Pember, Phoebe Yates, “Reminiscences of A Southern Hospital. By Its Matron.”
The Cosmopolite, Serialized: Vol. I., No. I. January 1866, pp.70-89;
First page of memoir has it copyrighted 1865 by T. C. DeLeon in Maryland.
REMINISCENCES
OF
A SOUTHERN HOSPITAL.
BY ITS MATRON.
NUMBER ONE.
Soon after the battle of
Manassas, the want of hospitals, properly organized and arranged, began to be
felt; and buildings, adapted for the purpose, were secured by Government.
Richmond, being nearest the scene of action, took the lead in this matter, and
the former hastily contrived accommodations for the sick, were soon replaced by
larger, more comfortable; and better ventilated buildings.
The expense of keeping up small
hospitals had forced itself upon the attention of the Surgeon General, who
afterwards gradually incorporated them into half a dozen immense establishments,
situated around the suburbs. These were called Camp Jackson, Camp Winder,
Chimborazo Hospital, Stuart Hospital, and Howard Grove; and were arranged so
that fourteen or fifteen wards formed a division, and generally five divisions a
hospital. Each ward accommodated from thirty to forty patients, according to the
immediate need for space. Besides the sick wards, similar buildings were used
for official purposes, for in these immense establishments every necessary trade
was carried on. There was the carpenter's, blacksmith's, apothecary's, and
shoemaker's shops; the ice house, commissary and quarter master's departments,
offices for surgeons, stewards, baggage masters, and clerks. Each division was
furnished with all these, and the whole hospital presented to the eye the
appearance of a small village.
There was no reason why, with
this preparation for the wounded and sick, they should not receive all the
benefit of good nursing and food; but rumors began to be prevalent that there
was something wrong in the hospital administration, and, soon after; Congress
passed a law by which matrons were appointed. They had no official recognition,
ranking even below stewards. The pay also was almost nominal, from the
depreciated nature of the currency. There had been a great deal of desultory
visiting and nursing, by the ladies, previous to this law being passed,
resulting in more harm than good to the patients; and now that the field was
open, a few, very few ladies, and a great many uneducated women, hardly above
the laboring classes, applied and filled the offices.
The women of the South had been
openly and violently rebellious from the moment they thought their State's
rights touched. They incited the men to struggle for their liberties, and
whether right or wrong, sustained them nobly to the end. They were the first to
rebel, the last to succumb. Taking an active part in all that came within their
sphere, and sometimes compelled to step beyond it, when the field demanded as
many soldiers as could be raised; feeling the deepest interest in every man in
the gray uniform of the Confederate service, they were doubly anxious to give
comfort and assistance to the sick and wounded. In the course of a long and
harassing war, with ports blockaded and harvests burnt, rail tracks constantly
torn up, and supplies of food cut off, and sold always at exhorbitant prices, no
appeal was ever made to the women of the South, individually or collectively,
that did not meet with a ready response. There was no parade of generosity, no
long lists of donations, inspected by public eyes. What was contributed was
given unostentatiously, whether a bag of coffee or half of the only bottle of
wine in the giver's possession.
About this time one of the large
hospitals above mentioned was to be opened, and the wife of the then acting
Secretary of War offered me the chief matron's place in one of the
divisions-rather a startling proposition to a woman brought up in all the
comforts of luxurious life. Foremost among the Virginia women, Mrs. R___ had
given all her resources of mind and means to the sick, and, her graphic and
earnest representations of the good an educated and determined woman could
effect in such a place, settled the matter. The common idea that such a life
would be injurious to the delicacy and refinement of a lady, that her nature
would become deteriorated and her sensibilities blunted; was rather appalling.
But the first step only costs, and that was taken very soon.
A preliminary interview with the
surgeon-in-chief restored all necessary confidence-for, the first day as the
last, he was the energetic, capable manager, the careful, liberal financier, the
skilful, penetrating physician, and the kind, courteous gentleman. Always
attentive and thoughtful, however harassed with business, he had the faculty of
having oil always ready for troubled waters. Difficulties melted away beneath
the warmth of his ready interest, and mountains became molehills after his quick
comprehension had surmounted and leveled them. However troublesome daily
increasing annoyances became, if they could not be removed, his few but ready
words sent applicants home; satisfied to do the best they could. Wisely he
decided to have only ladies at the head of the female departments of his
division, and having succeeded, never forgot that fact.
The hour after my arrival in
Richmond found me at headquarters, the only two-story building on hospital
ground, occupied by the chief surgeon and his clerks. He had not yet arrived;
arid while waiting in the office many of his corps, who had expected in horror
the advent of female supervision, came and went. There was at that time blissful
ignorance on all sides, except among hospital officials, of the decided
objection to the carrying out of a law which they prognosticated entailed
“petticoat government;” but there was no mistaking the stage whisper on the
outside of the office that morning, as the little un-informed contract surgeon
passed out and informed a friend at the door, in a tone of ill-repressed
disgust, that “one of them had come!”
