The boys in white

by Julia S. Wheelock

I will again add a few extracts from my journal.

May 10th.

Early this morning the Provost Marshal obtained for us a house to which our goods were soon removed, after which we were ready for duty. The building had once been a store; the counter and shelves being left, we occupy them with goods. The family in an adjoining room consists of an old lady and one daughter, who, of course, claim to be loyal. However, they are very kind, and gave us a large upper room with good beds, and otherwise comfortably furnished for a sleeping apartment. No one could listen to their story without feelings of pity. They have suffered much during the war, being obliged to share their hospitality with both friend and foe, exposed to dangers from the missiles of destruction and death which have made such wide-spread desolation, and left in ruins this once beautiful city. Their own building, and even the room in which I write, bears testimony to the terrible effects of shell and ball.

A stove was furnished us in the morning, the “boys” supplied us with wood, and we went to work with a right good will, Mrs. Johnson to cooking, and I to visiting hospitals and distributing as fast as she could cook.

Such scenes of wretchedness and of terrible suffering I have never before witnessed. I found the wounded lying upon the hard floor without pillows, and many without a blanket, so closely crowded together that there was scarcely room to pass between them. Officers and soldiers are lying side by side. There, if never before, they are all on a common level. To the untold suffering experienced from broken bones and shattered limbs, is added that of hunger, many having eaten nothing for three and four days previous to their arrival here; and thus they are dying not only of wounds, but of starvation.

In the six hospitals to-day visited, I found many Michigan soldiers, and among these are several of the Twenty-Sixth volunteers, from whom, only a few weeks since, I parted at Stevensburg, when imagination was so busy picturing these horrid scenes. Among this number is Colonel Saviers, wounded in the lungs; Captain Johnson with a foot amputated; Lieutenants Grisson and Dopson severely, though less seriously wounded; Mr. Waters with amputated thigh, and many others whose names I do not recall. The food which I have to-day distributed consisted almost entirely of chicken-soup and crackers, in dealing out which I made no distinction, but gave to all as far as my supplies would go.

Early this evening I went out again in company with Mrs. Johnson, and remained until twelve o’clock, dressing wounds and doing what I could to relieve the suffering of our poor boys. Among the many incidents to-day observed worthy of note, I will mention but two. While distributing my crackers and soup to the inmates of a large church, where there are perhaps a hundred and fifty or two hundred poor sufferers lying side by side upon the floor, nearly all seriously and many mortally wounded, my ears were saluted with the voice of song, and, looking around to see from whom it came, I saw a poor fellow with a severe wound in both arms, whom some one had raised up from his hard bed. He was sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall, singing as cheerfully, and apparently as joyously as if he were seated at the social hearth with his own dear family. It was a scene which brought tears to my eyes, for the voice of song strangely mingled with dying groans, and I thought that one who could shut his eyes to the scenes of distress around him, and so far forget his sufferings as to attune his heart and voice to singing, must indeed have experienced the blessedness of the Christian’s hope. In this hospital is another with eight wounds. He lies on a stretcher entirely helpless. While feeding him I entered into conversation with him, when, to my surprise, I found that he entertained hopes of recovery—which seems to me would be almost miraculous.[4] The rest of our party arrived this afternoon with the balance of our goods.

[4] Some two years ago, to my great astonishment, I met this man, who, though having recovered, is badly crippled for life.

Sunday, the 15th.

Another busy day. It has seemed but little like the Sabbath. After taking supplies to four different hospitals, and distributing, and working among the wounded until late in the afternoon, I came home and prepared chicken-soup, and carried to Planter’s Hotel—assisted by Mr. Green—sufficient for nearly four hundred men. Michigan soldiers of the Ninth Corps are here largely represented. Among these are many seriously wounded. My attention was particularly called to two such by Chaplain May—viz., Captain Donohue of the Eighth volunteers, and Lieutenant Joss, of the Second, each with an amputated thigh. But little hope is entertained of their recovery. I tried to speak encouragingly to them, having been requested to do so by the surgeon, Dr. Fox; yet it seems almost wrong to endeavor to inspire with hope of recovery those for whom nearly all hope has fled. Promising to see them often and do all I could for them, I left, feeling that it would be only a short time that they would need anything, except the soldier’s blanket and a few feet of earth.