Woman's Work in the Civil War: A Record of Heroism, Patriotism, and Patience

by L. P. Brockett; Mary C. Vaughan

Mrs., then known as Sister Tyler, had been five years in Baltimore, filling up the time with her varied duties and occupations, when the storm that had so long threatened the land, burst in all the thunderbolts of its fury. Secession had torn from the Union some of the fairest portions of its domain, and already stood in hostile attitude all along the borders of the free North. The President, on the 15th of April, 1861, issued his first proclamation, announcing the presence of rebellion, commanding the insurgents to lay down their arms and return to their allegiance within twenty days, and calling on the militia of the several loyal States to the number of seventy-five thousand, to assemble for the defense of their country.

This proclamation, not unexpected at the North, yet sent a thrill of mingled feeling all through its bounds. The order was promptly obeyed, and without delay the masses prepared for the struggle which lay before them, but of which, as yet, no prophetic visions foretold the progress or result. Immediately regiment after regiment was hurried forward for the protection of the Capitol, supposed to be the point most menaced. Among these, and of the very earliest, was the Sixth Regiment Massachusetts Volunteers, of which the nucleus was the Lowell City Guards.

On the memorable and now historical 19th of April, this regiment while hurrying to the defense of Washington was assailed by a fierce and angry mob in the streets of Baltimore, and several of its men were murdered; and this for marching to the defense of their country, to which the citizens of Baltimore, their assailants, were equally pledged.

This occurred on a Friday, the day as before stated, set apart by Mrs. Tyler for her weekly visit to the jail. The news of the riot reached her as she was about setting out upon this errand of mercy, and caused her to postpone her visit for several hours, as her way lay through some portion of the disturbed district.

When, at last, she did go, a degree of quiet prevailed, though she saw wounded men being conveyed to their homes, or to places where they might be cared for, and it was evident that the public excitement had not subsided with hostilities. Much troubled concerning the fate of the Northern men—men, it must be remembered, of her own State—who had been stricken down, she hastened to conclude as soon as possible her duties at the jail, and returning homeward despatched a note to a friend asking him to ascertain and inform her what had become of the wounded soldiers. The reply soon came, with the tidings that they had been conveyed to one of the Station Houses by the Police, and were said to have been cared for, though the writer had not been allowed to enter and satisfy himself that such was the case.

This roused the spirit of Mrs. Tyler. Here was truly a work of "charity and mercy," and it was clearly her duty, in pursuance of the objects to which she had devoted her life, to ensure the necessary care of these wounded and suffering men who had fallen into the hands of those so inimical to them.

It was now late in the afternoon. Mrs. Tyler sent for a carriage which she was in the habit of using whenever need required, and the driver of which was honest and personally friendly, though probably a secessionist, and proceeded to the Station House. By this time it was quite dark, and she was alone. Alighting she asked the driver to give her whatever aid she might need, and to come to her should he even see her beckon from a window, and he promised compliance.

She knocked at the door, but on telling her errand was denied admittance, with the assurance that the worst cases had been sent to the Infirmary, while those who were in the upper room of the Station House had been properly cared for, and were in bed for the night. She again asked to be allowed to see them, adding that the care of the suffering was her life work, and she would like to assure herself that they needed nothing. She was again denied more peremptorily than before.

"Very well," she replied, "I am myself a Massachusetts woman, seeking to do good to the citizens of my own state. If not allowed to do so, I shall immediately send a telegram to Governor Andrew, informing him that my request is denied."

This spirited reply produced the desired result, and after a little consultation among the officials, who probably found the Governor of a State a much more formidable antagonist than a woman, coming alone on an errand of mercy, the doors were opened and she was conducted to that upper room where the fallen patriots lay.