After the Battle of the Wilderness: Letters From a Hospital

LETTER I. —MARY LAWRENCE TO A SISTER IN THE COUNTRY.

——, MASS., Thursday, May 12, 1864.

MY DEAR ANNIE, —We learned from Mead’s address to the soldiers, which was published in the Boston papers of May 5th, that the army was ready to advance. Since then we have lived in the most painful suspense, fearing to open the newspapers and dreading the sound of the door-bell. We suffered so much from anxiety it was a positive relief when, early this morning, the following telegram for Mabel arrived: “ Colonel Lawrence is wounded; he will arrive in Washington to-night.” The message was dated May 11th, and sent by Colonel T——, the Massachusetts Military Agent in Washington. I at once telegraphed to Mabel, who with the baby was visiting her mother, and went to the station, expecting she would come home in the eleven o’clock train to make preparations for going to Albert as soon as possible.

When the train stopped, Mabel stepped quickly from the cars with the baby in her arms. In a moment I was by her side, and she exclaimed, —

“ Oh, Mary, I knew you would be here! Will you take care of the baby while I am away? ”

“ Yes, indeed! ” I replied, taking the dear fellow in my arms. “How soon will you go? ”

“ Now,” said Mabel, “ on this very train.” And she placed her foot upon the step of the car.

“ Mabel! without an escort, with no protector at all! ”

“ I have the protection of a duty, and am not afraid.”

The bell rang; Mabel hastened into the car. I saw her watch her baby from the window until the distance rendered it impossible to distinguish any one. As I looked at that gentle but determined face, I resolved to do my part bravely and cheerfully. For, much as I love baby Charlie, I had been a little dismayed at the thought of taking charge of an unweaned child, only eight months old; but if his mother was courageous enough to leave him, I ought not to be afraid to take him.

Imagine the surprise at home when it was known that Mabel had gone. “ God bless her! she is a true wife,” said mother.

I wish you could be with us now. So does our mother, who sends her best love to you. Your affectionate sister,

MARY LAWRENCE.

LETTER II. —MABEL LAWRENCE TO MARY LAWRENCE.

EBBITT HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D. C., } May 13, 1864.

MY DEAR MARY, —An hour ago I left Albert lying quietly upon his iron bedstead in ward seventeen, Mead Hospital. His wound is in the left foot, very near the ankle-joint. The ball is still in.

Albert is in excellent spirits, but since those nine months in Libby Prison, his strength has not been what it used to be. How he will be able to endure this new drain upon it is something of which I hardly dare to think. I wanted very much to sit by him all night, but he would not allow it.

I could write a long letter about my finding Albert, but must wait until tomorrow.

Tell your dear mother that Albert asked many questions about her. Kiss my darling baby for me. Albert is very much pleased that you have taken charge of him; so is the baby’s mother. Your affectionate sister,

MABEL LAWRENCE.

LETTER III. —TO MARY LAWRENCE.

WARD SEVENTEEN, MEAD HOSPITAL, } WASHINGTON, May 14, 1804.

MY DEAR MARY, — Albert has not suffered a great deal from pain to-day, but seems very weak; probably this is owing quite as much to the excessive fatigue of his journey from the Wilderness, as to his wound. He was wounded on Thursday, May 5th, and reached Washington on the following Wednesday at midnight, having been nearly all the time on the road. He was four days in an ambulance, which was driven a great part of the distance over corduroy roads, He says no conception can be formed of the sufferings of the wounded who are carried over these roads; and that, great as his sufferings were, they were nothing in comparison with those of another officer in the same ambulance, who had been shot through the body. On this dreadful journey they were not able to keep to the direct road, but had to go first in one direction, then in another, to escape the fire of guerrillas.

Now I must tell you how I found Albert. You know that I have never been in Washington before, so it was particularly fortunate that I went to the Ebbitt House; for, on looking out of the window, I saw “ Sanitary Commission,” in large letters, over the porch of the opposite building; and I no sooner saw it than I rushed down-stairs, across the street, and into the office of the commission. There I met Mr.——, who knows Albert, and he took the greatest interest in finding him. He said that Colonel T——, of the Massachusetts agency, went to Fredericksburg on Thursday, with supplies, but that undoubtedly he could learn at the rooms of the Massachusetts agency where Albert was. Mr. ——also advised me to go back to the Ebbitt and take something to eat, while he went in search of information. I followed his advice.

In about an hour my new friend came to take me to Mead Hospital, where Albert had been carried. When we arrived at the hospital Mr, —— met Dr. Stedman, the surgeon -in-charge, who kindly went to ward seventeen with us. This ward occupies one very long barrack, and is filled with single iron bedsteads, and upon each bed is a wounded man. As we entered, nurses were moving about in attendance upon the patients. They were dressing the wounds for the night, and pails, sponges, and bandages were in service; all this I took in at a glance. A tall lady, dressed almost like a Friend, was coming towards us, with a spoon in one hand and a glass of water in the other; as she approached, Dr. Stedman said to her, — “ Miss Fessenden, let me introduce to you Mrs. Lawrence, Colonel Lawrence’s wife. I think he is in your ward.”

She bowed slightly, and replied, “ Yes, sir; you will find him in twenty-one, the bed next but one to my table.”

