Diary of Elvira J. Powers, Wednesday, April 13, 1864

Entered upon my duties to-day, as lady nurse of two divisions of tents at Small Pox Hospital.

Not obliged to come here, but have accepted this most disagreeable place, as there are so few who are willing to take it. Expect to be quite confined to the place; and the hope of doing good in a position which otherwise would be vacant, is the inducement.

The Hospital is about a mile out from the city, and near Camp Cumberland. It consists of tents in the rear of a fine, large mansion which was deserted by its rebel owner. In these tents are about 800 patients-including convalescents, contrabands, soldiers and citizens. Everything seems done for their comfort which can well be, with the scarcity of help. Cleanliness and ventilation are duly attended to; but the unsightly, swollen faces, blotched with eruption, or presenting an entire scab, and the offensive odor, require some strength of nerve in those who minister to their necessities. There are six physicians each in charge of a division. Those in which I am assigned to duty are in charge of Drs. R. & C. There is but one lady nurse here, aside from the wives of three surgeons, each of whom, however, has her special duty.

Mrs. B., the nurse, went with me through the tents, introduced me to the patients and explained my duties.

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, p. 42

Diary of Elvira J. Powers, April 14, 1864

A woman and boy died in my division last night. The woman left a little child, eighteen months old, which is inconsolable. The father, a soldier, wishes to take the child away, but was not permitted to do so or to see it, for fear of contagion. It is to be kept to see if the child has the disease. [It did not, and had no scar from vaccination, such queer freaks the disease takes.]

The boy, an Alabamian, told me yesterday he was getting better. He had been sent here with measles, recovered from those, but the small pox did not break out. He died easy, and said he was "going to Heaven." I write his people today, via Fortress Monroe. His name was G. B. Allen, of Rockford, Cousa Co., Alabama. One man died yesterday, to whose people I have written to-day. Another died to-day. The mortality here is great. Said one patient to me: "People die mighty easy here."

I asked in what way, he meant.

"Oh," he replied, "they'll be mighty peart-like, one minute, an' the next you know, they're dead!"

This is true, and I find so many who were sent here with measles, recover from those, and die of small pox. Sixty cases of measles were sent to this hospital in one month, as I learn from the lips of the surgeon in charge himself, Dr. F. These are sent by the several physicians of Nashville. The fact itself speaks volumes, but to stay here and see its effects day after day in the poor victims of such ignorance, impress one with a sense of the importance by the medical faculty of distinguishing between the two diseases.

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. 42-3

Diary of Elvira J. Powers, Saturday, April 16, 1864

I find many very interesting cases here, some of which shall wait to see the finale before making note of them.

What seems to me a strange feature, as I become more familiar with death-bed scenes, is the fact that so few know they are dying or are even dangerous, but persist with the last breath, or until the last struggle, that they are "getting better."

One poor young boy from Georgia, by the name of Ashman, who must die, although he eats nothing except a few canned peaches and milk, which I carry to him, will tell me sometimes when I go into the tent, that he is expecting a can of peaches every minute from home, and at another that he has just heard that his mother is in town, and that if he really knew she was, he would'nt lie there a great while before he'd be hunting her up. At another, he asked my name and State, and whether I took him to be a man or only a little boy. He is a slight little fellow of about 18, but in answer to the question I told him that of course I considered one really a man who could be a soldier and fight for our country, and who could be so good and patient while sick. To-day he called me to him, as soon as I entered the tent, and asked if I "could'nt discharge him to-day—that the doctor had told him to ask me about it, and that whatever I said he might do."

I told him that I would discharge him just as soon as that limb of his got well, and reminded him that he would want to be able to walk to the cars before starting home. He has a bad abscess on his limb, from which the doctor says the flesh is sloughing, and he does not expect him to live through tonight. And yet the boy wants me to "write to his mother in Atlanta, Georgia, and tell her to write to his aunt Shady, in Butler," that he "has been sick, but is getting better."

One man—G. W. Crane, of 3d Missouri Infantry, and who is called Major, was given up the day before yesterday by Dr. R.

He complained greatly of his throat, and I have since kept wet bandages on it, greatly to his relief. I asked permission of the doctor to do this, and advice as to telling him of his danger. He thought it would be well to do so, as he might wish to make some business arrangements. It was a most unwelcome task, but I believed it best; and first, asked him if he would like a letter written to his people.

"Oh no," was the reply, I shall be able to write myself in a few days."

"Perhaps you may," I said, "but we are all in more or less danger when sick." Adding as gently as possible, "How would you feel about it, if you thought you were not going to get well?"

The queries seemed cruel, but I knew he had loaned a gold watch and money to a man, and thought he might wish to at tend to that and other matters. But he said decidedly "I do not think anything about it, as I have no doubt I shall soon be up again. And Madam," he added politely, "it would afford me great pleasure to talk with you, if I were feeling well and in good spirits you know, but my throat is so bad it hurts me to talk”

After this rebuff, and being really undecided as to duty in the matter, I left him. Yesterday I found him living, but evidently near his end, and I felt that I ought to let him know his condition. First, I asked as before about writing letters, when he said with great difficulty that he did'nt wish to talk with me as it distressed him to speak. I then said I would only ask him one or two questions and then leave him, and I said:

If the doctor and all thought you could not live, would you wish to know it?"

He said "No," decidedly.

"Well then," I said "I will not trouble you any more, but if at any time you wish letters written, you can send me word by the nurse.”

I left him and he died in about an hour. He called for water, but as the nurse raised him to give it, he exclaimed "I am dying," and then gave some incoherent charge, in which the nurse distinguished the words; "the lady" and "a letter."

His request has been complied with.

Mrs. F. was relating a similar incident to me the other evening. Dr. F. was at the depot in Nashville, when an old acquaintance was found there, who had been ill, had received a sick furlough, and was to take the cars for home. He was so feeble, he was persuaded to go to a hospital to remain over night, and take the train next day. In the course of the evening there was a change, and the physician knew he could live but a short time. He knew also that were he aware of the truth he would wish to send some message to his family. The man was speaking of his home and laying plans for the future, when the physician asked if he should'nt write a letter for him to his wife.

