A courier of General A. P. Hill’s, very badly wounded, had been invalided for some time, and desirous of offering him some inducement to bear his fate more patiently, I had invited him to dine in my office, as soon as he could use his crutches. An invitation of this kind was often extended to men similarly situated; not that there were delicacies retained in my kitchen that did not reach the wards, but the request was a courtesy, and the food would be hot from the fire, and more comfortably served. Unfortunately he was a Marylander, and that some adverse report had been made was proved by an order attached to my window during the day, explaining that no patient would be permitted to enter the matron’s department under any circumstances, on penalty of punishment. This was uncalled-for and galling, so I pulled it down first, and then carried my complaint to the surgeon-in-chief.
Woman’s wit wins.
No one ever applied to him in vain for either justice or courtesy. He naturally was unwilling to countermand this order positively, but told me significantly that although the hospital was to a certain extent under the control of the surgeon in charge, and subject to his orders, the private rooms, as well as kitchen and laundry attached to the matron’s department were under my management. As a woman will naturally sacrifice her comfort, convenience, pleasure, and privacy to have her own way, the result must be evident. My sleeping-room became a dining-room, and for the future I made what use of it I pleased, returning every night to my quarters at the Secretary’s.
The Flesh-Pots of Egypt.
The next annoyance was the disappearance of all the Maryland patients; their wards being found empty one morning, and “no man living could tell where they had gone.” However, when the flesh-pots of the forsaken land were steaming at dinner-time, a small group revealed themselves of the missing tribes, and clustered around my window with cup and plate. They belonged to the infantry, and seemed unable to bear their exile. This continued for a couple of days, the applicants increasing at each meal, till a second visit to Dr. M. with a representation of the impossibility of feeding men for whom no rations had been drawn brought about a rescinding of the order for their exile, and from that time they and all of their corps who came to me were unmolested.
Anxieties.
Feminine sympathy being much more demonstrative than masculine, particularly when compared with a surgeon’s unresponsiveness, who inured to the aspects of suffering, has more control over his professional feelings, the nurses often summoned me when only the surgeon was needed. One very cold night the same year, 1863, when sleeping at my hospital rooms, an answer was made to my demand as to who was knocking and what was wanted. The nurse from the nearest ward said, something was wrong with Fisher. Instructing him to find the doctor immediately and hastily getting on some clothing I hurried to the scene, for Fisher was an especial favorite. He was quite a young man, of about twenty years of age, who had been wounded ten months previously very severely, high up on the leg near the hip, and who by dint of hard nursing, good food and plenty of stimulant had been given a fair chance for recovery. The bones of the broken leg had slipped together, then lapped, and nature anxious as she always is to help herself had thrown a ligature across, uniting the severed parts; but after some time the side curved out, and the wounded leg was many inches shorter than its fellow. He had been the object of sedulous care on the part of all—surgeons, ward-master, nurse and matron, and the last effort made to assist him was by the construction of an open cylinder of pasteboard, made in my kitchen, of many sheets of coarse brown paper, cemented together with very stiff paste, and baked around the stove-pipe. This was to clasp by its own prepared curve the deformed hip, and be a support for it when he was able to use his crutches.
No Hope in this World.
He had remained through all his trials, stout, fresh and hearty, interesting in appearance, and so gentle-mannered and uncomplaining that we all loved him. Supported on his crutches he had walked up and down his ward for the first time since he was wounded, and seemed almost restored. That same night he turned over and uttered an exclamation of pain.