We went directly to bed twenty-one, and through a great effort to control my feelings I was able to give Albert a cheerful greeting. There was no time for questions. Mr. —— wished to see several persons in the hospital, and promised to take me back on his return. Dr. Stedman said he would look at Albert’s wound, and called a dresser to take the bandage from his foot. He asked if the surgeon was in the ward; he was not; he went to Miss Fessenden, seemed to be giving her some directions about Albert, and then left. I could not help wishing he had told me what was to be done, instead of Miss Fessenden, for she seems to me like an iceberg; but Albert says I shall find her such an iceberg as a very little sunshine will melt.

After Albert’s foot was dressed last night, he was faint; Miss Fessenden brought him some brandy, which he objected to taking. She said, “ It, is only a teaspoonful, and is very pure; it was sent from Boston; just try to take it.”

He took it like a little child. Anxious and preoccupied as I was, it was yet impossible not to notice the difference in her manner toward Albert and toward myself; and yet this difference was mostly in the tone of voice, which, though coaxing, made one feel she had perfect faith that he would comply with her wishes. Soon after, Mr. ——came to take me back to the Ebbitt House.

I can’t help a little twinge of disappointment, for I do not feel that I have the care of Albert as fully as I would like.

I am impatient for the hour that will bring a letter from you, telling me how my precious baby gets along. I have been very well, only a little faint after holding Albert’s foot last night; my faintness alarmed me lest 1 should not be able to bear the smell of wounds, but I have got over all that.

Albert sends his best love to your mother and yourself, and mine goes with it. MABEL.

LETTER IV.—TO MARY LAWRENCE.

May 15, 1864, Sunday, A. M.

DEAR MARY, — I came to the hospital at an early hour to - day, in order to be present when Albert’s foot was dressed. His wound does not improve; perhaps it is quite too soon to expect any improvement.

This morning everybody has been in a hurry. Such a cleaning of a place that was already clean! When all was ready, there were two rows of wounded men tightly and smoothly tucked up in bed, as though they had never moved and were expected never to move. The attendants were in dress uniform, and the whole ward wore an air of expectation. This was the preparation for Sunday’s inspection. After waiting almost an hour, there was a loud cry of “ Attention ! ” The surgeon in charge then entered, with all the assistant surgeons (all in dress uniform) and three or four gentlemen visitors. The attendants stood in a line by the entrance, and saluted as the surgeons passed. As they went through the ward, Dr. Stedman stopped to look at the worst cases. After they had looked into the bathing-room, and every nook and corner within the barrack, Dr. Stedman said to the wardmaster, “Sir, your ward is perfect;” and they left.

I will not say that every man at once turned in bed, for many could not do it; but the tucked - up look vanished in a moment, newspapers and books appeared upon the tables, and in five minutes it was the old busy place again.

Miss Fessenden just came to me saying she had such good news that she must tell it. Dr. Gardner, from Massachusetts, has been assigned to duty in this ward.

It will be delightful to have a skillful and experienced surgeon, and a gentleman, instead of Dr. D——, who is so conceited that it is impossible to have confidence in him.

Sunday, p. M.

Dr. Gardner has spent the entire afternoon in the ward, examining wounds. He says.— I can hardly think of it composedly— that Albert’s foot must be amputated, and very soon; to-morrow, if Dr. Stedman can be present then. It is no shock to Albert, for he has never been sanguine about keeping it; but I thought we could save it, and it is a great trial to find that it must be amputated; not that I would rather Albert could have his foot than his war record, but he seems very weak to go through such an operation. I shall sit by him to-night; it is not necessary, but I should regret having left him if he should not endure the operation well.

Our joint love to mother and the dear baby. MABEL.

LETTER V. — TO MARY LAWRENCE.

WARD SEVENTEEN, MEAD HOSPITAL, WASHINGTON, Monday, May 16, 1864. }

MY DEAR MARY, — Albert slept very well last night and is in good spirits this morning. Miss Fessenden brought some beef-tea for his breakfast, saying she would not give him any solid food until she knew whether Dr. Gardner intended to have the foot amputated to-day. If it were only well over!

I find if a great solace to relate to you all that happens here, knowing what a sympathizing listener you are. I wish I could give you a graphic description of a hospital ward at night, but there is something about it that must be both seen and felt to be comprehended. The two long rows of beds seem endless in the dim light; half - suppressed moans are heard, and the night - watchers, as they move noiselessly through the ward, look like dusky shadows of men. Several times last night the silence was broken by the racing of a large wharfrat under the beds; as it scented booty, it would stop in one place and another and wake up all the nervous sleepers, each one of whom would be sure to cry out, “ I wish I could kill that rat! ” One of the awakened patients told me that the night before, while half asleep, he thought he felt something soft and silky on his neck, and when he raised his hand to brush it away, an enormous rat jumped from his neck to the floor. The night-watch said that a few weeks ago, as a soldier’s wounded arm rested on a pillow beside his bed, a rat mounted the chair and ate part of the bread poultice with which the wound was dressed. There were two visitors beside the rats. At midnight the officer of the day, accompanied by a man with a lantern, passed down the ward on his regular round through the hospital.

