Nurse and Spy in the Union Army

All my soldierly qualities seemed to have fled, and I was again a poor, cowardly, nervous, whining woman; and as if to make up for lost time, and to give vent to my long pent up feelings, I could do nothing but weep hour after hour, until it would seem that my head was literally a fountain of tears and my heart one great burden of sorrow. All the horrid scenes that I had witnessed during the past two years seemed now before me with vivid distinctness, and I could think of nothing else.

It was under these circumstances that I made up my mind to leave the army; and when once my mind is made up on any subject I am very apt to act at once upon that decision. So it was in this case. I sent for the surgeon and told him I was not able to remain longer – that I would certainly die if I did not leave immediately.

The good old surgeon concurred in my opinion, and made out a certificate of disability, and I was forthwith released from further duty as “Nurse and Spy” in the Federal army.

The very next day I embarked for Cairo, and on my arrival there I procured female attire, and laid aside forever (perhaps) my military uniform; but I had become so accustomed to it that I parted with it with much reluctance.

While in Cairo I had the pleasure of seeing the celebrated Miss Mary Safford, of whom so much has been said and written.

One writer gives the following account of her, which is correct with regard to personal appearance, and I have no doubt is correct throughout:

“I cannot close this letter without a passing word in regard to one whose name is mentioned by thousands of our soldiers with gratitude and blessing.

“Miss Mary Safford is a resident of this town, whose life, since the beginning of this war, has been devoted to the amelioration of the soldier’s lot and his comfort in the hospital.

“She is a young lady, petite in figure, unpretending, but highly cultivated, by no means officious, and so wholly unconscious of her excellencies and the great work that she is achieving, that I fear this public allusion to her may pain her modest nature.

“Her sweet young face, full of benevolence, her pleasant voice and winning manner, install her in every one’s heart directly; and the more one sees of her the more they admire her great soul and noble nature.

“Not a day elapses but she is found in the hospitals, unless indeed she is absent on an errand of mercy up the Tennessee, or to the hospitals in Kentucky.

“Every sick and wounded soldier in Cairo knows and loves her, and, as she enters the ward, every pale face brightens at her approach. As she passes along she inquires of each one how he had passed the night, if he is well supplied with books and tracts, and if there is anything she can do for him. All tell her their story frankly – the old man old enough to be her father, and the boy in his teens, all confide in her.

“For one she must write a letter to his friend at home; she must sit down and read at the cot of another; must procure, if the surgeon will allow it, this or that article of food for a third; must soothe and encourage a fourth who desponds and is ready to give up his hold on life; must pray for a fifth who is afraid to die, and wrestle for him till light shines through the dark valley; and so on, varied as may be the personal or spiritual wants of the sufferers.

“Surgeons, nurses, medical directors, and army officers, are all her true friends, and so judicious and trustworthy is she, that the Chicago Sanitary Commission have given her carte blanche to draw on their stores at Cairo for anything she may need in her errands of mercy in the hospitals.

“She is performing a noble work, and that too in the most quiet and unassuming manner.”

From Cairo I went to Washington, where I spent several weeks, until I recovered from my fever and was able to endure the fatigue of traveling. Then after visiting the hospitals once more, and bidding farewell to old scenes and associations, I returned to my friends to recruit my shattered health.

CHAPTER XXIX

Since I returned to New England there have been numerous questions asked me with regard to hospitals, camp life, etc., which have not been fully answered in the preceding narrative, and I have thought that perhaps it would not be out of place to devote a chapter to that particular object.

One great question is: “Do the soldiers get the clothing and delicacies which we send them – or is it true that the surgeons, officers and nurses appropriate them to their own use?”

In reply to this question I dare not assert that all the things which are sent to the soldiers are faithfully distributed, and reach the individuals for whom they were intended. But I have no hesitation in saying that I have reason to believe that the cases are very rare where surgeons or nurses tamper with those articles sent for the comfort of the sick and wounded.

If the ladies of the Soldiers’ Aid Societies and other benevolent organizations could have seen even the quantity which I have seen with my own eyes distributed, and the smile of gratitude with which those supplies are welcomed by the sufferers, they would think that they were amply rewarded for all their labor in preparing them.

Just let those benevolent hearted ladies imagine themselves in my place for a single day; removing blood-clotted and stiffened woollen garments from ghastly wounds, and after applying the sponge and water remedy, replacing those coarse, rough shirts by nice, cool, clean linen ones, then dress the wounds with those soft white bandages and lint; take from the express box sheet after sheet, and dainty little pillows with their snowy cases, until you have the entire hospital supplied and every cot looking clean and inviting to the weary, wounded men – then as they are carried and laid upon those comfortable beds, you will often see the tears of gratitude gush forth, and hear the earnest “God bless the benevolent ladies who send us these comforts.”

