The Cruel Side of War – Katherine Prescott Wormeley

“Wilson Small,” June 2.

Dear A.,—The “Daniel Webster” is filling, to sail to-night. This letter shall go in her. What a day and night we have had! What a whirlwind of work, sad work, we have been in! Immediately after closing my letter of yesterday, Mrs. Griffin and I were whisked away in a little boat, at the peril of our lives, and hustled, tumbled, hoisted, first into the “State of Maine,” where we lost our way amid frightful scenes, until we finally reached the “Elm City,” where we were going as night-watch to relieve the ladies belonging to her, who had been up all the night before. She had four hundred and seventy wounded men on board. We passed the night up to our elbows in beef-tea, milk-punch, lemonade, panada, etc. The men were comfortable. The surgeons let them, for the most part, have a night’s rest before their wounds were opened. Not so, however, on the “State of Maine,” where operations were going on all night; the hideous sounds filling our ears even in the midst of our own press of work.

Our men were so touchingly grateful. There was a poor fellow lying close to the door of the pantry where we were making and dispensing the food and drinks: his leg was amputated. I noticed, after a time, that he was stretching and straining to get at a bundle or something in his berth. I went to him as soon as I could. He turned his face to me, covered with tears, and put a little crumpled roll of pink paper into my hand, saying: “I heard you tell that man you gave him the last pin out of your dress: don’t give us everything; please take these,” — precious little roll! will I ever part with it! Such things are better for us than all the quinine in the country. We stayed chiefly in our pantry, giving out to the dressers and nurses all that was wanted; also to a detail who came from time to time from the “State of Maine.”

Oh, when shall I forget the sunrise that morning as it looked in through the little window beside me! When can I cease to remember the feelings with which I saw it!

Mr. Olmsted sent peremptory orders at nine o’clock that we should return home; and we left the “Elm City,” sure that the men had everything needful, and were safe in the faithful hands of Mrs. Balestier and Miss Charlotte Bradford. We were no sooner washed and dressed than the “Small ” scudded up to the landing to take on forty wounded just arriving by the railroad. The forty proved, as usual, to be eighty,— ghastly objects: this was like being on a battle-field. The men were just as they fell, in their muddy clothing, saturated with blood and filth. From then until now, when we have just put them on the “Webster,” Mrs. Griffin and I have been with them. One died in her care, and one in mine; there were some too far gone to know anything more in this world, but there were others, almost as badly hurt, who were cheerful, bright, and even talkative, — so different from the dreary sadness and listlessness of sick men. They seldom groan, except when their wounds are being dressed, and then their cries are agonizing: “Oh, doctor, doctor!” in such heartrending tones.

General Devens, wounded in the knee, Colonel Briggs, Tenth Massachusetts, wounded in the thigh, and several other wounded officers, were among the eighty; but they had their staff-officers or orderlies, and though we saw that they had what was necessary, we stayed ourselves with the men. We have just put part of them on the “Webster,” which sails for Boston this evening, and the rest on the “Elm City,” which sails for Annapolis at the same time. The “Spaulding” has just come up the river, and the quartermaster hails me that there are cases on board for me. Thank you all! Dr. Grymes has invited us to dinner on the “Webster,” that we may swallow necessary food, which we could not do on the polluted decks of the “Small.”

The trouble the medical authorities give Mr. Olmsted is terrible. They send the most conflicting orders, and there is no United States medical officer here, at this most important point, to refer to. Captain Sawtelle, Assistant Quartermaster, is so good to us. He and Colonel Ingalls and General Van Vliet are constantly shielding the Commission from annoyance. How nobly the Commission has done its work, how thoroughly, how wisely; with what lavish disregard of labor and care and fatigue, so long as the best possible is done for the service! Day and night, without sleep, sometimes without food, Mr. Olmsted and Mr. Knapp are working their brains and their physical strength to the utmost. Good-by! we are just going on board the “Webster.” No, we have only run alongside to give her the order to sail. So good-by to our dinner! I hoped to have sent this letter by her. The victory is a victory; but oh, the lives and the suffering it has cost!

“Wilson Small,” Sunday, June 1.

