After visiting Fairfax Hospital, I went again to Camp Convalescent with pies, stewed fruit, and under-clothing. Mrs. May and Mrs. Bonine accompanied me, and assisted in giving out my supplies to those who seemed most in need, though that was rather a hard matter to decide. We succeeded in getting four, who were wholly unfit for service, admitted to the “Examining Board” for discharge, and two others who were very sick were brought by us to Alexandria, and admitted into Fairfax Street Hospital. Cousin George Jennings, whom I found here about the middle of last month, is still at the old camp; having taken “French leave,” he is now with us, and will remain until to-morrow. He is still quite lame from the effects of a wound received on the 15th of last April, at the battle of Wilmington Island, and there is no prospect of his ever being fit for duty again; yet he is kept, like multitudes of others, who ought to be discharged and sent home to their friends. What a comfort to himself and family, could he have been with them when his only son, a dear little boy of fifteen months, was buried a few weeks ago. But no, he must follow the intricate windings of “red tape” a little longer.
Though the wounded from Fredericksburg are daily expected, as yet none have arrived. Burnside’s army has been forced to fall back and recross the Rappahannock. Our loss is estimated at ten thousand—another great slaughter and nothing gained. Oh! when will these scenes of carnage cease? Echo answers, “when!”
December 18th.
Have been busy this forenoon cooking and unpacking the goods which I brought yesterday from our storerooms in Washington. This afternoon cousin Jennings’ “leave” having expired, I ordered an ambulance and took him back to camp—taking my sauce and pies along of course—and brought back three sick men to McVey Hospital. I had some trouble in getting them admitted, as there was a new surgeon in charge of the camp, whose office was in this building, and none hereafter were to be removed without his permission. It was now dark, and the nurses dare not admit them without the doctor’s knowledge. Dr. Curtis was a stranger to me, and, not knowing what kind of a reception I might meet with, I hesitated a moment, quite undecided what course to pursue; but, finding there was no way but to go and see him, I ran up-stairs to his office and related what I had done. “Well,” said the doctor good-naturedly, “you mustn’t do so any more, but come to me and I will give you permission at any time to remove as many as you wish. I am trying to get matters systematized, so that I shall know just how many men I have in camp. I only want to know who are removed, when and where; you may tell the ward-master to admit those you have with you, and I will see that they are not reported without leave.” I left his office with a lighter heart than I had entered it, hastened down-stairs, did my errand, and returned home, where, to my great surprise, I found the Rev. Dr. J. A. B. Stone, President of Kalamazoo College. He has been to Fredericksburg to look after his son, and obtained for him a leave of absence. How many a father has visited that gory field in search of sons, and found them, if found at all, torn and mangled and bleeding, or, it may be, already cold in death.
This evening I have been reminded of other days—those years so pleasantly and profitably spent at Kalamazoo, which I shall always look upon as an era in the history of my life; but other scenes far different now occupy my time. I am pursuing a course of study altogether different, but perhaps not less instructive. Received a letter from John R. Stone of Ionia, containing a draft for forty dollars, cheerfully contributed by friends and acquaintances in response to an appeal made them to defray for a time my personal expenses on account of the state of the finances of our association. I thank those dear friends in behalf of the soldiers, for it is in reality a gift to them.
December 23d.
I spent the day in cooking at McVey Hospital. All were so kind—doctor, steward and nurses—and the patients so grateful, that my work was a real pleasure. This hospital is not as comfortably supplied as most hospitals in the city; I have furnished it with a number of sheets, pillows, and towels, besides what I have given to individual cases. During the past few days hundreds of wounded have arrived from Fredericksburg, among whom I have found a large number of Michigan soldiers—fourteen in one hospital. Doctor Stone accompanied me one day in my hospital visits, as he wished to learn something of the manner in which they are conducted. Before leaving for Michigan he added ten dollars to the amount I had received from home the day of his arrival. The doctor carries home with him my heart’s best thanks.
December 25th.
Another “merry Christmas!” “Merry,” did I say? Sad and sorrowful would perhaps be more appropriate. To me it has been a day both of joy and sorrow. I spent most of it in Grace Church Hospital, having been previously invited to assist about a dinner to which the inmates have done ample justice. In all the hospitals, as far as I have yet learned, they have had a nice Christmas dinner. This is indeed a source of pleasure. But the thought that within the past few days many a home circle has been broken, many a hearth made desolate, and thousands of hearts wrung with anguish, is cause enough for sadness. Add to this the vast amount of suffering at present endured; list to the mournful music daily heard; behold the lone ambulance slowly moving on to yonder cemetery; count there the newly-made graves; think of the dark future into which we are plunging, and it seems there would be no place left for joy. But it is not always best to look on the dark side of any picture; this gloomy cloud which at present hangs over our country may, after all, have a “silver lining.” All will yet be over-ruled for good; the Almighty has, I believe, a hand in this war, and he hath his own ends to accomplish.