Mrs. Hopkins and I thought exactly alike regarding the disposition of the delicacies continuously sent from all points in Alabama for the sick and wounded. None but the sick should have them. Nothing but the simple though plentiful rations were ever served at the meals, which the resident surgeons and druggists shared with me. Yet, by the never-ceasing kindness of friends outside, I was well supplied with luxuries enough for myself, and to share with my messmates each day.
Having the care and responsibility of so many sick, my time was fully occupied, I seldom went out. I could not stop to talk to visitors, but often led kind ladies to the bedsides of those whom I knew would enjoy and be benefited by their bright presence and kindly words, as well as by their offerings of flowers, fruit, or dainties.
Amid disease and suffering, battling always with death (too often, alas! the conqueror), I was yet happy and content. The surgeons were skilful and devoted; the means at hand to supply the wants, even the caprices of my patients, as soon as expressed.
I loved very dearly these heroes whom I served, and felt that I was as well beloved. Welcoming smiles, eager greetings, grateful words, blessed me as unfailingly as the sunlight and dew the earth. Every hour of toil brought its own rich reward. These were Confederate soldiers. God had permitted me to work for the holy cause. This was enough to flood my whole being with content and deepest gratitude.
Next to Commodore Maury one of my most faithful friends was Dr. Little, of Richmond. He was surgeon of the Soldiers' Rest, and also attended the sick soldiers at many private houses in the city and at some of the larger hospitals.
Small in stature, in extremely delicate health, he was yet a giant as far as skill and work were concerned. An earnest Christian, a polished gentleman, of quiet and unassuming yet elegant manners, interesting in conversation, a true, firm friend, an unflinching patriot, what more could be added to indicate an almost perfect character? His care and watchfulness, combined with rare skill,—directed by the All-merciful Father,—saved the life of my little boy, who was brought to death's door by an attack of typhoid fever during the fall of 1861.
Meantime, as the months rolled on, it became evident that the victory at Manassas could not be considered as a criterion of future success. Everywhere there was fighting. Varying fortune attended the Confederate arms. Unvarying glory, unsurpassed, magnificent bravery so dazzled the eyes of the nation that none saw or admitted defeat anywhere. Yet valuable territory had been surrendered. Homeless refugees flocked into Richmond, but even these were hopeful and defiant, almost proud of their early martyrdom, ready to serve the cause by "doing all their hands found to do with their might."
If anything had been needed to inspire hope, to arouse patriotic pride, the appearance of Johnston's army as it passed through Richmond on its way to the Peninsula to foil once more the "On-to-Richmond" plans of the enemy would have more than sufficed.
Oh, what days were those, which came unheralded, to write their history in letters of fire upon the records of the city of Richmond!
General Johnston had kept his own counsel. Says Pollard: "With such consummate address was this move managed, that our own troops had no idea of what was intended until the march was taken up." Soldiers had been continually passing through the city, but by companies or regiments, each in its turn admired and enthusiastically cheered. Now, when seemingly countless legions swept by with martial tread, their resounding footsteps and splendid appearance equally with the roll of many drums and the clash of regimental bands stirred the hearts of the multitude thronging the sidewalks, crowding every door-way and gallery, "mounting wall and battlement, yea, even to chimney-top;" not, indeed, to see a "great Cæsar," but to hail with wildest delight a magnificent army, of which the humblest soldier was a "greater than Cæsar," inasmuch as he was ready to sacrifice upon the altar of patriotism all that the Roman conqueror held most dear first of all,—personal ambition.