THE SWEET SINGER OF THE HOSPITALS.
IN the fall of 1864, when the Union army was massing against Richmond, Va., the hospitals in and around Washington were very much overcrowded.
Under special orders from Mr. Stanton, Secretary of War, and with the hearty co-operation of President Lincoln, I had previously assumed the general supervision of the special-diet kitchens of the United States army hospitals all along the lines.
It also devolved upon me to select the lady superintendents for that important service, two for each kitchen. The food for the very sick and the severely wounded, on orders of the ward surgeons, was prepared under their supervision.
In some of these special-diet kitchens as many as 1,000, and in some 1,500 patients, were supplied with carefully prepared food in great variety three times a day.
It will be readily seen that competent women were needed to take the management of this important work. They had not only to command a force of twenty or thirty men in these kitchens, and maintain discipline and good order, but they had, under hospital authority, the entire responsibility of supplying the proper preparation of food, on time and without the least delay or confusion.
Their high position also demanded that they should be ladies of culture and social standing, who could command the respect and confidence of officers and surgeons in charge. It is greatly to the honor of the patriotic women of the North, that scores of accomplished ladies of high social position volunteered to fill these important places.
Great care had to be taken in their selection, and none were accepted unless highly indorsed.
One day there came to my headquarters in Washington a young lady from Pawtucket, R.I. She was twenty-two years old, as I afterwards learned; but she was so childlike in appearance that she seemed much younger.
“I am Lizzie B——,” she said by way of introduction. “I was ready and waiting, and just as soon as I received your letter containing pass and orders to come, I started.”
My heart sank within me. I was expecting Lizzie B——, but I had anticipated meeting a very different-looking person.
Every letter of recommendation had said: “Although Miss B—— is young in years, she is mature in character, and is of the highest type of American womanhood, and will command respect anywhere. We commend her to you as one of our noblest women, who will be equal to any position, and one who will never fail nor falter in the line of duty.”
I had naturally expected a woman of stately and commanding presence, and one who would be equal to any emergency; but she seemed to me to be only a child in years and experience.
“I have ordered up my baggage,” she said with childlike simplicity, “and I have brought my little melodeon with me. I thought it might be useful.”
Sure enough, when her luggage came, and the box containing the instrument was opened, she took out the smallest melodeon I ever saw.
“What shall I do with that dear little child from Rhode Island and her little melodeon?” I said to my secretary, Mary Shelton, now Mrs. Judge Houston of Burlington, Iowa. But she could not solve the problem.
When the heavy work of the day was through, weary and full of care and anxiety, we joined Miss B—— in the parlor. After some conversation, she said,—
“Would you like to have me play and sing?”
We assented, and she sat down at the instrument and began to play and sing.
We were amazed and charmed. It seemed as though the curtains of heaven were lifted, and the songs of an angel were floating down upon us.
The tones of the little melodeon were soft and clear, and the voice of the singer was sweet and remarkably sympathetic. Her notes thrilled one; there was life and spirit in them. After listening to her for an hour or more, weariness and anxiety were gone, and I knew just what to do with Lizzie B——.
There were tens of thousands of aching and burdened hearts all about us; and she, with her wonderful gift of song, could lift some drooping spirit, and pour the balm of peace into some wounded, fainting hearts. I took her and her melodeon to Campbell Hospital the next morning, and told her to sing as she had opportunity.
The sick and wounded were quartered in great wooden barracks eighty feet long. There were rows of cots on either side of the room. That very day she went into one of these wards. She had never been in a hospital before; and when she entered and saw the long rows of cots, and all the faces of the men, whether they were lying down or sitting up, turned towards her, she grew faint and dizzy, and her courage almost failed her. She seemed powerless to do anything but to walk on down the long aisle.
At last a soldier called to her from his bed,—
“Say, miss, won’t you write a letter for me?”
It was a great relief to have the oppressive silence broken and to have something to do. As she sat down beside his cot, she asked,—
“To whom shall I write?”
“My mother.”
And he thrust his hand down under his pillow, and drew forth a letter which she read with tears.
“What shall I say to her?”
“Tell her that the surgeons think that I may live a week or two yet.”
“Oh! but you may get well.”
“No; I can never recover. I have a fatal disease.”
“Shall I ask your mother to come to you?”
“No; she cannot come. She is too poor, and she can’t leave the younger children; but she is praying for me.”
“Would you like to have me to pray for you?”
“Yes, miss, if you will.”
Lizzie B—— took one of his thin, cold hands in her own and knelt beside his cot, and offered up one of those low, sweet, sympathetic prayers that come from the heart and ascend straight to the throne of mercy.
When she arose, every man who could leave his bed was standing about the cot, and many were wiping away the tears they could not restrain.
“Would you like to have me sing something?” she questioned, looking kindly into their faces.
“Oh! do—please do,” they all urged; and she sang one of the sweet songs of the gospel that she could sing so well.
Of course they were all delighted, and begged that she would come again.
“I have a melodeon,” she said, as she left them; “and I’ll come to-morrow and have that brought into the ward, if the surgeon says I may.”
As they looked wistfully after her, one of the soldiers, wiping the tears from his eyes, said,—
“She looks like a woman, but she sings like an angel.”
The next day the little melodeon was carried into that ward, and Lizzie B—— sang for them, and the surgeon in charge was one of the auditors. He was so delighted with the influence of her singing, that he gave orders that she be allowed to sing in all the wards of that hospital.
From that time on, she devoted her time to the service of song, till all the hundreds in that hospital had been cheered again and again by her tender words and sweet, sympathetic voice.
The effects of her singing were so uplifting and comforting that I extended her field, and had an ambulance placed at her command that she might visit other hospitals. After that she made the rounds among the hospitals at Washington, going day by day from one hospital to another. Everywhere her coming was hailed with joy. Mothers and wives who were watching hopelessly beside their dying ones were lifted in heart and hope towards God and heaven. Men who had been strong in battle to do and to dare, but who now lay sorely wounded and weak, and heart and flesh well-nigh failing them, were lifted on billows of hope and faith and felt strong to live and to do, or to suffer and die.
Thousands were cheered and saved from despair by this wonderful singer of the hospitals.
I found her afterwards in other work, equal to the management of large interests. She could have taken charge of a special-diet kitchen, but I have always thanked God that her time was given instead to songs in the hospitals. She has changed her name since then. She is now the wife of a Congregational minister; but her voice still holds, by its sweet, sympathetic cadences, the listening congregations.