Diary of Elvira J. Powers, Sunday, April 17, 1864

Attended service in dining hall. Chaplain S. officiated, and spoke very well. At the close I gave him the message sent by two sick men in my division to visit them. He promised to do so, but though he had to pass the tents where the men were, in going to his room, he did not do so. Am sorry, as the men may not live. He may have forgotten it, and if the men are living tomorrow, will remind him of the same. But I think it strange that he has not visited any one in my two divisions, when so many have died.

Three more have died since yesterday forenoon. Geo. W. Boughton, — Co., 2nd Batt. Vet. Res., Nelson Correll, of Co. B. 13 Tenn. Cav. and young Ashman mentioned in previous date.

One man, who is nearly given up by physicians, says he has been through the Mexican war. He is sergeant and will swear one minute and pray the next. He declares he always has had his own way, and will have it here. He is delirious part of the time, but like some others of that class thinks everybody crazy but himself. If it is his sovereign will and pleasure to get out of bed and walk about en dishabille, or take a trip over the mountains on some secret service, for which he fancies there is a war steed just outside,

"All saddled, all bridled all fit for a fight,"

he thinks the nurse is slightly out of his head to show so little respect to a superior officer as to threaten to tie him down to his bed. It has been necessary with him and others. He, and another man who lay at a little distance, were both delirious last night, and had an argument with each other—or what they supposed was one, though it seemed difficult for the nurses to vouch for its connectedness. But it is certain that a considerable number of oaths were used, and each assured the other, in plain terms, that he didn't keep truth on his side. The sergeant, after much gesticulation and violent language, threatened the other with a personal chastisement if he wasn't more reasonable in his statements. He was about stepping out of bed to put the threat into practice, when the nurse produced a rope to tie him with, if he wasn't quiet; upon which he concluded to defer the matter. When he wishes water, he will sing out in a stentorian voice, for the

"Corporal of the Third Relief!"

SOURCE: Elvira J. Powers, Hospital Pencillings: Being a Diary While in Jefferson General Hospital, Jeffersonville, Ind., and Others at Nashville, Tennessee, as Matron and Visitor, pp. 47-8

Diary of Elvira J. Powers, Saturday, April 30, 1864

The aptness of the pupils, as a whole, is really surprising. Some have learned the alphabet, I am told, in three days, and others in a week.

It is said that all northern people who visit the school, very soon fall a victim to that fearful disease, known by the southern chivalry and northern copperheads, as "niggar on the brain." And I will confess my belief that were I to teach in this school very long, I might become so interested in some of my pupils I should sometimes forget that they were not of the same color as myself, and really believe that God did make of one blood all nations of the earth.

They present every shade of color from the blackest hue to a fairer skin than my own. It is often necessary to find out who the mother is before you know whether the person is white or black. The age varies from four to thirty.

The progress of some is really astonishing. One little black girl of seven years, and with wooly head, can read fluently in the Fourth Reader, and studies primary, geography, and arithmetic, who has been to school but one year. I inquired if any one taught her at home, or if she had not learned how to read before that time. "Oh, no, I learned my letters when I first came to school, and I live with my aunt Mary, and she can't read. She's no kin to me, and I havn't any kin, but I call her aunt."

Perhaps she never had any, or is related to Topsey, and if questioned farther, might say she "spects she grew." A boy of about twelve, who has been to school but nine months, and who learned his letters in that time, reads in the Third Reader and studies geography. Some are truly polite. The first day of my taking charge of one of the divisions, a delicate featured, brown-skinned little girl of about nine years came to me and said with the sweetest voice and manner : "Lady will you please tell me your name?" I did so, when she thanked me and said:

"Miss P—— can you please hear our Third Reader this morning." It was not an idle question either, for the school is so large that now, while two of the teachers are absent, from illness, some of the classes are each day necessarily neglected. And so eager are the generality of the pupils to learn, that most of them are in two or three reading and spelling classes at the same time.

