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 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

Letter from G., May 13, 1864

BELLE PLAIN, VA., May 13, 1864.

On the S. C. boat, pulling up to the shore Government flatboats of horses and cavalry recruits. There are no docks and the army supplies are being landed from barges connected by pontoons with the shore. A constant stream of contrabands passing with bags of grain and barrels of pork on their shoulders. Dr. Douglas and Dr. Agnew are here. Good Dr. Cuyler is here. Senator Pomeroy is on board going down to bring up General Bartlett of Massachusetts who went into the fight with a Palmer leg and was wounded again. Col. —— tells me there has been great anxiety at the War Department. Mr. Stanton said to him, “When we have a victory the whole North shall know it.”—“And when there is silence?” said Col. ——. “Then,” said the Secretary, “there is no communication with the front.” We have a Feeding-Station on shore and are putting up another two miles away, on the hill, where ambulance trains halt sometimes for hours, owing to obstructions in the road. The mud is frightful and the rain is coming on again. We are directed to take the return train of ambulances for Fredericksburg.

Just as I finished, the train from Fredericksburg arrived. Nothing I have ever seen equals the condition of these men. They had been two or three days in the ambulances; roads dreadful; no food. We have been at work with them from morning till night without ceasing; filling one boat, feeding the men; filling another, feeding them. There is no sort of use in trying to tell you the story. I can scarcely bear to think of it. All the nurses and cooks from the Invalid Corps of our Hospital, who marched off that day, Sullivan, Lewis and the rest, armed with muskets again, are down here guarding prisoners. Yesterday a squad of rebel officers was marched on board a boat lying by ours. I had to pass through their ranks to get supplies from our boat, and shook hands with our boys and saw the officers; Stewart and Bradley Johnson among them; strong well-fed, iron looking men, all of them. There's no give in in such looking men as these. Our soldiers from the front say the rebels stand— stand—in solid masses, giving and taking tremendous blows and never being shoved an inch. It is magnificent!

No words can express the horrible confusion of this place. The wounded arrive one train a day, but the trains are miles long; blocked by all sorts of accidents, wagon trains, bad roads, broken bridges; two, three days on the way, plunged in quagmires, jolted over corduroy, without food, fainting, starving; filthy; frightfully wounded, arms gone to the shoulder, horrible wounds in face and head. I would rather a thousand times have a friend killed on the field than suffer in this way. It is worse than White House, Harrison's, or Gettysburg by far. Many die on the way. We found thirty-five dead in the ambulances yesterday, and six more died on the stretchers while being put on board the boats. The boats are anything that can be got hold of, cattle scows, anything. Barges of horses are landed by the side of the transports and the horses cross the deck where the helpless men lie. Mules, stretchers, army wagons, prisoners, dead men and officials as good as dead are tumbled and jumbled on the wretched dock which falls in every little while and keeps the trains waiting for hours. We fed the men at once. We fed all the five boats that got off yesterday. There is no Government provision for this, beyond bread; no coffee, no soup, no cups or pails, or vessels of any kind for holding food. The men eat as if starving. These had been three days without food. We are ordered to Fredericksburg today to report to Dr. Douglas, as there is more misery there than here.

SOURCE: Jane Stuart Woolsey, Hospital Days, p. 150-1

Joseph Choate to George L. Stearns, probably about late July 1863

This last calamity to the house and family of Mrs. Gibbons (the sacking of her home by the recent riot) presents a fit opportunity for her friends and those of her children to bear a testimony to the esteem in which they hold her. We propose, therefore, to give her a benefit.

Mrs. G., as you know, has spent her whole life in unrewarded devotion to that same wretched class of people who have now so ruthlessly destroyed her home, and she has spent twelve months of the last sixteen at her own expense in nursing our sick and wounded in the hospitals, utterly regardless of her own interests, and now she returns to find her home a desert, and literally has hardly where to lay her head. It is high time, therefore, for her friends to show her that her good works have not been all in vain. Besides, I know that unless something of the kind is done, the family will actually suffer from the recent loss.