The situation of one poor man was most touching. Occasionally during the evening I had seen, in the upper part of the ward, a miserable arm raised in the air, with a bandage dangling from a wounded hand; the expression of agony in the movement of that poor hand and arm cut me to the heart, and, though half afraid of intruding, I went to the suffering man, for it was impossible to stay away. He told me that he had been under a cross-fire. On his right arm one ball had entered the front part of the fore-arm about an inch below the elbow, coming out at the shoulder; another entered the back part of the forearm about an inch above the wrist-joint, and escaped at the back of the hand; and another crushed the second joint of the forefinger. On his left arm, one ball entered the fore-arm just above the wrist, and was cut out at the elbow. A ball fractured his right thigh. Another entered his right ankle-joint and came out at the top of the foot. The bottom of the foot was crushed by a shell, making in all eleven different wounds. Finding that he would like to listen, I obtained a candle and read to him a few verses from the Bible, and one of Ryle’s hymns. The sound of my voice seemed to soothe him for a little while, then he would raise his arm again, and the bandage on his poor, wounded hand waved like a signal of distress, as it was. He knew he could not live, and did not like to be left alone; so, while Albert slept, I very gladly sat by him, reading aloud when he seemed to enjoy it. Towards morning 1 went to him for the last time, and when the sun arose, his place was vacant. I am not sorry that I remained in the hospital through the night, for it is a great privilege to be allowed to do even as little as I was able to do, for one about to give up his life for the sacred cause of freedom.

I shall write by the afternoon’s mail. Albert sends love, and says that you and mother must not be too anxious about him. My love attends you and my dear child. MABEL.

LETTER VI. — TO MARY LAWRENCE.

May 16, 1864.

MY DEAR MARY, — The amputation is over! It was performed at two this afternoon. Dr. Gardner thinks Albert went through it very well, and is very sanguine about his recovery.

As you may suppose, I shall not leave Albert to-night; indeed, am already established for the night. The watchers are very kind; they have moved a rocking-chair to the side of Albert’s bed, and made very comfortable arrangements for me. I have written this letter at Miss Fessenden’s table, by the night-watcher’s candle, and must now return to my post.

Midnight.

Another patient has just died; I knew nothing of it until his bed was carried by me. It was quite a shock to me, when, by the dim light, I suddenly saw the ward-master and an attendant carrying down the ward a bedstead covered with a sheet, which plainly showed the stiff outlines of a dead man’s form. I asked the night-watch what had caused the man’s death, and he answered, " amputation of a leg. " My heart sank. He told me they took the bedstead out because it was much the most quiet way of carrying out the dead. The body of the dead soldier is carried to the operating-room adjoining the ward, and there washed and clothed for burial.

Albert has waked up twice, and taken a little beef-tea each time. I will write you to - morrow. It would be a great comfort to take my dear baby in my arms this moment. MABEL.

LETTER VII. — TO MARY LAWRENCE.

May 17, 1864.

MY DEAR MARY, — Albert is very weak to-day, but Dr. Gardner says he is doing well. The only pain of which he complains is a sensation as if the amputated foot were on and paining him still. Your letter arrived this morning. I am truly thankful for such a good report of my dear baby.

The life here, among men who are hanging between life and death, is very intense; a person soon becomes absorbed in the surroundings. I feel quite at home now, and am very much interested in the patients; still I am a little shy of going to them without a special errand, and am inexpressibly astonished at the curiosity of some women, and men too, who come in as visitors.

To - day the screens were arranged around a soldier’s bed while his thighwound was dressing. Two women, walking through the ward, actually stopped and peeped over them. These people are no doubt very kind, but they seem to be in search of the horrible. They ask the rudest questions with the most perfect unconsciousness of their own impertinence.

I begin to understand and like Miss Fessenden. She was very busy at dinner-time to-day, and I offered to feed one of the four privates who cannot feed themselves. The man said to me, “ Do they have ladies in all the hospitals, to wait upon the sick and wounded?” I told him I thought not in all. “No,” said he, ‘‘I don’t believe they do in half; ” and, looking still more satisfied, he added, “ not in a third of them.”

May 18th.

Albert had quite a comfortable night, last night. I watched with him again, but you must not think him so ill that I could not leave him. I could not have slept in my own room, knowing that he was lying here so helpless; I had rather take a nap in the afternoon, when Miss Fessenden can watch Albert.

The night passed without incident, but before five o’clock in the morning a loud bugle-call announced the arrival of wounded men, and very soon we heard that two hundred were waiting at the gate. All the attendants hurried to the ambulances to help bring them into the hospital. I went to the end of the ward, and, looking up the yard through the thick fog that cast a misty veil over every object, could discern the figures of men carrying the wounded, upon stretchers, to the different wards; seen through the mist, they looked more like the figures of a dream than real, tangible people.

I had just taken my seat by Albert when the tramp of feet was heard, and one stretcher after another was laid upon the floor, until there were seven. There was a great excitement among the attendants. Miss Fessenden soon appeared, and taking a bottle of wine and a medicine - glass began with the nearest man. I held the bottle while she administered the wine.

After beds had been assigned the new patients, Miss Fessenden asked me to go with her to the ladies’ house, while the newly-arrived were washed and put in bed.

The “ladies’ house” is rough, but comfortable. We went into a reception room or hall, the furniture of which consisted of two wooden chairs and a very small unpainted table. “ Now,” said Miss Fessenden, “I am sure you must need a cup of coffee; and it may be late before I can go to my breakfast.”

She began her preparations for coffee by bringing from her room an alcohol lamp, and placing a tin pot of water over it; then came a box of crackers, a bottle of olives, a can of concentrated milk, a cup and saucer, and a mug. In a very short time the water was boiling, and we had the most delicious coffee I have drank since leaving home. I must not forget to add what Miss Fessenden made a point of telling me, that coffee, crackers, etc., were all sent to her by her mother for her own use.

