THE HOSPITAL AT POINT OF ROCKS, VA.
WHEN the Union army was massed at City Point in the desperate struggle to capture Petersburg and Richmond, it became necessary to establish a large hospital at Point of Rocks, a few miles above City Point.
Log cabins, put up from timber green from the forest, and tents, served as quarters for the sick and wounded; and three or four thousand of the worst cases were quartered there almost immediately, being soon increased to five thousand. The army operating against Richmond was only a few miles away, and the thunder of their guns could be heard all day long, and the night sky was often illuminated by bursting shells; for two armies were facing each other between Point of Rocks and Richmond, and occasionally a shell would come screaming over to remind us that we were in range of the enemy’s guns. The cooking arrangements, when I reached Point of Rocks, were of the most primitive character. Two log cabins without floors or chimneys, with openings in the roof to allow the smoke to escape, and big kettles hanging over smoking, crackling log fires, were used for cooking purposes. There were great black iron kettles for coffee, tea, soups, meat, beans, and rice.
When I saw the messes served to the sick and wounded men in the wards, as each cabin was called, I did not wonder that the men turned away in disgust.
The tin cups, in which the patients received their tea and coffee, were black and battered; the platters had been used in many a march, and were rusty and greasy. Into each one of these platters was dished out rice, beans, or mixed vegetables, as the men preferred. My mental comment was, “There is not one thing here fit for a well man to eat, much less a sick or wounded man.” The surgeon in charge seemed not to know that things were not up to the proper standard; and I was silent—silent till I was out of the hearing of these men, and until I had a chance to say all that was in my heart to say. The office of the surgeon in charge was in a frame dwelling on the grounds. When I had seated myself in his office, he turned suddenly upon me and questioned, “Well, what do you think of my hospital?”
“Perhaps you would not like to hear; you may wish only flattery,” I answered very kindly.
“Yes; I want to know the truth. If you see anything that can be improved just say so frankly; but you must remember we are under the enemy’s guns, and can’t have the conveniences and luxuries that they have in the big cities.”
“I will not suggest anything that cannot be accomplished here within a week, and yet it would be a great change for the men. I would begin with the kitchen. I would build a kitchen with a chimney; there are plenty of rocks here.”
“Yes, that is so.”
“Then, I would have a floor in it, and two of the largest ranges the market affords.”
“That is impossible; the government would not supply ranges.”
“I will supply the ranges. The Christian Commission is ready at an hour’s notice to honor any order that I am likely to give.”
“The men couldn’t manage them.”
“No, perhaps not; but I would put in two first-class women to do the managing, and the men you have could do the work.”
After very much more talk, he suggested that I might make the attempt.
I wrote immediately to George H. Stuart of Philadelphia, President of the Christian Commission, stating the condition of affairs at the Point of Rocks Hospital, requesting lumber for kitchen, lime for chimney, two first-class ranges, a thousand tin cups and platters, and all the necessary supplies to start a kitchen.
My letter was promptly received, and Mr. Stuart answered by telegram:—
“Everything ordered will be sent this afternoon. Also crates of dishes. Go ahead. You shall have all you need.”
I had already telegraphed to Mrs. E. W. Jones, one of my most reliable workers, to come to me immediately, and Miss Hattie Noyes, another superior worker.
They both came as fast as steam could bring them, reaching there before the kitchen was completed. A cabin had been prepared for them; but as shingles were not at hand, it was covered with canvas. As the ladies were entirely competent to complete the arrangements, I left them for another point. In less than a week a most remarkable change had been wrought in that hospital. When the first meals were issued from that well-regulated kitchen in the nice white dishes and bright tinware, the sick men, many of them, cried and kissed the dishes, and said it seemed most like getting home. Instead of the slops dished out of vessels that looked like swill-buckets, there came to the beds of the very sick and severely wounded, baked potatoes, baked apples, beef-tea, broiled beefsteak (when allowed), and especially to the wounded, toasts, jellies, good soup, and everything in the best home-like preparation.
