“Have you met my medical director?” he asked.
“No, I have not met him,” I was forced to answer.
“I will send him up with you,” and an orderly was despatched to command his presence. Directly the boat was reported as ready; and the General himself accompanied me to the boat—the City of Memphis—the largest and finest steamer on the Mississippi River.
The General simply said, “Take this lady to Mound City, and remain till she is ready to return. Wait for the Medical Director, and till I leave the boat.” So I was for a little space of time the commander of the biggest steamer on the Mississippi River. As I walked the length of that great boat, so rich and gaudy in tinsel and curtains and furniture, the patriotic blood coursed hotly through my veins. Why this extravagance? Why this pomp and display? And when the medical director, who was supposed to be in charge of all of the sick and dying in that great army, came in full military dress, with gloves and sash and sword and spurs, my heart sank down to zero. But I was not long in reaching the truth, and changing my mind. A dozen boats or more had just been impressed into the United States service, and lay there at the wharf with steam up. They had not yet been dismantled; and it was the kindly, proper thing to do to send me to Mound City, and it was military etiquette for the medical director to dress as he did. I was afterwards on the same boat many times; once after Sherman’s defeat at Yazoo, when there were seven hundred and fifty wounded and sick soldiers on board. General Grant was just gathering these boats, and these forces, that he might move on Fort Donelson.
WE HONOR OUR GRAND OLD HEROES.
BY ANNIE WITTENMYER.
We honor our grand old heroes
Who stood in the thick of the fight,
Where deadly missiles were flying,