OUR DAILY WORK.
August, 1862.
You ask me, dear C., the usual question, when our work at the hospital is mentioned, “What can the ladies find to do all day?” I might give you the stereotyped answer, “We receive and register the donations, give out and oversee the clothing, make either delicacies or drinks for the men who are ill, read to them, write for them, and try to make ourselves generally useful.” This is the ordinary answer, but I think it would be more agreeable to you to come and see for yourself; one day is a pretty good specimen of every day, at least at present, so don your bonnet and jump into the cars with me. What do you say? That the sun is too scorching and the air too heavy for exertion? You think so here, but come with me, and you will soon forget weather and self in more important affairs; at least, so I find it. You agree? Well, then, here we are; why don’t you acknowledge the guard’s salute as we enter? Shall we pause for a moment in the wards, before we begin our work? I think we had better do so, for in these days, when we once enter our room, there is no escape, while the light lasts. There are several cases here which I should like to point out to you as we pass along, though we cannot give much time to them to-day. Do you see the man bending over that geranium plant in the window? I think I have never seen a more real, true, deep love of flowers in any one than in him. You see how lovingly he leans over that bush, as though each leaf were a special pet and darling. I have often, this summer, brought him a few roses—as much, I believe, for my own pleasure as his—that I might watch his delight. He would sit often for nearly an hour looking at them, holding them in his hands and lingering over them, it seemed, with a feeling too deep for words.
I never could tell whether it was pure love of the flowers themselves, or whether they brought home, with all its memories, before him; and as he is very reserved, I content myself with giving the enjoyment without being too critical as to its cause.
But while I am talking, I see that your eyes are wandering to that bed, where one of our sickest men is lying. He is an Irishman, and far gone in consumption, poor fellow! He has interested me much by his air of silent, weary suffering, and from his loneliness; he seems to have no friends anywhere, and is very grateful for the least service rendered him. And yet he has a good deal of drollery about him, and when his pain will let him, often amuses the men with his dry remarks. The other day, as I passed him, his hard, hollow cough was followed by such a deep, heavy sigh, that I stopped at once, saying, “What can I do for you, Jones? Is there nothing that you want?”
“Nothing, ma’am, nothing; sure, and what I want, is what you can’t give.”
“Tell me what it is; perhaps I may be able to help you.”
“Sure, and it’s lonely I am, so very lonely; and it’s some one to love that I’m wanting.”
“Ah,” said I, “you were right to say I couldn’t help you, for unfortunately wives are not provided by Government.”
Here his Irish humor gained the ascendant, and with a merry twinkle in his eye, so mournful but a moment before, he said, “But I’m thinking that’s jist what you ladies is here for, to supply what isn’t provided by Government.”
“Exactly,” said I, much amused; “but I do not find wives among the list of luxuries on our diet-table. Jones, look at the man at your side, the man opposite to you, and the man directly in front of you; ask each one of those three what is their greatest trouble at this moment, and I happen to know exactly what they will tell you.
“The one at your side is wearying for a letter from his far distant home, which will not come, and dreading that even on its arrival, it will only tell him of sickness and suffering among those dearest to him, and which, lying here, he has no power to relieve; the man opposite to you has just read me a letter from his wife, telling him that she and the children were almost starving; she has hurt her right arm, and can no longer work, scarcely hold the pen to write that letter, and he will send no pay,—charging him with it, as though the poor fellow could help it.”
“‘God knows,’ he says, ‘every cent I ever earned was at her service and the weans;’ (he is a Scotchman, as I knew, when I heard him say that) ‘but the pay don’t come, and I lie here thinking all night, till I sometimes feel I must pray very hard or I shall cut my throat.’
“I have been trying to comfort him with the assurance that he will be paid before long, and have been telling him how many difficulties there are in the way of prompt payment in the army, and that the men must try to be patient, and believe that the Government has a hard task, far harder than they know, to meet all the requirements which this sad state of things necessarily causes.
