March 9, 1865.—I arrived at Griffin, Georgia, yesterday, having left Mobile on the steamer Southern Republic, one of the largest and finest boats on the river. Major Berry, quartermaster, was at the wharf, and very kindly made arrangements with the captain to take me on my transportation ticket.
I felt very sad at leaving Mobile, as I have no idea when I shall see it again. I left many of my friends in sadness and tears, in anticipation of woe soon to fall on the city. All are confident that the enemy means something this time, and I am certain that nearly all think that we can not possibly hold the city. If we only had the seaboard to protect, Mobile could stand a siege of years, but the enemy can come in by Florida, North Alabama, and Mississippi, and we all know that we have no forces to keep them back.
For once in my life I wished to give the military authorities advice. That would have been to abandon Mobile, send all the forces to Selma, and try and save that portion of the country.
Heretofore I have wished that Mobile would be laid in ashes before the foe would be permitted to desecrate it, but now I think it would be but policy to give it up, and try and save towns in the interior, which will be of more use to us.
On my way down to the boat I saw the provost guard taking all the cotton out of the warehouses, and searching garrets and cellars for it. They were taking it, to the public square, to be fired in case the enemy reaches the city.
The river was higher than it had been for years. We saw whole towns submerged: Cahaba, which is on a high bluff, was in some places covered with water four or five feet deep. Many of the people were sailing about in boats. There was a large warehouse on the bank of the river, filled with prisoners, whose spirits, if we were to judge by their actions and the noise they made, had not been dampened by prison life. They seemed rather pleased than otherwise with their chances for aquatic sports.
As wood was scarce, the captain helped himself to the fences on the river banks. At one place the owner of the wood came after the boat had left it and seemed very angry. He was told by the men on the boat to send his bill to the quartermaster, which suggestion did not seem to afford him much satisfaction.
One morning, on waking up, I found the branches of trees very near my state-room window; I supposed we were on a cane-break. There were two women on the boat, who had been to the camp of instruction—Camp Watts—near Montgomery, to try and bring their sons back—two boys who had been sent there by a conscript officer. One of the women had a cancer on her face, and the other one told me that the son of this unfortunate woman had been sent to camp, and that one of his eyes is eaten out by the same disease. How can our people be guilty of such outrages! There is no punishment too severe for those thus guilty. But I have known conscript officers to take men from their homes whom the surgeons had discharged many times, and send them to camp. We have had them die in our hospital before reaching the army. These women had gone from Montgomery to Mobile by railroad, and had to come up the river before they could reach their homes; and to judge from their appearance, they could ill afford this expense. Colonel Phillips, whoso wife has been such an eyesore to the Federals, was on board. He is a very dignified and courteous gentleman. He informed me that his sister-in-law was in a hospital in Virginia, and has been in one since the commencement of the war.
Among the passengers was a wealthy widow, who owned a plantation on the river. I heard her tell a gentleman that, in case of the enemy coming, she intended setting fire to her house rather than they should have the benefit of it.
There were some ladies on board who had been to Mobile to visit their relatives, who are stationed there. The principal topic of conversation was Sherman’s barbarities, and the outrages in general of which the enemy have been guilty lately. They were any thing but pleasant to listen to, and filled me with dread of the future. In many places the enemy are acting with a barbarity almost equal to any thing of which the Sepoys were guilty. Negro regiments, officered by men with white skins, but with hearts as black as night, have been turned loose on the helpless inhabitants, and encouraged to do their worst. And all of this is done by a people calling themselves Christians. But we need not wonder when we think of who their teacher is—Ward Beecher, that sectional firebrand, who has made God’s house a den of thieves, and polluted the holy sanctuary with his impious ravings. How can these people ever expect us to forget these fearful wrongs? How hard it is for us to feel any thing but the most deadly hate toward our foes, when justice calls aloud to us for vengeance! God is indeed trying us with the refiner’s fire; may we come out of it purified.
I heard more about the dissipation of Mobile after leaving it than I did all the time I was there. I had no idea it was such a wicked place and that the people were so much demoralized.
I paid a visit to some friends in Selma, and they were a good deal alarmed at the prospect of the enemy coming there. The fare on the boat was very good, and I was much indebted to one of the officers—Mr. Scott—for sending me a tumbler of milk at each meal, which was very acceptable, as the substitute for coffee was any thing but nice.
We arrived at Montgomery on the 4th, at 1 P. M. I remained all night at the house of Rev. Dr. Scott. There I met some ladies from Florida, who, like many others, had been driven from their homes by the enemy. The refugees are very clannish; it seems to be great consolation for them to get together and talk over by-gones. Dr. S. has a church in Montgomery, I believe, wholly supported by refugees. Mrs. S. is a refined and intellectual lady, such as I have found nearly all of our better class of women to be, and she is a true southerner. The doctor and she were both very kind and before I left in the morning, which was very early, they had a delightful cup of pure coffee made for me, and an old negro man drove me to the train in their buggy.
