In Pennsylvania and New Jersey State quarters combined, we had three good-sized connecting tents; and later the little New York house was added.
Our kitchen was generally run by Hannah, a rather incompetent contraband, with great wondering eyes and slipshod feet. There were many such about camp, girls and women as well as men and boys—anxious to work for shelter and food, but without knowledge of the value of money, which they generally squandered at the sutler’s for some trifle such as candy, or something to eat. Sufficient for the day was their evil tempter.
A good cooking stove was a great comfort, and Doctor Painter, an excellent cook, made our mess appetizing. The agents were expected to get their sustenance from State supplies, and we could buy from the Commissary Department good bread and coffee. Our table was made of boards resting on barrels, and sometimes we were quite stylish, having a white tablecloth instead of newspapers. Our dishes, mostly of tin, served quite well for hungry, hurried appetites.
Our reception tent, which was the largest, had at first a bunk in one corner where the rain sometimes percolated through the canvas walls, and one morning,—my pillow touching the wet wall of the tent,—I found my head in a little puddle of water. But I was in better health, if possible, than before. We laughed at these happenings, also when the rain ran in streams over our ground floor and at night we were obliged to sit resting, or writing by the light of candles stuck in bottles, with our feet on logs to keep them dry. Meanwhile a log fire burned cheerfully in the rough mud and log chimney. A barrel was placed on top for draught. It sometimes caught fire, but some one always managed to discover it, and knocked it off without setting fire to the canvas roofs. Our barrel chairs were not luxurious, but, like everything in camp, they served their purpose.
Though our tents were not transparent, the candle distinctly silhouetted our forms on the walls as we sat talking with friends, so that passers could recognize visitors and perhaps wait for a more favorable time to call. During the day our tent flaps were always open hospitably. Agents and officers often visited and talked of home, friends, comforts, etc., while each was always ready to assist in an emergency. Convalescents often got leave to come for some luxury or necessity; they craved fruit and vegetables, especially onions, and one so craved this luxury that he offered me fifty cents for one. Of course it became a gift, and one that was greatly enjoyed.
The wife of the Ohio agent, a pretty brunette with long black curls and black eyes, became very ill. Their small tents were not comfortable. All the ladies helped in many ways to make her limitations less trying. We were fearful of a sad ending as she lay helplessly weak for many days, but youth and courage, with good care, at last put her upon her feet again quite well.
An extremely annoying encounter occurred while I was with Mrs. Painter in my little house attached to another tent. One evening, with considerable clatter, an officer, followed by his orderly, halted at my door and knocked for admission. I saw at once that this otherwise fine young man, from Brooklyn, was under the influence of liquor. There was no escape and I must, if possible, get along peaceably with him.
My friends in the next tent could hear every word and could have helped me to get rid of him, but they thought it a good joke to get me cornered, while they laughed and quietly enjoyed the interview.
“Miss Smith,” mumbled the visitor, “I’m so glad to see you. I told the fer-rers I’d give fifty dollars for an introduction to you, when I saw you on the ch-cha-chapel platform singing just as if you didn’t care fu-fur any body.”
I could think of no plan to get rid of him, and still hoped my friends would come to my rescue.