"Why no," he replied, "what need of that when I'm to start home tomorrow?"

"You may not go then," said the doctor.

"Oh, yes," I must start tomorrow," was the reply.

The surgeon did not answer immediately, but was sadly thinking how to do so, and regarding the countenance of his friend, when the patient, who was about talking more of his plans, suddenly paused upon observing the expression of the surgeon's face, and earnestly asked:

"Doctor—you do not think me very sick, do you?"

"I do," was the sad reply.

"But doctor you don't think me dangerous?"

"I think you a very sick man."

He lay silent for a few moments while thought was busy, and then asked:

"Am I about to cross the lines, doctor?"

Tears, and the simple "I think you are," was the answer.

Then was business arranged, messages given, and they were alone again. Then he said:

"Why, doctor is this all that death is? It's nothing at all to die."

And thus he "crossed the lines."

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. 43-7

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, Monday, April 18, 1864

One man, this morning, while I was taking the name of one who had just died, to write to his friends, told me that people throughout the whole land, will bless me for what I am doing. Wonder if I am doing good. I cannot help knowing that some will hear from their friends who die here, who otherwise would not.

There is a singular case in Dr. C's. division. Upon entering the tent the first day after my arrival, with reading matter for distribution, I inquired of a young German if he could read that language presenting a paper. He said "no," I then offered one in the English language, asking the same question He said he could read, but didn't wish the paper. The next day I did not notice him particularly, as he was sitting up, but the day following found him lying in bed, and that he would not answer when spoken to. While feeding another man with canned peaches who lay near, the nurse said :"You cannot make that man speak to you."

"What is the trouble," was asked. "Well, it is this," was the reply. He says that day before yesterday, when you asked him if he could read English, he told you a falsehood, for he cannot read at all. He has been dreadfully distressed about it ever since, and says the Lord has appeared to him and told him not to eat a mouthful, nor speak to any one except once a day, to the surgeon and myself, until he has forgiven him for the sin. He will speak to no one, not even the other nurse who has charge a part of the time, and says, he will not, until he gets religion."

"What is his name?"

"Oswald."

"Wouldn't you like some of these nice canned peaches, Oswald?" we ask, dipping up some of the delicious fruit. He looked at us smiling but with tightly pressed lips.

"These are very nice—they'll do you good, and we want to make you well as soon as possible. Won't you have some, Oswald?"

No answer.

"Not going to speak to me? Why only think—here's a man trying to get religion and be a Christian and he won't speak to somebody else who is a Christian. I've professed to be one these many years, and you won't speak to me! Now, if you could only read the Bible, you'd know that it says "speak often to each other. You cannot read, can you?" He shakes his head.

"Well, it's a pity, but don't you see that if the Bible says so, you ought to speak, and don't you see that Christian ministers have to talk to sinners to teach them to be good—and if ministers talk to sinners, shouldn't sinners talk to Christians—don't you see that?"

"Yes, yes, I do," he ejaculated, seizing my hand—"I will talk to you for you're a Christian."

We gave him some peaches and left him. The next morning, however, nothing could induce him to speak. He has continued thus ever since—five days and has eaten nothing. He received a forcible cold bath this morning with the promise of its repetition if he does not speak and eat. [This was continued till he both spoke and ate. But he was believed to be a hopeless monomaniac, and after some weeks received his discharge and was sent home.] It is possible that this is mere pretence and his object the same as that of another soldier of whom we have heard, at Jefferson Barracks, Mo. This one used to go daily with a bent pin for a fishhook, and sit for hours upon a stump on the hillside, waiting quietly for the bite which never came, at least in the estimation of others. He was the butt of ridicule for the whole camp, who, while they pitied him on account of his supposed insanity, could but laugh at his perseverance in fishing upon dry ground. He received his discharge, when flourishing it in their faces, he informed them that it was "now his turn to laugh, as he had received what he had all along been fishing for—viz: a discharge!"

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. 48-50

Diary of Elvira J. Powers, Tuesday, April 19, 1864

Another change. I am to leave this hospital to-day, as a Miss P. from Chicago, who had been engaged for the place, and expected some three weeks since, has just arrived. I have become really attached to the patients, and on some accounts dislike leaving. It seems that Miss O. and myself were intended for Chattanooga or other place farther toward the front, but in consequence of waiting for Miss O., the place was filled before our arrival. I fear there may not be any other place open for me. And when I can go in so many hospitals and see sick men suffering from neglect or want of more help, I shall think it very hard if I cannot do something. Two other ladies have been sent back, with the assurance that there was no opening for them.

I have just been through the tents and introduced Miss P. to the patients. Many are feeling sad, or appearing and expressing themselves so, that I am going to leave. Received many warm expressions of gratitude from many for the very little I have been able to do for them.

In going into one tent, found one of the nurses just recovering from an attack of lockjaw. When able to speak, he told me that it had "followed him, like an evil shadow, for ten long years."

Then followed an interesting recital of the cause, which was a gun-shot wound in the spine from the hand of a brother in an encounter with a grizzly bear in the rocky mountain. He himself ran away from home at the age of twelve, to follow his brother in a hunting expedition. After the brother had fired, the bear sprang toward him, and with one stroke of his paw laid the flesh from the bone from the forehead down one side of his face and arm to the elbow. The ball had only grazed the spine of the narrator, and seeing his brother in such danger, who called to him to fire, he did so and fortunately the shot was fatal to bruin. Their horses bore them to the nearest settlement, and the brother's life was saved.

This nurse I had always observed as quiet, efficient, faithful, and a favorite with the patients.

The sergeant mentioned last under date of the 17th, overhearing me say that I was to leave to-day, and that I did not know where I should be stationed, advised me "not to be going round from one place to another, but to join a regiment, as I would be in less danger from guerillas."

Northern people, who think that all Government employees fatten on commissary stores, ought to see the table which is set at this hospital. It is exceedingly plain; and it sometimes requires more moral courage than all are very long, capable of exercising, to inhale the odor of oyster soup, custards, pies, and sweatmeats, which latter are sometimes prepared for those who are convalescing, but very rarely bless the palate of those who prepare them, or daily to deal out the jellys, blanc-mange and canned fruit without ever tasting. An instance of this kind has occurred here which not only increased our respect for the surgeon, but amused us not a little.

The usual rations, such as tough army beef, baker's bread and stale butter, with muddy coffee, served in brown mugs, has been the diet for so long a time that it has ceased to be very palatable. To the steward perhaps this was particularly so, and probably thinking that we had been sufficiently industrious and self-denying to merit a treat, and as five boxes of canned oysters had just arrived as a present from the Christian commission, he ordered enough cooked for dinner, in addition to the usual fare, to give all, from the surgeon in charge to the servants, a taste.

"It will take but five cans for us," said the wife of the surgeon-in-charge to me, "while for the patients a meal, it will require twenty cans."

So she, with the wife of doctor R., who jointly had charge of the diet kitchen, prepared the oysters, and at the usual hour, those, with the hungry expectants, appeared in the dining-room. The soup had been partially served up but no one had time to taste it, when the surgeon-in-charge walked in and took a seat at the table. Probably the peculiar odour of the oysters and the ominous hush at the table warned him to be on the alert for something unusual.

Unusually demure, certainly, was the manner of the one table waiter, as he proceeded to the table, with another dish of the forbidden food.

The surgeon might well have exclaimed with Cæsar, " Veni, vidi, vici," for smoothing an instant smile from his features, with a forced sternness he demanded:

"What have you there?"

"Oysters," meekly responded the servant, who as well as the rest of us, more than suspected what might be coming.

"Take every one of those from the table," said he, "and don't let me see anything of this kind again. There are too many sick boys up at the tents, needing these things, for us to eat them!"

The oysters were taken from the table we are quite positive, and furthermore, that that was the last we ever saw of them.

It was, however, respectfully suggested to the surgeon by some one that he make it convenient to dine out at as early a day as possible, and acquaint his wife and the steward with the fact some time previous. He didn't promise, however, and the oysters have never since appeared to us.

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. 50-3

Diary of Elvira J. Powers, Wednesday, April 20, 1864

Back in town again. I've done something but havn't the least idea what, to displease somebody and havn't the least idea who. Perhaps some one of my friends here, will, after a day or so find the important secret too burdensome to keep alone, and will share it with me.

Just think what it is, Hallicarnassus, to go abroad and see the world-and feel it too, for that matter.

But in order to think as little as possible of that terrible crime of which I've been guilty, before finding out what it is, am going to hunt up enough work to keep my head and hands busy in the hospitals about town.

Glad to meet my travelling companion, Miss O., again. She has remained at this home of the Christian Commission, engaged in the preparation of delicacies, which are taken out to hospitals, or barracks, as needed.

This building, to which we came upon our arrival, is a spacious three story brick, at No. 14 Spruce Street. It was deserted by a rebel banker just before our forces entered Nashville, who took nothing south, except his gold and silver. A man from New York, whose conscience permitted him to take the oath of allegiance, removed and stored up against the return of his rebel friend, the silver and glass service, curtains, works of art, &c., but left much fine furniture, such as massive sofa bedsteads, marble-topped stands, tables, bureaux, a well-filled book-case, writing table and piano.

In Secretary Stanton's own handwriting, we saw permission given to occupy this building till the close of the war, to Mrs. H., of the Philadelphia Ladies' Aid Society, "together with other ladies who might be associated with her, in any benevolent enterprise having for its object the relief of invalid Union soldiers."

She is confident he meant benevolent gentlemen, also, so one half of the house is given up to the Rev. E. P. Smith and family, who make a home for the delegates of the Christian Commission.

Thus are many of the private as well as public buildings reduced from their lofty position of serving southern chivalry, to the vile misuse of northern mudsills. "Oh, Babylon how art thou fallen!" must be the lamentation of the Nashvillians, as they see the desecration of their beautiful edifices by northern vandals.

"Oh! the citizens here would tear us to pieces very quick," said Mrs. Smith, the eve of our arrival, "were it not for the 'blue coats' about. Our dependence is in those and the guns of Fort Negley."

Evening.

Visited the Refugee Home again, this P. M. Saw some of those mentioned in a previous date. As I entered one room, a woman was bustling about in a great passion, and picking up a few personal rags, while ordering her son to get up and they would find a place to stay where she shouldn't be "set to do niggar's work!"

She was a healthy, strong woman, and had been repeatedly requested to make her own and son's bed, and assist in sweeping or cooking for the numerous inmates. Indeed, I think she had received a gentle hint that it might be as well to see that her son and herself had clean linen as often as once in two or three weeks, and that the use of a comb occasionally would not detract from their personal appearance. But she had her own peculiar ideas, obtained from living under the domination of a peculiar institution, and didn't fancy being dictated to in the delicate matter of her personelle.

Upon entering what is called the lecture-room we saw several families and parts of families, which had within two hours arrived on the trains from Alabama or Georgia.

I found that some of these snuff-dipping, clay-colored, greasy and uncombed ladies "from Alabam and Gorgee," are as expert marksmen as any of our northern exquisites, as they deposit the "terbaker" juice most beautifully into and around any knot-hole or crack in the floor, and while they are at the distance of several feet. Its wonderful how they do it am afraid I should never be able to learn.

We approach one woman who is standing by a rough board bunk, upon and around which are several children overcome by the fatigue of travelling. She, unlike the generality, is neatly dressed in a clean dark calico and sunbonnet, and wears a cheerful and intelligent look. She informs us that these are all her children—six of them, that her husband is in the Union army, only a few miles out, that he had sent for her to come here, and she expects to see him in a few days. She cannot write, for she hasn't been to school a day in her life, and she says:

"An' that thar's suthin' you people hev' up north, thet we don't. Poor folks thar, hev' a chance to give thar children some larnin'; but them as owns plantations down our way, don't give poor folks no chance. Larnin's only for rich folks. But my children shan't grow up to not know no more nor thar father nor thar mother, ef I kin' help it. Ef this war don't close so's to make it better for poor folks down har, we'll go north. Thar's a woman what kin' write," she adds with an admiring glance to the other side of the room, "an' she's writin' a letter for me to my husband."