“The man directly in front of you, unable as you know to rise from his bed, has just heard of his wife’s death, here in the city, and does not know who will see to her funeral, nor who will take care of his little ones; now, may not some things be worse than loneliness?”
“Faith, an’ its truth you’re spakin’; a sight worse are such things than all this pain and cough; and I’ll think of that same, when the other thought comes, when my breath’s so short, and the pain’s so bad, that longing to have an old woman to say, ‘Is it sufferin’ ye are, Jones, dear?’ and I’m just the sort to fret, if she was wantin’, and I lyin’ here, not able to help her. Thank you, ma’am, I see it’s far best as it is.” And I left poor Jones, convinced that there were circumstances in which an “old woman” was better “in posse,” than “in esse.”
But what will become of our duties if we linger here so long; let us go now to our room and commence operations. Look before you. Do you know what that barricade at the door means? Three barrels and two large boxes, and they are saying, “Unpack me, unpack me, or there will be nothing left.” Do you wonder how I have found out that such are their views? Everything on earth has a mode of its own of conveying ideas; look at the bottom of those barrels, and the floor near those boxes, and you will find that red stream gently flowing there, quite as eloquent and quite as easily understood as any words. That is liquid currant jelly, which, probably, as in a box we opened yesterday, has been of an adventurous turn of mind, one of the Peripatetic school, and not content with the narrow limits to which its friends have confined it, has burst its bounds, and made acquaintance with sheets, shirts, and stockings; and you will soon see a mournful mélange of jelly, broken glass, and clothing; and fortunate for you if you do not mingle your own blood with it before you are done. Do not imagine that all our boxes have such a sad fate; many arrive in prime order, but whenever we see that suspicious color at the bottom of barrels and boxes, we know what to fear. Only a day or two ago, a large box, containing a dozen and a half large earthenware crocks of apple-butter, arrived, from which we could only rescue two, the others being a motley mass of buttered earthenware and straw, scarcely a desirable article for hospital diet. Dear friends in the country! whose generous hearts prompt you to send delicacies to the sick and suffering soldiers, let me beg for more careful packing; slats of wood between the jars would prevent them from falling together, as they usually do when hurriedly lifted up and placed on end; we regret the loss as much, or more than you can do, for we see the disappointment of the men as they take out one broken piece after another, and vainly try to separate crockery or glass from preserves.
Here comes a ready helper. Yes, John, roll them right into our room, and please bring a hatchet and open that box for us; I know it’s all sticky, but that can’t be helped, we must do the best with it that we can.
And now, while he is taking the lid of the box off for us, and opening the barrels, take a seat and look round you. This is the ladies’ room, where we spend so much of our time, and where all our work is done. But first, let me put our kettle on the stove, we must soon begin our cooking; for as I have told you, we prepare the delicacies for the men who are ill; cook eggs for them, stew oysters, make corn-starch, farina, arrow root, or chocolate; don’t laugh! yes, even I have found “ignorance” so far from “bliss,” that with M.’s valuable instructions, I am really learning to do something useful, incredible as it appears to you. What do you say? That you would not care to test the truth of my statements by taste? Ah well! you shall not be tried, and in the meantime the men are satisfied, which is my only aim. The clothing you see here on the shelves, consists almost entirely of donations. We do not keep the Government clothing here—at least only certain articles—as all the flannel is drawn by the men and taken from their pay; but we have been so liberally supplied from the different Churches, and from various societies, that it has generally been in our power to give them what they need, and allow them to retain the articles.
“Well, little one, come here, bring me your box, and I will empty it for you. Nice fresh lint, all linen, and clean, too; that will be much better than what you brought before; and now here is your box; I will tell the poor wounded soldiers that a kind little girl made it for them; and, goodbye now, run home, for we have so little room here, and so many things to do, that little girls are only in the way.”
