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

September 19. [Chattanooga] —I have been kept quite busy ever since I came here; in fact, we all have been. We have a good deal to try us, but our minds were made up to expect that before we came. The stove smokes badly, and we find it almost impossible to do any thing with it; besides it is so small that we scarcely have room to cook on it what little we have. The surgeon, Dr. Hunter, like many other men, is totally ignorant of domestic arrangements, and also, like many others, wholly unaware of his ignorance. The only consolation we get from him is a fabulous tale about a woman (a “Mrs. Harris”) who cooked for five hundred people on the same kind of a stove.

One of our greatest trials is want of proper diet for sick men. We do the best we can with what we have—toast the bread and make beef-tea; and we have a little butter—bad at that.

There are no changes of clothing for the men; but we have cloth, and after our day’s work is done, we each make a shirt, which is a great help. The last, though by no means the least, of our troubles is the steward, who has taken a dislike to us, and annoys us in every little petty way possible. His wife has charge of the wards across the street from us. The assistant surgeon complains of her inattention to her duties in waiting on the sick.

A man, by the name of Watt Jones, died in my ward to-day; another, by the name of Allen Jones, yesterday—both members of the Fourth Florida Regiment.

Our room is in the third story, facing the west; the view from it is really grand, and when worn out physically and mentally, I derive great pleasure from looking out. On the north of us runs the Tennessee River; opposite there is a range of hills—one rising above the other—dotted with beautiful residences, surrounded by prettily laid out gardens. On the southwest, is Lookout Mountain, its peak frowning down on the river, which winds around its base—looking like a lion couchant, ready to spring on its prey.

September 16.—I arrived at Chattanooga this morning, about 5 o’clock, having left Dalton on the 15th. Mrs. T. arrived there before I left. Her son was much overcome at the sight of her. Mr. and Mrs. Davis were very kind to me, as was also their niece, an interesting young girl, who had just lost a brother in the service. Mr. D. has two sons in the army. I stopped at Ringgold on the way up. Mrs. M. and Mrs. W. had preceded me, and we are now in the Newsom Hospital. It is a very large one, having been enlarged to double the size it was when we visited it before. The part we occupy is opposite to the wards we formerly visited. We have each a ward assigned us. The house our room is in was a large hotel; Mrs. M. takes charge of it. On the south side is another ward—Mrs. W. in charge—formed of two two-story brick stores; on the north corner is a large brick house three stories high—was a private boarding-house — which is to be under my especial care. It is quite a handsome building. I am much pleased with my portion.

We have a good many patients. One man, by the name of Hughes, died in my ward this morning. He was a member of the Sixteenth Louisiana Regiment. I hope this is not ominous.

We have nothing to cook on but one small stove, and that a smoky one. It cooks for the whole of this side of the hospital. We have nothing to give the men to eat but wheat-bread (very nicely made at the government bakery), fresh beef, rice, tea, and coffee.

We have had no reliable news from the army since it went into Kentucky. A report came a week or two ago that it had reached Covington, and was about to shell Cincinnati. This good news we are almost afraid to believe.

Sundaay, September 14.—A very warm day. I went to though Baptist Church, this morning, with Mr. Davis; it was in a very romantic spot. This is a most beautiful place, in a valley, with mountains each side of it. It is one hundred miles northwest of Atlanta, and is the county-seat of Whitfield, and the terminus of the East Tennessee and Knoxville Railroad. It is south of Ringgold; it has some manufactories, and a number of hospitals, with but few patients in them; a large number are daily expected. The ladies of the place are preparing to take care of them when they come.

I have made the aquaintance of quite a number of the residents here, and am much pleased with them. There is a great deal of simplicity and good-heartedness among them; many of them have a very peculiar accent, such as we read of in the “Georgia Scenes;” indeed, I think the author must have lived in the place, as I have seen more than one of his characters here in real life.

September 10.—I arrived at Dalton, Ga., to-day. Left Ringgold at 6 o’clock this morning; took a very nice breakfast a few miles below, for which we paid one dollar each. When I reached here, I found Judge Thornton and his son delighted to see me; the latter I had never seen before. Poor fellow! he had suffered terribly with his wound; was wasted almost to a skeleton. His father found him in a field hospital in Virginia—no one but a negro man nursing him. Mrs. T. is expected here in a few days, and I intend remaining until she comes. They are living with a very nice family by the name of Davis, who have kindly invited me to stay with them while I remain in this place.

