Kate Cumming: A Journal of Hospital Life in the Confederate Army of Tennessee.

December 3.— Mrs. W. has returned from Mobile, and she brought us quite a number of rags. The Mobilians are as kind as ever. We expected her to bring coffee and tea, but they are too high. The former was fifteen dollars per pound; the latter sixteen dollars. She paid sixty-five dollars for a pair of boots; the most I have paid for the article is thirty dollars.

November 30.—One of the coldest days I have experienced in a long time. The water froze in the buckets and pitchers in our rooms. My heart sickens when I think of the sufferings of our men. I have been told that many of them have scarcely enough clothes to cover them, and neither shoes nor stockings. We have had many come here in this plight. This makes me feel perfectly miserable; I wish I could forget it.

The good news which we heard yesterday, to-day is confirmed. The enemy pursued our people as far as Ringgold, when General Cleiburne, with his gallant command, turned and fought them, driving them back, killing and capturing thousands. Gen. C, I am told, is a brave officer. He is a son of that isle which has produced one of the princes of generals, Wellington; and I am told he is not without some of the fire that glowed in his illustrious countryman.

Troops are passing daily to reinforce this army.

Sunday, November 29.—A very cold day. Mr. Moore, who is now our chaplain, had service in the court-house.

The news to-day from the army is a little more cheering, but it is almost impossible to hear any thing definite. We had a few wounded brought in last night.

I see by the papers that the Georgia legislature has appropriated a large sum of money for the relief of the soldiers’ families in their state. I do hope that all the other states will imitate them. Men can not be expected to fight when their wives and children are starving.

I see by the same papers that Lincoln is out with another call for three hundred thousand more troops. Many are confident he will not get them, but that is one of the phantoms we have been chasing and placing our hopes upon ever since the war, and time after time it has vanished like the “baseless fabric of a dream,” which it is. When Lincoln has failed to get men from his own land, he has used every means at his command to recruit in foreign countries. And, notwithstanding Lord Lyons’s punctilio about international law, thousands of men have been recruited on British soil.

They are men deluded in every possible way.

Lincoln may get men to fill his last call, and yet, if the South is only true to herself, she can never be conquered. “The battle is not always to the strong.”

I look around me sometimes, and sec so many good, intelligent men, and think what a sad thing it would be were we subjugated. I believe such a thing is a moral impossibility, and can never happen.

I firmly believe there is not a state in the Confederacy that will not be scourged by the invader, for the sins we have committed in our prosperity, forgetting the Most High, who is the giver of all good. True, the enemy have sinned as well as we, which sins they will have to answer for, if not to-day, some other.

How often do we see, in reading the history of the Jews, that God used as instruments the most wicked nations on earth with which to scourge them, when they were guilty of the same sins we are.

The history of that nation was written mainly for an example for us to profit by. Individuals and nations will be judged according to the light given them.

Another of our phantoms—foreign intervention—I am in hopes has vanished forever from the minds of our people. I have often thought, if we could have it, the war would cease; for, boastful as the Federals are, I do not think they would go to war with foreign powers.

Many have praised France for her goodwill toward us, but to save my life I can not see what she has done.

I believe now, more than ever, we ought to judge people by their acts and not their words. The latter cost nothing. They will not put money in our coffers, nor aid us in any way; and, as Pope says,

“One self-approving hour whole years outweighs

Of stupid starers, and of loud huzzas.”

The consciousness of having done our duty will be better than all the flattery they could give us.

When the war commenced, my main hope for aid was from Great Britain, as I had always thought of her as the defender of the oppressed, but like many others of my hopes, this one has also fallen.

I have heard many say that she rejoices at this struggle, as she has always been jealous of the growing power of the United States, and she will wait until we wear each other out before giving us any aid. I have always rejected this cruel, heartless accusation with indignation, for I can not bring myself to think that the people whom I have loved to look up to for every thing that was magnanimous and great, could rejoice at the misery of any nation, much less that of its descendants. If such could be the case, I think, with nations as with individuals, that for every dishonest and unprincipled motive, no matter how seemingly clothed with justice? the act may be, an account must be given; and if Great Britain is base enough to keep back from giving us aid, from the motive imputed to her, her day of reckoning will surely come. I have thought that she did not give us aid because she could not consistently be an abettor of slavery. But I have given up that notion, for I know that the Britons are endowed with judgment enough to see through the mask worn by the abolitionists, and to know that we, not they, are the true friend of the negro.