Dear A., — I write amid the distant booming of cannon and the hourly arrival of telegrams from the scene of action. The battle[1] began yesterday afternoon. Up to 11 P.M. the accounts received were not wholly favorable. The attack was made on our weakest point, General Casey’s division, which is the advanced body on the Chickahominy. It was attacked on front and flank, and retreated; but being reinforced by General Heintzelmann, the ground and a lost battery were recovered. The second telegram to Colonel Ingalls was written off by the operator on the envelope of your letter of the 26th; I shall keep it as a souvenir. It says: “General Kearny has driven the enemy a mile at the point of the bayonet. General Heintzelmann is driving back the enemy. Prisoners, General Pettigru and several field and staff officers.” A little later, and we heard: “We are driving them before us at every point;” and now the last word is, “Our victory is complete.”

The wounded are pouring in. All our ships, except the “Spaulding,” are here. Even the “Elm City,” which started with five hundred sick for Yorktown at four o’clock this morning, has just returned, beds made and all, — a triumph for her hospital company! The “Commodore,” a Pennsylvanian boat, the “Vanderbilt” and “Whilldin,” Government boats, are full. The “Knickerbocker” filled up, before we left her, with three hundred men from Casey’s division, — a sad sight. We left her this afternoon, after the men were comfortably settled, in the hands of those who are to take her to Newport News, and came home here,”Wilson Small,” with all our belongings. Mrs. Howland and Georgy went off soon after to fit up the “Daniel Webster No. 2.”

I am writing on our little after-deck by the light of the moon. The shore resounds with cheering; even the wounded are elate. All around me lie hundreds, well-nigh thousands, of the poor fellows. Noble boys!

[1] Fair Oaks, otherwise called Seven Pines.

“Knickerbocker,” May 31.

Dear Mother, — The long letter now enclosed I was too utterly tired out to carry even the length of the ward to post last night. As I finished it, two steamers came alongside, each with a hundred sick on board, bringing word that the “Louisiana” (a side-wheel vessel, not a Commission-boat) was aground at a little distance, with two hundred more, having no one in charge of them and nothing to eat. Of course they had to be attended to. So, amid the wildest and most beautiful storm of thunder and lightning, Georgy, Dr. Ware, Mrs. Reading, and I pulled off to her in a little boat with tea, bread, brandy, and beef-essence. (No one can tell how it tries my nerves to go toppling round at night in little boats, and clambering up ships’ sides on little ladders!) We fed them, — the usual process, — poor fellows, they were so crazy. Dr. Ware says I have particular luck with delirium, and he made me try my hand on a man with whom he could do nothing, and I succeeded.

Soon after, the “Wissahickon” came alongside to transfer the men to the “Elm City.” Only part could go in the first load. Dr. Ware made me go in her to avoid returning in the little boat. Just as we pushed off, the steam gave out, and we drifted stem-on to the shore. Then a boat had to put off from the “Elm City” with a line to tow us up. All this time the thunder was incessant, the rain falling in torrents, while every second the beautiful crimson lightning flashed the whole scene open to us. Add to this that there were three men alarmingly ill, and (thinking to be but a minute in reaching the other ship) I had not even a drop of brandy for them. Do you wonder, therefore, that I forgot to mail your letter?

To-day (Saturday) has been a hard-working day. It is something to feed two hundred and fifty men, and prepare all the food for the very sick. I wish you could hear the men after they are put into bed. Those who can speak, speak with a will; others grunt or murmur their satisfaction: “Well! this bed is ‘most too soft. I don’ know as I shall sleep for thinking of it!” “What have you got there?” “This is bread; wait till I butter it!” “Butter — on soft bread!” he slowly ejaculates, as if not sure that he isn’t Aladdin with a genie at work upon him.

The Women’s Central Relief Association are constantly begging us for anecdotes relating to the gratitude, and so forth, of the men. These have great effect, they say, upon the public mind, and bring the money down. So one day Georgy set out upon a pilgrimage, resolved that she would have something touching to report. She found a little drummer-boy who seemed a promising subject, so she began: “That’s a nice shirt you have on; I know the ladies who made it: have n’t you some message to send them?” “Wal!” said he, with that peculiar nasal twang which belongs only to a sick soldier on the Pamunky, “you tell ’em it’s ‘most big enough for two.”