September 8.—A very warm day. Mrs. W. and myself went out to try to get some sweet potatoes for some of the men in the Buckner Hospital. They are very scarce here at present, as the season is a dry one. We got some from a lady who would not take up any for her own use, but as soon as we told her who they were for she gave them to us, and would take no money for them. This lady had two young daughters, who were busy weaving and spinning. They had on dresses spun and woven by themselves. This ancient work is all the fashion now, as we are blockaded and can get no other kind of goods.

We are much pleased with our kind hostess, Mrs. Evans. Some few days ago one of her sons, a Methodist preacher, came to see her, and the first thing he asked us about was Miss Augusta Evans, the authoress, of Mobile, saying he admired her and her works so much that he had named one of his daughters for her. We had a good prayer-meeting while he was here.

When I left Mobile Mr. McVoy gave me some money for his young son, a member of an Alabama regiment, who he had heard was sick up this way. On arriving here I found he was at Wither’s Division Hospital, which was at Tyner’s Station, Tenn. I wrote there, and received an answer from Mr. Colson of the same regiment, telling me that he was dead.

Judge Thornton of Mississippi is now at Dalton, with his wounded son. He brought him from Virginia, and has been unable to proceed further on the way with him. I intend going down to visit him. There is a good deal of trouble about the ladies in some of the hospitals of this department. Our friends here have advised us to go home, as they say it is not considered respectable to go into one. I must confess, from all I had heard and seen, for awhile I wavered about the propriety of it; but when I remembered the suffering I had witnessed, and the relief I had given, my mind was made up to go into one if allowed to do so. Mrs. W. and Mrs. M. have come to the same conclusion on the subject as myself. God has said, “Who can harm you if you be followers of that which is good?” I thought of this, and believed it, and gained strength from it. Christians should not mind what the world says, so that they are conscious of striving to do their duty to their God.

It seems strange that the aristocratic women of Great Britain have done with honor what is a disgrace for their sisters on this side of the Atlantic to do. This is not the first time I have heard these remarks. Not respectable! And who has made it so? If the Christian, high-toned, and educated women of our land shirk their duty, why others have to do it for them. It is useless to say the surgeons will not allow us; we have our rights, and if asserted properly will get them. This is our right, and ours alone.

In a book called the “Sunny South,” written by the lamented Rev. J. H. Ingraham, are the following words: “Soldiers fight the battles of our country, and the least we can do is to cherish them in their helplessness, and bind up their wounds, and all true women will do it, who love their country.” Who among us does not echo his sentiments? Women of the South, let us remember that our fathers, husbands, brothers, and sons are giving up all that mortals can for us; that they are exposed hourly to the deadly missiles of the enemy; the fatigues of hard marching, through burning suns, frost, and sleet; pressed by hunger and thirst; subject to diseases of all kinds from exposure; and last, though by no means least, the evil influences that are common in a large army. Are we aware of all this, and unwilling to nurse these brave heroes who are sacrificing so much for us? What, in the name of common sense, are we to do? Sit calmly down, knowing that there is many a parched lip which would bless us for a drop of water, and many a wound to be bound up? These things are not to be done, because it is not considered respectable! Heaven help the future of our country, for nothing but God’s special aid can save any country where such doctrines are inculcated.

Women of the South, let us remember we have a foe as relentless as Tamerlane or Atilla, who, if we are to believe his own threats, has resolved to lay our towns in ashes, lay waste our fields, and make our fair land a blackened mass of ruins if we will not submit to his domination; and, unless every man and woman in the South do their duty, he will succeed, even though we had a president gifted with the wisdom of Solomon, and generals endowed with the genius of Frederick or Napoleon. I know there are hundreds of our women who look on this subject in the proper light, having household duties to attend to, which they can not leave; but have we not thousands who, at this moment, do not know what to do to pass the time that is hanging heavily on their hands? I mean the young: the old are not able for the work. If it will hurt a young girl to do what, in all ages, has been the special duty of woman—to relieve the suffering—it is high time the youth of our land were kept from the camp and field. If one is a disgrace, so is the other.

Sunday, September 7.—Went to the Methodist Church this morning; heard a very good sermon.

