SHARING POOR QUARTERS WITH DOROTHY L. DIX.
IN the winter of 1864-1865, the Union forces were concentrated in front of Petersburg and Richmond. There was more or less skirmishing and fighting all the while between the two great armies facing each other for the last desperate struggle.
The hospitals were overcrowded at City Point and Point of Rocks. Every cot was occupied, every tent was crowded, and the thousands of troops coming down quartered wherever they could find a vacant place.
I had not been in the cabin of a steamer bound for City Point very long till Miss Dorothy L. Dix came in. After the usual greetings, she informed me that she, too, was going to City Point.
Miss Dix was the stateliest woman I ever saw, and she was very dignified in manner and conversation.
Although at that time she was about sixty years old, she was tall, straight as an arrow, and unusually slender. Her hair, which was abundant, was very dark brown, almost black, and was combed and coiled on the top of her head, except two locks in front, which were combed smoothly over each ear and carried in a loop up over the coil on top of her head. This peculiar manner of dressing her hair seemed to add to her height and dignity. Her dress was always exceedingly plain, but neat, and her linen collar and cuffs were always immaculate. She wore no jewels, not even a breastpin. She required the same degree of plainness on the part of her nurses.
It was not long after the boat left the dock at Washington till we had passed Alexandria and Mount Vernon, and were steaming on to Fortress Monroe at the mouth of the Potomac, with the ocean in full view.
There was always a long stop at this point, as it was not only a strong military station, well-fortified and strongly guarded by troops and gunboats, but it was a great hospital centre. Thousands of sick and wounded lay sorely stricken in these great barracks and tents by the sea.
It was about nine o’clock that evening when we reached City Point. We had discussed the question of lodging before we left the boat, and Miss Dix had said,—
“I have no concern. There are always plenty of cots, and I’ll find room in some of the nurses’ tents,” and she urged me to go with her.
But I was equally confident, and assured her that the Christian Commission would take care of me. Mr. Cole, of Boston, the chief agent, was standing beside a tent, in deep thought, when I approached. When he saw me he lifted up his hand in dismay.
“I have no place for you; every foot of space is occupied,” was his greeting.
“How about the little tent where I stayed the last time?”
“It is full of delegates lying on the ground on their blankets. I’ve given up my little corner to Dr. ——, and have no place to sleep myself.”
“How about the storeroom?”
His face brightened.
“I never thought of that; but it’s full of barrels and boxes, and is not in order.”
“No matter; there will be shelter and room, and there is a lock on the door, and I’ll get on all right.”
A candle and some matches were procured, and, accompanied by the agent and his assistant, I went into the storeroom near by. It was a great, rough, strong plank barracks; boxes and barrels were piled up nearly to the roof. There was a vacant space where they handled the supplies, near the door.
“There is not a cot on the premises; they have all been taken for the sick and wounded. What will you do?”
“I’ll sleep on the floor, of course,” I answered cheerfully.
But they turned some of the boxes around, and gathered up all the straw and shavings that were in sight, that had been used in packing, and put them together, and I placed my satchel for a pillow; and after I had assured them that it would be all right, they left, and I locked the door after them.
They had not been gone ten minutes till there was a knock at the door. I went very close to the door and called,—
“What is wanted?”
“Mrs. Wittenmyer, Miss Dix is here, and she has no place to stay. Can she come in?”
“Certainly; of course she can.”
And I opened the door, and that stately woman, with all her dignity upon her, which was really a part of herself, entered, glad to find even such a shelter as that. My candle lighted up the building sufficiently to show its unsightliness, and the dust and rubbish that were all about us. As Miss Dix was old enough to have been my mother, of course there was but one thing to do, and that was to give up my bed of shavings and straw to her, and with the stub of an old broom try to clear a place on another part of the floor for myself. She generously offered to divide her bed; but there was not enough to divide, so I spread my blanket-shawl down on the rough, uneven floor for my bed, and I took my satchel for a pillow.
I was weary and anxious, and for a few moments I felt the service was too hard to be endured much longer. But there came another train of thought, as I heard the booming of the cannon at no great distance.
“How glad the brave men on the picket-line, where to sleep is death, the men in the trenches, and working the guns, would be to have a good dry floor to sleep on, and the right and privilege to sleep,” I said to myself. Somehow my bed grew soft and my pillow downy, and all the clouds of care and spirit of self-pity cleared away before the magic power of patriotism and sympathy for the brave men who stood so gallantly for my country and its flag; and I never in all my life had a better bed, or a sweeter night’s sleep.