One might now not only exclaim with Gallileo, "the world does move," but add, and we move with it. For though but a little time since the negro dared not say "I think," lest the master might exclaim, — "You think, you black niggar—never you mind about that, I'll do your thinking for you," but would instead, say deferentially, with bent head and hand in his wooly hair, "Wall, massa, I'se been a studyin' about dat dar," is now learning to stand erect and confess that he does think, as well as learn to read and write.

One of the more advanced pupils told me that her father taught her to read and write before it was safe to let any one know that he did, or that he could himself read.

EVENING.

Eureka! That wonderful secret, like "murder," has "out." I have been very cautiously, and little by little, and with many charges not to tell any body, informed of the terrible crime for which I was tried, convicted, sentenced and banished, while all the time in blissful ignorance of the crime itself. This is the way of managing affairs here, I am told, and it is called military style. I like it. It saves one all the trouble and worry of defending one's self. And that might make one nervous and excited. It saves also confusion in the mind of the adjudging party, the same as of a certain judge in Missouri, who having heard evidence on the side of the plaintiff, refused to listen to that of the defendant, with the profound remark, that "whenever he heard both sides he always got things so mixed up, that he never could tell upon which side to give judgement!"

But the grave charge, as ferreted out by some two or three friends, of which I am accused, and to most of which I should have plead "not guilty" had opportunity been given, runs thus, that upon a certain occasion, I presented myself before the surgeon of the division and told him with an authoritative air, that I wished he "would see that a certain patient had a mustard poultice on his chest, for he wanted it."

This is my defence. One morning, I found a man suffering greatly with a pain in the chest from pneumonia, according to the physician's diagnosis. He was convalescing from varioloid and had taken cold. He breathed very short, seemed in extreme pain and begged for a mustard poultice. I said I dare not apply it without permission from the surgeon, but would ask him immediately. He was in another tent—the third above, and while going there I recollected hearing that some physicians were offended even by a request, and hesitated. Then thinking of the moans and apparent danger of the sufferer, I proceeded. These contradictory emotions, I can now realize, gave an unusual brusqueness to my manner, as I said :

"Doctor there is a patient in the third tent below, on bed, No. 9, who is in great pain and wants a mustard poultice. Will you see if he needs it? If so, I can make it."

There was a flash in his eyes, as he replied "I will attend to the man. As for the mustard poultices, it is not necessary that you should attend to them, as the men nurses do that."

The patient did not have the poultice, but presume the physician gave him something which removed the pain, as it had left him at noon. This trouble was caused simply by a misunderstanding. He used the word want for need, so that when I said the man "wanted" it—meaning he had asked for it, he interpreted it so as to convey the idea of my assuming the responsibility of saying, "he needed" it. He also understood me to order him to "see" that the man had it, when I simply asked if he would "see if he needed it."

I respect this physician and his wife, but wish he had been certain of my meaning before reporting the speech to the surgeon-in-charge.

There is also another little matter which I am certain had something to do with my departure, but which it would scarcely be policy for them to mention. It was this. The next day after speaking to Chaplain S. about visiting those sick men who had sent for him, and whom, though he was obliged to pass the tents where they lay in going to his room, he did not visit, I sent a slip of paper, saying in pencil, that as he had probably forgotten it, and as they were anxious to see him, I would remind him of this request. I received no response to the same, although I am certain he received the note, and the day passed without his visiting the sick men, although, at noon, I saw him out for half an hour, engaged in pitching quoits. I certainly did feel somewhat indignant, when the next morning came, and I found from the lips of the sick soldiers that he had not been in the tent; and I wondered, when I knew he had not been in to see a single sick or dying soldier in my division since my stay, nor preached a funeral sermon for the many who had died in my division alone, what could occupy his time. I asked for information of two of the ladies, and was told in excuse for him, that his time was fully occupied in discharging the duties of clerk for the surgeon-in-charge. So here was a chaplain neglecting the sacred duties of his own profession, though amply paid for the same, and earning more of the filthy lucre, to the neglect of dying men!

Thus endeth the defence. Mrs. Gala Days, you were entirely correct in your assertion that one must go abroad and see the world, to have "personal experiences."

SOURCE: Elvira J. Powers, Hospital Pencillings: Being a Diary While in Jefferson General Hospital, Jeffersonville, Ind., and Others at Nashville, Tennessee, as Matron and Visitor, pp. 61-6

Diary of Elvira J. Powers: Saturday Evening, April 9, 1864

Last Wednesday Miss O. and myself visited Hospital No. 1, for the second time.

They were just robing one young boy in his soldier's suit of blue for the last time. He was then borne to the deadhouse. His name was Hickman Nutter, of the 31st Ohio. I secured the Post Office address of his people and that of several others who had died and had no message sent home. I passed the whole of the next day in writing soldiers' letters, and in my journal. My fortitude was sorely tried and really broke down after getting back, to find that in ward 1 alone from two to four boys are dying daily, while the Chaplain has not been in to speak to a single sick or dying boy for two weeks. Wards 2 and 3 have fared little if any better, as is the testimony of ward-masters and nurses. It is his duty also to write to the relatives of those who die, and common humanity would dictate that it be done, and every comforting message sent to them. I was told by the clerk, whose duty it was to collect the names for report in the public prints, that in no single instance had he known the Chaplain to attend to that duty. I was indignant and determined to report him, but was given to understand by more than one Christian minister, that the expression of indignation was considered a bad omen for my future success in hospitals.

"People here," said one, kindly in explanation, "must learn to see and hear of all manner of evil and wickedness going on around them, and be as though they saw and heard not."

Being by nature and birth an outspoken New Englander, and having inhaled freedom of speech from the breezes which blow from the hills of the "Old Bay State," I fancy it will not be very easy becoming initiated into this phase of military service.

We found several interesting cases on passing through wards 1, 2 and 3.

In the first, saw one man in a dying condition, who was brought the night before. He was lifted from the ambulance and brought in by two men, who immediately left without being questioned or saying anything about him. The attendants were busy and expected to find all needed information in the medical papers, which it is rulable and customary to send, but which were not to be found. No one had observed the ambulance or men sufficiently to identify either. The disease could not be determined. There were no wounds and the lungs were in a healthy condition, but he was dying and insensible. A letter was fortunately found in his pocket, from his wife, which gave his name, company and regiment, as being Henry Clymer, Co. K., 128th Indiana.

In passing through ward 2 we came to a handsome young man, who was looking so well compared with others that we were passing without speaking. But the nurse said to us:

"This man is blind!"

Could it be possible! His eyes to a casual observer were perfectly good, but upon a closer examination one saw that the pupil was greatly enlarged and the expression staring and vacant. Questions revealed the fact that he could see nothing except a faint light when looking towards the window. I asked the cause.

"Medicine, the Surgeon here says," was the reply. "I had chills and fever while at the front, and the physician gave me large quantities of quinine, which made me blind. I have the ague now, but the Doctor dare not give any more quinine. I have been blind two weeks."

"Doesn't the Surgeon think the medicine will leave your system, and that you may recover your sight?"

"Well, he doesn't speak very encouragingly says he doesn't know."

And we now see that although the eyes cannot do duty in one way they can in another, for they absolutely rain tears, as he tells us with quivering lips, that his wife does not know anything about it; that he is dreading to send her word by stranger hands, he cannot bear to think that may be he can never write again,—never see her or other friends in this world. He is yet young and life has looked so pleasant; he is a professing Christian, but finds it so hard to bear this affliction. And he sobs like a whipped child, as, kneeling by the head of his low bed, with hand upon his forehead, we listen to this recital and strive to comfort him. We tell him of others afflicted in the same way who have not passed a life of idleness in consequence, but of mental or physical activity. Of those who have risen superior even to this calamity, and in the battle of life have learned

"How sublime a thing it is

To suffer and grow strong."