We returned to the ward quite refreshed, and found the new seven in their respective beds. I was pleased to find that an agreeable-looking Ohio man had been put in the bed next Albert’s.

I have promised to write home for these men, so must close this letter.

Albert unites with me in love to yourself and mother, not forgetting our little boy. Lovingly yours, MABEL.

LETTER VIII. — TO MARY LAWRENOE.

May 20, 1864.

My DEAR MARY, — This morning I was up and out at a very early hour. Went to market, and there purchased a Porter House steak for Albert’s breakfast, some delicious fresh rolls, enough to give to several patients, and a ball of fresh butter; and, after exploring the market, was fortunate enough to find a basket of strawberries that looked as if they had just been gathered. I reached the hospital by half past six. Miss Fessenden and Moses were hurrying about with medicines and stimulants. Albert was surprised to see me at so early an hour, and I had such a good time getting ready for and giving him his breakfast. At first Miss Fessenden looked dismayed when I asked if the beefsteak could be broiled, and said that, she did not like to ask to have anything extra done in the special diet kitchen, because the servants there were so much overworked.

“ But,” she added, “ we might go to the other kitchen and find out what can be done there.” We went, and were successful. The steak was brought at breakfast - time, well broiled and hot. Albert enjoyed it exceedingly, and I was able to give Ames enough for his breakfast, and six strawberries, all that Miss Fessenden would allow him or Albert; none were allowed to the pleasant French adjutant whom I had quite set my heart upon treating.

I wish that the ladies who have sent so many nice things could have the satisfaction of presenting their own gifts once, just to know what a pleasure it is. The things sent make a most acceptable variety to hospital fare, in which there is so great a sameness that it requires a person of many resources to keep some of the men contented. I have been amused at the tone in which Miss Fessenden asks a patient what he would like; it seems to imply that she has inexhaustible supplies at hand, and she herself says she always feels that anything a wounded man wants she can somehow manage to obtain.

This afternoon the surgeon took from the arm of a young man four inches of the large bone. He was brought in with a large piece of cannon-ball sticking in his right arm, between the elbow and the shoulder. Instead of amputating the arm, the shattered bone was taken out. ¹

It is time for me to say good night. With truest love to all at home,

Your loving sister, MABEL.

LETTER IX. —TO MARY LAWRENCE.

May 23, 1864.

MY DEAR MARY, —I have just dispatched a letter to your mother, and will now begin one to you.

This morning Miss Fessenden, in a state of great indignation, came to tell us a sad and very exceptional incident connected with the death of a young soldier in this ward. He was dreadfully wounded, and directly on coming to the hospital had written to the girl to whom he was engaged, saying he was a mere wreck, and would not hold her to her engagement. He received in reply a very heartless letter, saying that she had never considered herself bound to him since he enlisted. His wound was supposed to be fatal; but he had been doing so well that slight hopes of his recovery had been entertained. After he read that letter he seemed to have no courage to live, and refused to take his medicines and stimulants, though told that his only chance of recovery lay in taking them. He died within two or three days after receiving the letter. Miss Fessenden says she cannot conceive how any woman can marry a man who has not been wounded. I reminded her that it was impossible for every man to have had the chance to be wounded; and that some earnest, patriotic men are compelled by circumstances to stay at home, and are doing almost as much — I can never say of them quite as much, for what is equal to life? — for the country as if in the army.

“ It need not always be a flesh and blood wound,”she replied; “ but I can’t believe in a man until he is in earnest enough in some good cause to be wounded for it.”

I inclose a letter that Miss Fessenden lately received from an old patient who belongs to a Maine regiment. He was sent to a Philadelphia hospital before the battle of the Wilderness. Please return the letter when you have read it.

Our love to all, from the dear grandmother to the darling baby.

MABEL.

LETTER X. — FROM ALONZO COLCORD TO MISS FESSENDEN.

——HOSPITAL, PHILADELPHIA, } May 20, 1864.

MIss FESSENDEN, —&emdash; I will now report myself to you, after keeping you waiting so long, and I will commence by trying to give you a faint impression of this hospital. I do wish that I could do it justice. I shall not attempt to give you a plan of this hospital, for I cannot. It holds three thousand men, when full. The wards accommodate sixty men each, and range from A to X, and then they go by numbers. The wards are plastered on the outside. We have cold and hot water every day, and in plenty.

The rules and regulations are altogether different here from those at Washington. When the doctor comes in we have to put all our clothes on the foot of the beds; the ward-master calls to us, “ Attention! Salute! Rest! ” The doctor has a book, and when one wants any medicine, he puts the number of the bed down, and so goes from one to another in the same way. The ward - master makes out the extra diet. We have no lady nurses in the wards, but are not without females, for we have the “ Sisters ” to look out for the sick, and they are very kind to all. The sick get better care than the wounded. The doctors do not seem to look out very well for the wounded, as those used to at Mead Hospital. We have only two attendants in this ward, and they have as much as they can do.

When we first came here there was nothing in the ward but the beds, and they are poor ones. We have a new ward-master; he is from the “ bush,” as the sailor said, so he is afraid to do anything but what is “orders.” He came in one morning and said, — “ Men, I want this ward to look as well as any in the house.”

We have sport, to see how green these new ones are.

Now I will say a word or two about our rations. We do not live near as well as we did at Washington. The men find a great deal of fault, but are looking forward to the day when their time will expire. Our cooking is all done by steam. The hospital has an engine to heat water and cook. This hospital is carried on by contract. ——draws the money from government, and buys the rations himself; so he is making a large pile out of it.