We glance that way, and see a youngish woman, whose entire clothing evidently consists of one garment, a dress which is colored with some kind of bark. She sits in conscious superiority, scarcely deigning to notice us, as we approach, while she is carefully managing the writing with one eye, while her head is turned half way from it, so that the ashes or coal, from the long pipe between her lips, may not fall upon the paper. Her air and manner are evidently intended to be regal, for isn't she the woman "what kin' write?" At a little distance sat a hale, broad-shouldered, stalwart man, who looked as if he were able to do the work of half a dozen common men, who inquired of us, where "Hio was-if 'twas in Illinois"—and whether if he went to either of those places he would be "pressed into the service." In reply, we informed the gentleman that "Ohio was not in Illinois, but that if he went to either, he would probably have to stand his chance of being drafted, together with other good loyalists with the physicians, lawyers, editors, and ministers. He did not reply to that, but his looks spoke eloquently,

"For a lodge in some vast wilderness,-

Some boundless contiguity of shade"

Where war and draft come not.

Miss Ada M., the Matron of the Refugee Home, was, in our room this eve, and said that she was yesterday preparing some sewing for some young Misses, who were conversing earnestly about the Yankees. Finding their ideas rather erroneous with regard to that class of people, she made a remark to the effect that she was one herself.

"Why, you 'aint a Yankee?" exclaimed a Miss of fifteen dropping her work in blank astonishment. "Yes, indeed, I am," was the reply.

"Why," said the girl, with remarkably large eyes, "I've allays hearn tell that the Yankees has horns, and one eye in the middle of their foreheads!"

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. 54-8

Diary of Elvira J. Powers, Friday, April 22, 1864

Yesterday morning, Mr. F., a gentleman from my native State, Massachusetts, and who has charge of the Refugee Farm, asked if I would not like to ride out to the place, they "wanted a teacher and perhaps I might be willing to engage as one, if not the ride and fresh air would do me good." "Yes, I should enjoy it."

Then hour after hour passed away, with the fresh morning air, and not until at the dinner table did I meet my expected cavalier. He explained:

The fact was the poor old nag, which had been turned out some months before by government to die, like some other contrabands of war, wouldn't work—he was free! But he had confiscated another animal from Government and hoped he might not long say of that as in the nursery ballad, that

"The horse wouldn't go,"

as it was

"Time he and I were gone an hour and a half ago."

One, two and three o'clock came, and I overheard Lucy, one of the black girls, of about fourteen—though she doesn't know her age—laughing about "that thar Mr. F., who had been for two long hours, a curryin' an' pattin' an' feedin' that old horse with sugar, to coax it to be good: but I know by its actions it has never been harnessed 'fore a carriage in its life. For it acts, for all the world, like I did, when I ran away to find my freedom. I couldn't tell for my life, whether to go backwards or forward, to keep out of danger."

In answer to my questions, she tells me that she was "the very first one that Lincoln set free in Winchester, but that as soon as she was gone, all the other nigs left."

Of course, her remarks about the horse were not very encouraging as regarded the safety or pleasure of the trip, even if he decided at last to go forward instead of backward. At half-past three, the equipage was announced in readiness, when, with a most self-denying spirit, I assured the gentleman, that I would willingly forego the pleasure, if the animal was not perfectly safe. But he was quite positive upon that subject, and as I perceived the appearance of the contraband did not indicate anything vicious or powerful enough to be very dangerous, we started. Had a ride of perhaps two miles upon the other side of the town, stopped a moment by the guard, then allowed to proceed a mile farther to the Refugee Farm.

This is best known to citizens as the Eweing farm. It was a splendid place, but has been nearly ruined by General Buel's army who camped upon it. Trees were felled, fences torn down, windows broken entirely out, and several fine outbuildings destroyed, such as a spring-house and conservatory, which I would like to have seen in its glory. Picked a beautiful bouquet of apple-japonica and pomegranate blossoms. Saw a "Butternut" planting cotton. He told me he expects, if the crop does well, to realize "one bale of picked cotton" from the two acres, which at present prices will bring $250. The yield, he said, was only about a half or a third what it would be three degrees farther south.

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. 58-9

Diary of Elvira J. Powers, Sunday, April 24, 1864

Went out in an ambulance with Rev. Dr. D., Mr. E. and Mrs. H., Iowa State Agent, to hear the first named gentleman preach to a portion of the fifth, I think, Ohio Cavalry. They are camped on the Achlen estate. Saw a tree called the Red Bud and the mistletoe for the first time. The last grew on an elm. Secured specimens of each for pressing. Was indebted for the same to politeness of a gentleman who sported one bar.

Attended service also this morn and eve at Union Church; Rev. Mr. Allen officiated in the morning and Rev. Mr. Cramer this eve. The last is a young man and brother-in-law of General Grant.

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. 59-60

Diary of Elvira J. Powers, Monday, April 25, 1864

The ambulance and driver were placed at my disposal this P.M., and I visited Hospital No. 1. I find changes here, but mostly for the better. Some have recovered sufficiently to be sent North. The "Alabamian," as he was called, who together with "William" was placed in my care, I am grieved to learn has "crossed the lines." He was getting better I was told, until one night he died suddenly of an ulcer on his lungs. William is dressed and walks around is surely getting well, and talking of going home. Has had a letter written to his father and received a reply. Seems very grateful. The German suffered no more pain from the amputation, and is hopeful. The Norwegian has no gangrene in his arm now, and it is fast healing.

I find two or three new cases of interest. One is a middle-aged man who is suffering greatly from ulcers caused by scurvy. It is thought that he cannot live long; and he tells me that he isn't ready to die that he has "been a bad man, that if the Lord will only spare him this time, he will live a different life." Another, a young man with fair skin, red cheeks and bright eyes, the victim of consumption, was moaning,

"Only to die at home with mother!"

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, p. 60

Diary of Elvira J. Powers, Thursday, April 28, 1864

Am expecting soon to go to Huntsville, Alabama, as hospital nurse. Should have gone four days since, had not Gen Sherman closed the way against everybody and everything except soldiers, rations, gunpowder and pontoon bridges. The road has been crowded with those for a week past. A great battle is expected to come off very soon, some where at the front. The Government has been pressing horses of every description into the service to-day. The streets have been crowded with teams marked "United States Transfer," those of "Q. M. D." and ammunition wagons.