He says our words have been a blessing, as we take his hand in a good-bye, and with a promise to break the news to his wife, as gently and hopefully as possible. [We do so subsequently and upon the last visit find that he has been gaining his sight so that he can distinguish forms, though not features. Again we stand by his vacant bed and learn that he with many others have been sent North to make room for more sufferers from the front. But he was still gaining his sight.]

In the same ward we find one slight young boy, who looks as if he ought to be at home with his mother, and we sincerely believe is crying because he isn't—though he'd be bayonetted sooner than own it. He draws his sleeve across his red eyes as we approach, and upon our questioning informs us that he is "almost seventeen," and furthermore that he is "nearly half a head taller and two pounds heavier than another boy in his regiment;" but confesses that he is "right tired a' laying this way day after day—fact is I'd a heap sight rather be at home if I could get to go there, for I enlisted to fight, not to be sick!" Now we ask him if he ever thought while lying there that he is suffering in the service of his country, and a quick flash of the eye, a smile and an emphatic "no," tell us that it is entirely a new thought. Then we beg him not to forget that he is, and assure him that it requires a much braver soldier to suffer day after day in a hospital than on the hardest battle-field, and we leave him with a look of heroic endurance on his childish brow.

Here is a good-faced German, who is moaning with pain from an amputation. It is twenty days since the operation, but he suffers terribly every few moments from a spasmodic contraction of the muscles. And we also find upon conversing, that the fact of the amputation hurts his feelings in more ways than one, and we must needs tell him to bear the pain like a good brave soldier, and that it will grow less and less each day, and really last but a few days more altogether, and that as to being without a limb he will not be the only one capable of exhibiting such a proof of the service rendered his country, that it is an honor rather than a disgrace to lose limbs while battling for the right; and now the hero's look of determination settles over his features also. But just as we turn to leave, he expresses his opinion that two or three more such "cookies" as we brought him the other day wouldn't hurt him, indeed,

"Dey was mosht as goot vot my moder used to make."

SOURCE: Elvira J. Powers, Hospital Pencillings: Being a Diary While in Jefferson General Hospital, Jeffersonville, Ind., and Others at Nashville, Tennessee, as Matron and Visitor, pp. 19-23

Dr. Seth Rogers to his daughter Dolly, February 11, 1863

February 11.

It is to be remembered that the officers of a regiment in which the privates do not read and write, have much to do that would otherwise be done by an orderly or by a private detailed for the purpose. Today I have planned a new hospital and begun to lay the foundation of the first ward. This looks a little like having a brigade here sometime. We have a charming spot near the river, for hospital buildings. I shall have only sixteen patients in a ward. Each ward is to be a separate building 20 x 50 feet, containing two fire-places. From morning till evening, all through the summer, a breeze comes up the river and my wards shall be blessed by it. What a relief it would be to have Stephen Earle [of Worcester] take charge of this, but it is all to be very simple and our efficient chaplain takes almost all of it on his hands.

SOURCE: Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 43, October, 1909—June, 1910: February 1910. p. 360

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: October 28, 1864

Very much interested lately in the hospitals; not only in our own, “the Robertson hospital,” but in Mr. –––’s, the officers’ hospital.”