Mrs. Griffin is well, and very efficient. It requires great thought and care and sweetness of temper to get along with this work, and she has all of them. I met with the serious misfortune of breaking the crystal of my watch yesterday. My watch is a part of myself: what shall I do without it?— and there’s so little to mark time, or even to distinguish day from night, in these vast ships. They are strange places, and I often feel like a cockroach, running familiarly as I do into all their dark corners.

“Knickerbocker,” May 30.

Dear Mother, — Yesterday I took Mrs. Reading and two Zouaves to carry the supplies, and spent the day at the camp hospital. There are one hundred tents, each censé to hold twenty-seven persons; but they were not more than half full, many of the first set of men having recovered after a week’s rest and returned to the front, while nearly two hundred of the worst cases went North on the ” Spaulding.” I found the condition of things far better than I expected, and infinitely better than it was a week ago. We visited nearly all the tents, and gave supplies of beef-tea, milk-punch, arrowroot, and eggs for the worst cases, of which there were comparatively few, for such cases are put on the Commission boats. I found four or five men for whom nothing could be done but to help them to die in peace, and perhaps twenty other bad cases. The remainder needed little more than a week or two of rest. The tents were both floored and trenched, the day was cool and bright, everything smelt clean and wholesome. A tent had been pitched for me in the middle of the hollow square of the camp, where I cooked painfully by one small spirit-lamp. We used up everything we took with us, and saw the surgeons, who were very cordial, particularly Dr. Green, of Massachusetts, and a lesser light, Dr. A. A. Stocker, of Cambridge, Mass., who gave me his card, whereby I know his name.

Nearly all the camp needs is some responsible person who could prepare the sick food systematically under the surgeons’ orders. The ordinary diet seemed good and plentiful, and quite suited to the majority of the cases. We started for home at 4 P. M., and found four hundred prisoners just arriving by the railway from General Porter’s command. They were nearly all North Carolinians, —fine-looking men, well fed, and in good spirits. One man wanted to buy one of our tin cups; I laughed, and gave it to him. Another asked Dr. Ware to change a ten-dollar Confederate note, and expected ten of our dollars for it. Dr. Ware said: “If we beat you, what good will those notes be to you?” “Oh!” said he, “the United States Government will take them.” General Van Vliet told me that a great many of these men had asked to take the oath of allegiance.

This has been a busy day. We all — “all” this time means Mr. Olmsted, Mr. Knapp, we four ladies, and Mrs. Reading —started with breakfast for eighty men; a young surgeon having rowed down to us to report that they had arrived in the night and were lying in the cars without food. We found the birds flown, however, — I suppose to the camp hospital. But General Van Vliet and some telegrams from the front met us at the landing; and the result is that we are to clear off, as fast as “we can, all the sick and wounded now on our hands. The “Webster,” fills up to-morrow; the “Daniel Webster No. 2 ” left immediately for Yorktown with four hundred sick on board; the “Elm City” will fill to-night, and sail at daybreak. We ourselves came back at once to the ” Knickerbocker,” from which the sick men have been removed, and we have been all day unpacking and arranging stores, and getting pantries and closets in order. I am writing on the floor, interrupted constantly to join in a laugh. Georgy is sorting socks and pulling out the funny little balls of yarn and the big darning needles stuck in the toes, with which she is making a fringe across my back. Do spare us the darning-needles! Reflect upon us rushing in haste to the linen-closet and plunging our hands into the bale of stockings! I certainly shall make a collection of sanitary clothing. I solemnly aver that yesterday I found a pair of drawers made for a case of amputation at the thigh. And the slippers, —only fit for pontoon-bridges! We are at last in perfect order, and are told that the wounded will arrive about 4 A.M., — such a nice, comfortable hour! There are two hundred and fifty to come down,— mostly from Hanover Court-House, where General Porter had a brilliant success on Friday.

