DR. HETTIE K. PAINTER
Our pass being sufficient, we started in an ambulance with a clever driver, who drove around the camp and gave us an opportunity to see the extent of our hospital, having a capacity of over 9,000, and covering an area of twenty-five acres. We then crossed the Petersburg railroad, to which had been added a branch running directly into the middle of our camp for the more direct and comfortable conveyance of the sick and wounded.
We splashed on in the mud, through an opening in the fortification which protected the base. This defense extended about fifteen miles from the Appomatox River to the James River, and was a high, heavy earthwork, further protected by a deep ditch; earthworks having been found to be superior to stone fortification. How little did those at home know of the immense amount of labor here necessary! The pick and spade still played an important part in the warfare of our country.
Virginia was stripped of her artificial culture and bore on her bosom the scourge of war in the form of burned and felled woods, torn and altered roads, plantations deserted and laid waste, deeply furrowed fields turned into stony roughness and corduroy unevenness, which resisted even the indentation of wheels, and threatened frequent overturns. With all these marks of desolation, waste and destruction, Virginia was still beautiful in her woods and varied trees, now gorgeous in the oriental splendor of fall,—crimson, orange and pale yellow, with a background of the darkest green, fading into tan or sere and yellow,—with blended colorings indescribable, and hills receding in the distance. Near us—beyond the winding river and bayous, the dells and ravines and bluffs, which give to the quiet and beautiful scenery of this section its greatest variety and charm—was the Point of Rocks.
On we jogged in our springless ambulance, here passing an army train of supplies, or a load of logs for building winter quarters. Further on we ran our wheels into a loaded army wagon, drawn by six mules, but a dexterous turn brought us upon an evergreen bank, and we rode safely along, following a cavalry force. After riding about four miles, we came to Broadway Landing, (why so called I can not surmise), a depot at which General Butler’s supplies were received and forwarded. Here we crossed the pontoon bridge, formed by placing flat-bottomed boats sidewise about ten feet apart, and fastening these by ropes and beams laid across from one boat to another, and heavy planks laid transversely across the beams. This makes a very simple, portable and strong bridge. The river at this point is less than a quarter of a mile in width, having a steep bank on either side.
On the eminence of the James River side of the Appomattox we came upon the marine artillery performing their drill. The rapidity with which they dismounted, and took to pieces and reconstructed their cannon seemed wonderful to an ordinary spectator. To the left we passed the spot said to be the veritable and memorable site of the historical incident of the saving of Captain Smith’s life by Pocahontas. Her direct descendants, the Rolfs, give this as the locality, and the stump of a large oak tree at the extreme end of the Point of Rocks as the identical one,—now felled and lying down the bank,—under whose shade might have perished John Smith. And what then would the world have done for a scapegoat?
Still further to the left of us was the 18th Army Corps Hospital, and in the background, on the river bank, rose one of General Butler’s great signal stations, 125 feet in height, to which were communicated from the smaller and hidden stations, the results of their observations, and whence they were transmitted to General Butler’s headquarters. While at one of these smaller stations, we saw through glasses a train of nine empty cars, passing on the rebel road, which fact was immediately conveyed by a singular numerical motion of a signal flag. The flagman who gave this communication was remarkably expert in his motions.
After riding some three miles further we reached General Butler’s provisional camp, then in command of General Graham. Only a part of the supplies were now forwarded to this point, the rest being conveyed by way of the James River. Here we stopped at the Hatcher farm. Judging from the number of barns and small houses scattered about, this must have been quite an extensive plantation. The owner and present occupant had taken the Oath of Allegiance, and having sent his slaves farther south, lived here quietly with his wife and three pretty children. But General Butler’s vigilance would not allow him to leave his house or to speak to any one without the immediate attendance of a guard, who constantly walked before his door. Our cook supplied this rusty cavalier and family with the necessities of life, as if he were a northern “mud sill.”
On the farm was quite a large negro cabin, built of logs, consisting of two rooms, one above the other. This was the telegraph station of this section and was under the supervision of the son of Doctor Hettie K. Painter, a lad of less than seventeen summers, who conducted the business as thoroughly as if it had been under the guidance or experience of grey locks. What strange stories passed over the lines from that mysterious little instrument, quietly working away on a side table as if only an ornament! These boy employees,—for our young friend Painter had assistance,—were all able to read by sounds which, to unpractised ears, seemed all alike.
In a large fireplace, over a log fire, Mrs. Painter made a camp kettle of cornstarch pudding, and George Washington, the contraband, boiled potatoes and fried the mutton chops; and with the addition of a few delicacies and good Java coffee, which we had carried with us, we had as good a dinner as hungry mortals could wish.