Like the Red Cross, which came to us later from Switzerland, this commission was immune from attack after battles. Often following the army closely, its representatives were able to set up temporary hospitals more quickly and efficiently with their independent supplies, army wagons and even transportation for special duty, than could be done by the regular army routine. Later my opportunity for knowing their work for soldiers was unusual. Being the only person in the hospital camp in the field working independently, without pay for any service, and provided with a pass from United States Army’s Headquarters, the commission claimed that I was entitled to my living and any supplies I might require for the sick.
The relation here of an instance of personal experience will give some idea of the capability and prompt action of the commission immediately after the close of the war, and at almost the last moment of its field work, at City Point, Virginia.
The armies of the James and Potomac were ordered to Washington as speedily as transportation would permit. They were to take part in the grand review and were to be mustered out of service. The sick were also carried to Washington hospitals as soon as they were able to sail on the transports now crowding the docks of City Point. The headquarters of the United States Armies in the field had some time previously been transferred to Washington, where, still later, I often saw General Grant, always silent and smoking, except when in the presence of ladies.
General Russell, with his colored troops, was left in command at City Point to finish up the Government work there. Surgeon Thomas Pooley, later a distinguished oculist, of New York City, had been left in charge of the almost abandoned field hospital. Barracks and tents were dismantled, canvas roofs were removed and “turned in” to the Government, leaving only stockade walls, much useless camp furniture, and debris of all sorts that it would have been unprofitable to ship north.
Into these roofless wards swarmed crowds of destitute “contrabands” from the surrounding country and from Petersburg, eight miles distant, and settled down like flocks of crows. They found many things that were treasures to them among the abandoned supplies and rations upon which they subsisted until the government could devise some plan to save these helpless wandering creatures from starvation.
SURGEON THOMAS POOLEY
The word contraband as applied to negroes was first used May 23d, 1861, by General Ben Butler, soon after taking command of Fortress Monroe, when three slaves escaped from work on a Confederate fort, near by, and came across the river in a boat asking protection. The owner sent for them by flag of truce. General Butler decided that tho not strictly legal that as a war measure he was justified as they were property to their owners and that with all other property used against the Union they were “contraband of war,” and refused to give them up. The number of runaway slaves to the fort “increased to $60,000 worth of negroes,” who were put to work for the Union army,—many of whom enlisted and served faithfully till the end of the war.
At that time I was the only white woman in camp, waiting for orders to report to the New York State agency in Washington. A kind motherly old colored “auntie” seemed to consider me merely a child, and constantly followed me about, watched over me, and became my general guardian. General Russell kept a guard of four colored soldiers, with stacked arms, night and day, about my quarters for my safety.
I was about to start for Washington when we were surprised by a belated regiment,—of the 6th corps, I think,—of sick men toiling wearily into the deserted hospital camp, now in confusion as if a raid had torn everything asunder. There was not a furnished bed or bunk for these poor sick discouraged men to lie upon, nor was there any food for their famished bodies as they dropped upon the bare ground exhausted, almost fainting.