While in Montgomery I met Dr. Anderson of Mobile (medical purveyor), packing up his drugs, having been ordered to Macon. I am told that the military department head-quarters has been ordered to the same place. Dr. A. informed me that he had sent his family to Mobile for safety. I heard of many others doing the same; it being considered the safest, whether it falls or not, and no one seems to think there will be any fighting in the city.
I left Montgomery on the 5th, at 7 A. M., in company with Lieutenant Edwards and his wife, who were on their way to Florida, and arrived at Columbus, Georgia, the same day, at 5 A. M.
On the way to Columbus I met one of my old Chattanooga patients, Lieutenant Blair of Texas. I did not recollect having ever seen him, but he had not forgotten me. He inquired after Mrs. W., and he told me that to our attention in Chattanooga he owed his life. We are often told this, and although knowing it is not true, can not help feeling gratified at hearing it. Poor fellow! since I last saw him he has lost a leg in one of the battles near Atlanta. He said that while lying wounded he had often thought about Mrs. W. and myself.
In Columbus we put up at the Cook House; at supper the table actually groaned. I have not seen as many good things since the war. There were cold turkey, sausages, roast pork, biscuit, hot rolls, corn-bread; and I could scarcely believe my senses when I saw cake! We had a substitute for coffee, which was very nice, and plenty of hot milk and sugar.
My friends were going to Florida by the Chattuhooche River, so I left early next morning for Macon. I had some pure coffee, which a waiter had made and brought to me, with milk, sugar, and buttered toast. I paid ten dollars for lodging, and ten for supper.
In this hotel was a very nice-looking girl, who seemed to be acting as head chambermaid. I knew from her accent that she was from the “land of cakes.” She is from Glasgow, and has been a number of years in this country. She is the first Scotch woman I have met in the South in that position.
We were all invited to witness a wedding (a runaway match); the couple had come from Montgomery on the cars with us; they were quite young looking. I believe the drawback was the young lady’s cruel father. A chaplain performed the ceremony.
After witnessing the wedding, Lieutenant E., his wife, and myself called on Mr. Stickney, chaplain of the post. He is a native of Mobile, and was a chaplain at one of the forts in New Orleans at the time of its surrender, and had to leave there in a hurry, losing nearly all of his worldly possessions. Mrs. S. is a daughter of Rev. Dr. Hedges of New Orleans, who left that city as a registered enemy to the United States.
They are living, refugee-style, in two rooms. Mrs. S. is an enthusiastic southerner, and seems to glory in living as she does. But she is much better off than many others, who would be thankful to have her place. Many of the richest people in the country are living in tents or old sheds.
The night was one of uncommon beauty. There was no mist to obscure the serenity of heaven, and the moon was sailing along in majestic grandeur, diffusing a rich refulgence on us poor mortals who were enjoying it. How beautiful is night! “By night an atheist half believes there is a God.”
On the cars from Columbus I met my old friend, Mrs. Newsom. She has been to Arkansas since I last saw her, and brought out a young sister, who has been assisting her in the hospitals. She had very little trouble from the Federal authorities in going through the lines, though she made no secret of how she had been employed in the Confederacy. She has left the hospital service for awhile, as her duties while in Atlanta injured her health. The patients were in tents there, and the weather bad. The Sisters of Charity previously in the hospital could not stand the work and exposure, and had left. Miss Monroe of Kentucky had assisted Mrs. N. in one of the hospitals, and she spoke highly of her kindness to the suffering, and of her abilities in managing the duties incidental to a hospital.
We reached Macon on the 6th, and I went to the Blind School Hospital, where my friend, Miss Rigby, is matron. It is a new hospital, and the building had been a school for the blind. It stands on a very elevated spot, and the view of the city from it is very fine.
Miss R. is a member of the Episcopal Church, and an excellent lady. She isvery devoted to the patients, and at present, although there are but few in the hospital, she finds it difficult to get food for them.
I saw Dr. Gamble, who is post surgeon, and is having all the hospitals fixed up again as if there was no such thing as making another move. I met a number of my old friends in Macon; I think all are getting worn out with this wandering kind of life; or, as I heard a surgeon say, this inspecting the railroads.
I left Macon on the 8th; Dr. Mellon, an assistant surgeon in the hospital, very kindly escorted me to the cars. The receiving hospital for Macon is at the depot, and is under the care of Surgeon King; I am told he is an excellent gentleman. The bunks were in the car shed, and all looked very neat. This arrangement saves a good deal of extra moving for the sufferers.
