FEMALE RELATIVES VISIT THE HOSPITALS.
[Phoebe Y. Pember, in Hospital Life.]
There was no means of keeping the relations of patients from coming to them. There had been rules made to meet their invasion, but it was impossible to carry them out, as in the instance of a wife wanting to remain with her husband; and, besides, even the better class of people looked upon the comfort and care of a hospital as a farce. They resented the detention there of men who in many instances could lie in bed and point to their homes within sight, and argued that they would have better attention and food if allowed to go to their families. That maladie du pays called commonly nostalgia, the homesickness which rings the heart and impoverishes the blood, killed many a brave soldier, and the matron who day by day had to stand helpless and powerless by the bed of the sufferer, knowing that a week’s furlough would make his heart sing with joy and save his wife from widowhood, learned the most bitter lesson of endurance that could be taught.
My hospital was now entirely composed of Virginians and Marylanders, and the nearness to the homes of the former entailed upon me an increase of care in the shape of wives, sisters, cousins, aunts, and whole families, including the historic baby at the breast. They came in 112 troops, and, hard as it was to know how to dispose of them, it was harder to send them away. Sometimes they brought their provisions with them, but not often, and even when they did there was no place for them to cook their food. It must be remembered that everything was reduced to the lowest minimum, even fuel. They could not remain all day in the wards with men around them, and if even they were so willing, the restraint on wounded, restless patients who wanted to throw their limbs about with freedom during the hot days was unbearable.
Generally their only idea of kindness was giving the sick men what food they would take in any quantity and of every quality, and in the furtherance of their views they were pugnacious in the extreme. Whenever rules circumscribed their plans they abused the government, then the hospitals, and then myself. Many ludicrous incidents happened daily, and I have often laughed heartily at seeing the harassed ward-master heading away a pertinacious female who, failing to get past him at the door, would try the three others perseveringly. They seemed to think it a pious and patriotic duty not to be afraid or ashamed under any circumstances. One sultry day I found a whole family, accompanied by two young lady friends, seated around a sick man’s bed. As I passed through six hours later, they held the same position.
“Had not you all better go home?” I said good-naturedly.
“We came to see my cousin,” answered one very crossly. “He is wounded.”
“But you have been with him all morning and that is a restraint upon the other men. Come again to-morrow.”
A consultation was held, but when it ceased no movement was made, the older ones only lighting their pipes and smoking in silence.
“Will you come back to-morrow and go now?”
“No! You come into the wards when you please, and so will we.”
“But it is my duty to do so. Besides, I always ask 113 permission to enter, and never stay longer than fifteen minutes at a time.”
Another unbroken silence, which was a trial to any patience left, and finding no movement made, I handed some clothing to the patient near.
“Here is a clean shirt and drawers for you, Mr. Wilson. Put them on as soon as I get out of the ward.”
I had hardly reached my kitchen, when the whole procession, pipes and all, passed me solemnly and angrily; but, for many days, and even weeks, there was no ridding the place of this large family connection. Their sins were manifold. They overfed their relative who was recovering from an attack of typhoid fever, and even defiantly seized the food for the purpose from under my very nose. They marched on me en-masse at 10 o’clock at night, with a requisition from the boldest for sleeping quarters. The steward was summoned, and said “he didn’t keep a hotel,” so in a weak moment of pity for their desolate state, I imprudently housed them in my laundry. They entrenched themselves there for six days, making predatory incursions into my kitchen during my temporary absences, ignoring Miss G. completely. The object of their solicitude recovered and was sent to the field, and finding my writs of ejectment were treated with contemptuous silence, I sought an explanation. The same spokeswoman alluded to above met me half-way. She said a battle was imminent she had heard, and she had determined to remain, as her husband might be wounded. In the ensuing press of business she was forgotten, and strangely enough, her husband was brought in with a bullet in his neck the following week. The back is surely fitted to the burden, so I contented myself with retaking my laundry and letting her shift for herself, while a whole month slipped away. One morning my arrival was greeted with a general burst of merriment from everybody I met, white and black. Experience had made me sage, and my first question was a true shot, right in the center.
“Where is Mrs. Daniels?”
She had always been spokeswoman.
“In ward G. She has sent for you two or three times.”
“What is the matter now?”
“You must go and see.”
There was something going on either amusing or amiss. I entered ward G, and walked up to Daniel’s bed. One might have heard a pin drop.
I had supposed, up to this time, that I had been called upon to bear and suffer every annoyance that humanity and the state of the country could inflict, but here was something most unexpectedly in addition; for lying composedly on her husband’s cot (for he had relinquished it for the occasion) lay Mrs. Daniels and her baby (just two hours old).
The conversation that ensued is not worth repeating, being more of the nature of a soliloquy. The poor wretch had ventured into a bleak and comfortless portion of the world, and its inhuman mother had not provided a rag to cover it. No one could scold her at such a time, however ardently they might desire to do so. But what was to be done? I went in search of my chief surgeon, and our conversation although didactic was hardly satisfactory on the subject.
“Doctor, Mrs. Daniels has a baby. She is in ward G. What shall I do with her?”
“A baby! Ah, indeed! You must get it some clothes.”
“What must I do with her?”
“Move her to an empty ward and give her some tea and toast.”
This was offered, but Mrs. Daniels said she would wait until dinner time and have some bacon and greens.
The baby was a sore annoyance. The ladies of Richmond made up a wardrobe, each contributing some article, and at the end of the month, Mrs. D., the child, and a basket of clothing and provisions were sent to the cars with a return ticket to her home in western Virginia.
Sadie Curry And “Clara Fisher”
[I. L. U.]
In later years of the war a great many of the wounded soldiers were brought from east and west to Augusta, Ga. Immediately the people from the country on both sides of the Savannah River came in and took hundreds of the poor fellows to their homes and nursed them with every possible kindness. Ten miles up the river, on the Carolina side, was the happy little village of Curryton, named for Mr. Joel Curry and his father, the venerable Lewis Curry. Here, many a poor fellow from distant States was taken in most cordially and every home was a temporary hospital. Among those nursed at Mr. Curry’s, whose house was always a home for the preacher, the poor man, and the soldier, was Major Crowder, who suffered long from a painful and fatal wound, and a stripling boy soldier from Kentucky, Elijah Ballard, whose hip wound made him a cripple for life.
Miss Sadie Curry nursed both, night and day, as she did others, when necessary, like a sister. Her zeal never flagged, and her strength never gave way. After young Ballard, who was totally without education, became strong enough, she taught him to read and write, and when the war ended he went home prepared to be a book-keeper. Others received like kindness.
But this noble girl had from the beginning of the war made it her daily business to look after the families of the poorer soldiers in the neighborhood. She mounted her horse daily and made her round of angel visits. If she found anybody sick she reported to the kind and patriotic Dr. Hugh Shaw. If any of the families lacked meal or other provisions, it was reported to her father, who would send meal from his mill or bacon from his smoke-house.
In appreciation of her heroic work, her father and her gallant brother-in-law, Major Robert Meriwether, who was in the Virginia army, now living in Brazil, bought a beautiful Tennessee riding horse and gave it to her. She named it “Clara Fisher” and many poor hearts in old Edgefield were made sad and many tears shed in the 116 fall of 1864, when Sadie Curry and “Clara Fisher” moved to southwest Georgia.
Bless God, there were many Sadie Currys all over the South, wherever there was a call and opportunity. Miss Sadie married Dr. H. D. Hudson and later in life Rev. Dr. Rogers, of Augusta, where she died a few years ago.