Then, after the washing and clothing process is gone through with, the nice wine or Boston crackers are brought forward, preserved fruits, wines, jellies, etc., and distributed as the different cases may require.

I have spent whole days in this blessed employment without realizing weariness or fatigue, so completely absorbed would I become in my work, and so rejoiced in having those comforts provided for our brave, suffering soldiers.

Time and again, since I have been engaged in writing this little narrative, I have thrown down my pen, closed my eyes, and lived over again those hours which I spent in ministering to the wants of those noble men, and have longed to go back and engage in the same duties once more.

I look back now upon my hospital labors as being the most important and interesting in my life’s history. The many touching incidents which come to my mind as I recall those thrilling scenes make me feel as if I should never be satisfied until I had recorded them all, so that they might never be forgotten. One occurs to my mind now which I must not omit:

“In one of the fierce engagements with the rebels near Mechanicsville, a young lieutenant of a Rhode Island battery had his right foot so shattered by a fragment of shell that on reaching Washington, after one of those horrible ambulance rides, and a journey of a week’s duration, he was obliged to undergo amputation.

“He telegraphed home, hundreds of miles away, that all was going on well, and with a soldier’s fortitude composed his mind and determined to bear his sufferings alone. Unknown to him, however, his mother – one of those dear reserves of the army – hastened up to join the main force. She reached the city at midnight, and hastened to the hospital, but her son being in such a critical condition, the nurses would have kept her from him until morning. One sat by his side fanning him as he slept, her hand on the feeble, fluctuating pulsations which foreboded sad results. But what woman’s heart could resist the pleading of a mother at such a moment? In the darkness she was finally allowed to glide in and take the nurse’s place at his side. She touched his pulse as the nurse had done. Not a word had been spoken; but the sleeping boy opened his eyes and said: ‘That feels like my mother’s hand! Who is this beside me? It is my mother; turn up the gas and let me see mother!’ The two loving faces met in one long, joyful, sobbing embrace, and the fondness pent up in each heart wept forth its own language.

“The gallant fellow underwent operation after operation, and at last, when death drew near, and he was told by tearful friends that it only remained to make him comfortable, he said he ‘had looked death in the face too many times to be afraid now,’ and died as gallantly as did the men of the Cumberland.”

When a hero goes
Unto his last repose,
When earth’s trump of fame shall wake him no more;
When in the heavenly land
Another soul doth stand,
Who perished for a Nation ere he reached the shore;
Whose eyes should sorrow dim?
Say, who should mourn for him?

Mourn for the traitor – mourn
When honor is forsworn;
When the base wretch sells his land for gold,
Stands up unblushingly
And boasts his perfidy,
Then, then, O patriots! let your grief be told
But when God’s soldier yieldeth up his breath,
O mourn ye not for him! it is not death!

Another question is frequently asked me – “Are not the private soldiers cruelly treated by the officers?” I never knew but a very few instances of it, and then it was invariably by mean, cowardly officers, who were not fit to be in command of so many mules. I have always noticed that the bravest and best fighting officers are the kindest and most forbearing toward their men.

An interesting anecdote is told of the late brave General Sedgwick, which illustrates this fact:

“One day, while on a march, one of our best soldiers had fallen exhausted by fatigue and illness, and lay helpless in the road, when an officer came dashing along in evident haste to join his staff in advance.

“It was pitiable to see the effort the poor boy made to drag his unwilling limbs out of the road. He struggled up only to sink back with a look that asked only the privilege of lying there undisturbed to die.

“In an instant he found his head pillowed on an arm as gentle as his far-away mother’s might have been, and a face bent over him expressive of the deepest pity.

“It is characteristic of our brave boys that they say but little. The uncomplaining words of the soldier in this instance were few, but understood.

“The officer raised him in his arms and placed him in his own saddle, supporting the limp and swaying figure by one firm arm, while with the other he curbed the step of his impatient horse to a gentler pace.

“For two miles, without a gesture of impatience, he traveled in this tedious way, until he reached an ambulance train and placed the sick man in one of the ambulances.

“This was our noble Sedgwick – our brave general of the Sixth Corps – pressed with great anxieties and knowing the preciousness of every moment. His men used to say: ‘We all know that great things are to be done, and well done, when we see that earnest figure in its rough blouse hurrying past, and never have we been disappointed in him. He works incessantly, is unostentatious, and when he appears among us all eyes follow him with outspoken blessings.’”

I have often been asked: “Have you ever been on a battle-field before the dead and wounded were removed?” “How did it appear?” “Please describe one.”

I have been on many a battle-field, and have often tried to describe the horrible scenes which I there witnessed, but have never yet been able to find language to express half the horrors of such sights as I have seen on those terrible fields.

The Rev. Mr. Alvord has furnished us with a vivid description of a battle-field, which I will give for the benefit of those who wish a true and horrifying description of those bloody fields: