Who for their country die;
Sleep on her bosom for repose,
And triumph where they lie.”
My home being with the Twenty-sixth, of course a larger share of my time was spent with this hospital than any other; yet I made occasional visits to the Third, Fifth, and Seventh cavalry regiments. The First, Fourth, and Sixteenth infantry regiments I was not able to visit at all. The general health of the army at this time was considered good, though in the aggregate there were many sick. It was impossible to keep a correct record of the sick in all the hospitals, on account of the changes which were constantly being made.
One class of patients would be brought in, remain a few days, and then sent off to division or some general hospital, and their places filled by others.
I seldom visited a hospital without missing some familiar face and greeting strange ones. The long distance from one regiment to another—being from one to eight miles—with roads much of the time almost impassable, made it extremely difficult to visit the same hospital very often. Rain, and consequently mud, we had in no stinted measure. Sometimes the rain would continue to fall for three or four days in succession, and was usually accompanied with a cold high wind, and not unfrequently with snow.
The 29th of March, during one of the severest storms of the season, the One Hundred Eighty-third Pa. volunteers went into camp a short distance from us. This was a new regiment, wholly unaccustomed to the hardships of camp life. All day long they were exposed to a cold, drenching rain, with nothing to protect them but their little shelter tents.
Night came on; the storm continued; the wind, which had blown a perfect gale all day, still whistled through their open tents; and thus, without fire, and with saturated clothing, they spent the night in the pitiless storm. As many as could be accommodated came into our hospital and cook-room, grateful for the privilege of sleeping upon the floor before the fire. For twenty-four hours they were scarcely able to make fire sufficient to boil their coffee. Many a poor fellow lost his life in consequence of exposure to this merciless storm.
It was no uncommon thing for soldiers to be brought in from the picket line, sick even unto death; but this was a duty that could not be neglected, no matter what the weather, for ofttimes the safety of the whole army depended upon its faithful discharge.
My stay with the army, notwithstanding the many sad scenes so often witnessed and the lonely hours sometimes experienced, was rather pleasant than otherwise. Aside from the satisfaction there is in trying to do good, there is a novelty connected with such a life which gives to it many attractions. Soldiers are always full of fun and good-natured jokes. Exciting rumors, sometimes with, but oftener without foundation, are constantly afloat, furnishing subjects for conversation. Besides, there are occasional opportunities, even in the army, for intellectual entertainments. One such was enjoyed by the Second Corps soon after my arrival. We were favored with a visit from the gifted authoress and lecturer, “Grace Greenwood.” It was my privilege to listen to two of the three lectures she delivered while there. These lectures were rare treats; they were like oases in the desert. During her stay, she favored us with a call, visited our hospital, spoke cheeringly to the sick, with whom her heart was in full sympathy. She also accepted an invitation to dine with us. She was accompanied by her little daughter Anna—a sweet child of eight years. Ah! methinks many a father’s heart grew sad as he saw this little girl tripping gaily through camp, or as he listened to her sweet singing. She must have reminded him of the dear little “Annie,” or “Hattie,” or “Nellie,” he left at home, and whom he might never again see. Perchance some sentinel on his beat paused to wipe the unbidden tear from his weather-beaten cheek as she crossed his path, being reminded of his own precious daughter, the patter of whose feet he might hear no more forever!