This evening 600 horses have gone past our door, en route for the front, where they are to act as scouts, I understand not the horses, though, I believe, but their riders.

General Sherman, himself, left for the front to-day noon. During this time of waiting for a pass, rather than remain idle, and also for the purpose of picking up some grains of knowledge with regard to the "capacity" of the colored race—which I believe a wealthy man said he would buy for his daughter if she was'nt supplied with the article—I volunteered my services yesterday, as teacher in Mr. Brown's school. This is held in the body of the colored peoples' church, near the Chattanooga depot; Mr. B. is from Hamilton, Ohio, and is the pioneer here, in this work. There are some 400 pupils and five teachers, all in one room. I supposed they were having recess when I entered, but found that it was impossible to prevent them from studying aloud. It seems it is practiced in the schools of white children here, and the great number in this one room, prevented such discipline as otherwise would have been secured.

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, p. 61

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 Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, December 6, 1861

Have received to-day a box of delicacies from the good people of Middletown, Connecticut, for my hospital. It is a great comfort to us to feel that the —— Regiment is remembered in so many places and by so many good people. The contents are generally in fine order, except that a few of the eatables became saturated by some brandy—the corks in some manner having got out of place. This, however, has not injured them. Indeed, many of the sick boys think that the contact of the "spiritual essence" has rather improved them.

All the talk now is of moving, and if we should not be "put forward" next week, I fear our General will lose prestige with this part of the army.

I have had to forbid one of the female nurses admission to the hospital on account of her improper interference with matters under my supervision. I regret this. She is a capable good nurse, but sometimes some things are just as contagious as others, and she meddled and made trouble. I begin to doubt very much the expediency of having female nurses in field hospitals. They are absolutely necessary in the general hospital, but in the field they are out of place.

We have had time to read and deliberate on the President's Message. It is not what the soldiers expected, or wished. They had prepared their minds for a real sharp-shooter message, but they think this is a "smooth bore," and carries neither powder nor ball. They like Secretary Cameron's talk much better, But new beginners are always impatient to be at it. We may become sobered down before long.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 60-1

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, December 11, 1861

I have just received a letter from a lady friend of mine aye, and of the soldiers, too, in which she says she "cannot but think of the suffering patriot-soldier, with nothing but a tent above his head, with no covering but a single blanket, and but so little care when sick." This induces me to put on record here, the following description for reference, a long time hence, when, if this war continues, I may wish to read it and compare it with the hospitals then existing, with the improvements which experience shall have causes to be adopted:

My hospital at present consists of five large tents, fourteen feet long by fifteen feet wide. They open into each other at the ends, so as to make of the whole one continuous tent, seventy feet long. This will accommodate forty patients comfortably. On an emergency, I can crowd in fifty-five. In the center of the first tent is dug a hole about three feet in circumference and two and a half deep. From this hole there passes through the middle of the tents a trench or ditch two feet wide and of the same depth, which terminates in a large chimney just outside of the fifth tent. It is covered for about ten feet of its length, at the beginning with broad stones, the next fifteen feet with sheet iron, thence to the chimney with stones and earth. A fire is made in the hole at the beginning of this ditch, which, through its large chimneys, has a great draught. The blaze sweeps through its whole length, and by means of this fire, no matter what the weather, or how changeable, the temperature in the hospitals need not vary three degrees in a month, and at all times, night and day, have full ventilation without varying the temperature. Since the adjustment of the difficulties, I have my full quota (10) of nurses, and these are never, night or day, less than two on watch. The cots for the sick are ranged side by side, with their heads to the wall and feet to the center of the tent, leaving just room between their sides for the nurses to move freely, and for the patients to get up and down, and between their ends for the ditch, on which, over the covering already described, is a ladder or rack, with slats so close as not to admit the feet between them when the nurses and patients are walking on them.

So long as there is room in the hospital, no patient of my regiment is permitted to be confined to his tent by sickness. The moment he is sick enough to be confined to bed, he is brought to hospital, where he remains constantly under the eye of the Surgeon and nurses till he recovers. There are, to-day, thirty-six in hospital, each, instead of lying with "nothing but a tent above his head, and with no covering but a single blanket," is on a comfortable bed of straw, the tick emptied and refilled once in four weeks, with all the covering they want. I have plenty of good sheets, and not less than two blankets for each, besides what they bring with them. They are never without fresh meat, rarely without rice, potatoes, jellies in abundance, tea, coffee, sugar, milk, and I am now purchasing for them two dozen chickens a week; and I have this day a hospital fund of not less than one hundred and seventy-five dollars, which is increasing every day, from which I can replenish or add to the comforts now allowed.* This is a description of my own hospital. I regret to learn from the U. S. Medical Inspector who has visited me to-day, that other hospitals are not so well provided or so comfortable. I regret it, because there is no reason why all may not be provided just as well, so long as we remain near a good market; and if they are not, there is blame either in medical or military departments, which ought to be corrected.

From ninth of November to this date, the time I was shut out from the medical supervision of the camp, there have been more deaths in the regiment than during the whole five months before, including the sickly season of August, September and October. The health of the regiment now, however, is good, and I hope it will remain so during the winter.

_______________

*It may be a matter of some interest to the reader to know how this hospital fund is realized. It is thus: The soldier is entitled to certain rations every day, and these continue, whether he is sick or well. When well, they are drawn by the captains of companies and distributed to the men. When sick and in hospital, the Surgeon notifies the Commissary of the fact, and they are not issued to the Captain, but credited to the hospital. The Surgeon draws them in whole, in part, or not at all. The days' rations are worth from 17 to 20 cents per man. Now, any economical and honest Surgeon can feed his sick men well when near a market, and save to the hospital fund at least one third of this amount, for the purchase of delicacies. Give him thirty in hospital, he can realize two dollars per month on each man, ($60 per month.) In a neighborhood where markets are very high, this will be proportionally reduced. Where he cannot buy at all, it will be increased.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, pp. 62-5

Diary of Elvira J. Powers: Sunday Evening, April 10, 1864

Attended church to-day at the Second Presbyterian, or "Union Church" as it is called. It is the only one in the city, I am told, where one is sure of hearing sentiments of loyalty. Rev. Mr. Allen is pastor. He does not fear now, under the shadow of Fort Negley, and with so many "blue coats" about, to "Lift up his voice like a trumpet, and show the people their transgressions and the house of Jacob their sins." I believe, however, that he was obliged to leave the place previous to the entrance of our troops.