The Sanitary Commission is not treated in the handsomest manner; its benevolence is imposed upon. Squads of civilian doctors are here, waiting about for “surgical cases.” There must be dozens of them doing nothing, and their boats doing nothing, — waiting for a battle. They would not look at a sick man; bless you, he’s not their game! It is “cases” they want; and their whole influence goes to getting off the sick upon the Commission, instead of taking their proper share of the work, so that they may, when a battle occurs, get a harvest of wounded. Now the reason why we complain of this is that Mr. Olmsted is anxious to keep his ships (which are perfectly organized and well-managed) running in a regular manner, so that if a battle occurs, he may be prepared for it. If he is overwhelmed with the sick (who could be easily and regularly transported if all did their share), he is liable to be unprepared for an emergency; and if the Commission is unprepared, I am afraid it will go hard with the poor fellows when the evil day comes.

Since I began this page a furious gust or storm of wind, rain, thunder, and lightning has come up. We are plunging up and down at our anchor on the sweet river as if it were mid-ocean; and in the midst of it the dear “Wilson Small” tumbles up alongside, true to her colliding principles. Alas for the wounded who are on their way to us!

Our evenings are the pleasantest hours of the day. The Chief and Mr. Knapp and the staff collect on a broken chair, a bed-sack, and sundry carpet-bags, and have their modicum of fun and quinine. The person who possesses a dainty — chocolate or gingerbread, for instance— is the hero for the time being.

Good-by! The storm is just going over. Oh, how good it will be to sleep in a bed once more! I found to-day one of the bed-sacks we made in such a hurry last autumn; and in unpacking stores I have several times come across packages labelled in my handwriting. Tell this to the Women’s Aid Society. Tell them also that flannel shirts are never in sufficient quantity; the flannel can be heavier and coarser than what we have hitherto used. Socks are always wanted. Gray and red flannel shirts are precious; we keep them for special cases. If anybody proposes to send me anything, say: Good brandy; gray, white, or red shirts, army pattern; canton flannel drawers, not too large; pocket-handkerchiefs (boxes of spotted ones can be bought cheap in New York), towels, nutmegs, bay-water, coarse flannel in the piece, Muringer’s beef-extract,—this is precious as gold to us; Soyer’s and other soup preparations are comparatively worthless for our purpose. We have plenty of fresh beef for the “house diet,” and we make a good deal of our beef-tea out of it with muriatic acid; but even that takes time. What we want is something available-at a moment’s notice; therefore send Muringer’s beef-extract. It comes in small cakes looking like a dark glue. Send also condensed milk, lemons, and sherry.

If gentlemen ask what they shall send, say MONEY to the treasury of the Sanitary Commission.

Wednesday Night, May 28.

Have nearly finished the “Elm City,” with five hundred beds. Our linen-closets, store-closets, and pantries in perfect order. The hardest piece of work I have done yet was to keep two colored ladies (from the Lee estate) steady to the work of scrubbing the lower deck. They escaped so many times on pretence of getting fresh water that, weary of running after them, I came to think it was easier to run after the water; so, pressing David Haight into the service, he and I kept up a solemn procession to and from the ship’s boilers, bearing the steaming buckets.

Mrs. Reading, an excellent surgical nurse trained in the Crimea under Miss Nightingale, who has been attached to the “staff” from the beginning, went up to the Shore hospital to-day. Mr. Olmsted has promised, with great reluctance which I do not comprehend, to let me go to-morrow; so we are to start early, with as much beef-stock, stimulants, and other supplies as we can carry. Mrs. Reading has taught me a great many things. I pump her extensively in our leisure moments. She was at Kulali throughout the Russian War.

“Knickerbocker,” May 27

Dear A., — I wish I could have you by me this delightful afternoon to look at the lovely scene, where “every prospect pleases, and only man is vile” and wretched. The “Spaulding” got off yesterday with three hundred and fifty sick on board, and we then transferred ourselves to this vessel, where we are living a life which Mr. Olmsted feels to be one of such utter discomfort that we all try to make the best of it for his sake. Still, I will admit to you that it is wearing to have no proper place to eat, sit, or sleep. No matter! our dear “Wilson Small” will be back soon, and we shall go back to our happy home life on the top of the old stove.

This boat is in disorder. Her last voyage was made in incompetent hands, — not incompetent as to care of the patients, but as to general organization. These parties are about to be detailed elsewhere, which will leave us free to go to work and reorganize the vessel. Meantime we are busy arranging the “Elm City,” which lies alongside, and was not taken by the Government after all.