As for the out - buildings, we have a barber’s shop, printing-office, chapel, and reading-room; the last-mentioned is fitted up in good style; they have alt kinds of reading that is good, and a plenty of fiction. In this room there is a billiard table and all kinds of games. The most splendid thing that I have seen is a glass case with a fountain full of fishes. I should like for you to see it; you could not help admiring it.

We have good air, for we are on a high hill; but, to tell the truth, I do not like it here, for a fence twenty feet high incloses the grounds and prevents our seeing anything, and the wards are so close together that the hospital looks like a prison more than anything else.

The wounded are coming in here by hundreds. Miss Fessenden, I am thinking what a hard time you are having now. for the wounded are crowding the hospitals. You must not make yourself sick by working too hard.

I saw one of my company that was wounded. My regiment is almost all gone. How I feel, to hear of my comrades melting away like snow, before the destructive fire of the enemy! This is a most beautiful day; the sun shines brightly; and I am thinking how our poor soldiers are fighting this day, and I am finding fault in the rear when I should be thankful to be so well off.

My wound is very troublesome now; it is all healed up, but pains me very much. I think it will trouble me all summer. I had a very hard time coming on to Philadelphia in the cars. I was about played out, and have not been very well since; this is the reason that I have not written to you before.

One thing more: James Brown, who belongs to the —— Maine regiment, Company D, wanted me to request you to ask Dr. Stedman whether he should get his discharge here; it was made out at the Mead Hospital, and signed by Stedman. By so doing you will oblige him much, and when you write let me know the verdict. So now adieu for this time. Please write as soon as you can. I think this quite a long letter, and you must excuse all mistakes, for I do not pretend to write a perfect letter.

From your friend,

ALONZO COLCORD.

LETTER XI. —TO MART LAWRENCE.

May 25, 1864, Wednesday, p. M.

MY DEAR MARY, — Yesterday I was delighted to see Mrs. —— enter the ward. It is a year since her brave husband died for his country. She has come to Washington to he nearer her brother during the summer campaign, and is as beautiful and fascinating as ever. Mrs.——has been in the habit of visiting this ward when in Washington, as she knows Miss Fessenden, who says, “ The whole ward brightens when she enters.”

The six o’clock train brought two mothers to ward seventeen: one is a sad, quiet-looking woman, whose son will die; the other woman is noisy and loud-talking; fortunately her son is in the upper end of the ward; he is doing well, and will soon be carried home.

Ames’s leg was amputated yesterday afternoon; he seems very weak; the flies trouble him; I must fan them away, and finish my letter to-morrow.

May 26th.

Ames has had a chill. Miss Fessenden tries in vain to tempt his appetite with the good things that have been sent to her. Dr. Stedman himself makes very large requisitions upon the Sanitary Commission, but does not allow the ladies in his hospital to make requisitions upon that or any agency in Washington. Now almost all supplies of linen, etc., are sent to the front, and every three or four days the hospital supply gives out: for tent wards are continually being added, and the number of patients increases faster than the extra supplies arrive. Owing to the interest felt in the ward by former patients, Miss Fessenden has had boxes of supplies sent directly to her, and says that in the crowded state of the hospital the patients could not have been made comfortable without them; and she is able to send things to the tent wards.

I was silly enough to ask Miss Fessenden, who is from Maine, if the Massachusetts women had not done more for the soldiers than those of any other State. It amused her intensely. She said everybody knew that the Massachusetts women had done splendidly, and so had those of the other States; but if she could choose the State on which to make her requisitions, it would be Connecticut, for never had she seen such soft and fine old linen, such lint, and all sorts of useful things, as the Connecticut ladies sent. Then Miss Fessenden told me a great deal about the Massachusetts women in Washington, how much they had done for the wounded, and said that she herself owed whatever skill she possessed in taking care of the wounded to the instructions of a Boston lady, with whom she spent some time in a hospital during the early days of the war.

I hope your mother receives regularly my daily report of Albert’s progress.

With love to all, your loving sister, MABEL.

LETTER XII. —TO MART LAWRENCE..

May 27, 1864.

MY DEAR MARY, — The ward has seemed a sadder place to-day than before. There has been hardly a moment when there were not moans to be heard. Miss Fessenden tells me that the men never arrived in better spirits, but she has never before heard so many groans, and has never been in the ward of a surgeon who really devoted all his time to the patients, as Dr. Gardner does. Do the men groan more when the surgeon stays in the ward ?

Throughout the hospital the wounds have not done as well as usual. Some of the men fought so long that they were exhausted before they were wounded, and then came the terrible journey in the ambulances; it is not surprising that they do not rally quickly.

There is in the ward a New Hampshire lieutenant whose case seems a very sad one; he is apparently in great distress of mind, and to-day asked to see the chaplain, who is ill and unable to leave his house; but fortunately a minister visited the ward this morning. One need not be in want of a spiritual adviser here, for men connected with the Christian Commission come every day; a Catholic priest, who looks like, and is said to be, a very good, kind man, is also a daily visitor; the Rev. Mr. Channing calls occasionally, and would come any time when sent for.