To those not acquainted with
hospital arrangements, some explanations are necessary. To each hospital is
assigned a surgeon-in-chief; to each division of the hospital a
surgeon-in-charge; to each ward of the division an assistant surgeon; but when
the press is great, contract doctors are put also in charge of wards. The
surgeon-in-chief of a large hospital can seldom attend to more than the
financiering part, the proper supply of food and necessary articles, and a
general supervision of everything under him. The surgeon-in-charge attended in
the same way to his division, but went through his wards daily, consulting with
his assistant surgeons and reforming abuses. He made his report, each day, to
the surgeon-in-chief. The assistant surgeon had only his ward or wards to
attend, seeing the sick and wounded twice a day, and prescribing for them. In
case of danger, he called in the surgeon-in-charge for advice or to share
responsibility. The contract surgeons performed the same duties as assistant
surgeons, but were not commissioned officers, and received less pay. Each ward
had its corps of nurses, unfortunately not practiced or perfect in their duties,
as they were men convalescing after illness or wounds, and placed in that
position till strong enough for field duty. This arrangement was very hard upon
all interested; and harder on the sick, entailing constant supervision and
endless teaching; but the demand for men in the field was too imperative to
allow any of them to be detailed for nursing purposes.
Besides these mentioned, the
hospital contained an endless horde of stewards' clerks, surgeons' clerks,
commissary clerks, quartermasters' clerks, apothecaries' clerks,
baggage-masters, forage-masters, wagon-masters, cooks, bakers, carpenters,
shoemakers, ward inspectors, ambulance drivers, and many now-forgotten
hangers-on, to whom the soldiers gave the name of “hospital rats,” in common
with would-be invalids, who resisted being cured from a disinclination
for field service. They were all so called, it is to be presumed, from the
difficulty of getting rid of both species. A portion of the noncommissioned
officials were men unfit for the field, but there were many exceptions.
Among these different elements,
all belittled by long service away from the ennobling influences of the field,
and all striving, with rare exceptions, to gain the little benefits and petty
luxuries so scarce in the Confederacy, I was introduced, one day, by the surgeon
of my division. He was a cultivated, gentlemanly man, kind-hearted, when he
remembered to be so, and, very much afraid of any responsibility resting on his
shoulders. No preparations had been made by him for his female department. He
escorted me into a long, low, whitewashed building, open from end to end, called
for two chairs, and with entire composure, as if surrounding circumstances were
most favorable, commenced a conversation on belles lettres, female influence,
arid the first, last, and only novel published in the Confederate States. A
pretty compliment finished the interview, with a promise to see about getting
the carpenter, to make partitions and shelves for the kitchen. The steward was
sent for, and my small reign began.
A stove was unearthed, very
small, very rusty, arid fit only for a family of six. There were then about
three hundred men upon the diet list, which was to be sent daily to the matron's
kitchen for food for the patients – the very sick ones being supplied from my
kitchen and the convalescents from the steward's, called, in contradistinction
to mine, the “big kitchen.” At that time my mind could hardly grope through
the darkness that clouded it as to my special duties, but one spectrum always
presented itself, and intuitively kept its place, - “chicken soup.”
Having heard of requisitions, I
then and there made my first in very unofficial style-a polite request sent
through “Jim,” a small black boy, to the steward, for “a pair of
chickens.” They came ready dressed. Jim picked up some shavings, kindled up
the stove, begged, borrowed, or stole, a large iron pot from the big kitchen;
for the first time I cut up a raw bird – and the Rubicon was passed.
My readers must not suppose that
this picture applies generally to hospitals, or that means and appliances for
food and comfort were at that time so meagre in all such establishments. This
state of affairs was only the result of accident and some misunderstanding. The
surgeon naturally thought that I had some experience, and would use the power
the law of Congress gave me to arrange my own department; and I, in reading the
bill passed for the introduction of matrons into hospitals, could only
understand that the position was one which dove-tailed the offices of
housekeeper and cook nothing more.
In the meanwhile the soup was
boiling, and was undeniably a success from the perfume it exhaled. Nature may
not have intended me for a Florence Nightingale, but a kitchen proved my worth.
Frying pans, griddles, stew pans and coffee pots became my household gods – the
niches had been prepared years previously, invisible to the naked eye, but still
there. Gaining courage from, familiarity with my position, a venture across the
street brought me to a ward (they were all separate buildings, it must be
remembered, with long low cabin windows that pushed back upon the wall,) and
under the first I peeped in, extended on a bed, lay the shadow of a man, pale,
wan and attenuated.
What woman's heart would not melt
and make its home where so much needed.
His wants were inquired into, and
(like almost all the commoner class of men who think, unless they have been
living upon “hog and hominy,” they are starved) he complained of not having
eaten anything for “three mortal weeks.”
In the present state of my
kitchen larder, there certainly was not much of a choice, and I was yet ignorant
of the capabilities of the steward's department. However, soup was suggested as
a great soother of “misery in his back,” and a large supply of adjectives
added for flavor – “nice, hot, strong, good chicken soup.” The suggestion
was concurred in. If it was very good he would take some, “though he was never
much of a hand for drinks.” My mind rejected the application of words;
but matter, not mind, was the subject under discussion.
All a cook's experience revolted
against soup without the sick man's parsley, and “Jim,” my acting partner,
volunteered to get some at “the Dutchman's;” and at last, armed with a bowl
full of the composition, duly salted, peppered and seasoned, I sought my first
patient.
