A Woman's Life-Work — Labors and Experiences of Laura S. Haviland

by Laura S. Haviland

"What do you think of Surgeon Powers?"

"I think he is an unfeeling tyrant. The white of his eyes had the color of red flannel, and the unmistakable brandy breath made standing near him very unpleasant. Besides, his ungentlemanly, morose treatment of helpless soldiers indicates his entire unfitness for the position he occupies. If the milk of human kindness is more loudly called for in one position than another, it is in the surgeon in charge of sick, wounded, and dying soldiers."

"We know, Mrs. Haviland, this is true, and we made an effort to displace him once and failed, because the medical director over the whole of us in this division, next in rank to Grant himself, is determined to hold him here. But if you will make out your report, with the recommendations from your governor and Congressman backing it, we can make that efficient. You may make your report as strong as you please."

I left him with cordial thanks, and soon the report was handed him. I visited all the hospitals in that post, and on my second visit to the Jackson found Surgeon Powers filled to overflowing with affected politeness; but it did not brighten the bleared eye, or straighten the zigzag gait of the surgeon.

A few weeks after I met a Memphis officer, who informed me that Surgeon Powers was relieved of hospital work altogether very soon after I left the city. A few months later he filled a drunkard's grave.

In one hospital in Memphis I found in one corner a female soldier, Charlie. She was in both Bull Run battles, and four others she named; besides, she had endured long marches. Here she was taken violently ill with typhoid fever, and for the first time her sex became known. She was large and rather coarse-featured, and of indomitable will. She said the cause of her enlistment did not now exist, and she wanted to go home as soon as able. She intimated that her betrothed had recently died, and she had no desire to remain in the army.

While in Memphis a telegram came from President Lincoln ordering four hundred colored men to be enlisted, and no more, until further orders. Colonel Eaton took this work for his breakfast spell. As he came in rather late for his morning meal he said, "I have enlisted the required number, and quite a company went away crying because they could not enlist. I comforted them by telling them that I presumed there would be another call soon." I had built a bed for myself in one corner of the commissary building, and as we were occupying the weakest point at the post, we were ordered to have no light in our tents, but before dark to have every needed article at our bedside, ready at a moment's warning to be conducted to Fort Pickering. Soldiers were kept in readiness for action, as the enemy was threatening to retake Memphis. At two, o'clock A. M. the loud cry, "Halt!" at the corner where I was sleeping, aroused me. This was quickly followed by a still louder "Halt! May be you don't know who I is; I holds a gun, an' her's off."

"Well-well, I only want to come to you; I don't want to go farther." The officer approached, saying, "That is right; if I had taken one step after you cried halt the third time, you should have shot me through, no matter who I am, if it was the President himself."

At the breakfast table Colonel Eaton remarked: "A number of our new colored soldiers were put on picket guard last night on trial, and not one sleepy head was found among them. Since we accept these men as soldiers I am confident it will do away the necessity of drafting men, as some think must soon be done."

I spent a few days in visiting hospitals, often reading portions of Scripture, and kneeling by the cot of the suffering and dying soldiers, imploring the Great Physician to heal the sin-sick soul. For some I wrote letters to their home friends, which I found was often very gratifying to poor homesick boys. One very sick with pneumonia wished me to write to his folks in Kent County, Michigan, that he was in the hospital from a little cold, but would soon be able to join his regiment again. I dared not write according to his directions, and told him I would finish his letter at head-quarters. When he asked my name, he wanted to know if I was a relative of Rev. D. S. Haviland, in Kent County, Michigan. When I told him he was my son, he held my hand in both of his and burst into a flood of tears, and said he had heard him preach many times, and thought he was such a good man. I saw his feelings were deeply affected, and I feared it would increase the fever, and I promised to come and see him again in a day or two. I sat by him with my hand upon his head and consoled him as best I could. When he became calm I left, and called on his physician for his opinion concerning him. He said he was still in a critical condition, but thought the disease was turning in his favor, and advised me not to write to his friends until two days more had passed, as he would then be able to judge better of his case. Two days later I called again and found him much better, but the doctor thought the excitement of my leaving him increased the fever during the afternoon. He was now a little stronger, and he said I had better not let him know that I designed leaving the city. I finished the letter with greater encouragement than I could have done conscientiously on my first visit.