Once to-day there has been a hearty laugh in the ward at the expense of Lieutenant B——, a very peculiar man, with a long, thick beard. He is said to have been a Pennsylvania school-master before the war. It happened that Dr, Gardner, Miss Fessenden, and the wardmaster were all out of the ward at the same moment. Lieutenant B—— requested the attendants to bring him his clothes. This they refused to do without an order from Dr. Gardner; he insisted, but to no purpose; and then with great difficulty — for he has a wound in one leg, — he let himself down from the bed to the floor, and, in his shirt and drawers, tried to make his way over the floor by hopping on his hands and one leg; but after having accomplished the length of two or three beds he was obliged to give up, and was ingloriously carried back to bed by the attendants.

Lieutenant B—— cannot do anything without making a little flourish. Here is the copy of a note he sent to Miss Fessenden, with two letters to be put in the office: —

DEAR MADAM, — Feeling that you are the soldier’s friend, not only their friend but their very guardian angel, gliding along sylph-like, supplying and anticipating our wants, — nay, the very spirit of the institution, all working through you so noiseless and so uniform, permit me, then, to request that you will direct the mailing of these letters; then I shall be sure they are not mislaid.

Yours respectfully, JOHN B——.

Mrs. ——sent some very nice-looking jelly to-day. Miss Fessenden gave me some to carry to a bright - looking boy, who was sitting up in bed. He seemed to enjoy it, and I asked him if he liked it. He said he did, very much, but added, “ Nothing ever tastes so good to me as what my mother makes, even if it is made of just as nice things.”

As Miss Fessenden was cutting up the roast beef for a wounded man’s dinner, I heard him say to her, “ No one can complain of the treatment he receives here; I don’t know as any one could be better treated.”

I must say good-by, and attend to Albert. Our joint love to all.

MABEL.

LETTER XIII.— TO MART LAWRENCE.

May 28, 1864.

MY DEAR MARY, — I went to market at an early hour this morning to purchase some fresh rolls for Albert’s breakfast, and tried to find something that Ames could eat, but did not succeed.

Mrs. ——comes regularly every fore-

noon, and brings whatever any patient particularly wants; sometimes it is sweet, fresh butter and home-made bread; at another time ice-cream or oranges; this morning she brought a basket of newlaid eggs. Her visit is the cheeriest incident of the day.

Last night Mrs. Damon — the quiet mother—watched beside her son. It was thought he would not live through the night, but he does not seem weaker this morning. It is another case of pyæmia, which is said to be almost an epidemic now. His color is a decided yellow.

Dr. Gardner is beginning to show the effects of his constant work over wounds. He came to this hospital from the field, ill of pus poisoning, and, finding how great a need there was for more surgeons here, he stayed instead of returning home. He is rarely out of the ward from morning until night, and attends to the dressing of the wounds himself, which is an unusual thing for a surgeon to do. I think it is in consequence of his judicious care that Albert has got on so well. The fear that Dr. Gardner may be obliged to return home on account of his own health makes me wish to leave Washington. I have talked with the doctor about it, and he thinks we may do so in ten days, perhaps sooner, if Albert continues to improve. Dr. Gardner thinks the risk of moving will be more than counterbalanced by the benefit of pure air and the quiet of home.

One young fellow is already on his crutches. He would not stay in bed, but when no one was looking would get out, and, with the stump of his left leg resting in a sling suspended from his neck, would travel all over the lower part of the ward on his hands and foot. A day or two ago Dr. Gardner ordered some crutches for him, and he began to walk, with a man on each side to keep him steady: to-day he walked with the assistance of only one man, but he still lifts his leg very high. At first his attire consisted of shirt and drawers; but since he has had his crutches he has added to it an embroidered artillery jacket and a little round cap.

Mrs. —— has sent Miss Fessenden a rolling chair for the use of the ward. One man, who has been in it several times, to-day, is perfectly delighted with it. He looks with admiration on the wheels, pats them, and wonders what the chair cost; thinks he shall get the worth of the money out of it himself.

Some of the patients are sliding into the half - unconscious state that usually comes before death; many others are full of hope and bright anticipations of the pleasures to be enjoyed when they can go home on a furlough.

With best love to the dear grandmother and baby.

LETTER XIV. —TO MARY LAWRENCE.

Sunday, May 29., 1864.

MY DEAR MARY, — I have been tonight with Miss Fessenden to visit the quarters of the colored people who work in the laundry, etc. A prayer-meeting was croing on. One man made some remarks in which he endeavored to impress it upon his hearers that they owed their freedom to Almighty God alone. He said that Abraham Lincoln had only done what God Almighty made him do; then he prayed that “ de Lord would touch ebery heart wid de finger ub his love.” Another man prayed that “ de Lord would ride his conqueren horse down in Dixie dis a’ternoon, dis ebenin’! ” Then he spoke of the time when an old man used to come round preaching to them in the night, because he did not dare to come in the day-time; and when he was caught he was nearly murdered.

We could not stay until the meeting was over, as Miss Fessenden thought she must return to her ward; but before we came away we went up-stairs to see the quarters for the women. The entire second story is made into one rough room; here all the women and children sleep. We found four old women and a few of the younger women, who were attending to their children, getting babies to sleep and making attempts to undress the older children, who, in frolic, would contrive to slip out of their reach and race about the room.