He rose deliberately – so
deliberately that I felt sensible of the great favor he was conferring; he
smoothed his tangled locks with a weak hand, took a piece of well masticated
tobacco from between three or four solitary teeth, but still the bowl was
unappropriated, and it was evident that some other preliminaries were to be
arranged. The novelty of my position and a lively imagination suggested fears
that he might probably think it necessary to arise for compliment sake, and
hospital clothing being made to suit the scarcity and expense of homespun, the
idea was startling. But suspense did not continue long; it was only a brown
covered tract he needed.
Did he intend to read a grace
before meat? No, he simply wanted a pocket handkerchief; which cruel war had
rendered almost a luxury; so without comment a leaf was abstracted from those
left and applied to the nose. The result was satisfactory, for the next second
the first spoonful of soup was transferred to his mouth.
It was an awful moment! My fate
seemed to hang upon the fiat of that uneducated palate. A long painful gulp, a
“judgmatical” shake of the head, not in the affirmative, and the bowl slowly
travelled back to my extended hand.
“My mammy's soup was not like that,”
he whined, “but I might worry a little down if it was not for them weeds in
it!”
Well, why feel aggrieved? There
may not be any actual difference between weeds and herbs!
After that first day improvements
rapidly progressed. Better stores were put up, closets enclosed, china, or its
substitutes, tin and pottery, supplied. The coffee, tea, milk and all the
delicacies provided for the sick wards, turned over to the matron's department;
also a co-laborer with Jim, whose disposition proved to be like our old horse,
who pulled steadily and well in single harness, but when tried in double, left
all the work to the last comer. However, honor to whom honor is due. He gave me
many hints which my higher intelligence had overlooked; comprehended by him more
through instinct than, reason, and was as clever at gathering trophies for my
sick as Gen. Butler was – for other purposes.
Still my office did not rise
above that of chief cook, for I dared not leave the kitchen unattended, till Dr.
M., passing the window one day, and seeing me seated on a low bench, peeling
potatoes, appeared much surprised and inquired where my cooks were? Explanations
followed, a copy of hospital rules were produced, and instructions found to
supply the matron's kitchen with necessary attendants. A gentle, sweet tempered
lady, extremely neat and efficient, was appointed as assistant matron; as well
as two cooks and an experienced baker. Jim and his companion were degraded into
“hewers of wood and drawers of water,” that is to say, these were to have
been their duties, but their occupation became that of walking gentlemen. With
their out-door work their allegiance ceased, and the “trophies” which
formerly swelled my list of dainties, were afterwards nightly, carried off down
the hill.
Then began the proper routine of
hospital life. Breakfast at seven in summer and eight in winter. Coffee, tea,
milk, breads of two or three kinds and butter, (towards the end of the war we
were not able to be so luxurious,) and also whatever could be saved from the
dinner of the day before. The relishes would be impartially divided among the
fifteen wards, so that each could furnish from five to ten sick men with some
delicacy.
The Ward Masters, attended by
their nurses, gathered three times a day around the little office window,
adjoining the kitchen, with their large wooden trays and supplies of plates,
waiting to receive the food, each being helped in turn to a fair division. If an
invalid craved any particular dish, the nurse mentioned the want, and if not
contrary to the surgeon's orders, it, or its nearest approximation, was given to
him.
After breakfast the assistant
surgeons visited their wards, making out diet lists for each, or rather filling
them up, for the form had already been printed, and only the invalid's name,
number of his bed and diet – light, half or full – were required to be
specified. Also the quantity of whiskey desired for each.
Dinner and supper were served in
a similar way. At one o'clock the nurses came for the dinner or the very sick,
denominated the light diet, supposed to mean tea and toast, beef soup, eggs,
etc., as well as nutriment concocted from those tasteless and starchy compounds
of wheat and corn which are so thick and heavy to swallow and so little
nutricious. They were served hot from the fire, or congealed from the ice, (for
after the deprivation of ice during the first summer of the war, had been felt,
each hospital was provided by the next season with a full ice house.) By two
o'clock the regular dinner of poultry, beef, ham, fish, vegetables and salads
was distributed. Supper, like beakfast, at five. The chief matron sat at her
table, with the diet lists arranged before her each day, so that no particular
ward should invariably be first served, and then read out to her assistant the
necessary directions of the surgeon's, making sometimes, it is true, very
imprudent observations, not always complimentary towards the assistant surgeons.
The orders ran somewhat in this
fashion – “chicken soup for five – beef tea for eight – tea and toast
for one.” A certain Mr. Jones, who had expressed his abhorrence of that diet.
So I asked the nurse why it was ordered?
He did not know. Jones said he
would not touch such food, he never ate slops, and therefore had been without
nourishment for nearly two days.
“What does he wish?”
“The doctor says tea and
toast.”
“Did you tell the doctor that
he would not eat it?”
“I told the doctor and he
told the doctor.”
“Perhaps he did not hear, or
understand you?”
“Yes, he did, but he only said he wanted that man
particularly to have tea and toast, though I told him Jones threw it up
regularly; but lie put it down again and said, Jones was out of his head, and
Jones says the doctor's a fool.”