This is only the advance guard of the little army, which daily, from “morn till dewy eve,” keeps pouring in, company after company,—I might almost say regiment after regiment,—with their little boxes or papers of lint, often made of muslin, and bearing the impress of the little soiled fingers that picked it. But we always receive it and thank them. Whether it can be used or not, the kind intention is the same, and who could have the heart to refuse the offering of a child? More than this, the beaming faces and sunny smiles with which they present it, as though it were some precious gift, more than atone for the time they occupy in attending to them.
Turn the key in that closet door, and you will see all our jellies, preserves, wines, syrups, etc. It is so full just now, that it was proposed to run up another room for a donation room, as we really do not know where to pack away all our things; but the surgeon tells us, what is very true, that this cannot last; at the present time there is an unusual interest and excitement, which can scarcely continue, and we must take care of these things till the time of need. Ah! take care, John! there goes the top; look into the box; just as I thought; see, what masses of jelly and broken glass; what nice fine handkerchiefs, too good for the purpose by far; carry them straight to the laundry; but no! that was the way Susan got that bad cut the other day; bring a pan, and we will let them soak here first. Just look at these poor books; with red edges, indeed, and rubricated throughout; and writing-paper, too, all soaked with this erratic currant jelly; and what is this? A pen; “currente calamo,” indeed, in a new sense. And these nice pillow-cases, and towels, and sheets,—but they can be washed; what is next? A bundle of——
“My punches ready, miss? for the fourth ward, ten to-day; here’s the Doctor’s list.”
“Not just yet, Price; you’re always in such a hurry for your men.”
“You see, miss, they wouldn’t take any breakfast, and I want something for them.”
This from the most faithful and attentive of wardmasters. At the beginning of each week, we receive our orders from the surgeon of each ward as to how many men need milk punch, extra nourishment, etc. The wardmaster also has a list, and his duty is to come to us, get their drinks, and take them to them; but if there is any delay the ladies usually take them to the men themselves, that they may be certain of having them at the proper time M. kindly undertakes that part of the work to-day so let us get on with our unpacking.
Let us take out this bundle and see what it is. Enter at this moment three men, each bearing a large market-basket. “These are donations from the —— Society; please let us have the baskets and an acknowledgment for the things.” This sounds trifling, but it means that everything must be taken out, a list made and sent to the Officer of the Day to write an acknowledgment.
Let us do it as quickly as we can; but here comes one of our wardmasters. “Well, Henry, what do you want?”
“Twelve wounded men, ma’am, just come in; the ambulances we were looking for have just got here, and we want a change of clothing for each of them.”
“Yes, you shall have them at once, but stand out of Green’s way; look what he and William are carrying.”
“Green, where did those come from?” Two large boxes of oranges and one of lemons.
“Dr. —— says, miss, these have just been sent, and he would like to have them picked over, as they’re spoiling so fast.”
“Well, try and find a place for them on the floor, and tell Arnold to come here in a few minutes, and help us to do it.”
You may wonder that we do not leave such work entirely to the men, but they understand “picking them over” in the sense of “picking and stealing;” and I am afraid that unless we assisted there would be few left for the sick when the work was done. The men are always ready and glad to help us in anything that we allow them to do; indeed, I have often been surprised at the promptness with which they offer their services to spare us in every way; to carry and empty water for us, to run our errands, to watch our fire; in short, to render any little service which is most needed at the moment, and which we should naturally do for ourselves, unless the offer were made.
Enter a group of women—I humbly beg their pardon—ladies, I should have said. Ah! I know too well their errand before they speak. Persons have been coming all the week for the same purpose.
“Can we see the rebel? Please to show us the ward where the rebel is confined?”
“I am sorry, ladies, but it is quite impossible——”
“Eight punches for our ward, Miss ——, are they ready?”
“Yes, Williams, standing on the shelf there; take them on that waiter.”
“The surgeon in charge has given strict orders that no visitors are to be admitted to that ward, as there are some men dangerously ill there, and he wishes it kept perfectly quiet.”