We were invited to dine to-day on board the “Webster,” which arrived this morning, prompt as usual, and in perfect order. The rest have gone; but I, like a fool, am hors de combat with an aggravating pain down my leg. We all “prophylac” with exemplary regularity; the last words of our delightful Dr. Draper, as we parted from him on the gang-plank of the “Spaulding,” were: “Don’t forget your quinine!” How intimate this life makes us with those we recognize as true grit; how heartfelt our greetings and our partings with them are! Dr. Grymes and Captain Bletham brought me all my precious cases filled with supplies from dear Newport friends. The Captain says his first thought on arriving is: “Now for the ladies’ cases;” and he always brings them off in the first boat. This vessel (“Knickerbocker”) is full of Zouaves, detailed to the Commission for nurses. I can’t endure them. It might be all very well, and in keeping, to get up a regiment of negroes en Turcos; but for an American citizen to rig himself as an Arab is demoralizing.

“Knickerbocker,” May 26.

Dear Mother, — I believe my last words on Saturday were that I was “called off,” — and so effectually called that this is my first quiet moment since then. We were called to go on board the “Wissahickon,” from thence to the “Sea-Shore,” and run down in the latter to West Point, to bring off twenty-five men said to be lying there sick and destitute. Two doctors went with us. After hunting an hour through the fleet for the “Sea-Shore” in vain, and having got as low as Cumberland, we decided (we being Mrs. Howland and I; for the doctors were new to the work, and glad to leave the responsibility upon us women) to push on in the tug, rather than leave the men another night on the ground, for a heavy storm of wind and rain had been going on all day. The pilot remonstrated, but the captain approved; and if the firemen had not suddenly let out the fires and detained us two hours, we might have got our men on board and returned comfortably soon after dark. But the delay cost us the precious daylight. It was night before the last man was got on board. There were fifty-six of them, — ten very sick ones.

The boat had a little shelter-cabin. As we were laying mattresses on the floor, while the doctors were finding the men, the captain stopped us, refusing to let us put typhoid fever cases below the deck, — on account of the crew, he said, — and threatening to push off at once from the shore. Mrs. Howland and I looked at him. I did the terrible, and she the pathetic; and he abandoned the contest. The return passage was rather an anxious one. The river is much obstructed with sunken ships and trees, and we had to feel our way, slackening speed every ten minutes. If we had been alone, it would not have mattered; but to have fifty men upon our hands unable to move was too heavy a responsibility not to make us anxious. The captain and pilot said the boat was leaking (we heard the water gurgling under our feet), and they remarked casually that the river was “four fathoms deep about there;” but we saw their motive, and were not scared. We were safe alongside the “Spaulding” by midnight; but Mr. Olmsted’s tone of voice as he said, “You don’t know how glad I am to see you,” showed how much he had been worried. And yet it was the best thing we could have done, for three, perhaps five, of the men would have been dead before morning. We transferred the deck-men (who were not very ill) at once to the “Elm City,” and kept the others on board the tug till the next morning (Sunday), when they were taken on board the “Spaulding,” all living, and likely to live. Later in the day the “Spaulding” filled up to three hundred and fifty very sick men.

No one who has not shared them can form any idea of the hurry — unless it is kept down by extreme quiet of manner — and the solid hard work caused by this sudden influx of bad cases. Dr. Grymes taught me a valuable lesson the night I was at Yorktown on the “Webster.” A man with a ghastly wound—the first I ever saw — asked for something; I turned hastily to get it, with some sort of exclamation. Dr. Grymes stopped me and said: “Never do that again; never be hurried or excited, or you are not fit to be here;” and I’ve thanked him for that lesson ever since. It is a piteous sight to see these men; no one knows what war is until they see this black side of it. We may all sentimentalize over its possibilities as we see the regiments go off, or when we hear of a battle; but it is as far from the reality as to read of pain is far from feeling it. We who are here, however, dare not let our minds, much less our imaginations, rest on suffering; while you must rely on your imagination to project you into the state of things here.