SOURCE: Preston Stearns, The Life and Public Services of George Luther Stearns, p. 299

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: November 13, 1864

To-day had an incident happen to me; hardly an incident, but a sort of an adventure. When I was nurse on one or two occasions helped the hospital steward make out his report to his superiors, and in that way got a sort of reputation for knowing how to do these things a little better than the ordinary run of people, and rebels in particular. A rebel sergeant came inside at just about nine o'clock this morning and looked me up and said I was wanted outside, and so went. Was taken to a house not far from the stockade, which proved to be the officers head-quarters. There introduced to three or four officers, whose names do not occur to me, and informed that they were in need of some one to do writing and assist in making out their army papers, and if I would undertake the job, they would see that I had plenty to eat, and I should be sent North at the first opportunity. I respectfully, gently and firmly declined the honor, and after partaking of quite a substantial meal, which they gave me thinking I would reconsider my decision, was escorted back inside. Many thought me very foolish for not taking up with the offer. My reasons for not doing so are these: I would be clearly working for the Confederacy; can see no real difference in it from actually entering their army. If I occupied that position it would relieve some rebel of that duty, and he could stay in the ranks and fight our men. That is one reason Another is the fact that instead of their letting me go to our lines with the first that went, I would be the very last to go, as they would need me to do duty for them until the last moment. Was always willing to do extra duty for our own men, such as issuing clothing on Belle Isle, also my nursing the sick or in any way doing for them, but when it comes to working in any way for any rebel, I shall beg to be excused. Might have gone out and worked in the printing offices in Savannah had I so wished, as they were short of men all the time, in fact could hardly issue their papers on account of the scarcity of printers. And so I am still loyal to the Stars and Stripes and shall have no fears at looking my friends in the face when I do go home.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 115-6

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: November 2, 1864

Have seen many of my old comrades of Andersonville, among whom is my tried friend Sergt. Wm. B. Rowe; were heartily glad to see one another; also little Bulluck who has improved wonderfully in appearance. Everyone is pleased with this place and are cheerful, hoping and expecting to be released before many weeks; they all report as having been well treated in Savannah and have pleasant recollections of that place; from what could be seen of the city by us prisoners it seems the handsomest one in America. Should judge it was a very wealthy place. My duties as nurse are hard, often too much so for my strength, yet the enforced exercise does me good and continue to improve all the time. A cane will be necessary to my locomotion for a long time as am afraid myself permanently injured; my cane is not a gold headed one; it is a round picket which has been pulled off some fence. Very cheering accounts of the war doings. All who want to can take the oath of allegiance to the confederacy and be released; am happy to say though that out of all here, but two or three has done so, and they are men who are a detriment to any army. The weather now is beautiful, air refreshing, water ditto; all happy and contented and await coming events with interest. Part of the brook, the lower part, is planked and sides boarded up for sanitary privileges; water has also been dammed up and a fall made which carries off the filth with force. Plenty of wood to do cooking with and the men putter around with their cooking utensils such as they have. Sort of prize fight going on now.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 110-1

Elizabeth Adams Lusk to Captain William Thompson Lusk, January 18, 1863

24 West 31st Street,

New-York, Jan. 18th, 1863.

My own dear Son:

I hope my letters reach you more regularly than yours do me, for I write faithfully, and have great pleasure in the thought that my written words keep you connected with, and interested in, the events transpiring at home. A rumor was in circulation last night, that the rebels had crossed the Rappahannock and that our army were fighting their way back to Washington. A young man told me also last night, that a gentleman just arrived from Burnside's Army, told him it was owing entirely to Lee's humanity that our forces escaped entire annihilation after the battle of Fredericksburg. Don't think we credit such absurdities; I only show how secession sympathizers spread reports. The story is this: Lee seeing the danger of our army, and being humane and generous, sent to Burnside, offering him six hours to depart peacefully, which Burnside of course gladly accepted. New-York is full of Southern people in full sympathy with the South, bitter in word and action, and my blood often boils with indignation though I keep usually a quiet tongue. The news of our Western victories, and the intercepted rebel correspondence, make them rather more spicy than usual. You will see the disgraceful proceedings about the election of a Speaker in Albany. The Republicans behave far better than the Democrats. Oh! I am sick. I have been in the house a week with a cold, and I long again for fresh air and freedom. We had a pleasant call yesterday from Abby and Carrie Woolsey. Their brother is on the staff of Gen. Seth Williams who is one of Burnside's staff. Carrie said she should write him to try and see you, as she thought you might find it pleasant to meet.