I saw a pomegranate flower for the first time, to-day. It is of a dark red color, single, about the size of a plum blossom. It is of the same family I think, though cannot analyze it, for want of a botanical work.

In passing through ward 1 of the hospital last Wednesday, and asking advice of the chief nurse—who, by the by, is soon to complete his studies as surgeon—as to what we could do for the benefit of the invalids, he said there were two cases who would die unless some one could by attention and cheerful conversation save them. That they had been sick a long time, were very low, but the trouble now was nervous debility from homesickness and despair of life. Had himself done what he could for them, but was worn out with care of the ward and loss of sleep. And he added:

"The Surgeon has given them up, and I will give them into your charge, and if they live it will be your care which saves them."

"Would anything be injurious for them to eat?"

"No, if you can get them to eat anything you will do better than I can."

Upon inquiring which they were, he pointed them out, when I told him that I had spoken to both only a few moments before, and that one would scarcely notice me enough to tell me his disease, while the other would not answer at all, but drew the sheet over his face.

"Oh, yes," he replied, "they think no one cares for them, that they're going to die, and the worst one is in a half stupor much of the time. But pass your hand gently over his forehead to arouse him, and then you know how to interest him."

He then directed the nurse of this one to go with me and see that everything was done which I directed. The nurse and patient were both from Indiana, and the former going to the side of the bed toward which the face of the sick man was turned, said in a peculiarly pleasant and sympathizing tone:

"William, there's a lady come to see you and she wants to make you well if she can."

Passing my hand over his forehead, as directed, I added as cheerily as possible :

"Yes, William, I've come to see if I can't do something for you; if I shall write some letters for you, or bring you something to eat to make you better."

He roused up and I knew he was listening, but not wishing to excite him too much I then commenced asking of the nurse about his company and regiment, and the length of time he had been sick in that hospital. But I had scarcely done so, when the sick man turned his face down into the pillow, burst into tears and grieved and sobbed like a child, fairly shaking the bed with the violence of his emotion. The nurse bent down to him, and said as if pacifying a sick child:

"Don't fret so, William, this lady loves you, and she's going to try to make you well."

I knew the tears would do him good, but I spoke low and slowly, and the sobs grew less as he listened:

"You've been sick a long time, I know, and have grown discouraged and have thought you were never going to get well, but the Doctor says there is nothing to hinder if you will only try. I was once sick myself with a low nervous fever, and felt just as you do for a long time. And the physician told me at last that I wouldn't live unless I made up my mind to try to live. And I did try and worked hard for it for a long time else I should never have got well. And now if you will do the same and think all the time of what you are going to do when you get well, I will come and see you as often as I can, and bring you anything you wish to eat. Wouldn't you like to have me write for you to ask your wife, mother, or sister, to come and take care of you?

Just then the nurse tells me he is "single" and I repeat the question of his mother and sisters.

"No," he replied, in a sad, grieved, hollow voice, "they wouldn't come."

"Shouldn't I write to his father to tell him how he was." "No," he didn't "want any letters written."

"Could he think of something he could eat."

He said he could not, but the nurse exclaimed:—"Why, William, don't you remember you said the other day you could eat some pickles, if you could get them?" "Yes, I could eat some pickles," said the slow, hollow voice. A little inquiry found that it was possible he could eat a cookie also, so it was arranged that the nurse should call at the home of the Christian Commission, where I was stopping, for the articles.

I also learned that the sick man had not been bathed since having the fever, and his face looked like dried parchment. I made a prescription of castile soap and warm water for his benefit, to be applied to the whole surface of his body—the application to take place immediately after my departure. After the bath, the nurse called and I sent some cookies and a small jar of pickles.

The other patient to whom I was referred, was scarcely less interesting, but have not time to note the particulars. I visited them again yesterday, and found my directions with regard to each had been carried out, and both were better and glad this time to see me. William rejoiced in the jar of pickles upon his stand, out of which he had gained sufficient appetite to "reckon," he "could eat a few dried peaches, if he could get them." A small jar of those was prepared and sent to him, with a second edition of cookies.

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. 23-6

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 7, 1863

It was with a bounding heart, brimful of gratitude to God, that I stepped on board the Dakota and bade farewell to Haines Bluff on the second day of August. We have three hundred sick and wounded on this boat and are short of help. Quite a number who started as nurses are sick. Four men died the first night. We ran the boat ashore, dug a grave large enough for all, and laid them in it, side by side. Our Chaplain read the burial service, and we hastened on board to repeat the ceremony, the next morning, for some one else. It seems hard—even cruel—but it is the most solemn burial service I ever witnessed. Nine have died since we started, and one threw himself overboard in the frenzy of delirium and was drowned. We kill a beef every evening. Two nights in succession the best part of a hindquarter has been stolen. The boat hands were questioned, and a huge Irishman acknowledged the theft. He was court martialed and sentenced to be "banked." The boat was stopped opposite a wilderness. No human habitation was in sight. He was forced to pack his bundle, take to the woods and run his chance with hunger and the Rebels.

As we were running leisurely along, about 3 o'clock in the afternoon of yesterday, my curiosity was aroused by our boat running suddenly against the shore and sticking there. All hands were called, and, with the aid of soldiers, she was soon shoved off, and on we went again. A Sergeant asked the Mate why we landed there. His reply was, "Something wrong in the wheel house." One of our boys asked a darkey the same question. "Well, boss, I 'specs dey see a rabbit ober dere, an' t'ink dey kotch 'im." Soon after, as two comrades and myself were sitting in the bow enjoying the cool breeze, my attention was attracted by the glassy stillness of the water in front of us. Pointing to the right, I said, "Yonder is the safe place to sail." The words had scarcely left my mouth when we felt a sudden shock, the bow of the boat was lifted about two feet, a full head of steam was turned on, which carried us over the obstruction. We had "struck a snag." Soon after, we anchored for the night, as the pilot was "too sick" to run the boat.