“But we’ve come a great way to see him, and we must get in.”
“Are you friends of his? If so, I will see the surgeon about it.”
“Friends of a rebel! Not exactly, thank you. We want to see what he’s like.”
“I am sorry, but you cannot see him. However, I can assure you that he is exactly like any of these men you see around you; were you to go into the ward you could not distinguish him, unless he were pointed out to you.”
Enter a man, with a large glass bowl of jelly.
“Mrs. ——’s compliments, and please give me the bowl to take back.”
Mem. Jelly to be emptied; nothing to empty it into. During the search, gloomy party gaze moodily upon the operation, but show no signs of departure.
“Brown says, ma’am, you promised to poach him a couple of eggs for his dinner; he sent me to see if they were done.”
“It is not dinner time yet; tell him they shall be ready when he hears the drum tapped.”
“Have you a flannel shirt, miss, for this man? he’s just come in.”
Look at the indignant party; they are evidently returning to the assault.
“Where’s the head doctor? He’ll let us in, we’ll see if he won’t!”
“The Surgeon in charge is not here at present; the Officer of the Day is in the office; you must have seen him when you were admitted.”
“Oh, yes! not him; some friends told us to ask for the ladies; that’s the way we got in; we knew they kept the rebel so close, no use to ask for him.”
A woman with a basket of eggs.
“Some eggs from Mrs. ——; please let me have the basket.”
“Yes, and thank Mrs. —— for her kindness; she never forgets us, and her nice fresh eggs are most acceptable to the sick men. And now, indeed we must hurry, and put some of this mass of things in their places on the shelves; for this table will be wanted, after dinner, for the donations from the schools; it is the time when they pour in.”
“Does he eat with the others?” Supposed to refer to the rebel, and answered accordingly.
“Yes, madam, at the common dining-table.”
“Does he talk much?”
“That I cannot inform you, as I have never exchanged a word with him.”
“Do they treat him kindly?”
“Precisely as the other men are treated.”
“And you think we can’t see him?”
“It is quite impossible, for the reasons I have mentioned.”
“Well, Jane, there’s no use waiting; come along; I heard there was one at the —— hospital; let’s go there and try.” Discomfited party depart abruptly.
I am glad that you should see this for yourself; otherwise I think you would hardly credit my statement, that this has not happened only once or twice, but literally every day this week, with different parties, and variations in the modes of trying to gain admittance. It is indeed difficult to account for this morbid curiosity with regard to the Southern prisoners. I have sometimes thought that it might be an unconscious tribute to loyalty, and that the crime of rebellion was looked upon as such a fearful one, that it must of necessity affect even the external appearance of all engaged in it; be that as it may, I do most sincerely believe that were Du Chaillu himself to hold an exhibition here of one of his Gorillas, it would attract less attention than the presence of this one poor misguided rebel. There! while I have been moralizing upon rebels and the rebellion, don’t you think I have given that shelf rather a neater appearance, and that the table is beginning to look a little less loaded; but oh, dear! look at this box at the door; what more is coming? Oh! I see what it is. I know well that box by the flag painted on the top. Kind friends from the country send us that; we have a duplicate key; empty and return it to have it filled and sent to us next week. The contents are most acceptable, but as you see, it must be attended to at once, and as exactly this work will go on till night, I think you have had quite enough of it, and had better say goodbye to us and our room. This day, just as you have seen it, is a counterpart of every day, not only of this week, but of the last three months. It will not, of course, continue; but, although we would be the last to check the generosity of warm-hearted friends, it makes our duties here a little arduous just at present.
And now let me go with you to the door, and say goodbye. If you find that you are not too much wearied, I shall hope for another visit, in some future week, when I may have time to take you through the wards, and I can show you some of our interesting cases; but I think what you have seen to-day, will furnish the best answer I could give to your question, “What can the ladies find to do there, all day?”