In this hospital I found several wounded in the face, among whom is Sergeant Clark, also of the Eighth. The ball lodged somewhere in the mouth, and has not yet been found. It is very distressing to see him; his tongue is swollen to an immoderate size, and protrudes from his mouth. He is unable to speak, or take nourishment, except liquids. There are hundreds of cases, each peculiarly sad, and each presenting itself as an object of sympathy.
Among the hospitals I have visited to-day, is the Old Theatre, where I saw so many terribly mangled bodies last evening. I took a quantity of pillows, chicken-soup, and crackers. The moment I entered the hospital, oh, what begging for pillows came from all parts of the room! “Please, give me a pillow, I’m wounded in the head, and my knapsack is so hard,” said one. Another wants one for the stump of his arm or leg. “I don’t think it would be so painful if I only had a pillow, or cushion, or something to keep it from the hard floor; there, that small one will do for me; please lady, let me have that.” “Oh,” said another, “if I only could have one of those pillows for my back; it is all raw from lying on the hard floor; Oh! can’t you spare me one?” For a few moments I stood with the pillows in my arms, unable to decide what to do. I could not supply all, and to whom should I give? The calls did not cease until the last one was given out, and then the cry was, “Can’t you bring more?” Concluding they were as needy as any, I came home, got another armful, and returned, thus supplying the worst cases in that room. While there, an incident occurred, to which I can never refer without weeping. As I was busy dishing out my broth, a friend of mine, Lieutenant Grisson, who was himself wounded, said: “I wish you would see if you can’t do something for that captain who lies the third from me; he is dreadfully wounded.” On going to him, I inquired if there was anything I could do for him, and if he would like a little broth. “Just a little, if you please,” he said. After placing a pillow under his head, and another under his back, I fed him as much as he wished, then asked what more I could do for him? He looked up with tearful eyes, and said: “Oh, you are so kind, I don’t know what to call you, unless it be sister.” “Very well,” I replied, “I’ll be your sister; but tell me, Captain, is there nothing more I can do for you before I go.” “If you will please write a few lines to mother.” Taking her address, I inquired whether there was anything in particular he wished me to write. I shall never forget the expression of his countenance as he looked up and said: “Oh! give her some encouragement, but tell her I’m trusting in God.” He hesitated a few moments, and then added: “It will be so hard for mother, for she is a widow, and I am her only son.” I tried to speak a few words of comfort, telling him that if his trust was in God all would be well, for his hopes were anchored upon a sure foundation, and the one in whom he trusted would be the widow’s God. In a moment the thought of the anguish that would soon pierce that lone widowed mother’s heart, rushed upon my mind, and poor, weak human nature was overcome, and I could only bow my head and weep. The poor fellow seemed fully conscious of the fact that he must die; and while he would have his mother know the worst, he wished the sad intelligence to be gently broken. The language of his heart seemed to be, “Who will care for mother, now?”
After giving out the rest of my supplies, I bade the “boys” good-evening, with a promise to see them again soon, and left this wretched hospital only to visit another nearly, if not quite, as bad. This was formerly a large grocery-store, only a short distance from our quarters. Mr. Green and Mrs. Johnson accompanied me to this abode of misery. As we entered the building, oh, what a sight met our eyes! A small piece of candle was burning upon the counter—it being about nine in the evening—which but dimly lighted the large room, making the bloody scene before us all the more horrifying. There lay the wounded, stretched upon the floor side by side, in close proximity, weltering in blood and filth.
They were faint and hungry, some having only a short time before arrived from the battle-field, with wounds still undressed, their blankets and clothing saturated with blood, and not unfrequently covered with vermin. It was a sight well-calculated to appal the stoutest heart; but, nerving ourselves for the task, we went to work feeding those poor sufferers, bathing and dressing their wounds. While busy, a call from behind the counter attracted my attention, and on going to ascertain who was there I found two soldiers, who said they were nearly starved, and wished to know if we hadn’t something for them too. “Certainly,” I replied, and, taking a large cup, I filled it with hot broth, and crept along on my hands and knees to where they were lying, for I did not dare trust myself to walk, fearing I should stumble over them, as it was so dark, the candle having been removed to another part of the room, and the space between them and the counter so narrow.
I learned that one of them belonged to the Eighth Michigan. When I told him that I too was from Michigan, the poor boy burst into tears and wept aloud. “Oh,” said he, “can’t you get me out of this filthy place? for it seems as though I shall be eaten up alive.” But, as every spare foot of space was occupied, we were obliged to leave them there for the night, but requested the nurse to remove them in the morning, even if they had to be taken out of doors. I came home late in the evening, weary and foot-sore. Since then, have written several letters for soldiers, and the midnight hour finds me still with pen in hand.
The wounded have been arriving since early this morning; new scenes of distress await us on the morrow. “As we look around, we see the work of death on every side. Rank after rank is falling on the battlefield of life, and the cold earth on which we tread is arched with graves.”
CHAPTER XIV.
WRETCHED CONDITION OF OUR HOSPITAL—A REBEL FAMILY—HOME DUTIES—ARRIVAL OF THE WOUNDED—SAD SCENES AND INCIDENTS—BATTLEFIELD OF DEC. 13TH, 1862—TENT HOSPITALS—MR. WATERS—PAPER MILL HOSPITAL—THE CITY EVACUATED—THE SLAUGHTER ESTATE—MRS. WASHINGTON’S MONUMENT—NINTH CORPS BURYING-GROUND—FAREWELL TO THE BLOODY CITY.