Gone, in their beauty and their pride,
To swell the ranks of glory.”
At my next visit, a few weeks later, I was able to report a great change for the better. In the absence of superior officers, Major Saviers—a man possessing rare executive ability—was in command. The campground had been drained, sidewalks of split wood built, the streets bordered with evergreens, and many other improvements made.
Leaving these poor sick men cheered with the promise that, as soon as my goods arrived, they should be made more comfortable, I was given carte blanche possession of a little cabin, which I found “swept and garnished” after the most approved style of the soldier. A bright fire was blazing on the hearth, a narrow cot—similar to those in the hospital—stood in one corner of the room, a rude table in another, and a camp-chair in the third. These, with a couple of shelves on one side of the cabin, containing sundry culinary articles together with the accoutrements of war, constituted the owner’s household goods. Being quite weary I retired early, yet I cannot say that I felt much rested next morning; but I wondered all the more how those poor sick men could lie upon such beds.
As soon as my goods arrived I furnished the hospital beds with sheets and pillows, the patients with clean handkerchiefs and a few dressing-gowns, besides dried fruit, jellies, wine, and butter, also papers and magazines. I found several sick in their quarters which the hospital could not accommodate; these I visited and supplied with such things as they were mostly needing. Never was anything, I am sure, received with more gratitude than were those few supplies which it was my pleasure to distribute.
This regiment, unlike many, was blessed with a kind and faithful surgeon, and a chaplain worthy of the name. My next visit was to the Fifth and Sixth Cavalry; but there was far less sickness in these regiments than when I visited them at Fairfax, notwithstanding their increased hardships and exposures, their frequent raids, skirmishes, and battles. But many, for whom this toughening process was too severe, had fallen out by the way, and were left to sleep in unmarked yet honored graves. At the little broken, dilapidated town of Stevensburg, where fences and “hoops” were unknown, and sallow faces gave evidence of the “dip”—where chimneys were leaning from perpendicular as if contemplating a change of base, and where windows could boast of more rags than panes of glass—was our Cavalry Brigade Hospital; but it contained comparatively few sick. Good nursing and proper food, no doubt, would have saved any who were in the hospital at that time. The beds were much better than those in infantry hospitals. Each cot was furnished with a tick filled with hay, which was obtained by cutting the horses’ rations a little short; but, in other respects, they were about on a par with field hospitals generally. Here I disposed of the remainder of my goods, and, on the morning of the 17th, left the sick, with a promise to come again soon, with a larger supply of sanitary stores. Arriving at Brandy Station, I found the train had left, and, not knowing what to do, I appealed to the Provost Marshal, from whom, to my great relief, I learned that Mrs. Mayhew—an agent for the Maine Association—had her head-quarters in an old building not far away. The house was pointed out, and, in a few minutes more, I was the welcome guest of this excellent lady and her friend, Mrs. Painter, of New Jersey. It being the Lord’s day, we attended service at the C. C. chapel. That was a day long to be remembered. How solemn the service! And what a good class—or speaking-meeting—followed! What a beautiful sight to see those brawny, stalwart soldiers stand up for Jesus! Early Monday morning I assisted in feeding a train of sick who were on their way from Culpepper to Washington. These ladies held themselves in readiness to start with broth, crackers, tea and coffee, as soon as a train of the sick or wounded arrived. Who can estimate the good thus accomplished by those two earnest, Christian women?
At ten o’clock the same morning, I started for Washington, accompanied by Mrs. Mayhew. When in the vicinity of Union Mills—some twenty-five miles from the city—a collision occurred a few miles ahead of us, in consequence of which we were delayed twelve hours. The day was gloomy, cold, and rainy; our car leaked badly. We were without food, nothing to read, and, in fact, nothing to do but to sit still and wait, and hope every moment that the train would start. We were wholly unprepared for such an emergency. Those twelve hours seemed lengthened into as many days, and not until two A. M. were we safely quartered in my own room, cold, hungry, and drenching wet. Next day we both began to experience the effects of a severe cold, which for some time seriously threatened us, but we managed to keep at work.
CHAPTER XI.
ANOTHER VISIT TO THE ARMY—INCIDENTS—PONY MOUNTAIN—PICKET LINE—THE MOVE—RETURN TO WASHINGTON—LONG BRIDGE—CAPTAIN MASON—REMARKS ABOUT HOSPITAL DUTIES—ARLINGTON—THE SOLDIERS’ HOME.
The 21st ult., through the kindness of Colonel Alger of the Fifth Cavalry, I obtained another pass to go to the army, and, on the morning of the 27th, again started with a fine lot of hospital stores. At the station I met Dr. Beach, who was returning to his regiment. The day was warm and pleasant, and instead of a long, lonely ride, the journey is too soon made. How desolate the country through which we pass! Marks of destruction, which ever follow the train of war, are everywhere visible. The earth is furrowed and ridged with long lines of rifle-pits, redoubts and redans. Breastworks and formidable abattis are seen at various places along the line of the road. Occasionally a tall chimney is seen standing like some lone sentinel, telling in language plainer than words of “glory departed.” Every few miles we are reminded of the dangers to which we are exposed by broken cars, iron rails bent and twisted and strewn along the side of the track, causing us almost to expect to leave one or more of our cars, if not our bones, with the wreck of others, before arriving at our place of destination. We pass some places of little note before the war, but by it rendered not only historical, but memorable. Such are Manassas, Catlett’s, Bristow, and Rappahannock Stations and Warrenton Junction. At or near each of these, battles have been fought, and the earth drenched with human gore. No waiting this time at the station; General Custer’s carriage—a confiscated barouche—is there before us. Nearly dark when we arrive at camp. Soldiers are never at a loss for expedients, and soon the dispensary is converted into a temporary dwelling-house, which, with a bright fire blazing on the hearth, made my little home look cozy and inviting.