At eleven o’clock (Sunday night), just as I had collected the weary in the pantry for a little claret-punch or brandy and water, after getting on what we thought the last man for the night, Captain Sawtelle came on board looking very sad. He had received orders to send every available transport to Acquia Creek. He told us that General Banks had been defeated, with the loss of two regiments; and he presumed the present order meant that a force was to be thrown back to guard Washington, and that McDowell was recalled to support Banks. Sad, sad news for us!

Of course there was nothing to be done but to give up the “Elm City” and get the men and stores out of her and into the “Spaulding” at once. The transports were to sail for Acquia Creek at 3 A. M., and had to be coaled in the mean time. So we went to work again. Poor weary Mr. Knapp was off at once; the weary doctors and the weary young men began once more the work of hoisting on board, classing, registering, and bunking the poor fellows,—ninety in all; while the weary women brewed more milk-punch and beef-tea, and went once more upon their rounds. The last things were got off the “Elm City” about 2.30 A. M., when a telegram arrived countermanding the order!

I can give you no idea of the work thus accumulated into one day. But there were cheerful things in it after all. One thing I specially remember. A man very low with typhoid fever had been brought on board early in the afternoon, and begged me piteously to keep the bunk next him for his brother, — his twin brother, — from whom he had never been parted in his life, not even now in sickness; for his brother was sick too, and had come down on the same train. But, alas! in shipping the poor helpless fellows they had got separated. Of course I kept the next bunk empty, even taking out of it a man who had been put in during my absence; and all day long the painful look in the anxious eyes distressed me. Late at night, as the last men were coming off the “Elm City,” and I was standing at the gangway by Dr. Draper, receiving his orders as he looked at the men when they came on board, I heard him read off the name of the brother! You may be sure I asked for that man; and the pleasure of putting him beside his brother cheered even that black night. Nor shall I ever forget the joy of a father who found his son on board, and, though ill himself, waited on him with infinite tenderness, — only, alas! to lose him soon.

What a day it was, — and a Sunday too! So unlike Sunday that I had forgotten it until we were asked to go ashore and be present at the funeral of five men who had died on board. Mrs. Griffin went; but one lady was all that could be spared. What days our Sundays have been! I think of you all at rest, with the sound of church-bells in your ears, with a strange, distant feeling.

We got to bed about 3 o’clock, and at 4.30 the ladies from the “Elm City,” Mrs. George T. Strong and Miss Whetten, who take the “Spaulding” to New York, came on board and shared our staterooms. We left the ship just before she started, with three hundred and fifty men on board, at 12 M. this (Monday) morning, and came on board the “Knickerbocker.” We let her go with cheers from this vessel. She looked beautiful with her black hull and much brass about her; but she is not well adapted for our work. I had a strange feeling as I looked at the outside of what I knew but too well within.

At present we shall remain quietly on this vessel. There are fifty sick men on board, brought from the “Elm City” last night; but there are ladies enough belonging to the ship, and we need rest for the battle which they say is just at hand.

There was some excitement and a great gathering of doctors to-day for a post-mortem on board the “Elm City,” and they found what they call “mulberry spots,”—which establish, I am told, the typhoid character of the disease.[1]

A good many wounded are now coming on board and filling the cots on the main-deck. I am -writing in the upper saloon, listening to the typhoid moans of a poor fellow at my elbow. But I am too inexpressibly weary to keep my eyes open a moment longer. I need not tell you that I am well as ever, only so sleepy, oh, so sleepy! Yesterday, Captain Murray, of the “Sebago,” and General Van Vliet came to see us; but of course we could not see them. Oh, these Sanitary Commission men, how they work, — early and late, sleepless, unflagging! Even as I write, come Dr. Ware and David Haight, — dragging a bed-sack which they have filled with fresh straw for me, because they found out that the one I have was last used by a patient with typhoid fever. Kind friends! Oh, how well I shall sleep to-night!

[1] The disease proved, in the hospitals at Fortress Monroe, to be an epidemic typhus or spotted fever, now called cerebro-spinal meningitis,—a modern edition of the ancient plague.

“Spaulding,” May 24.

