Three years in field hospitals of the Army of the Potomac

by Anna M. Holstein

A fine-looking Massachusetts man, with a bone crushed from the knee down,—where mortification was just commencing,—asked in a whisper, as they were placing him within the little chancel: “Could I give him some kind of stimulant to keep from fainting? the pain was agonizing.” The little tin-cup was soon filled, and as quickly drained; with the momentary strength it gave, he could better endure the rearranging of splints and bandages. The surgeon shook his head as he looked at the discolored limb, and to the soldier’s urgent entreaties that “it might be taken off without a moment’s delay,” replied “it could be done better on the boat;” but added, when beyond his hearing, “the morning would find him out of the reach of pain.”

A young officer lay near him, bathing from his canteen his badly wounded foot, and when offered assistance to dress it, replied: “He had the use of both hands, while many had not, and could do without help until they were waited upon.”

All were craving fresh vegetables, onions particularly; and to their inquiries, we determined to get them if the town could furnish them. We tried to purchase from a number of persons, but were always denied; at length a place—evidently the abode of wealth—with a large, well-planted garden, was seen; the same story was repeated: “Would they sell a few onions for the wounded?” “No,” was the chilling response. “But they are begging for them, and you have plenty; name your own price in 'greenbacks,’ but we must have them.” Still the same “No, we don’t want greenbacks.” A gentleman of the party then offered gold in exchange. “No, gold was of no use to them.” Finding we were going to appeal to an officer who just then made his appearance, the lady changed her manner, and courteously remarked: “If we would give her farina and lemons, we might have the onions.” From the Sanitary Commission rooms, we soon furnished the articles she wished. Fifty men lay upon the floor of the church, for whom we were pleading: that number of onions was unwillingly counted down; and then the lady, appealing to the officer, asked: “Might she take a pan of clabber to the wounded Confederates next door?” His reply was: “We might, if we chose; she could have no communication with them.” Of course, we could not object; and a little colored boy accompanied us, carrying what Mrs. W. evidently thought a great delicacy. The filthy, ragged-looking rebels crowded round us and the pan, until we were glad to deliver her message quickly and beat a hasty retreat—leaving to the boy the pleasure of disposing of it.

We saw strawberries, cherries, and many early vegetables in her garden, which we could not obtain upon any terms. Knowing how valuable they were to our wounded, as we went back carrying our coveted onions, we told many soldiers where they came from, and advised them, if they knew any of their wounded comrades who needed them, to find more; further instructing them that there was a guard pacing up and down the pavement, to designate an officer’s quarters, and another in the rear to protect his horses. If they were good soldiers, they required no other orders; the hint, it is presumed, was sufficient.

In a small house, crowded with the wounded, was an old gray-headed man leaning against the wall; a ball had taken off part of his tongue; the remaining portion hung, swollen and discolored, from his parched and wounded lips. Unwilling to attempt to swallow the simple food we offered, he made known by signs that it was fresh milk he craved. After diligent search, a cow was at length found, picking hay among the wagons; a half pint was soon obtained and given him; his expressive gestures of thanks showed how fully he appreciated the kindness. Later in the day another cow was found, and thus he was fed until taken to the boat.

Noticing a neat-looking church that was not a hospital, with a guard in front, we entered and found it to be the Episcopal church. Upon opening the prayer-book on the desk at the “Prayer for all in Authority,” found that the words “the President of the United States” were cut out. By it laid a manuscript copy of prayers for the rebel government. Telling the guard he might look or not, as he chose, that I intended to take that manuscript, and send to the Sanitary Fair, then open in Philadelphia,—first reading it aloud for the benefit of those present, and putting in its place a leaf upon which were the prayers, set forth by our beloved Bishop Potter, for the army. That they might not be mistaken what it was, wrote upon the margin—“Prayers for the Union Armies of the United States, by Bishop Potter, of Pennsylvania.” The exchange was a fair one,—the rebels, it is hoped, profiting by the sound doctrine which was given—for their erring prayers.

At this place we saw the first great flocking to our lines of the colored population. On our way here, they were observed all along the river banks, rushing down from every plantation and village, with cheers, waving of hats, and other demonstrations of pleasure, manifesting their joy at sight of the old flag, which now meant freedom to them. A motley crowd of men, women, and children were constantly arriving, begging to be protected and sent North. An old gentleman—one of the wealthiest in the town—told us, as we sat upon his piazza watching this strangely exciting scene, that sixty of his servants had gone that day, and were in the crowd before us; his great grief was that he was powerless to prevent their leaving, and that he had no one to till his corn crop for him. We afterward heard that the cavalry foraged upon the fields, so he was spared further trouble on that score.

In the town, Mr. H. met an old woman of eighty carrying, as he supposed, a child in her arms; but upon coming to her and questioning her as to her burden, said she “had her old mother, who was over one hundred; that they were going to the 'land of freedom,’ and could not leave her a slave in Virginia!”

The burial of the wounded who died at this transfer-post was intrusted to the Sanitary Commission. Every soldier was carefully interred, the burial-service used for all, the grave marked and numbered, and all money, valuables, and other articles found upon his person forwarded to Washington, to await the orders of relatives and friends. A plan of the ground was left with an old colored man living near, and the care of the graves given to him—for the purpose of aiding friends who came for their remains, and knew nothing of any other direction they might have. The same plan, with the numbered graves, was retained by the Sanitary Commission—so that, in case the marks were removed, they could positively and certainly be identified.

Last March, Mr. H. went to Port Royal, for the purpose of pointing out the resting-place of a Rhode Island soldier, and found that three days after our troops left the town, rebel cavalry entered it,—trampling down every head-board, destroying the graves as much as possible, and threatening to hang old George, if he put them in order. With the numbered plan in Mr. H.’s possession, all marks having been removed, by counting and measurement, the spot was readily found; the skeleton remaining as it had been placed, with his knapsack at his feet.