The sick from our regiment are doing well. I never saw wounded men do so nicely. Of five who came as nurses, four are on the sick list. As for myself, I have not been so well in years.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 74-5

Diary of Elvira J. Powers: Thursday, April 7, 1864

Nashville, Tenn., Thursday Evening, April 7.

The present week, thus far, has been to me, full of new and thrilling experiences.

On Sabbath, the day after our arrival, I entered an ambulance and visited a camp for the first time. The company consisted of three, besides myself—Rev. Dr. D., a young theological student who is passing vacation here, and Miss T. The day was warm and springlike; the hyacinths, crocuses, and peach trees in blossom. It was the camp of the 7th Pennsylvania Cavalry, and situated upon one of the hights overlooking the City. The tents were white, the soldiers well-dressed, the uniform bright and everything tidy. A new and gaily painted banner pointed out the tent of the Colonel. As we entered the grounds, that gentleman, with the Major, met us cordially, a seat was prepared for the ladies at the opening of the Colonel's tent, while a huge box in front served for a speaker's stand. The bugle then summoned such as wished to listen, and service was held by the two gentlemen of our party. Books and papers were afterward distributed, for which the soldiers seemed eager. The Colonel informed us that the Regiment had just been reorganized, and new recruits filled the vacant places in the ranks, made so by the heroes, who fell at such battles as Lookout Mountain, Mission Ridge, and Chickamauga. There is a long list of such inscribed upon this banner, of which they are justly proud.

On Monday, visited a hospital for the first time. Was accompanied by Mrs. E. P. Smith, Mrs. Dr. F. and my travelling companion Miss O, beside the driver. As the ambulance halted, we saw through the open door and windows the homesick, pallid faces raised from the sick beds to greet us with a look of pleasure. Upon entering, almost the first object was that of a dying boy. His name was John Camplin, of Co. G. 49th Illinois Vols. He was a new recruit of only seventeen, and the victim of measles. He "did'nt want to die," but, after the singing of such hymns as "Rock of Ages," and "Jesus lover of my soul," he grew more resigned. I took the card which hung in a little tin case at the head of his bed, and copied the name and address of his father. The dying boy had been watching, and he then with difficult speech asked me to write to his people and tell them "good bye,” and that he was "going home." I tried to obtain a more lengthy message to comfort them, but speech was soon denied nd reason wandered. He died a few hours after, and the sad tidings was sent next day.

Found another poor boy quite low, with pneumonia. He knew his condition, but with an heroic smile upon his wasted features said, that "if" his "life would do his dear country any good" he was "willing to give it."

The Masonic Hall and First Presbyterian Church constitute Hospital, No. 8. We visited that on Tuesday.

As we enter the Hall, past the guard, we find a broad flight of stairs before us, and while ascending, perceive this caution inscribed upon the wall in evergreen.

"Remember you are in a hospital and make no noise." Up this flight, and other cautions meet us, such as "No smoking here"—" Keep away from the wall," &c. We here pause at a door, and are introduced to the matron who is fortunately just now going through the wards. It is Miss J-tt, of Ann Arbor, Michigan.

Ascending another broad flight, and asking in the meantime of her duties, she throws open the door of the linen room where are two clerks, and says:

"This department comprises all the work assigned to me whatever else I do is voluntary and gratuitous. "But today," she adds laughingly, "it would be difficult to define my duties. I think I might properly be called 'Commandant of the Black Squad,' or Chief of the Dirty Brigade;" and she explained by saying that she had seven negro women and two men, subject to her orders, who were cleaning the building. She next throws open the door of a ward which contains but a few patients, and has a smoky appearance. She tells us, they are fumigating it, having had some cases of small pox, most of which have been sent to the proper Hospital.

We pass to another, where she tells us, previous to entering, is one very sick boy. He is of a slight form, only fifteen, and with delicate girlish features. His disease is typhoid fever, from the effects of which he is now quite deaf. As we approach, he says to her faintly, "Sit down here, mother, on the side of my bed.”

She does so, when he asks her to "to bend her head down so he can tell her something." This she does, when he says, quite loud, but with difficulty;—“There's some money under my pillow, I want you to get it, and buy me some dried peaches."

"I don't want your money," she says, "but you shall have the peaches if I can get them," and she writes a note and dispatches it to the sanitary rooms for them." "This boy always calls me mother," she says, "and the first day he was brought here, he sent his nurse to ask if I would come up and kiss him. He has always been his mother's pet, and I now correspond with her on his account."

His fever is very high, and we pass our cold hand soothingly over his forehead and essay to speak words of cheer, and as we turn to leave, he looks up pleadingly and says:

"Can't you kiss me?"

"Yes, indeed, I can—am glad to do so," and we press our own to his burning lips and receive his feverish, unpleasant breath, not a disagreeable task though, for all, when we remember that he is the pet of his mother, who misses him so very much, and who may never look upon her boy again.

Of one-a middle-aged, despondent looking man we ask cheerily, how he is to-day.

"About the same," he replies coldly, but with a look which is the index of a thought like this:

Oh, you don't care for us or our comfort,—you are well, and have friends, and home, probably near you, and you cannot appreciate our suffering, and only come here to satisfy an idle curiosity."

He does not say this, but he thinks it, and we read the thought in the voice, manner, and countenance. We determine to convince him of his mistake, if possible, notwithstanding he looks as if he prefers we should walk along and leave him alone.

"Were you wounded?" we ask.

"No-sick," was the short gruff answer.

"Your disease was fever was'nt it?" we persist," your countenance looks like it."

"Yes, fever and pneumonia,” he replies in the same cold, but despairing tone.

"Ah-but you're getting better now."

"Don't know about it—reckon not."

"Well, how is it about getting letters from home?"

His countenance, voice and manner undergo a sudden change now, and his eyes overrun with tears, at the simple words "letters from home."