He has just told me of a case which has interested me deeply. An officer from the far South was brought in mortally wounded. He had lost both legs in a fight below Petersburg. The poor fellow suffered excessively; could not be still a moment; and was evidently near his end. His brother, who was with him, exhibited the bitterest grief, watching and waiting on him with silent tenderness and flowing tears. Mr. ––– was glad to find that he was not unprepared to die. He had been a professor of religion for some years, and told him that he was suffering too much to think on that or any other subject, but he constantly tried to look to God for mercy. Mr. ––– then recognized him, for the first time, as a patient who had been in the hospital last spring, and whose admirable character had then much impressed him. He was a gallant and brave officer, yet so kind and gentle to those under his control that his men were deeply attached to him, and the soldier who nursed him showed his love by his anxious care of his beloved captain. After saying to him a few words about Christ and his free salvation, offering up a fervent prayer in which he seemed to join, and watching the sad scene for a short time, Mr. ––– left him for the night. The surgeons apprehended that he would die before morning, and so it turned out; at the chaplain's early call there was nothing in his room but the chilling signal of the empty “hospital bunk.” He was buried that day, and we trust will be found among the redeemed in the day of the Lord. This, it was thought, would be the last of this good man; but in the dead of night came hurriedly a single carriage to the gate of the hospital. A lone woman, tall, straight, and dressed in deep mourning, got quickly out, and moved rapidly up the steps into the large hall, where, meeting the guard, she asked anxiously, “Where's Captain T.?” Taken by surprise, the man answered hesitatingly, “Captain T. is dead, madam, and was buried to-day.” This terrible announcement was as a thunderbolt at the very feet of the poor lady, who fell to the floor as one dead. Starting up, oh, how she made that immense building ring with her bitter lamentations! Worn down with apprehension and weary with travelling over a thousand miles by day and night, without stopping for a moment's rest, and wild with grief, she could hear no voice of sympathy — she regarded not the presence of one or many; she told the story of her married life, as if she were alone — how her husband was the best man that ever lived; how everybody loved him; how kind he was to all; how devoted to herself; how he loved his children, took care of, and did every thing for them; how, from her earliest years almost, she had loved him as herself; how tender he was of her, watching over her in sickness, never seeming to weary of it, never to be unwilling to make any sacrifice for her comfort and happiness; how that, when the telegraph brought the dreadful news that he was dangerously wounded, she never waited an instant nor stopped a moment by the way, day nor night, and now “I drove as fast as the horses could come from the depot to this place, and he is dead and buried! — I never shall see his face again!” “What shall I do?” — “But where is he buried?” They told her where. “I must go there; he must be taken up; I must see him!” “But, madam, you can't see him; he has been buried some hours.” “But I must see him; I can't live without seeing him; I must hire some one to go and take him up; can't you get some one to take him up? I'll pay him well ; just get some men to takt him up. I must take him home; he must go home with me. The last thing I said to his children was, that they must be good children, and I would bring their father home, and they are waiting for him now! He must go; I can't go without him; I can't meet his children without him!” and so, with her woman's heart, she could not be turned aside — nothing could alter her purpose. The next day she had his body taken up and embalmed. She watched by it until every thing was ready, and then carried him back to his own house and his children, only to seek a grave for the dead father close by those he loved, among kindred and friends in the fair sunny land he died to defend. Many painfully interesting scenes occur, which I would like so much to write in my diary, but time fails me at night, and my hours of daylight are very closely occupied.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 311-4

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: July 23, 1863

Spent the day at the hospital. Mr. ––– has just received a post chaplaincy from Government, and is assigned to the Officers' Hospital on Tenth Street. For this we are very thankful, as the performance of the duties of the ministerial office is in all respects congenial to his taste and feeling. I pray that God may give him health and strength for the office!

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 233

Colonel Charles Russell Lowell to Major Henry Lee Higginson, November 19, 1863

Vienna, Va., Nov. 19, 1863.

. . . I wish that you and could make as pleasant arrangements for winter-quarters as E. and I have made. We have all the luxuries and some of the necessaries. Housekeeping is under difficulties, but is a success. It's a great thing, pendant l’hiver, to have a Brigade in a fancy Department, and to have your wife out to command it. In spite of Mosby, we have a good canter every day, have enough books, and only have not enough time to read them.¹ This is not a letter. Merely hearing how soon you were to be married, I wish to express my satisfaction and to give my formal consent. I would advise you not to be impatient about returning to your regiment. Haste is poor speed in such matters, but of course I know nothing of your condition (as we say of horses) or of your intentions. If you go to the Army of the Potomac on horseback, you must manage to pass through Vienna. Remember this, boy. How old are you? To see a fellow like you, whom I've seen grow up from an infant, go and be married, makes me feel very old.  . . . When you leave the service, you must permit to arrange your life so that we can occasionally see one another. I dare say she and E. could manage it. I have great confidence in them. Good-bye.