Mr. Lindsay, M. P., made a speech lately in Middlesex, England, in which he says he has conversed with Dr. Livingston on the condition of the negro in Africa, and Dr. L. had told him it was not possible to conceive any thing like the degradation of the race in that country.

If people would only think, they would see, even taking Mrs. Stowe’s book for their standard, that there are no negroes on the face of the earth as happy as those who are slaves in this country. Mrs. S. drew a true picture when she drew Uncle Tom, for we have many such among us; and from all we can learn such characters are rare in the North and other countries where the negro race is. As for Mr. Legree, few southerners deny having such among us. I know of one, a Scotchman. Ho whipped a negro child to death; was tried and put in the penitentiary. Hanging would have been too good for such a man, so all said. The wife of this wretch died of a broken heart, from ill treatment. The latter crime, I believe, is not rare among the “unco guid” and their neighbors, if we are to believe their own papers. I never take up one but I read about some half dozen men being tried for wife-beating. Such a thing is rarely heard of here. I know of a few more Legrees. Two are New Englanders and one a Dutchman. They beat their negroes, but they are despised by all who know them. They are no worse than Squeers, who, we are told, is a true representative of many a man in England. If we are to judge of Britons from Squeers, and others I have spoken about, we may all pray to be delivered from coming in contact with such a race of wife-beaters and monsters as they must be. But we all know that atrocities committed by wicked men are no standard by which to judge the nation to whom they belong.

I have often alleged as a reason for foreigners and northerners ill-treating negroes so much more than the southerners, that the negro, like his master, is not over-fond of work. The foreigner is accustomed to have white servants work from daylight till dark, and many of them after dark; they expect the same work from the negro, but all in vain, for the darky has no such ideas of life—eat, sleep, and no work, is his motto. These people, not understanding the character of the negro, lose patience with him, and try by whipping to get the same amount of work from them as they have been in the habit of getting from white servants. Many a time, while we have listened to the tales about the work done by white servants in Scotland, we have said, who could live in a country where such things are done, and where there was such slavery. The southern people do not respect any one who overworks his servants. That they have not done their whole duty by the slaves they do not deny. They should have laws protecting them from these monsters; but, as I have said before, they are not to blame. And as soon as we have peace, I am told that the first thing our people will do is to improve their condition.

But I have wandered from the subject of recognition. I feel confident that it is not on account of slavery that Britain has kept aloof from us. The why and the wherefore is yet to be known. She has borne insult after insult from the Federals, till I have heard some of her people on “this side of the water” indignantly cry out:

“My country! colors not thy once proud brow

At this affront! Hast thou not fleets enow,

With Glory’s streamer, lofty as the lark,

Gay fluttering o’er each thundering bark,

To warm the insulter’s seas with barbarous blood.”

This M. P., Mr. Lindsay, makes an acknowledgment in his speech, which proves that that immaculate British government has not only permitted recruiting, but he says that the very guns and ammunition now used in bombarding Charleston came from England. What is Lord Lyons about? Perhaps that is not a breach of the law, only bending it. Well, we have certainly enough to contend with—foes within and the whole world without.

“If but a doubt hung o’er the fields of fray,

Or trivial rapine stopped the world’s highway,

Were this some common strife of states embroiled,

Britannia on the spoiler and the spoiled

Might calmly look, and, asking time to breathe,

Still honorably wear her olive wreath;

But this is darkness combating with light;

Earth’s adverse principles for empire fight.”

I hope that our people will not be deluded any longer, but look to themselves, having a full trust in God, and in the justice of our cause.

November 28.—A gloomy day, but still gloomier news. I can not see one gleam of light either on nature’s horizon or the nation’s. Alas! for the fate of our brave army. It has had a battle; and, after fighting desperately, had to retreat leaving the wounded in the enemy’s hands. It is bad enough to be wounded, and with friends; but wounded and a prisoner, how dreadful that must be! May God comfort them, and be their stay in affliction! For once, the sight of the wounded coming in makes me perfectly happy, for I know that they at least are not in the hands of the enemy. The hospital is again filled with the same sad spectacle—men mutilated in every possible way.

Last night Lieutenant Payne breathed his last. He was a member of the Twelfth Tennessee Regiment, and was in his twentieth year. The only regret he had when dying, was being unable to see his father and mother, who are in the enemy’s lines. Major P., his brother, was with him, and his last wants were ministered to by the hands of loving friends. He suffered long and patiently. Mrs. W. had conversed with him on the subject of religion before he or any of us had the least idea of his being cut off so soon, and she found that he walked humbly with his God. She feels satisfied that he was fully prepared to join the redeemed in that land where there is no gloom, hunger, nor pain, and where God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes. “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.”

Mr. Davis, the young man who had his arm amputated, is doing pretty well. His father is nursing him. He has lost a son and a son-in-law in this war, and has five more sons in the army, and he has not heard from either of them in some time. He is sixty-four years old—nurses this one as well as any young man could. I have not yet heard one murmur from him. The son has suffered a good deal, as he has had gangrene.

We have some dreadful cases of that awful disease. One man, by the name of Deal, a large, fine-looking Texan, who was wounded at Chickamauga. We thought it was impossible to cast a cloud o’er his spirits, as he formerly laughed and made fun of every thing and every body. Since he has had gangrene he is grave enough. He is wounded I think in three places; in his back, in one of his knees, and his chest. The doctors are fearful they will not be able to stop the gangrene on his back before it eats inwardly and reaches some vital part; nor on his knee at all, and that he will likely lose his leg.

We have more just such cases. A Texan, named Hempflin, wounded at the same battle. When he first came here he was able to walk about for some weeks, but has taken gangrene in his wound, and is now hovering between life and death. The disease has eaten into one of the main arteries. Continued compression of the vessel is necessary to save him from instant death. A number of men are detailed for that purpose, who remain with him night and day. They relieve each other every twenty minutes.

A young man, who was slightly wounded on one of his legs, received a furlough, which elated him so much that he jumped around a good deal; the consequence was that he hit his wound against something, causing it to bleed. The surgeons, on examining, found one of the large arteries ruptured, and there was every likelihood of the man’s bleeding to death. Men were detailed to keep up manual compression for three weeks. The man is now well, and has gone home.

The manner in which some of our men’s lives are saved is a perfect miracle. I never expected to see this man get well, But our doctors never despair while there is life.

November 26.—A bright, beautiful day, but the sunshine is forgotten on account of the bad news. We have some wounded men just brought in, members of Walthal’s brigade. They say that on the afternoon of the 25th, the brigade being on Lookout Mountain, the enemy surrounded them before they had the least idea of their being anywhere near them.

The whole brigade has been nearly killed or captured. One man told me he never had such a run in his life. He believes there must have been at least a thousand shots fired at him at one time, not one of them hitting him.

The enemy came on them from all sides, many climbing the steepest part of the mountain.

Our people never will learn watchfulness. Nothing seems to be a lesson to them.

We have lost the mountain. The troops are concentrating on Missionary Ridge.

I expect my brother is captured this time, as he was on the mountain; and he, like many others, has as great an attachment for his gun as if it was a thing of life, and would either be captured with it, or die before giving it up.

November 24.—The enemy have been heavily reinforced, and a battle is daily expected. Dr. Devine has been ordered to the front.

Dr. Hughes has received orders to have the hospital enlarged. A number of the wounded have been sent to the Springs so as to make room for more. A change of any kind is good for sick and wounded; to even move them from one hospital to the other is of benefit.

There has been desperate fighting round Charleston lately. Fort Sumter has been assaulted a number of times, and each time the enemy have been repulsed with great slaughter.

November 23.—About 1 o’clock P.M., Captain T. breathed his last. The suffering patriot and the brave soldier has passed away from earth.

“As the bird to its sheltering nest,

When the storm on the hills is abroad,

So his spirit has flown from this world of unrest,

To repose on the bosom of God!”

He was a member of the Forty-fifth Mississippi Regiment. He has left a wife and, I believe, four children to mourn their loss.

Miss W., by great exertion, has been able to have his remains sent home to his wife. She lives in Summit, Mississippi. The man who nursed him has not had a furlough since entering the service; so Dr. H. has procured him one, and sent the corpse home by him.

Two men died yesterday in the courthouse ward, by the name of Alexander. One, Wm. S., was wounded through the lungs. He suffered much and patiently. I talked and read to him a good deal, which he seemed glad to have me do. I think he was not sensible of his situation, but he seemed resigned. He was a member of the Sixty-third Tennessee Regiment. His mother lives in Knox County, Tennessee. This is the second son whom she has lost in the service. The other man was named W. B., from the same state as the first, and they were not related, nor had ever heard of each other before. He had been here for some months, and I think had consumption. I am told, after bidding all round him farewell, he breathed his last as calmly as if he were going asleep. He had passed through much tribulation; but had cast his care upon Him who had trod this vale of tears, and who is now seated in glorious majesty on high, waiting to receive the spirits of the righteous. He was a member of the Forty-first Tennessee Regiment. I have sent a letter to his mother, who lives in Marshall County, Tennessee. I sent it to his captain (Captain Osborne), who will forward it through the lines.

November 21.—I have received a letter from Dr. Hopping. He has now charge of the Kingston Hospital, and is anxious to have Mrs. W. and myself there again. His wife is with him, and is one of the matrons. I should like very much to go, so as to be near the army; and had fully made up my mind to go either there or to Ringgold, but Dr. Hughes and Dr. Gamble are both unwilling to have Mrs. W. and myself leave, and I think it best to wait until the next battle. Our army may be defeated, and in that case the hospitals brought further in the rear.

Some few days ago I received a letter from my brother. He says his battery is stationed on the top of Lookout Mountain, and that he never saw such accurate firing as that of the enemy from below. He says their balls come right to where they are. The enemy have taken our cavalry by surprise, and by it we have lost a very important place, called Raccoon Mountain. The enemy now have sole possession of the Nashville Railroad, and are being heavily reinforced.

I am losing all confidence in General Bragg. He seems to make no use of his victories. I have been told by many of Longstreet’s men that after the battle of Chickamauga, there were thousands of troops who had come from Virginia, who had never fired a gun in the battle, and with them he might have gone and taken Chattanooga.

I have observed that Wellington and Napoloon, especially the latter, gained nearly all of their great victories by the celerity of their movements. Indeed, it has been the case with the most of great generals. But we must not judge, as we can not tell with what General Bragg has to contend. We have so few men, compared with the enemy, that were it not for the feeling which animates ours we would never gain.

To-day, Miss W. and myself took a walk, and visited some of the patients, who are in tents, about two squares distant. They are some of the gangrene cases, all of which are either in tents or rooms by themselves. They are doing pretty well. Many of them are great sufferers from this terrible disease. It has to be burned out with nitric acid, which is a very painful operation. I sometimes look at the wounds while being dressed, and they are dreadful. My wonder is how they can ever be healed.

After visiting them, we went to Mrs. Hill’s to see Captain Insey, one of the men who was sick at Judge Thornton’s, in Okolona, Miss. He is now very ill. He is a member of the Ninth Alabama Battalion. I have a friend in it, James Kay, of whose welfare I was glad to hear, as his mother had written to me concerning him. Mr. Kay is one of our Mobile boys, and I was much gratified when Captain I. informed me that he is a brave and good soldier.

Captain Thompson is very low, and there is no hope of his recovery. He is perfectly resigned to his fate, and talks as calmly on the subject as if he was going to pay a visit to his family.

November 19.—With the exception of a few, the wounded are doing pretty well.

We have one man, Captain Thompson, who lost a leg at Chickamauga, and while in the field hospital took gangrene and pneumonia besides. No words can ever express the suffering which this man has endured, and I have never seen him without a smile on his countenance, nor heard a murmur from his lips. One of his men is nursing him, and is very devoted to him.

Mr. Green, our chaplain, has gone on a visit somewhere; so I got one of the ladies of the place to send for Mr. Smith, the Methodist presiding elder, who came and prayed with the captain and many of the others. Captain T.’s cousin, Miss W., a very nice young lady, has come to see him. She is with me, assisting.