Two or three candles made the room just light enough to give a sort of weird, fantastic look to the whole scene. The women seemed very much pleased to see us. One of the old women was very much excited and talked very earnestly, throwing up her arms as she spoke; the others gathered around her, one by one, until they formed a half -circle of which she was the centre. She told us a good deal of her own experience. She saw Jackson kill Ellsworth. “ Was mighty sorry for de colonel,” but was so glad when Jackson was killed that she could not help shouting “ Victory! ” for she thought the Lord had come to deliver them. At that time she got away and was free, and what she earned was her own. She said it was parting with their children, and never knowing what became of them, that broke their hearts. She has sons and daughters. I asked if they were with her. She answered, —

“ Oh no, missus! They are sold, sold, sold down South ! ”

The sons were carried off, she did not know where; but, “T’ank de Lord!” she had her daughter Eliza to look at. And there was “ Mister Lincoln; ” just think what he had done for them; and ought n't they to praise him and be grateful to him? “ ’Deed they had! ” She prayed for him every day, and would as long as she lived, and hoped that in the next world she should see him. And then to think of the ladies who had left their homes to come and take care of the soldiers; and to think what the Yankees had done for the poor colored people! Oughtn’t they to thank the Lord and trust him ? I would have liked to stay longer, but as we could not we shook hands all round, and left.

On our way out we met a colored woman leading a little girl. Upon the very top of the child’s head stood a little pug of tightly-braided hair tied with a red string. The woman explained that the child’s palate troubled her by dropping down, and that it was a cure for it to braid very tightly a certain lock of hair on the very top of the head.

I have written this evening in the ward. Albert joins me in love to all our dear ones at home, whom we hope soon to see.

LETTER XV. —TO MARY LAWRENCE.

May 31, 1864.

MY DEAR MARY, — ... Ames’s bed is already occupied by another, a young man of twenty - two years, who was brought in yesterday. He is a magnificent, soldierly-looking man, with fine face, and light-brown hair that curls slightly around his forehead, He has a compound fracture of the thigh, and his recovery is very doubtful. He lies almost all the time with his eyes closed, and seems to suffer a great deal, but makes no complaint. To-day I said to him, “ You are very patient.”

He replied, “ I can stand more than some can,” and then the tears came into his eyes.

The New Hampshire lieutenant, whose bed was nearly opposite Albert’s, died yesterday. They were giving out dinner, and everybody was busy, when I saw that there was some change in him, and spoke to Miss Fessenden, who went directly to him, but he was dead.

This afternoon the son of that gentle woman, Mrs. Damon, passed away. For four days they supposed him dying, and for four days and nights his mother sat by his bed, sometimes talking with him, and at others reading to him. The attendants have been touchingly kind to them both. I was near Miss Fessenden’s table when the mother came and asked if she might keep the little Testament and a Christian Commission hymn-book that she said had been a great comfort to him; of course they were given to her.

Miss Fessenden then remarked to me that she herself knew nothing of the patients except as patients; that her allabsorbing thought was how they could be cured.

I said, “ I can easily imagine that one might come to feel so, when one person is trying to do the work of two, as you now are; but it is a great privilege to be allowed to be here and to do the work that you are doing.”

She replied, with great earnestness, “ Yes, that is exactly what it is, a great, a very great privilege to be here. There are times when the work is not as absorbing as it is now, and then the life in a ward becomes a little dreary; but there is more satisfaction in rendering a little help in the care of these wounded soldiers than in anything I ever did. It has brought a great blessing to me. It has entirely changed my feelings about death.”

I asked in what way.

She answered, “ In the certainty of the life beyond, that has come to me. Sometimes when a soldier has departed, it has seemed like this: that as the veil which separates the two worlds is lifted to receive the soul, before it is dropped again I have caught a glimpse of the world beyond; and I know that they themselves are there, the same men I have watched here, and that we shall meet again. It is such a comfort when one comes to realize that the very same person lives on; that dropping the body does not change the spirit, but only its surroundings. You look surprised to hear me speak so positively, but it is so real to me that I cannot help it, and it astonishes me whenever I hear one person say of another, ‘I shouldn’t be sorry if he were dead,’ and such sort of sayings, as if death were the end of a person; though I must confess that I am not insensible to the present relief of having a very troublesome person taken away. ”

We talk every day of our return home, and long to see you all once more.

LETTER xvI. —TO MARY LAWRENCE.

June 1, 1864.

MY DEAR Mary,—I have had in my experience to-day more variety than usual. Finding that Miss Fessenden wished very much to go to the Sanitary Commission on an errand, but was perplexed to know how she could leave the ward in the forenoon, I asked if I might go for her.

“It would be a great relief if you would go,” she replied. “ Will you ask to have William Brown’s descriptive list looked up? His captain was killed, and his papers have not yet been sent to this hospital. He is in great want of his back pay to send to a sick wife, and the Sanitary Commission will get it for him.”

She gave me a paper with the man’s name, rank, company, regiment, etc., written upon it, and asked if I would do an errand at the same place for Miss Munroe.

I went to ward sixteen and learned Miss Munroe’s errand, which was to ask if the Sanitary Commission would see that the discharge papers of James Bidwell, Company K, —— Maine Volunteers, go through the War Department as soon as possible, for the man is failing and is very anxious to live to get home.

The reason for going to the Sanitary Commission about these matters is that they can get such cases attended to at once. Some member of the commission takes the papers and carries them through the department, obtaining the necessary signatures. If these two patients waited for their turn they might have to wait for weeks. My errands were successfully accomplished.

On my return, went to Miss Munroe’s ward to say that her man’s case would be attended to immediately, and made her quite a long call. Her home is in Massachusetts. She is a gentle, interesting woman, and perfectly enthusiastic when she talks of the soldiers. I ventured to ask her if she did not think she saw the best side of a soldier’s character.

“ Oh, yes,” she replied, “ every man shows the best side of his character to a woman whom he respects; but who would have thought that the best side was so very fine ? And I am sure I do not take an exaggerated view of their patriotism, patience, and fortitude. In all their conversations to which I have listened, I cannot recall any bitterness of feeling towards the South; it is a steady, determined devotion to the country; and this loyalty to a principle throws such a halo around them as to cast their faults of character, for the time, into the shade.”

Miss Munroe is very decided in her preference of privates as patients; says the officers, unless badly wounded, do not need the care of ladies. She said, “ I came for the privates, and never feel that I am doing my work when we have to take in officers. I remember at one time, when we had to take in more than twenty officers, I became so much exhausted from overwork as to be confined to my room for a week. On returning I went through the ward, speaking to the patients. Each private said he was glad to see me back, and inquired how my own health was; while each officer, without a single exception, told me how glad he was that I had got back, for he had had nothing fit to eat since I left.”

When I expressed surprise, she added, “ Those men were not an unpleasant set, by any means; and, it is true, we had very young convalescent soldiers for attendants, who, finding the officers in their power, probably could not resist the temptation of annoying them about their meals.”

As I was leaving, Miss Munroe invited me to a tea-party in the “ ladies’ house” to-night, saying she had this morning received a large box full of eatables from her mother, for herself and friends, so she had invited all the nurses to tea. I was happy to accept the invitation.

Albert joins me in love to yourself, mother, and the dear baby.

LETTER XVII.—TO MARY LAWRENCE.

June 2, 1864.

MY DEAR MARY, — I am sure you will want to know how the tea-party went off last night.

After both suppers had been given out in this ward, Miss Fessenden asked me to accompany her, and, instead of going to the dining-room, went to the " ladies’ house.” On the way we were joined by several ladies, all hurrying in the same direction. We found Miss Monroe already in the hall, kneeling on one knee before a chair, on which was placed a board, and upon this stood two alcohol lamps; over one of them a pot of coffee was making, and a large teakettle of water was boiling over the other. At one side of it was a teapot; into this Miss Monroe turned the boiling water as we entered.

The little table and some boxes served as the supper table, upon which were spread delicious bread and butter that had come all the way from Massachusetts, and many other good things that motherly love and care had provided.

In a very few moments all the ladies had assembled; each one came bringing either the chair from her own room or a box from the store-room, that, turned upside down, made a very good seat.

Not a moment was lost; Miss Fessenden assisted Miss Monroe in serving the other ladies, and then, seating herself upon a keg, managed to eat her own supper, wait upon everybody, and do her share of the talking. This last it is impossible to describe, for while the company was divided into little knots, each discussing some very absorbing subject, there was at the same time a general conversation kept up in which each lady occasionally joined. There were stories told of faithful and unfaithful surgeons; of kind visitors, distinguished visitors, and visitors who were only annoying; of very interesting patients who were so disappointing on recovery, sure to get intoxicated the first time they had a pass, and of patients who had seemed nearly dead and yet got well.

Very soon the ladies began to leave; first, one who had a very sick patient whose medicines she must attend to herself, then another whose surgeon was to make his evening visit earlier than usual; and in a few minutes all had gone except Miss Fessenden, who stayed to help Miss Monroe put things in order. This somewhat picnic-like element in the life here is very attractive.

The ladies are a very pleasant set, receive no pay for their services, and seem to take a most enthusiastic interest in their work.

One thing I heard at the tea-party makes me wish to be making preparations to go home. They say that the officers are always moved into one or two wards by themselves, and there are rumors that they are to be moved in a few days. Nobody knows which wards are to be devoted to officers, but Miss Fessenden thinks this will not be one of them. I should not like Albert to have a new surgeon, neither do we wish to leave Miss Fessenden; so we shall try to get away just as soon as it will be safe for Albert. Our love to all at home.

LETTER XVIII. — TO MARY LAWRENCE.

Saturday Evening, June 4th.

I am delighted to write you that the day for our return home is very near. We have decided to leave Washington next Monday night. Dr. Gardner thinks that Albert can bear the journey quite as well as the heat here. Colonel Tufts has called to see Albert, and will make arrangements for him to go in a hospital car, where he can lie down. Dr. Gardner has promised to see us safely into the train; and if Albert is not as well when we reach New York, or if we need any help, Colonel F. E. Howe will take care of us; so you see that we shall be well provided for.

Miss Fessenden expresses great regret that we are to leave her so soon, and we shall be very sorry to say good-by to her. I did not think at first that we should part such good friends. She has let me copy for you a letter from a soldier’s sister. He died in this ward. Miss Fessenden has known of but three cases where patients were conscious while dying, and he was one of the three. He had been very patient through long and great suffering, and when dying took each one who had taken care of him by the hand, and said to each, “Good-by; I hope to meet you in heaven.” And when he could not speak, he beckoned to his mother not to look at him, his suffering distressed her so much.

I am very, very thankful, my dear Mary, that I have been here. My heart aches for the women who are waiting at home. Truly, to wait is heroic; but to minister to one’s nearest friend is blessed!

This is probably the last letter I shall write you from here. Can it be possible that on Wednesday I shall see you all once more! I shall have a thousand things to tell you, and can hardly wait till Wednesday before seeing my baby. Albert does not dread the journey, he so longs to see you all.

With love to our dear mother, I am your grateful and affectionate sister, MABEL LAWRENCE.

Rachel Rollins.