they hung a little bell upon the prongs above his head so that if he hid in any bushes it would tinkle and tell his whereabouts. The baton that was used to whip them he also had. It is so constructed that a little child could whip them till the blood streamed down their backs. This system of proceeding has been stopped in New Orleans and may God grant that it may cease all over this boasted free land, but you may readily imagine what development such a system of treatment would bring them to. With this class of beings, those who wish to do good to the contrabands must labor. Their standard of morality is very low.

"I can stand out the war with any man." ~Florence Nightingale~

[dawna]

Sally Tompkins

Sally Tompkins administered one of the larger hospitals for the treatment of Confederate casualties. The daughter of Christopher Tompkins, a wealthy businessman and politician, she established a reputation as a philanthropist and nurse in Richmond, Va., where she and her family were living when the war began.

Following the First Battle of Manassas, a prominent Richmond judge named John Robertson offered his home as a military hospital and put Tompkins in charge of the operation. Although other private hospitals in Richmond that served the wounded were shut down to make way for larger military facilities, Tompkins obtained permission to carry on.

Confederate President Jefferson Davis gave Tompkins the rank of captain in the cavalry in September 1861, making her the first woman in the country to hold a military rank during wartime. In lieu of military wages, she received food, medicine and other supplies for the men. She ran her hospital with military discipline, Christian fervor and a fanatic insistence on sanitation. Of 1,333 patients admitted, only 73 died. Because of this success, some of the most grievously injured Army of Northern Virginia troops were sent to her hospital.

After the war, Tompkins remained single. She continued to take an interest in the welfare of Southern veterans until her death in 1916 at age 83, when she was buried with full military honors.



Civil War Magazine by: Alice P. Stein

[scone]

What a Wonderfullidea Dawna .. I'lll see If Ican find some that are not already listed.. Two more groups that we shou;d takre the time to honor are the Nuns )Sisters of mercy, Ssters of Charirty etc) Who did their shair of nursing as well ..

And then their are the countless number of Civilian Woman Who offered their kind word, a hand to hold or just a motherly face to look upon as a dying soldier passed on into the after life..

My heart felt thanks go to them all .. as well well as those that serve in that capacity today.

May God bless Them all.

regards Steven

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Theses sisters served in and around Vicksburg Mississippi & Shelby Springs Alabama

Sister Ignatius Sumner (1825-1896)
Sister Mary Vincent Browne (1836 - 1883)
Sister Marvy DeSales Browne (1826 - 1910)
Sister Mary Agnes Maddigan
Sister Mary Philomena Farmer (1842-1876)
Sister Stephana Warde (1829 -1904_
Siister Teresa Newman) (1823-1895
Siister Mary Xavier Poursine (1842-1918)

Sister Mary Regina - served in the washington infirmary

Ye Silent Dead
By Sister Mary Ignatius Sumner

The Silent Dead!
The Silent Dead!
I've Lingered Where They Sleep In Peace.
Where Care And Want Or Thought Of Dread
There Anguised Vigls Cease.

[scone]

A list of some of the Civilians that helped ease the suffering of the wounded after the Battle of Franklin.


Sarah J. Adkieson (1844 - ?)

Miss Rose (Roslie) Carter

Mrs Louisa Ann Figuers Bailey Crump (1819 - 1897)

Lulie Crump (1858 - 1889)

Mattie Crump (1845 - ?)

Evalyn M. Currin

Anna DeGraffinreid (1836 - ? )

Mrs Bethenia Hardin Perkins Figuers (1812 - 1869)
Prior to Hood 1864 Tennesee Campaign, Confederate Cav. Gen Wheeler and Forrest had dined at the Bethenia home on west main st in Franklin. On november 30th as the battle of Franklin progressed, Federal troops took some of their wound prisoners to the Betheni'a home. After the battle, she took charge of the wounded soldiers in home and soon they called her "Little Mother" She also helped care for the wounded soldiers in the Episcopal Church near her home.

Harding Perkins Figures (1849 - 1917)
After the Battle of Franklin he helped his mother care for the wounded solders in the Figuers Home.

Ida Figuers (1844-1933)
After the Battle of Franklin he she helped her mother care for the wounded solders in the Figuers Home.

Thomas Norfleet Figuers (1846 - 1935)
Thomas at age 15 enlisted in co. D 32 Tennessee Infantry . After it was determined that he was underage, he was discharged and returnedto Franklin. After the Battle of Franklin he Helped his mother care for the wounded solders in the Figuers Home.

Miss Lenora Hamilton

Annie Marshall (1851 - ? )
Francis C. Marshall (1847 - )

Estelle Mosely (1849 - ? )
Lycurgus S. H. Mosely (1852 - ?)
Mrs Mary Adaline Starnes Mosely (1819 - ? )
Nancy L Mosely (1856 - ? )
Nannie Mosely

Prior Perkins
Miss Sallie Perkins
Miss Anna simpson
Miss B Word (1846 - ? )
Josphina Word (1844- ? )
Mrs Margaret Word (1824 - ? )

Mrs. Carrie Snyder
Alice McPhail Nichol (age 8)
Anna Toone Sloan
Mrs Sarah Carter
Frances a McEwen

Fannie Courtney (age 19)
After the Battle of Franklin Fannie and her Mother took charge of 120 wounded men who occupied the prebyterian church. It being the Largest Federal hospital.. And another home near there own house.

Fannie 12 year old brother went along and wqould raise the head weary heads of the soldiers to give them coffe or water and feed thosewho were not able to do so themself.

He also went upon the battlefiels and helped bury the dead

Caroline "Carrie" Elizabeth Winder McGavock
Shortley after the start of of the battle of Franklin . the Wounded started to go to the rear. On that cold winter night, scores of wounded Confederates were crowed in to Carnton (McGavock Home) Ehen the house could hold no more the wounded were put in outbuildings and under the shelter of near by trees. Make shift operating tables were soon in use in side and outside of the home . all the roomes of the house but one (children's rooms) were ocupied by wounded soldiers.

And as bandages ran short Carrie tore up up sheets, curtains, and her own garments.

As some of the Wounded Died the McGavocked had the buried near there family Cemetery. and In 1866 Land for the rest of the Confederate Dead from the Battle was donated by the McGavocks re..

Today Carnton has the largest privately owned Confederate Cemetery.

Containing almost `1500 Confederate Soldiers and one non Confederate. Marcellus Cuppet (25) who died while helping in the reburials. Marcellus was a former McGavock slave.

[dawna]

Steven:

Thank you for mentioning the nuns and civilian women of the Civil War - these courageous women were also 'angels' of the battlefield and should be remembered as well.

Dawna