My remark on this was, that Jones
could not be very much out of his head, an observation that entailed
consequences afterwards. That habit so common among the surgeons of insisting
upon particular kinds of diet to be taken, irrespective of the patient's tastes,
was a peculiar grievance which no complaint for four years ever remedied.
By three all the food has been
distributed, the nurses returning for a larger supply if necessary, or for some
dish the patient had craved.
Although visiting my wards in the
morning for the purpose of speaking words of comfort to the sick, and remedying
any apparent evils which had been overlooked or forgotten by the surgeons in
their rounds, the fear that the nourishment furnished had not suited the taste
of men debilitated, to an extreme, not only by disease or wounds, but also by
the privations and exposure of camp life, would again take me there during the
afternoon. Then would come heart sickness and discouragement, for out of twenty
invalids, six on an average would not allow that they had taken any nourishment
whatever. This was partly habit and imitation of others, and partly the human
desire to enlist sympathy. The common soldier has a horror of a hospital, and
with the rejection of food comes the hope that weakness will increase and a
furlough become necessary. Besides this, the human palate requires education as
well as any other organ. Who knows a good painting till the eye is trained, or
fine harmony till the ear is taught, and why should not the same rule apply to
tongue and taste? Men, who never in their lives before had been sick, or
swallowed those starchy, flavorless compounds young surgeons are so fond of
prescribing, repudiate them invariably, besides being suspicious of the terra
incognita from which they spring, and suspicion always engenders disgust.
Daily inspection convinced me
that great evils yet existed. The barrel of whiskey was still kept at the
dispensary under the charge of the apothecary and his clerks, or rather
assistants; and pints or quarts were issued according to the orders of attending
surgeons. There were many suspicious circumstances connected with this
institution, for the monthly barrel of whiskey is an institution, and a
very important one in a hospital. If it is necessary to have a hero for this
bare narrative of facts, the whiskey barrel will have to advance and make his
bow.
A further reference to the bill
passed by Congress proved that liquors, as well as luxuries, belonged to the
matron's department, and in an evil moment such an impulse as tempted Pandora to
open the fatal casket assailed me, and I despatched the bill with a formal
requisition for the barrel. An answer came in the form of the head surgeon. He
courteously told me that I would “I find the charge very onerous;” that
“whiskey was required at all hours, sometimes in the middle of the night,”
and he would not like me to be disturbed – “it was constantly needed for
medicinal purposes” – “he was responsible for its proper application;”
but I was not convinced and withstood all argument. Dr. A. was proverbially
sober himself, but there were reasons why both commissioned as well as
non-commissioned officers opposed so violently the removal of the liquors to my
quarters. However, the printed law was at hand for reference; it was like
nailing my colors to the mast; and that evening all the liquor was locked
up in my own pantry, and the key in my own pocket!
The first restraints of a woman's
presence had now worn away, and the thousand petty miseries of my position began
to make itself felt. The young surgeons (not all gentleman, though their
profession should have made them aspirants to the name,) and the nurses played
into each others hands. If the former were off on a frolic, the latter would
conceal the absence of necessary attendance by erasing the date of the diet list
of the day before, substituting the proper one, duplicating the prescription
also, thus preventing inquiry. In like manner the assistant surgeons, to whom
the nurses are alone responsible, would give leave of absence and conceal the
fact from the surgeon-in-charge, which could easily be effected; the patients
would suffer, and complaints from the matron be not only obnoxious and
troublesome, but entirely out of her line of business. She was to be cook and
housekeeper; nothing more. Added to other difficulties was the dragon-ship of
the Hesperides, the guarding of the golden fruit to which access had been open
to a certain extent before her arrival; and for many, many months the petty
persecution exercised and endured from all the small fry around, almost exceeded
human patience. What the surgeon-in-charge could do, he did; but with the weight
of a hospital on his mind, and very little authority delegated to him, he could
hardly reform or punish silly annoyances: so small in the abstract, so great in
the aggregate.
The eventful evening that Mr.
Jones revolted against tea and toast, my unfortunate remark, intended for one
ear alone, but caught by the nurse – to the effect that the patient could not
be confused in his intellects if he said his surgeon was a fool – brought
forth a recriminating note to me. It was from that maligned and incensed
gentleman, and proved the progenitor to a long series of communications of the
same character, a family likeness pervading them all, commencing with “the
chief matron and Dr. ____,” continuing with “Mrs. ____ and I,” and ending
with “you and him.” They were difficult to understand and more difficult to
submit to. Accustomed to be treated with extreme deference and courtesy by the
highest officials connected with the Departments, moving in the same social
grade I always occupied when beyond the hospital bounds, the change was
appalling.
The inundation of notes that
followed for many months could not have been sent back unopened, the last refuge
under such circumstances; for some of them might have related to the well-being
of the sick. My pen was ready enough, but could I waste my thunder in such an
atmosphere?
The depreciated currency, which
purchased only at fabulous prices; the poor pay the government (feeling it
necessary to keep up the credit of its paper) gave to its officials; the natural
craving for luxuries that had been but common food before the war, caused
appeals to be constantly made to me, sometimes for the applicant, oftener for
his wife, family or sick friend, so that even if I had given one-tenth demanded,
there would have been nothing left for the patient.
