Nearly all the patients differed from the Sisters in religious belief, and their coming caused several humorous as well as pathetic incidents. Many of the soldiers had never met “a real, live” Sister before. Their minds had been installed with false notions, and it was some days before they appreciated the Sisters in their real character and at their true worth. After the work in the locality was finished, the steward of the hospital confessed that he often sat up until 1 o’clock in the morning watching the Sisters, fully expecting them to poison the patients, or do some other terrible thing, they being “confessed emissaries of the Pope.”
The dress of the Sisters scared some of the others. “Great heavens!” shrieked one patient to the nurse that bent over him, “are you a man or a woman? But your hand is a woman’s hand; its touch is soft, and your voice is gentle. What are you?”
“Only a poor servant of the Great Master, come from afar to serve you,” said the Sister.
“Sister,” moaned another, “I’m dying. I want to be what you are; help me.”
“What the Sister believes, I believe,” cried another, who had probably never known any religion. “Sister, tell me what to answer when the priest comes to baptize me.”
When the patients finally recovered sufficiently to leave the hospital they would offer little keepsakes to the Sisters—a button, a shred of blue or gray, a pebble—with a fervent “God bless you, Sister. I’ll never forget you. Pray for me.”
The Sisters became part of the patients’ lives. They did more than nurse them. They cheered them in their hours of despondency, and wrote letters for them to the anxious ones at home. Some of the Sisters, by reason of ill health, were compelled to return to New York. Their places were promptly filled with recruits from the Mother House.
The perfect discipline among the Sisters, the spirit of humility and self-sacrifice that prevailed generally, was exhibited when the Mother Superior in charge was succeeded by Mother M. Augustine McKenna. Mother Augustine was one of the women who had previously prepared food for the soldiers. The patients and others were surprised to learn, after the change, that she was not only a person of great executive ability, but that she was also a woman of the utmost refinement, and one of the most intellectual members of the Sisterhood.
In October, 1862, it was found that Beaufort was too much exposed for the patients, and they were removed to Newberne. The residence of Governor Stanley was placed at the disposal of the Sisters. It was transformed into a handsome convent, the parlor being used as a chapel. After the raids at Goldsboro all of the wards were crowded with sick and wounded. Americans, Germans, Irish and Creoles, all came in the same ambulances, with their clothing matted to the skin from ghastly wounds. They were all treated alike by the nurses, who were working in the cause of humanity.
Some time after the war Jefferson Davis, ex-President of the late Confederacy, addressing a number of the Sisters, said: “Will you allow me, ladies, to speak a moment with you? I am proud to see you once more. I can never forget your kindness to the sick and wounded in our darkest days, and I know not how to testify my gratitude and respect for every member of your noble order.”