While here, I met for the first time Mrs. Governor Blair, whose presence was like sunshine. No truer friend had the soldier than Mrs. Blair; she was ever ready, heart and hand, to engage in work for our soldiers. I also had the pleasure of listening to the Governor’s soul-stirring, patriotic address to the Sixth Cavalry. A day or two before leaving the place I rode out to the Chantilly farm, some four miles from Fairfax, on the Centreville road. Upon a portion of this farm the battle of Chantilly was fought. It was once a large estate containing several hundred acres. The large mansion was in ruins; the yard surrounding it contained several acres; the fences were all gone; yet it was lovely, even in its desolation. A gravel carriage way, with shade-trees upon either side, led from the two front gates to the house; shrubbery and evergreens dotted the grounds. In the rear of the mansion, near the garden, was a pleasant vine-clad arbor—everything indicating a once happy home, surrounded by every comfort. An aged couple of colored people were living there in a small cabin, probably their former quarters. The old man said that he had lived there “a heap o’ years,” “that massa and missus and de chil’en run’d away when the Yankees come.” When asked if they had been slaves, he replied, “Yes, missus, we’se allus slaves till Massa Lincoln free us.” “How old are you, uncle?” some one inquired; “I reckon I’se nigh onto a hundred,” was his reply. We rode away, leaving the poor old couple to enjoy their solitude and their freedom.
On returning to Alexandria, I hardly knew the place. The town had been treated to quite “a scare.” The rebels had become very bold and threatening; it was expected that they would make a sudden dash in some night. New lines of fortifications had been thrown up, the streets stockaded, and cannon were even placed in position; but we had no occasion to use them, and they were afterwards quietly removed.
The next day after my return I went to Camp Convalescent with fruit and clothing for our prisoners recently paroled, who were very destitute, as all returned to us from Southern prison-pens were. After returning from camp I visited six hospitals and the head-quarters of each division, and renewed my list of names; to my surprise I found only sixty-five from Michigan, and the majority of those convalescent. Toward the last of May I received word from home that I could no longer depend upon my friends to defray my expenses—which they had been doing for five months. I was therefore obliged to fall back, as my only resort, upon the Association. The first of June I received instructions to return to Fairfax Court-House and remain until further orders, to which place I went the next day, in company with Mrs. Brainard, taking quite a supply of hospital stores. At Fairfax station, a couple of soldiers, who had kindly assisted in loading our goods at Alexandria, again lent us their aid, and succeeded in getting a wagon for our stores, while we, soldier-like, made the distance on foot. The day was excessively warm and the road very dusty; but we rather enjoyed the walk—only four miles—nothing for soldiers!! Arriving at the Court-House, we took leave of our friends. Brown, of the Twenty-seventh Maine, I never saw again, as his regiment was soon after mustered out of the service. Sergeant Babcock, of the First Michigan Cavalry, I saw several times afterwards, but for a long time before the close of the war lost all track of him. I hope they have both been spared to see the return of peace, and long may they live to enjoy its blessings.
Mrs. B. and I went directly to the head-quarters of the hospital of the Sixth, and after resting a few moments and partaking of a dinner which the matron—Mrs. Manning—prepared for us, we made a tour through the hospital, which consisted of several tent wards and a large three-story brick house—the one in which General Stoughton was captured by the rebels a few months previous. I found that five had died since leaving them a few days before; there were still many others very sick. We each called for a towel and basin of water, and went to work bathing the feverish brows and dry and husky hands of typhoid’s suffering victims.
Mrs. Brainard remained a couple of days and returned to Washington. I was soon comfortably provided for. Doctor Wilson, the Brigade Surgeon, furnished me with a good wall tent, which the boys fitted up nicely by flooring, making table, bedstead and chairs, and surrounding it with evergreens, which made my little home as pleasant and inviting as one could desire.
About the first work I did was to clean the brick house of which mention has been made. I worked hard two days and a half, assisted by several soldiers detailed from the ambulance corps. The windows, paint and floors looked as though they had been for a long time strangers to soap and water. After I had finished cleaning, and arranged the beds to my liking, supplying those that were destitute with sheets and pillows, I made flower-vases and bouquets with flowers gathered from Secesh gardens, and tried to make the place assume a somewhat home-like appearance. The Seventh seemed to suffer more from disease than the other regiments, yet there was much sickness in all of them. It was often my painful duty to stand by the dying-bed and go down with the departing soul to the “River’s” brink. And then another sad duty remained—that of writing to the friends of the deceased; and I sometimes thought this the saddest part of all. I never held a dying hand until the pulse grew still without wishing I might exchange places with some dear absent one. I will give an extract from a letter received from a bereaved wife, which will express the language of thousands of hearts:
“How thankful I am for your kindness to one dearer to me than all earthly friends. Oh, it is hard to give him up!—it seems like tearing my poor heart in pieces. I would have given worlds, had I possessed them, for the privilege of sitting by his side, as you did, even for one short hour. Oh, how anxiously I had looked forward to his coming home, that we might once more enjoy life together. My dear husband did not go into the army for money or pleasure, but because he felt it his duty to serve his country in her hour of peril, and to defend the old flag which had always protected him.... His poor little fatherless children, they know not what a blessing they have lost; but I am comforted with the thought that he is at rest.”
While I found much to do, I was quite well supplied with material to do with—our association at Washington sending me from time to time additional supplies. I recollect at one time, among other things, was a box of lemons, which was more acceptable than anything else, coming at a time when the weather was oppressively hot, and there being so many cases of fever. The Christian Commission gave me permission to draw from their stores such things as I was not supplied with. During my stay at this place, various and conflicting rumors were constantly afloat, causing much excitement and some alarm. I speak from personal experience. I had not as yet become accustomed to “camp rumors,” and, though I did not feel particularly afraid, I did feel at times a “little agitated.”
The evening of the 7th, a messenger was despatched in great haste from division head-quarters to the hospital department with orders to hoist a “red flag” early the next morning, for it was reported that Lee was advancing in the direction of Fairfax.
Soon we were summoned to go to work making flags. Accordingly we assembled in the basement of the “Stoughton House,” where a bright fire was blazing on the hearth, and went to work. We made two large flags, which at early dawn were spread to the breeze, in elevated positions, which we hoped would command the respect and consideration of the rebel chief. After finishing the flags, I packed my trunk, that it might be in readiness to send to Washington in the morning, should the report be confirmed. As for myself, I resolved, with the other ladies, not to desert the sick, but stay and share their fate, whatever it might be. It was quite late when we retired that night, and I must confess my sleep was somewhat disturbed with unpleasant dreams: several times I awoke and listened to hear the tread of the advancing foe, but listened and looked in vain.