It was hard to refuse, for the
plea that it was not mine, but merely a charge confided to me, was looked upon
as a pretext, and outsiders calculated upon the quantity issued to my
Department, losing sight of the quantity consumed.
Half a dozen men missed their
poor dinner at the steward's table daily, and sent for “anything,” which
generally meant turkey and oysters. Others had “been up all night and craved a
cup of coffee,” and as for diseases among both commissioned and
non-commissioned men, caused by entire destitution of whiskey, and only to be
cured by it-their name was legion. Every pound of coffee, every ounce of
whiskey, bushel of flour, or basket of vegetables, duly weighed before delivery,
was intended for their particular consumers, who, if they could not eat or drink
what was provided for them, watched their property zealously and claimed it too:
- so how could I give?
The necessity of refusing the
live-long day to naturally generous tempers, makes them captious and uncivil,
and the soft answer to turn away wrath becomes an impossibility. Demands
amounted soon to persecution, when the refusals became the rule instead of the
exception, and the breach thus made grew wider, day by day, till I began to feel
like Ishmael, “my hand against every man and every man's hand against me.”
There is little gratitude felt in
a hospital, and none expressed. The mass of patients are uneducated men, who
have lived by the sweat of their brow, and gratitude is an exotic, planted in a
refined atmosphere, kept free from coarse contact and nourished by
unselfishness. Common natures look only with astonishment at great sacrifices,
and cunningly avail themselves of them, but give nothing in return, not even the
satisfaction of allowing one to suppose that the care exerted has been
beneficial; - that would entail compensation of some kind, and in their
ignorance they fear the nature of the equivalent which might be demanded.
Still pleasant episodes often
occur to vary disappointments and lighten duties.
“Could you write me a
letter?” drawled a whining voice from a bed in one of the wards, a cold winter
day in '62.
The speaker was a Georgian, lean,
yellow; attenuated, with wispy strands of hair hanging over his high thin cheek
bones. He put out a hand to detain me, and I noticed the nails were like claws.
“Why do you not let the nurse
cut your nails?”
“Because I aint got any spoon,
and I use them instead.”
Will you let me have your hair
cut then? You can't get well with all that dirty hair hanging about your ears
and eyes.”
“No, I can't git my hair cut,
kase as how I promised my mammy that I would let it grow 'till the war be over.
O, it's onlucky to cut it.”
“Then I can't write for you. If
you will do what I want I will do what you want.”
This was plain talking. The hair
being cut, I brought in my portfolio, and sitting by the side of the bed, waited
for further orders. They came without more formal introduction, “for Mrs.
Marshy Brown.”
“My dear Mammy - “I hope this finds you well, as it leaves me well, and I hope I shall
get a furlough Christmas and see you, and I hope you will keep well and all the
folks be well by that time as I feel well myself. This leaves me in good health
as I hope it will finds you and –”
But here I made a pause, as his
mind seemed to be going around in a circle, and asked him a few questions as to
his home, his position during the last summer's campaign; how he got sick, and
where his brigade was then stationed, etc. Thus furnished with some material to
work on, the letter proceeded rapidly. Four sides were filled up, for no soldier
would think a letter worth sending home which had any blank paper. Transcribing
his name – the number of his ward and proper address, so that an answer might
reach him safely, the composition was read to him. Gradually his pale face
brightened; a sitting posture was assumed with evident interest. I folded it and
directed it, contributed the expected five-cent Confederate stamp, and handed it
over.
“Did you write all that,” he
said with great emphasis.
“Yes.”
“Did I say all that.”
“I think so.”
A dead pause ensued of undoubted
admiration - astonishment. What was working in that poor mind? Could it be that
Psyche had stirred one of the delicate plumes of her wings, and the dormant soul
was-touched?
“Are you married.” The harsh
voice dropped very low. “No.”
He rose still higher in bed, pushed desperately
away the tangled hay on his brow; a faint color fluttered over the hollow cheek,
and stretching out a long bone with a talon attached, he touched my arm, and
with mysterious voice whispered imperiously – “You wait!”
And readers, I am waiting; and I
here caution the male portion of creation who may love through their mental
powers, to respect my confidence and not seek to shake my constancy.
Sometimes the compliments paid
were pretty from their novelty and originality, but they were rare. Expression
was not a gift with the common class of soldiers. “You will run them little
feet of you'rn off – they aint much to boast of any way,” said a rough
Kentuckian. Was not this as complimentary as the lover who compared his
mistress' foot to a dream; and much more comprehensible?
At times the lower wards would be filled with rough
men from camp, who bad not seen a female face for months, and though too much
occupied by business to notice it much, their partly concealed, but determined
regard, would become embarassing. One day while talking with a ward master, my
attention was attracted by the pertinacious staring of a rough-looking Texan. He
walked round and round me, examining every detail of my dress, face and figure;
his eye never fixing upon any particular part for a moment, but travelling
incessantly all over me. It was the wonderment of the mind at the sight of a new
creation. I moved my position; he shifted his to suit the new arrangement –
again a change was made, so obviously to get out of his range, that with a
delicacy the roughest men treated me with always, he desisted from his
inspection so far, that though his person made no movement, his neck twisted
round to accomodate his eyes, till I supposed some progenitor of the family had
been an owl. The men began to titter, and patience became exhausted.