I think I never saw rain until to-day; it is actually pouring in torrents. Yesterday, when I arrived at the depot, it was raining very hard, and when I looked out of the car at the crowd of men, and saw no familiar face, I felt a little homesick. In the depot I met Dr. Steel, who sent word to the hospital that I had arrived. I did not have long to wait; Mr. C. came for me, and as it was still raining, and the hospital some half a mile distant, I went to a hotel opposite. Dr. de Yampert had sent some one after me every day for a week, and had concluded I was not coming. At the hotel I found some Chattanooga friends, Mr. Rawlings, the proprietor, and his family. Although I had never met Mrs. R. before, we were like old friends. The daughter of Dr. Taylor, who was so kind to us in Chattanooga, was there. Her father is a prisoner, and has not been heard from for a long time; many think he is dead. I was glad to learn something concerning the many kind friends I left in Chattanooga. They were scattered all over the Confederacy; quite a number are in this place.
After I had remained there some hours, Mr. C. brought a buggy and took me to the hospital, where I received a hearty welcome from Dr. Reesse, who introduced me to Miss S., my assistant. I felt very gloomy, and had no good, kind Mrs. W. to say, in her quiet manner, “Have patience, the Lord will bring all right.” Left wholly to myself, I felt that all my boasted determination to remain in the hospital till the war was over, or as long as I could be of service to the suffering, would now be put to the test.
Mr. Moore and Dr. Burks called, and were glad to see me, as were all in the hospital. Not even the warm welcome I received served to dispel the gloom; I was completely demoralized. So much for remaining so long at home. Dr. R. kindly invited me to dinner, and, although I had eaten nothing that day, I refused.
Dr. de Yampert, who had been with the medical board, after awhile came to see me. As it had ceased raining, I went with him to visit the hospital. The main part is to be in tents or sheds. We have one large building, formerly a young ladies’ college, and which was the Quintard Hospital last year. There were a few out-houses, put up in hospital style, which were used for kitchen, dining-room, bakery, etc. Dr. B. showed me where the foundation of the college was crumbling, and the pillars in front giving way; but, as we did not intend giving a ball, where the gyrations of the performers on the light fantastic toe might give it a shake, I did not see that we had much danger to apprehend. There will be one nice, large ward in the upper room. There are many rooms down-stairs, one a fine linen-room. I was well pleased with the manner in which Dr. de Y. was having every thing arranged. I did not know till now that he fixed up the nice one the Sisters of Charity were in at Corinth. I tried to enter into his ambitious plans with as much zeal as I could muster; but visions of raids and army movements causing us to make hasty retreats, leaving the fruits of our labor behind us to be destroyed by the foe, would rise up before me. To save my life I could scarcely utter one enthusiastic word of praise, though I could not but admire his perseverance, as he has had almost as much running to do as myself. He says he has made up his mind that the war will last ten years, and he is preparing accordingly. There was no use in my saying I thought that it would be impossible for us to hold out so long, as three years ago we were certain we could not keep up another year. In a tent I found Mrs. Love and her family, who seemed rejoiced at my return.
Dr. de Yampert told me, as I had had so much experience, I knew better what to do than he could tell me; that he wished me to overlook all the domestic arrangements. He wishes to have three more ladies. We are to have three wards, with separate kitchens. He does not like the idea of having the patients in tents (I find there are few surgeons who do), and is going to try and build sheds. I always feel nervous when I see them go up. From what little experience I have had of tents, I like them for patients, although it is impossible to keep bedding as clean as in rooms. They have another drawback, like Jonah’s gourd, what the night before was a nice shelter, by the next morning has fallen and become a heap of canvas. Still, with all this, the men improve in them much faster than in houses. I have never lived in a tent myself, or perhaps I should not like them for others. I think we are generally in favor of what we like best ourselves. I have often noticed that surgeons order for their patients what they like and what best agrees with themselves. When a doctor requests me to send no buttermilk to his ward, and another no greens, and another no onions, etc., I set it down that these are things they are not fond of.
I have become much better reconciled to every thing since I have seen Dr. de Y. He seems to have no aim but to do every thing for the good of the patients, and I can ask for nothing more. He was a wealthy planter in Alabama, and enlisted as a private at the commencement of the war. He was soon promoted, and for some time was on General Bragg’s staff, and served in the field until lately.
To-day, feeling that I would like to have something to eat, I found corn meal and beef of the leanest kind to be all of which our commissary could boast. I have often said that I did not wish to live otherwise than the soldiers, with the exception of corn-bread and bacon, which are things I thought I would have to starve before I could eat (I suppose I must have inherited this dislike from my foreign origin); but I have found that starving will not do. When we get bacon we do not get beef. This is the beef week; and there is not fat enough on it to fry it with. I sent a note to a lady, requesting her to lend me some lard to put in bread, though I have no idea when I shall be able to return it; but I can pay her in money. I made the bread, and stewed the beef, and with corn coffee, minus milk or sugar, made a very good meal.