Dear Mother, — I seize five spare moments for you, as I have not written for three days. Last night we half filled this ship with the worst cases from the shore hospital. She will probably fill up to-day from the “Elm City,” and sail to-morrow. The men are mostly very sick, but no deaths occurred last night. Oh! what stories I shall have to tell you one of these days. Instances of such high unselfishness happen daily that, though I forget them daily, I feel myself strengthened in my trust in human nature, without making any reflections about it. Last night a wounded man, comfortably put to bed in a middle berth (there are three tiers, and the middle one incomparably the best), seeing me point to the upper berth as the place to put a man on an approaching streteher, cried out: “Stop! put me up there. Guess I can stand h’isting better ‘n him.” It was agony to both.

There is great discussion among the doctors as to the character of the fever; some call it typhoid, others say it is losing that type and becoming malarial remittent. It matters little to me what it is; the poor fellows all look alike, — dry, burned-up, baked, either in a dull stupor or a low, anxious delirium. They show little or no excitement, but are dull, weary, and sad. The percentage of sickness is thought to be small for an army on the march through such a region.[1]

We are all well, and cheerful now that our work begins once more. Idleness depressed us a little. We now have over one hundred very sick men on board. Mrs. Griffin and I have just finished our morning’s work below; Mrs. M. and Georgy have taken our places, and we have come on deck for a mouthful of fresh air. This morning, before I was up, I heard a crash and a cry, and the bowsprit of a large vessel, which the tide had swung upon us, glanced into the port-hole at the foot of my bed, tore through the partition, and, I believe, demolished the berth on the other side of it. The captain, who takes great pride in his ship, and has employed these leisure days in getting her painted, is now leaning over the side, looking at the defaced and splintered wood-work with a melancholy air.

Good-by. Called off.

[1] The death-rate of the British forces during the first year of the Crimean War was: July, August, September, 1854, 293 per 1000 men; October, November, December, 511 per 1000 men; reaching in January, 1855, the fearful rate of 1174 per 1000 men, of which 97 per cent was from disease, — in other words, a rate at which it would be necessary to replace a dead army by a living one in 10¼ months. Then it was that the British Government established sanitary operations; and as soon as their influence was felt — May, June, July, 1855 — the death-rate fell to 250 per 1000, and from that time rapidly diminished, till in January, 1856 (one year from its culmination), it was 25 per 1000 men. The mortality of the United States army during the campaign in Virginia of 1862 was 165 per 1000 men. To what was this difference owing? Not to the fact that our troops brought a greater amount of health into the service, for their mortality during the preceding period of inaction was much greater than that of the British army during a like period. It was owing in part, undoubtedly, to lessons learned from the Crimean War; but it was also in a great degree owing to the Sanitary Commission, to its careful inspection of recruits, camps, regiments, and to the advice which the military authorities so wisely allowed it to give on all sanitary and hygienic subjects to the regimental commanders. Surely the Commission has a right to point to the comparatively small mortality of our forces (small when we consider the nature of the climate and the unseasoned condition of volunteers), and claim a part, at least, of the credit of it.

“Spaulding,” May 23.

Deab A.,—Your welcome letter came yesterday. It is great happiness to know that you enter into the thing so heartily. You are right; it is worth five years of other life, setting aside the satisfaction of doing something directly for the cause. We are still on board this ship, comparatively idle. Yesterday sixty men were sent down from the front; but the surgeon of the Shore hospital refused £o take them, alleging that he had no room. A tremendous thunder-storm came up, in the midst of which we ran up to the landing-place in our little tug, the “Wissahickon,” and found the men, who were lying on the ground by the side of the railway. We gave them brandy and water, tea and bread, washed them a little, brought off a dozen of the worst cases, and left the others comfortable for the night, with blankets and quilts, in two covered freight-cars. This morning we went up with their breakfast, and had the satisfaction of seeing them off in ambulances for the Shore hospital, owing to Mr. Olmsted’s strong remonstrances.

This vessel, the “Spaulding,” is filling today, and sails for New York on Sunday. We shall then go on board the “Elm City,” and the hospital company of that boat, including two ladies, Miss Whetten and Mrs. Strong, will take charge of this one. Mr. Olmsted has the greatest difficulty in preventing the authorities from forcing on our pity by their neglect the sick men who are now here and coming down daily. These men ought to be taken care of in tents ashore. If forced upon us and a battle occurs, our boats will be off with men who ought not to go, and we shall have no accommodation for the wounded. Yesterday and today we have heard cannonading at the bridge over the Chickahominy; and these slight skirmishes send us down a dozen or two of wounded daily, who are placed at once on board the “Elm City.”