“Well, my man, did you never
see a woman before?”
“Laws sake!” he ejaculated,
making no move towards withdrawing his determined notice, “I never did see
such a nice one; you's pretty as a pair of red shoes with green strings.”
These were the two compliments
laid upon the shrine of my vanity during four years contact with thousands of
patients, and I commit them to paper, to give some idea of the portrait wanting
for a frontispiece, and to prove to all readers that a woman, with a face like a
pair of red shoes with green strings, must have some claim to the apple of
Paris.
Scenes of pathos occurred
daily-scenes that wrung the heart and forced the summer rain of pity from the
eyes. But feeling or sentiment that enervated the mind and body was a luxury
that could not be indulged in. There was too much work to be done, too much
active exertion required, and both mental and physical energies were severly
taxed each day. Perhaps they balanced and so kept each other from sinking.
Besides, there was not sufficient leisure time to think, the necessity for
action being ever present.
After the battle of
Fredericksburg, while waiting in a sick ward for brandy for a dying man, a low,
pleasant voice said, “Madame.” It came from a youth looking very ill, but so
placid. He had that earnest, far away gaze, so common to the eyes that are
looking their last in this world. Perhaps God in his mercy gives a glimpse of
coming peace, past understanding, which reflects itself in the dying eyes into
which we look with such strong yearning to fathom what they see. He shook his
head in negative to all offers of food or drink, or suggestions of a softer
pillow, or lighter covering.
“I want Perry,” was all he
said.
On inquiry I found that Perry was
the friend and companion who had marched by his side in the field, and slept
nearest him in camp, but whose present whereabouts he was ignorant of. Armed
with a requisition from our surgeon, I sought and found his name at the
receiving hospital, from which he bad been transferred to Jackson. He was soon
seated by my side in my ambulance, and on arrival at our hospital, we found my
patient had dropped asleep. A bed was brought and put by his side, and Perry,
only very slightly wounded, laid upon it. Just then the sick man awoke wearily,
turned over and the half unconscious eye fixed itself. He must have been
dreaming of the meeting, for he still distrusted the reality. Illness had
spiritualized the poor boy's face; the transparent forehead, the delicate brow
so clearly defined, looked more like heaven than earth. As be recognized his
comrade, a lovely smile curved his lips, heretofore so wan and expressionless;
the angel of death had brought the light of summer skies to that pale face.
“Perry,” he cried, “Perry!” and throwing himself into his friend's arms
with an effort, the radiant eyes closed, but the smile still lingered around the
lips-the golden bowl was broken.
There is little sensibility
exhibited by soldiers for their comrades in a hospital, and whatever feeling
might have yet lingered in my heart was dispelled by a drawling voice from a
neighboring bed – “I say there, could you give me such a thing as a sweet
per-r-rta-a-a-tu-ur; I b’long to the twenty second Nor Ka-a-a-li-i-na
regiment.” I told the nurse to remove his bed away from proximity to his dead
neighbor, thinking that in the low state of his health it might affect him, but
he treated the suggestion with contempt. “Don't make no sort of difference to
me, they dies all around me a fighting in the field, - don't trouble me.”
The complaints of wounded men
still continued as to the theft of the liquor issued, and no vigilance on my
part could check the appropriation, or discover the thieves in the wards. There
were so many drawbacks to having proper precautions taken. Lumber was so high
that closets were out of the question, and locks not to be found for any money.
The liquor, therefore, when it had left my kitchen, was open to any passer-by
who would watch his opportunity; so although I had the strongest objection to
female nurses, the supposition that whiskey would not be a temptation to them,
and would be more liable to reach its proper destination through their hands,
determined me to try them.
Unlucky thought, born in an evil
hour!
There was no lack of applications
for the office, but my choice hesitated between ladies of the best rank in the
Confederacy and the commonest class of respectable servants. The latter suited
better, because it was to be supposed they would be more amenable to authority.
Three were engaged and taught that the fifteen wards were to be divided among
them, five to each matron. They were to keep the bed clothing in order, receive
and dispense the liquor, carry any little delicacy of food to their respective
wards for their sick, and do anything they were told, that was reasonable. The
last was an express stipulation.
The next day my new corps were in
attendance, and the bottle of whiskey, the egg-nogg, and different stimulants
for her ward delivered to No. 1. She was a cross-looking woman from North
Carolina, painfully ugly, or rather what is termed “hard featured,” and very
taciturn, the last rather an advantage. She had hardly left my kitchen when she
returned with all the drinks, and a very indignant face.
In reply to inquiry made, she
proved her taciturnity was not chronic. She said she was a decent woman, and
“was not going anywhere in a place where a man sat on a bed in his shirt and
the rest laughed – she knew they laughed at her.” The good old proverb that
talking is silver but silence is gold had impressed itself on my mind long
since, so I silently took her charge from her, and told her a hospital was no
place for a person of her delicate sensibilities, at the same time bringing
forward Miss G. and myself, who were almost young enough to be her daughters, as
examples for her imitation.
She said very truly that we did
as we pleased, and so would she; and that was the last we saw of her.