_______________

¹ Chaplain Humphreys wrote home of the kindly and refining influence of Mrs. Lowell's presence in the camp, and of the hospitality that welcomed the officers in turn at the little home which the Colonel and she had established there. He adds: “With the foreigners in the hospital, I was greatly assisted by the wife of the commander, who visited the patients very frequently. She delighted the Frenchmen, Italians, and Germans, by conversing with them in their own languages, that so vividly recalled their early homes. She often assisted in writing letters for the disabled soldiers, and when I sought to give comfort to the dying, her presence soothed the pangs of parting, with a restful consciousness of woman's faithful watching and a mother's tenderness.”

SOURCE: Edward Waldo Emerson, Life and Letters of Charles Russell Lowell, p. 314-5, 445

Diary of Corporal Alexander G. Downing: Sunday, July 31, 1864

Quite warm. It rained very hard this afternoon. There is no news of any importance. Everything appears so dull and the time passes so slowly. I am considered a convalescent now by the doctor and he has put me to work dealing out the medicine to the sick. Our chaplains here in the hospital hold preaching services in the churches of the town on Sundays. The convalescent soldiers make up the audience, as most of the citizens are gone, having given up their houses for hospital purposes.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 208

Colonel Charles Russell Lowell to Josephine Shaw, September 2, 1863

Centreville, Sept. 2d.

Did I tell you that I saw my classmate, William J. Potter, in Washington? Potter was settled as clergyman in New Bedford, was drafted, preached an excellent sermon on the “draft,” saying he should go if accepted, and that meanwhile (previous to the examination) he should use every means to improve his muscle and should feel much humiliation if rejected as unfit to fight for his country.¹ Some one sent the sermon to Stanton; Stanton wrote asking him to come at once to Washington. Potter declined, saying “if accepted he should be under orders, but he preferred to take his chance with others.” He was accepted, and just afterward received another letter from Stanton asking him as a particular favour to come on and confer with him; so Potter was in Washington as an enlisted man on furlough, in a full suit of black. Stanton had had one “conference” with him, and finding that he did not think himself very fit for a chaplaincy with a regiment, had told him he wanted to keep him in Washington, that he wanted such men there, and had proposed to make him chaplain to a hospital, pro forma, with outside duties, — Potter was to see him again in the evening and to breakfast with him the next morning. Such little things as that make me like Stanton, with all his ferocity of manner. He acts on impulses. and is often wrong, but oftener right; on large questions, he is almost always right, I believe. I think . Stanton must have the credit in the Cabinet of having carried through the “Negro Army,” in spite of great opposition there, and some doubts at the White House. It was very pleasant to see old Potter again, coming out all right.

_______________

¹ Mr. William [James] Potter, of Quaker ancestry and great virtues and gifts, was pastor of a large, intelligent, and rich society in New Bedford, Massachusetts, and highly esteemed. On July 3, 1863, he was drafted for a soldier, under the new Conscription Act. On the following Sunday he preached to his people a manly sermon, “The Voice of the Draft,” from the text “Make full proof of thy ministry” (2 Tim. iv, 5), strongly stating the duty and privilege, even for scholars and men with no natural military tastes, to serve in such a war, in such an emergency of the country. Secretary Stanton read it, and had it at once published in the Army and Navy Gazette, as the word for the hour. He set Mr. Potter the important task of visiting and inspecting all the U. S. hospitals in or near Washington, which he did well and thoroughly, reporting their needs. Then, as chaplain to the convalescent hospital, he lived there in a little hut with his young wife, but resigned to join in the vast and beneficent work of the Sanitary Commission. Afterwards he returned to his church in New Bedford. He was one of the founders and chief workers in the Free Religious Association.

When young Potter was in college, he began to feel strongly drawn to the ministry, yet sorely doubting his fitness. “What society or sect must I go with, believing with none? I have in my mind, it is true, an ideal minister, different from any real one whom it was ever my lot to know.” His success was in the measure he approached this ideal.

SOURCE: Edward Waldo Emerson, Life and Letters of Charles Russell Lowell, p. 299-301, 442-3