Only the common army rations had been provided for these sufferers, and their situation was painful in the extreme. A complete dearth of utensils in every department marked the early management of the hospital. There was no modern means of washing clothes, it had to be done with a few small, old-fashioned tubs, and the untrained hands of some escaped field slaves.
No artificial light of any kind, not even a candle, could be procured at that time in Beaufort, and there was no proper food or refreshing drink for the patients. The Sisters sent an urgent requisition to the United States Sanitary Commission, and very soon the hospital was amply provided with all necessaries and many comforts in the line of dressing-gowns, towels, sponges, castile soap, “Aunt Klyne’s cologne,” etc.
Even in the midst of such suffering many amusing incidents frequently occurred, as for instance when a Sister undertook the task of getting the kitchen cleaned. This establishment had been until now under the control of a certain functionary called the kitchen steward. He was a native of Maine, of short, stout build; never wore shoes (on account of the heat, he said), but always wore an immense straw hat in the house and out of it, and constantly sat in a wheelbarrow at the kitchen door with a huge bunch of keys dangling from the belt of his ticking apron. He was a woodcutter in his native forests before he was drafted into the army; he could neither read nor write, and his name was Kit Condon. The negroes, and indeed his fellow-soldiers, called him “Mr. Kit!” It took a great amount of persuasion to induce “Mr. Kit” to relinquish his keys, the token of his dignified office, to the “North lady,” as the Sister in charge was called, and he eyed the cleaning process from his wheelbarrow with evident disapproval.
“Mr. Trip,” a soldier six feet high, was another important personage in the culinary department, and this with “Edward, the baker,” who made his “cookies,” buns, pies, etc., on the marble top of a ruined billiard table, completed the kitchen force.
The renovating that kitchen received was marvelous! Piles of greasy sand were swept into the ocean through a never-to-be-forgotten hole in the very midst of the kitchen floor. The house being built on “piles” or timber supports, this portion of it was directly above the water. After the debris of a meal had been thrown them through this opening the fishes could be seen by hundreds when the tide was in, and nothing could surpass their voracity, unless indeed it was their quarrelsomeness, for they seemed bent on annihilating one another.
One day much excitement was created by the arrival of an escaped slave. A tall young girl was seen running breathlessly across the sort of bridge or causeway that connected the hospital premises with the village of Beaufort. She was quickly followed by an elderly Southerner, and he was very close to her when she got to the end of her perilous race.
The soldiers cheered her wildly, and called to her that she was safe with them, while they pointed their bayonets at her pursuer and swore in no measured terms that they would pitch him into the sea if he laid a finger on the girl.
However, some of the officers took up the case and brought both man and girl into the General’s office, in order to come to an understanding. The man cried out, “She is my gal; she is my gal; she was born upon my place; she is mine.” But the General would not listen to this claim, and told the man the girl was free from the moment she claimed the protection of the army.
She was all trembling and exhausted with fear, fatigue and excitement, and during the remainder of that day she had to be encouraged and consoled and petted like a baby, although she was 17. Her name was Ellen, and she had a sweeter face and softer manners than are generally found among colored persons.
Towards the end of October the tides became very high, and the water was driven under and around the hospital with greater impetuosity by the wind. On one occasion the water was profane enough to invade the “Hall” where a good old Unitarian minister held forth to his sparse congregation, and the “meeting” had to be discontinued. The next tide was still more daring, for it swept clear through the kitchen and dining room, leaving in both a debris of dead crabs and little fish, not to mention seaweed of every variety. All this rendered the place very uninhabitable, and General Foster, with his usual thoughtfulness, authorized the Sisters to move to Newberne and to take possession of the Stanley House, the officers and doctors receiving orders at the same time to remove the patients thither as soon as possible.