What her ideas of hospital life
were, I never enquired and perhaps will never know.
No. 2 came gallantly forward. She
was a plausible light-haired, light-eyed and light-complexioned Englishwoman;
very small, with a high nose! She had arrived at the hospital with seven trunks,
which ought to have been a warning tome, but she brought such strong
recommendations that they weighed down in the balance. She received the pitcher
of punch with averted head, and nose completely turned aside, held it at arms
length with a high disdain mounted on her high nose, Her excuse was that the
smell of liquor was “awful,” she “could not abear it and it turned her
stomach.” This was suspicious, but we waited for further developments.
Dinner was given out, and No. 2
was vigilant and attentive, carrying her portion with the assistance of the
nurses to her wards. No. 3, an inoffensive woman, did the same and all was well.
That afternoon as I sat in my
little sanctum, adjoining my office, Miss G. put her head in with an
apprehensive look and said, “the new matrons wanted to see me.” They came
in, and my high-nosed friend, after a few preliminaries, said with a toss of her
head and a sniff, that I was very comfortable. I thought so too! She
continued the conversation, saying that “other people were not, who were quite
as much entitled to be so.” This was also undeniable. She said, “they were
not satisfied, for I had not invited them into my room, and they considered
themselves quite as much of ladies as I was.” I rejoined, “I was very glad
to hear that and hoped they would always behave in a way suitable to that
title.” There was an evident desire on her part to say more, but what was it
to be? They finished by requesting me to inspect their quarters, which they were
not satisfied with. An hour later I did so, and found them all sitting around a
sociable spittoon, with a friendly box of snuff-dipping!
It was almost impossible to
persuade these people that the government alone was answerable for their not
being provided with other and better quarters; they persisted in holding me
responsible.
The next day on entering No. 2's
ward, I found a corner of the building of about eight feet square portioned off,
a rough plank partition dividing this temporary room from the rest of the ward.
Seated comfortably within was the
new matron, entrenched behind her trunks. A neat little table and chair,
abstracted from my kitchen added to her comforts. Choice pieces of crockery,
remnants of more peaceful times, that had remained for ornament of my shelves,
were placed tastefully around, and the drinks issued for the patients were at
her elbow. She explained that she kept them there to prevent theft. Perhaps the
nausea arising from their neighborhood had tinted the high nose higher, and
there was a defiant look about it as if she had sniffed the bottle afar.
It was very near though, and had
to be fought, however disagreeable, so my explanation was short but polite. Each
patient being allowed a certain amount of space, every inch taken therefrom was
so much ventilation lost, and the abstraction of eight feet of ground for
improper purposes was a serious matter, contrary to the laws of the hospital.
Besides this, no woman could be allowed to live in the wards for many reasons.
She was a sensible person, for she did not waste her breath in talking; she
merely kept her place. An appeal made by me to the surgeon of the ward did not
result favorably; he said I had engaged her, and she belonged to my corps and
was under my supervision; so I sent for the steward.
The steward of a hospital cannot
tell you exactly what his duties area the difficulty being to find out what they
are not. Whenever it has to be decided who has to perform a disagreeable office,
the choice invariably falls upon the steward. So to his quarters a message was
sent to request him to make No. 2 evacuate her hastily improvised premises. He
hesitated long, but engaging at last the services of his assistant, a
broad-shouldered, fighting character, proceeded to eject the new tenant.
His polite explanations were met
in a startling manner. She arose and rolled up her sleeves, advancing upon him
as he receded down the ward. The sick and wounded men roared with laughter and
cheered her on, and soon she remained mistress of the field. Dinner preparations
served as an interlude, and, calm as summer seas, she made her entree into the
kitchen, received the food for her ward and vanished. In half an hour the ward
master of the ward in which she was domiciled made his report, and indeed
recounted a pitiful tale. He was a neat, quiet manager, and kept his ward
beautifully clean. No. 2, he said, “divided the dinner, and whenever she came
across a bone, in hash or stew, she became displeased and dashed it upon the
floor.” With so little to make a hospital gay, this peculiar episode was a
god-send to all lookers on except myself. The surgeons stood in groups laughing,
the men crowded around the window of the belligerent power, and a coup d'etat
was necessary.
“Send me the carpenter.” (I
felt the courage of Boadecia.) The man stepped up; he was always quiet, civil
and obedient.
“Come with me to ward E.”
A few steps brought us there.
“Knock down that partition
instantly, and carry those boards out.”
It was un fait accompli.
But the victory was not gained,
only the fortifications stormed and taken, for almost hidden by flying splinters
and dust, No. 2 sat among her seven trunks, enthroned like Rome upon the seven
hills.
The story is not interesting
enough to dwell on longer, but the result was very annoying. She was put in the
ambulance with all her baggage, and sent away, very drunk by this time. The next
day, decently dressed, she managed to get an interview with the medical
director, enlisted his sympathy with a plausible tale she trumped up of her
desolate condition, “a refugee who was trying to make her living decently,”
and receiving an order to report again at our hospital, was back there by noon,
Explanations had to be written, and the surgeon-in-chief to interfere with his
authority before we could get rid of her. About this time an attack on Drewry's
Bluff was expected, and was made before the hospital was in readiness to receive
the wounded. The cannonading could be distinctly, heard in the city, and the
dense smoke seen rising above the battle field. The Richmond people bad been too
often, if not through the wars, at least within sight and sound of their
terrors, to feel any great alarm.
The hospital people, lying in
groups, crowded the eastern brow of the hill, discussing the probable results of
the struggle, while the change from the dull boom of the cannon to the sharp
rattle of musketry could be easily distinguished. The sun set among stormy,
purple clouds, but when low upon the horizon sent long slanting rays of yellow
light athwart the battle scene which, with its black outline of clouds, was
thrown in strong relief. The shells were bursting in the air above the
fortifications at intervals, and with the aid of glasses, dark blue uniforms
could be seen moving in bodies, though how near the scene of action could not be
guessed.
About seven o'clock the slightly
wounded commenced to straggle in, with a bleeding hand, or contused arm, or head
bound up with a scrap of cloth, or pocket handkerchief.
Their accounts were meagre, for
men in the ranks never know anything of general results – but they all
concurred in the fact that “we druv em nowhere.”
By half-past seven vehicles of
all kinds crowded in, and yet no orders had been sent to make preparations for
the wounded. Few surgeons were in the hospital, the proximity of the battle
field inducing them to accompany the ambulance committee, or ride to the scene
of action, and the single officer left in charge naturally objected to receive a
large body of men when no arrangement had been made for their comfort; and but
himself in attendance. I was just preparing to leave for my home, to which I
returned every night, when the pitiful sight of wounded soldiers in ambulances,
carts, drays, furniture wagons, carriages, and every kind of vehicle that could
be impressed, met my sight. To keep them suffering while sent from hospital to
hospital was useless torment, and the agonized outcry of a wounded man to take
him in “for God's sake, or kill him,” decided me to countermand the order of
the chief clerk, to the effect that they must find other accommodations, as we
were not prepared to receive them.
I sent for the officer of the
day. He was a kind-hearted, indolent man, but efficient in his profession and a
gentleman, and seeing my extreme agitation, tried to reason with me, saying the
wards were full, except the vacant and unused ones, for which we had no comforts
till we made requisitions. Besides being the only surgeon on the place, he could
not possibly attend to all the wounds at that hour of the night. I proposed, in
reply, that the convalescent men should be placed upon the floor on blankets,
and the wounded take their place, and construing his silence into consent, gave
the nurses the proper orders, eagerly offering my services to dress simple
wounds, and extolling the strength of nerves (which had never been tried.) He
allowed me to have my own way (may his ways be of pleasantness and his
paths of peace) and so, giving Miss G. directions to have an unlimited supply of
toddy and hot coffee – armed with lint, bandages, castile soap and a basin, I
made my first essay in the surgical line. The doctor was engaged in ward A; so
entering ward B, the first object that needed care was an Irishman. He was
seated upon a bed with his hands crossed, wounded in both arms by the same
bullet. The blood was soon washed off, wet lint applied, and no bones being
broken, the bandages speedily arranged.
“I hope that I have not hurt you much,” was my
apology; “these are the first wounds that I ever dressed.”
“Sure and they be the purtiest
pair of hands that iver touched me and the lightest, and I'm all right now.”
From bed to bed, till long past
midnight, the work continued. Fractured limbs were bathed, washed free from
blood, and left for the surgeon's care. The men were so exhausted by forced
marches, lying in entrenchments and want of sleep, that few awoke during these
operations. If even roused to take nourishment, they received it with closed
eyes, and a speedy relapse into unconsciousness. The next morning but very few
had any recollection of the night before.
There were not as many desperate
wounds among those brought in that night as usual. Strange to say, the
ghastliness of wounds varied very much in the different battles, perhaps from
the distance or nearness of contending parties. One man attracted my attention,
and enlisted my warmest sympathy. He was a Marylander, though serving in a
Virginia company. There was such calm resignation in his large, mild blue eye!
“Can you wait a moment on
me?” he said.
“What can I do for you?”
“Give me something to
strengthen me, that I do not die before the doctor attends to me.”
His pulse was strong, but
irregular, and telling him that stimulants might produce fever, and ought only
to be administered by a surgeon's directions, I enquired where he was wounded.
Right through the body. Alas!
The doctor's opinion was “no
hope ; give him anything he asks for,” but for five days and nights I
struggled against this decree, fed my patient myself, using freely from the
small store of brandy in my pantry, and cheering him by words and smiles. The
sixth morning on my entrance he turned an anxious eye on my face – the hope
had died out of his, for the cold sweat stood there in beads useless to wipe
off, so constantly was it renewed.
What comfort could I give? Only
silently open his Bible and read to him, without comment, the ever-living
promises of his Maker – glimpses of that abode where “the weary are at
rest.” Tears stole down his cheek, but he was not comforted.
“I am an only son,” he said,
“and my mother is a widow. Go and see her if you ever get to Baltimore, and
tell her I died in what I consider the defense of civil rights and liberties.
Say how kindly I was nursed, and that I needed nothing. I cannot thank you, for
I have no breath, but I will meet you up there.”
He pointed to the sky and seemed
to fall asleep, but he never woke in this world.