And as he raises his hand to his mouth, to conceal its quivering, he tells us with tremulous voice that he has sent three letters to his wife and can get no answer. She has left the place where they used to live, and he does not know certainly where to direct. We ask who we can write to, to find out, and learn that a sister would know. We take the probable address of the wife, and that of the sister, and after some farther conversation leave him looking quite like another man as we promise to write to each in the evening. (Subsequently, we learned that he received a reply to both, and was comparatively cheerful and very grateful.)

Down stairs, and we enter a ward on the first floor. Here is a thin sallow visage, the owner of which piteously asks if we "have any oranges," "No," but we provide means, by which he can purchase.

"I'm from North Carolina," he says, "I hid in the woods and mountains and lived on roots and berries for weeks, before I could get away."

In reply to our query as to whether he would like a letter written home, he informs us that his wife and father arrived in town only a few days ago,

"Then you have seen them," we say.

"Yes, they both visit me, but my wife comes oftenest."

Just now, his nurse, a young man who should know better, interrupts him by telling us that "it isn't so, and his family are all in North Carolina."

"That's just the way," said the sick man, turning to me with a flushed and angry look, "that they're talking to me all the time, and trying to make everybody think I'm crazy. I reckon I know whether I've seen my wife or not!"

"Of course you do," we say quietingly; "does she bring you anything nice to eat?" and we add that we wish she would come while we were there, so we could see her.

"Well, she don't bring me much to eat," he says in a weak, hollow voice, but earnestly, "she don't understand fixin' up things nice for sick folks, and then she's weakly like, but she does all she can, for she's a right gude heart. She doesn't fix up, and look like you folks do, you know," he added, “for she's sort o' torn to pieces like by this war."

“Yes, we can understand it."

Upon inquiring about this man a few moments after of the Ward-Master, we find that he is really a monomaniac upon this subject, persisting in the declaration that his wife and father visit him often though no one sees them.

"He can't live," said the Ward-Master, "he has lost all heart and is worn out. The chance of a Southerner to live after going to a hospital is not over a fourth as good as for one of our Northern boys. They can do more fighting with less food while in the field, but when the excitement is over they lose heart and die.”

We find upon several subsequent visits that he is growing weaker, and at the last when his countenance indicates that death is near, we are thankful that he is still comforted by these imaginary visits from father and wife.

We crossed the street and entered the First Presbyterian Church, which constitutes a part of the hospital. This place is notable for the promulgation of secession sentiments from its pulpit in other days. A specimen of the style was given here a short time before the entrance of our troops, by Prof. Elliott of the Seminary, who in a prayer besought the Almighty that he would so prosper the arms of the Confederates and bring to naught the plans of the Federals, that every hill-top, plain and valley around Nashville should be white with the bones of the hated Yankees!”

“After hearing this it was doubly a pleasure, in company with Miss J., another "Northern vandal," to make the walls of the old church echo to the words of "The Star Spangled Banner," with an accompaniment from the organ; and it would have done any loyal heart good to see how much pleasure it gave to the sick and wounded soldiers.

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, p. 13-19

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne: November 5, 1862

Something has happened. Last night, just as we were settling down for the night, orders came for a move. Dr. Andrus came round looking us over and ordered me to the hospital, as well as several others. Where the regiment is going is a secret from us yet. While the tents were coming down and packing up was going on, an ambulance drove in and with others I did not know, I was carted to what I understand is called "Stewart's Mansion Hospital." It is in the city, and I think near the place of our first night's stay in Baltimore. I was assigned a bed and for the first time since leaving home took off my clothes for the night. It seemed so strange I was a long time getting sleepy.

I am in a large room full of clean cots, each one with a man in it more or less sick. Not being as bad off as many others, I have written some letters for myself and some for others who wished me to do so. The room is warmed by two big stoves and if I knew where the regiment was, I would be willing to put in the winter right here. Nurses, men detailed for that purpose, are here just to wait on us and ladies are coming and going nearly all the time. They bring us flowers and are just as kind as they can be. I am up and dressed and have been out seeing the grounds about the place. One building is called the dead house, and in it were two men who died during the night. As none were missing from the room I was in, I judge there are other rooms, and that the one I was in is for those who are not really sick, but sickish. John Wooden of our company is probably the sickest man in the ward. John Van Alstyne came in just at night to see how I came on. Snow is falling and the natives call it very unusual weather for the time of year.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 57-8

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, August 23, 1861

Colonel ——— to-day complains that I have too much force employed in the hospital, and says that he will cut it down. The regulations allow ten nurses and two cooks to the regiment, besides Surgeons, and Hospital Steward. All I have, are three nurses and two cooks. Will he dare to cut that down? Should he do so I will "try conclusions" as to his authority to do it. Three nurses, for one hundred sick, and that must be cut down! Nor is this all. The Quartermaster, taking his cue from the Colonel, refuses to acknowledge our right to a hospital fund, and I therefore get but few comforts for the sick, except through charity or a fight for it. It is to be hoped that these officers will, by a little more experience, become better posted in their duties, and that the sick will not then be considered interlopers, or intruders on the comforts of the regiment. I forgot to say, in the proper place, that we are brigaded, forming a part of Gen. Rufus King's brigade, composed of four regiments.

I have not yet donned the full uniform of my rank, and there is scarcely a day passes that I do not get a reproving hint on the subject from our Colonel. A few days ago, whilst in Baltimore, he came to me almost railing at certain army officers for appearing in citizens' dress. "There," said he, "is Major B., Major K., Gen. D., Doct. N. P., all of the regular army, and not one of whom can be distinguished from a private citizen." "Colonel," I replied, "they probably fear being mistaken for volunteer officers. He did not feel flattered, but dropped the subject. Since I came here, I think I can tell a man's calibre by his shoulder-straps. The amount of brain is generally in inverse proportion to the size of his straps.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 18

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, August 14, 1861

I left the camp to-day, and have determined to make my headquarters at Barnum's Hotel, for a few days, till I recover some of the strength lost by my sickness and over-exertion. My ward master, on whom I have mainly to rely for assistance as a nurse, has been drunk every night, which has made me much extra trouble. Oh the misery resulting from whisky!

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 13