The surgeon looked on in utter surprise. But the patients fared better than my heroic women. There came a beating, driving rain, and their canvas roof leaked like a sieve. They wrapped rubber blankets about their clothing, put rubber blankets on their bed, raised their umbrellas, and slept. Of this trial Mrs. Jones wrote me. I quote from her letter:—
“This has been a trying day. All night and all day the rain has come down in torrents in our quarters and the kitchen, as well as out-of-doors. Quarts of water ran off our bed while we slept. Almost everything had to be dried, even to bed and bedding, and in the kitchen it was even worse. But to-night finds us in good spirits, and our zeal undampened, though our work has been most thoroughly soaked.
Affectionately,
E. W. J.”
The putting on of new roofs was only a question of a day or two, and they had no more trouble from rain after that.
This hospital became so large that another kitchen had to be established, and three other ladies were added to the force.
These kitchens were the most important in the entire service, except, possibly, the great kitchen at Cumberland Hospital, Nashville, Tenn. The fame of the cookery there extended all along the line. Surgeons came long distances to see for themselves if the reports were true about them. To many it seemed incredible that the cooking for the very sick could be so well managed right along the front lines in these field hospitals.
At my request. General Grant, commanding the United States forces with headquarters at City Point, visited these famous kitchens.
Himself and two of his staff went in disguise.
With his slouch hat drawn down, and coming in citizen’s clothing, no one noticed him. They stood by the door of the largest kitchen, while the dinner was issued. He asked, when the food had been sent out, a few questions and looked at the bill of fare, then followed to the wards to see the patients receive it.
He said, when I next came down from Washington and called at headquarters, that he thought it was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen. He was unusually enthusiastic.
“Why,” said he, “those men live better than I do; and so many of them too. How they manage to cook such a variety for so many hundreds is what puzzles me.”
Then he told me about his going through the wards while they were taking their dinner, and noticing how greatly they enjoyed the food. And when told THAT THE MOST OF THIS FOOD CAME FROM THE COMMUTATION OF GOVERNMENT RATIONS, he was still more surprised.
When he was passing through one of the wards, a convalescing soldier, taking him to be a delegate of the Christian Commission, called out, “Say, Christian, won’t you bring me a pair of socks?”
“I’ll see that you get a pair,” the general responded, and passed out; but he arranged to have the man get a pair of socks.
But where are the noble women who labored there with so much energy and zeal years ago?
Mrs. Jones, a most saintly woman, the widow of a Presbyterian minister, sits serene in the evening of life—her work done and well-done—at Wellesley, Mass., where her daughter is the attending physician of the college.
All the years of her life have been given to benevolent and reform work, and now she waits and listens for the heavenly voice and the rustle of the angel’s wings.
Miss Noyes is in Canton, China, where she has been in mission work ever since the close of the war. A few years ago a beautiful poem written by her, entitled, “Toiling All Night,” was extensively published in this country. She has several times returned on a visit to her native land, and was, when she came to us, the same bright, cheerful, earnest-hearted woman, as when, amid the thunders of battle, she ministered to the sick and wounded soldiers of the Republic.
Fortune has not dealt generously with some of the others who labored there. One, a competent worker, is now poor. She lives in Illinois.
Another married and settled on a land claim. Her husband died from overwork and exposure, leaving her in the wilderness, without help to bury him, for days. After he was laid away, she struggled on, determined to hold the claim; but a fearful snowstorm one winter came, and buried her and her two little girls under the snow, till the top of the house was level with the plain.
They remained buried for many days before being dug out. Some men thought about her, and travelled miles to ascertain if she was all right.
They searched long before they could find her shanty, and when they did, had to dig tons of snow away before they could get her out. She now lives in Colorado.
These years have wrought great changes; but all the workers will look back, no matter how bright or how dark the hours that may come to them, with great satisfaction on their heroic work at Point of Rocks, Va.