There are two hospitals here, called the Buckner and the Bragg, in honor of those generals. Mrs. W. and I visited them in the afternoon. The Buckner is in a large brick building. Every thing about it is in perfect order. The surgeon in charge, Dr. McAllister, is from Alabama. The matron, Mrs. Beers, is from Louisiana. We saw some very sick men there. One poor fellow the nurses were forcing to eat some very thick arrow-root mixed with wine, but he could not be induced to take it. I fixed some for him, as I had done before in Corinth, which he drank and said was delightful. We then visited the Bragg, which is being fixed up. Dr. Redwood of Alabama is surgeon; Mrs. Glassburn is matron of it. She and the ladies with her are doing much for the benefit of the soldiers.

September 6.—Yesterday I went with a party, fishing; as usual at such parties, we caught no fish. We fished at the Chickamauga Creek, or river. It is a stream that takes its rise in Walker County, flows north-easterly, and enters the Tennessee River at Chattanooga. The scenery around it is wild and picturesque. There is an Indian legend connected with it, from which the river takes its name. The tale is that many years ago two Indian tribes met here and had a desperate battle, with great slaughter on both sides; hence, the name “Chickamauga, or River of Death.”

September 4.—Mrs. May and myself went up to Chattanooga to-day; Mr. M. accompanied us. We visited two of the hospitals there—one in a church on the top of a hill. We saw few very sick men; they looked to me as if all they needed was plenty of good food. They complained bitterly of their poor diet, and the scarcity of it. I was much pleased to hear them speak highly of their treatment by the ladies in some of the Mobile hospitals.

Within sight of this hospital flowed the Tennessee River. We sat down on its banks and ate our lunch. I was struck with the beauty of the scene around us. The river rolled at our feet.

“Tall rooks and tufted knolls their face

Could on the dark-blue mirror trace.”

And

“Aloft, the ash and warrior oak

Cast anchor in the rifted rock;

And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung

His shattered trunk;

So wondrous wild, the whole might seem

The scenery of a fairy dream.”

This is truly the

“Land of the mountain and the flood.”

I was enraptured with all I saw. The scenery that Scott has so beautifully portrayed was now before me. The day was calm and still, and

“Noontide was sleeping on the hill.”

Chattanooga, the terminus of the Nashville and Chattanooga Railroad and of the Western and Atlantic Railroad, is two hundred and fifty miles from Knoxville by water, and one hundred and forty miles south-east of Nashville. The river runs north-west of it. It is famed for its stone-coal and iron ore. The town is in a valley; the houses are in a dilapidated condition; and, in fact, the whole place ill accords with the beautiful scenery by which it is surrounded.

The Tennessee River is formed of two branches, the Holston and Clinch rivers, which rise among the Alleghany Mountains of Virginia, and unite at Kingston, in Tennessee, and is the largest affluent of the Ohio River. It is very circuitous. After coming to Chattanooga, it turns to the north-west; the Cumberland Mountains oppose it, and change its course southwest. It goes through North Alabama, and touches the state of Mississippi at the north-east extremity, comes back into Tennessee toward the west, and enters the Ohio River at Paducah, in Kentucky.

In the afternoon we paid a visit to another hospital in town, where Mrs. May met an old friend in the surgeon, Dr. Hunter. He was glad to see her, and asked her to come into his hospital; he was going to have it enlarged, and would like to have Mrs. W. and myself, besides Mrs. M., but as Dr. Stout, the post surgeon, did not approve of more than one lady in a hospital, he could not take us without asking him. He took us all through his hospital. It was the upper part of a long row of warehouses, with windows east and west. The partitions between were taken away, making large wards, where a current of air could blow right through. There were some four or five of these rooms opening into each other. The whole was well whitewashed. I thought the smell of the lime was better as a disinfectant than all the camphor or cologne in the world. The name of this hospital is the “Newsom;” so called in honor of the lady I met and admired so much in Corinth.

This place was shelled some few months ago. This morning we took our lunch on a hill opposite to one across the river, where the Federals had planted their guns. They fired into the town without giving any notice. I am told it was a terrible sight to see the women and children running, and the balls flying around them. The Federals took possession of the town, but afterward gave it up. General Ledbetter had command of our forces at that time.

September 1. [Ringgold, Ga.] —We have changed our boarding-house, and are now stopping with a very nice lady by the name of Evans, who keeps an excellent table, has an abundance of milk, butter, and eggs, and only charges us one dollar per day. We paid two at the hotel.

Mrs. May called on Dr. Thornton, post surgeon here. He informed her that he had given her place in the hospital to some one else, as she was so long in coming.