General Van Vliet, Quartermaster-General of the Army of the Potomac, came to see us today, accompanied by Captain Sawtelle, Assistant-Quartermaster. The General was full of kindness and gallantry, — quite bubbled over with it; and offered us a railway-car to take us into Richmond as soon as it is occupied! We heard last night that McDowell’s pickets had met ours: God grant it may be true! There is little doubt that McDowell’s not being allowed to co-operate at Gloucester prevented the overthrow of the Rebellion at Yorktown; and yet this McClellan keeps on with a sunny heart, and, as General Franklin said, “does his best alone!”

On Wednesday we were invited on board the “Sebago,” Captain Murray. A gun-boat is very interesting. She carries two large guns and a few howitzers. The large guns (Parrotts, these were) stand in the middle of the deck, one aft, and the other forward, and turn on pivots in every direction. The bulwarks can be turned down, to allow the guns free range; they are turned up for a sea-voyage: but even then these boats ship a great deal of water. It was delightful to be on a trig man-of-war. The officers seemed so clean and fresh, after the dusty, thread-worn look of the army-officers. It is easy to keep neat on board ship, but very hard to do it on the march, especially through the red clay soil of Virginia. The “Sebago” was the gun-boat which, accompanied by a tiny propeller with one hundred and fifty infantry on board, ran a few miles farther up the Pamunky the other day, — at sight of which the enemy burned two steamers and twenty schooners.

Not much has happened to interest us out of our own world. To us the arrival of our various steamers, and the consequent visits, inquiries, and thefts, are matters of great importance. We go on board some newly arrived ship, and find up the parties in charge of the invoice: “Sixteen pails! we’ll take eight” “Essence of beef! we want all that;” “What! fifty cans?” “Fifty! we must have a hundred,” — and so on through sugar, arrowroot, farina, spices, lemons, whiskey, brandy, etc.; while the doctors make a raid of the same kind on the dispensary. Kleptomania is the prevailing disease among us. We think nothing of watching the proprietor of some nicety out of the way, and then pocketing the article. After such a visit, Georgy’s unfathomable pocket is a mine of wealth as to nutmeg-graters, corkscrews, forks and spoons, and such articles. I, being less nimble at pilfering, content myself by carrying off tin pails with an abstracted air. Perhaps our visits do not give the keen satisfaction to others that they do to us. But they are going back where they can get more; while to us who remain here, such articles are as precious as if they were made of gold.

I am perfectly well. To please others, I “prophylac” with the rest. I drink coffee in excess, and whiskey (with quinine) occasionally, and eat alarming dinners. We shall be thankful to get off this ship, where we have green velvet chairs to sit upon, and are unable to get proper cooking arrangements for the sick. “We regret our dear “Wilson Small,” where we lived on a permanent picnic, which was in keeping with our business and our spirit.

To-day Mr. Olmsted invited Mrs. Griffin and me to row with him along the shore. You know I dread little boats; but it was a prospect of enjoyment, and I could not forego it. The start was lovely. Mr. Olmsted rowed us close in shore, where the knotted roots of the outermost trees made a network, or paling, behind which drooped or glowed in their spring beauty the lovely trees of this region, among them the magnolia, the flowering catalpa, and the beautiful white fringe-tree. Presently some quartermaster hailed us, and we turned back to the “Spaulding,” which had swung to her anchor in the mean time, making the business of getting on board again so dreadful to me (Mrs. Griffin did not seem to mind it) that that moment is laid aside to come into play some day when I have brain-fever; and then I shall see the huge, black, bulging sides of the great ship hanging over me as I pop up and down in a paper boat.

Mrs. Griffin looked to-day so like a mediaeval Madonna, with her heavenly complexion, her golden hair, and the extremely angular appearance which we persist in keeping up without our hoops, that I was forced to suggest the idea to Mr. Olmsted, who entered thoroughly into it.