The work of looking up from all these hospitals those belonging to any particular State was no light task, yet it was done by several State associations besides our own. Perhaps no more thorough or efficient work of the kind was done by any State than Massachusetts. Maine did a noble work for her soldiers, but her agents were more generally employed in the field, where there was a greater need of laborers. At this time, Michigan men were largely represented in the hospitals in Washington. At Lincoln I found seventy, at Finly forty, about the same number at Campbell, a large number at Armory square, and so for all the hospitals in the city, besides the many at Camp Stoneman, Camp Convalescent, and Fairfax Seminary.
Every few days accessions were made to our already large numbers by fresh arrivals from the army, as the cavalry were almost constantly on the skirmish-line, and engagements frequently occurring. The 13th of the month—October—there was a brisk fight at Cattell’s Station; the 14th, at Bristow Station; the 18th, near Manassas Junction, and a few days later at Beverly Ford; and thus the army continued to fight, and the wounded to arrive. The sixth of the month the steward of the Ninth Cavalry came from Culpepper with a large number of sick. He reported the sick at that place in a very destitute and neglected condition. On his return I sent a few things by him, only, however, what he could take in the car with him, as I could not get transportation for even one small box. I tried to get a pass to go down with supplies, but orders were imperative—there was no use trying. Mrs. Gray, a lady from Pontiac, Michigan, worked hard for weeks to obtain a pass that she might go and see her sick husband, who was supposed to be lying at the point of death; but all in vain. Tears and entreaties were alike unavailing. She frequently went with me to the hospitals and assisted in the work of distribution, thus trying to forget her own sorrow while administering to the wants of others. Another lady, Mrs. Brockway, came from Michigan to obtain, if possible, the body of her son, who was killed a few days before her arrival; but she could go no further. Through the influence of our State agent—Dr. Tunnecliff—the family succeeded in getting an order for his body to be sent to Washington. For her husband who was sick she obtained a furlough, and returned to her home rejoicing while she mourned.
October 18th.
Instead of attending church this morning, I went to Stanton Hospital with delicacies for the sick. I will mention a few special cases of suffering which I witnessed in one of the wards, and which will be a fair specimen of the average of such in the other wards. There was one poor man almost distracted with pain in his head, the effects of a sun-stroke; the only relief he could find was in bathing his head in cold water. Near him was one very low with typhoid fever, uttering incoherent expressions about “battles” and “marches,” and “home” and “mother.” A little further down the ward was a poor fellow who was brought in last night—having been picked up by the road-side, in a senseless condition—and has not yet returned to consciousness. His physician says he can not survive, and, as he has no papers, or any means by which he can be identified, another will soon be added to the long list of the “unknown.” Soon after returning home, a Mrs. Smith, from New Jersey, called, and requested me to return with her to the same hospital. She had come to see her sick son; but, upon her arrival at the hospital last evening, found that he was already dead, and was requested by the surgeon, when she asked to see him, to wait until this morning, as it was then late. On going to see him this morning with the hope of following his remains to the grave, she found, to her horror and amazement, that he was already buried. The officer who had charge of the burying was deeply grieved that he had not been notified of the arrival of the mother of the young man, while the doctor could only plead forgetfulness as an excuse for not informing him. The only consolation left her—and that a poor one—was to visit his grave. An ambulance was ordered, and we drove out to the “Soldier’s Home.” It was now dark; the undertaker directed us to the spot, and there, by the aid of a lamp, that widowed mother was permitted to look upon the newly-made grave, which contained all that remained of her only son, upon whose breast a few hours before the cold earth had been heaped. While I wept with this sorrowing mother, I was filled with indignation at the outrage to which she had been compelled to submit. If that surgeon possessed the common feelings of humanity, he would have ordered the body disinterred, and thus have given the poor woman the little consolation she might have obtained from gazing once more upon the features of her darling boy; but even this sad privilege was denied her. To-morrow she returns to her lonely home, whose light has been forever extinguished.
Among the sick at Campbell Hospital, at this time, were two Michigan soldiers, very low with typhoid fever. The father of one of these was with him, and, after a long illness, his poor, sick boy, unexpectedly to us all, recovered. The other, poor Warren Maxfield—the patient, uncomplaining boy (all were boys in the army)—lingered long weeks on the narrow space which separates the “now from the hereafter” before he began the other life. I never think of him without recalling a little incident that occurred a few days before his death. He wanted a small package of green-tea, which of course was granted; “for,” he said, “I really believe it would do me good. Not that I care to drink so very much, but I want some to smell of, it would seem so reviving, and would remind me of home, for we always drink green-tea at home.” I relate this to show how all the influences and customs and associations of home were remembered and cherished by those poor sick and dying soldiers. It will be a consolation to his friends to know that in his last sickness he was kindly cared for. If skilful medical treatment and good nursing could have saved life, neither he nor any in that ward would have died, for, according to the testimony of his patients, Dr. True was one of the most faithful and efficient surgeons to be found in any of our hospitals. When any under his charge were dangerously ill, he would often visit them four and five times during a single night, watching every symptom and noting every change, whether for better or worse, and only relinquishing hope with the last expiring breath. Oh, how much the world needs such humane, Christian physicians!
CHAPTER IX.
MORE TROUBLE WITH DOCTORS—DISCHARGE-PAPERS DELAYED—RECORDS EXAMINED—THE REPORT—REMOVAL OF A SURGEON—DISCHARGE BY DEATH—A SURGEON QUARRELS WITH ONE OF HIS PATIENTS—HIS REMOVAL—LOW STATE OF OUR FINANCES—THOUGHTS OF DISORGANIZING—THE APPEAL FOR AID—RECEIPT OF GOODS—A SELF-SACRIFICING MOTHER—BATTLE NEAR KELLY’S FORD.
October 19th.
I went to Alexandria this morning to learn whether the reports concerning the treatment of some of our boys in a certain hospital in that city were true. Arriving at the hospital, I asked for a list of the Michigan men who were there, obtaining which, I started to go through the wards, when an orderly came running after me, saying: “The doctor says you can’t go through the hospital.” This was something new, and I began to think there was some truth in the reports. I went directly to the doctor’s office and inquired what all this meant. He replied, “You must have a written permit from Dr. Bently, who is surgeon-in-charge of this division, before you can go through my hospital.” I still insisted on going through, without waiting to see Dr. B., whose office was nearly a mile from there. “Well, then,” he said, “I will go and see him myself, and you can wait until I return.” “But I can’t wait, doctor; I shall go through the wards while you are gone,” was my reply. He hesitated a moment, and then said: “Well, you may go through them this time. I guess it will be all right.” “I know it will be all right, doctor,” I answered. He left the hospital, while I made a tour of inspection through it, and, before leaving, I was convinced that the reports in circulation were not wholly without foundation.... Not long after this, I called to see Dr. Bently and inquired if it were necessary for me to have a pass from him, in order to be admitted to the hospitals in his division, and then related the unpleasant interview with one of his surgeons. “By no means,” he said. “And you tell the doctor for me, that you have the privilege of visiting my hospitals as often as you wish, and at such times as best suit your convenience. If you have any more trouble, let me know.” But I managed to fight my own battles thereafter, without calling upon him again, and at length gained the victory, as will be seen a few pages hence.