To-morrow evening we are going to meet a few friends at Mrs. Gilman's. Mrs. Perkins (Tom's Mother) is there on a visit. I am sorry you see no hope of a furlough or promotion. I do not know how things progress here, but I do know Mr. Phelps is still actively at work. The party in power is somewhat opposed to enlistments, or rather does not encourage them. However the Military Department will control that matter I suppose in future.

Jane and Georgie Woolsey are nursing in a hospital near Newport. A corps of ladies acting under the direction of the Surgeon-General, takes charge of the department of the very sick, giving their time and their means to this noble object. Georgie assisted a good deal in the Peninsular Campaign. It is refreshing to meet a whole family so devoted to one cause. Miss Kitty Elliott wants to do something of the same kind, and if I had strength I would not hesitate for one moment, but I am too nervous and good for nothing.

General McClellan is living in a new house next to us. The house was presented him by some of his friends. Cousin Henry and Louisa have just been in to tell me that they heard through Dr. McDonald that you had applied for a furlough on the 13th, and would probably get it. Can it be possible? I cannot believe such joy is in store for me.

Good-bye, God grant us strength to bear, and thankful hearts for all his mercies.

Very lovingly,

Mother.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 269-71

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: June 12, 1863

Henry Drake quite bad with abscess on his knee. Rob and I sat up with him. Wrote a line home and to Fannie.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 73

Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes to Lucy Webb Hayes, July 6, 1862

Flat Top Mountain, July 6, 1862.

Dearest: — Sunday afternoon about 4 P. M. — hotter than ever. I have just finished reading your letter written last Sunday at Chillicothe. I am very glad you are so happily homed at Uncle Scott's. It is far better- up on that beautiful hill with such kind friends, young and old, than in a hot and dirty city. You cannot think oftener of me than I do of you and the dear ones around you; no, nor more lovingly.

I knew you would be troubled when Fremont was relieved from duty, and perhaps still more when you hear of McClellan's repulse before Richmond. These things appear to postpone the termination of the war; but are such disasters as must be looked for in such a contest. We must make up our minds that we have a heavy work, and that reverses must frequently occur.

We have no right to complain of our lot. We have a beautiful and healthy camp, with the enemy in front, strong enough to keep us busy holding our position, without much danger of losing it. It is the common opinion that if the reverse before Richmond has been serious, we shall be sent to eastern Virginia, and I may add that it is the universal wish that we may see some of the movements that are going on there.

Drs. Joe and Jim are both very well and with little to do. Our loss by sickness during the last three months is only three.

Dr. Joe and I sent early in June to your address nine hundred and fifty dollars. Did you get it? It is important we should know if it has failed to reach you. As letters miscarry sometimes, be sure to speak of it in two or three letters.

I got from Mr. Stephenson a Harper and Atlantic for July today. All reading matter is in the greatest demand. . . .

It is not of much consequence to Boggs whether he returns or not; yet he ought to be allowed to do it. If a soldier is well enough to be a nurse he can be useful with his regiment. If he can neither nurse nor march, he can get his pay or a discharge easier here than elsewhere. But we will do our best for the man.

Think of it, the Fourth was a lovely day but we sat around a fire in the evening and slept under blanket and coverlid. . . .

Good-bye, darling. Don't get downhearted about the war and our separation. It will all come right, and then how happy we shall be — happier than if we had not known this year's experience.

Affectionately ever, your

R.

Mrs. Hayes.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 297-8