I still had the use of an ambulance, and in this emergency hastily ordered the driver to take me to City Point, one-half mile distant, for help. Fortunately the Sanitary Commission barge, loaded with surplus supplies, had not started, but was just about to cut loose, when I informed them of the destitution and helplessness of the sick stranded soldiers.
J. YATES PEEK
Mr. J. Yates Peek, formerly of the 147th New York Infantry, at once reversed orders, unpacked supplies, and put his men to work. By night the barracks were covered with canvas roofs; comfortable beds were made of fresh hay, and the men were fed. The “contrabands” cheerfully assisted me in preparing food and caring for the famished men. I think Doctor Pooley was the only surgeon in camp. Contrabands helped, in their rude way, to nurse the helpless, and a little camp sprang up and remained until the men were able to travel and get transportation to Washington. There was probably no better work done by this great organization than that by the belated company of agents of the United States Commission in that emergency. Without their help and supplies these men must have suffered keenly, and perhaps have died before relief could have been sent back from Washington on an unprecedented requisition, and the necessary “red tape” regulations complied with.
Another personal experience comes to mind. Months after the war, at their New York City Headquarters, when all liabilities of the Sanitary Commission had been met and field work disbanded, there was still a considerable balance in the treasury. The money had been collected for a specific purpose, namely—for the benefit of sick soldiers. This need was now supplied by the Government in various hospitals and in temporary homes, but the surplus money could not legally or honorably be applied to any other benevolence. Finally it was agreed that soldiers’ families were the legitimate heirs to this soldiers’ fund. Therefore Mrs. Baldwin, a woman of great tact and capability, with myself, was asked to visit their families and judiciously assist the needy. Through that unusual bitterly cold winter of ’65 and ’66 we visited and assisted many of them. With the advent of warm weather the last dollar was expended, and the official life of this great beneficent work ended. Through it thousands of lives were saved, and many cheered and made comfortable.
At the Brooklyn Sanitary Fair over $400,000 were raised, and in Chicago and the West, that had led in this great movement, chiefly through the efforts of women, the amounts were astonishing. Through the great heart of the people, from all sources over $25,000,000 came into the treasury of the Sanitary Commission.
CHAPTER V
NEW ENGLAND ROOMS
Colonel Frank Howe, of the New England Rooms, on Broadway near Fulton Street, New York City, was the director of that Rest for stranded and sick soldiers, as well as for many helplessly wounded. Here I found many of the most interesting cases of my experience. Colonel Howe felt that their contribution of wounded to the Sanitary Fair would be a more effective object-lesson and incentive, than inanimate war emblems and relics displayed in the Arms and Trophy Department. Some of these crippled men were now waiting for Government to provide homes for those incapable of self-support.
Colonel Howe thereupon secured free passes for a number of convalescents, and I consented to take charge of them during the fair. Consequently, one bright day, the New England ambulance was crowded with the following passengers, namely: one man without legs, two men without arms, one blind from a shot passing through his head, a one-legged boy, the famous John Burns of Gettysburg, and a colored woman to assist. I sat on the front seat with the driver. We drove up Broadway to the fair grounds, quite regardless of the curious crowd that followed.