“Wilson Small,” June 10.
Dear Mother, — Being the happy possessor of a pen-holder (pilfered from the “Elm City”), and having nothing to do, I shall write you a long letter. We are all collected, shivering and idle, under piles of blanket-shawls. All the wounded have come down and gone, and we have nothing to do, at least for to-day. If the weather were but mild, we could be comfortable and enjoy our rest; but never in the depth of winter did I feel the cold as I do today. I am chilled to the heart.
Keep my letters; they will remind me to tell you many things now forgotten. I wish it had been possible to keep a journal, so much that is interesting and droll in men and things occurs every minute; such armies of queer people turn up! Quartermasters are among the queerest. “We have our own chief dragon on the “Elizabeth,” with whom I am supposed to get along better than the others, therefore I conduct all difficult negotiations. I rush to him for something important a dozen times a day. He is resolute not to give it to me till I write and sign a requisition. Of course I am wanting it for something pressing, so after a slight blandishment I get it under promise of sending the requisition, — which is never sent. Then we have squads of comical “contrabands” (who like us very much until it becomes a question of work), and a detail of kind, nimble, tender Zouaves. I have become a convert to them after a long struggle,—-their efficiency, their good sense, their gentleness are so marked. Even their dress, which I once hated, seems to take them in some sort out of the usual manners and ways of men. They have none of the dull, obstinate ways of that sex, — they are unexceptionable human beings of no sex, with the virtues of both.
Then we have every style of arrogant army surgeon and presuming volunteer surgeon, no end of army officers, and some few naval officers: all of whom come trooping on board the “Small” after Mr. Olmsted, — chiefly, I observe, about dinner-time. The Commission is sadly imposed on in this way; it is used as a hotel. Last night four ladies arrived on the mail-boat, and instantly transferred themselves to the “Small” They have no business here, and nowhere to go. If such women are given a duty to do, they leave it, after a while, on the general principle that they are “wanted at the front.” When they get there, the surgeons will have nothing to do with them; and, finally, this morning two, who are thought to be of doubtful character, have been returned whence they came. The wonder is how they get the passes to come at all. No lady should attempt to come here unless accepted or appointed by the Government or the Commission. Ardent women with a mission should not come in any other way, if they value their own respectability.
Our dear Mr. Knapp has broken down, as I knew he would, and is gone home with typhoid fever. I think I told you that a new surgeon-in-charge had been appointed to the Shore hospital, with superintendence of the ship-transportation. He seems a kind man, and desirous to keep on good terms with the Commission and work with it. He is very cordial to us women, and begs us to come and do what we can at the hospital. Mr. Olmsted, however, frowns upon the idea, — frowns? No; but he remains impenetrably silent, — which is worse, for we can’t rebel at it.
I often feel the pleasantness of our footing among all these persons, — official, military, naval, and medical. They clearly respect our work, and rightly appreciate it; they make no foolish speeches, but are direct and sensible in their words and acts; and when work is over, they do not feel towards us as “women with a mission,” but as ladies, to be with whom is a grateful relaxation.
Dr. McClellan, on the General’s staff, came in from the front, and stayed with us last night, on his way to Fortress Monroe. He thinks there will be a gigantic battle before Richmond, and speaks of twenty thousand wounded. It is overwhelming to think of it. The nation must send us more sheets, shirts, drawers, and money — Money.
The “Elm City ” is lying alongside, between the “Small” and the shore. There is little for her to do at present. A dozen or so of wounded come down occasionally and go on board of her. A standing order now exists that none but wounded shall be put on the boats; all the sick are to go to the shore hospital. Our tent is at the head of the wharf, just where the railway ends abruptly at the burned bridge. Dr. Ware selects the cases from the freight-cars, on the bare floor of which they are jolted down from Savage’s Station, — the terminus of the road at the front. The worst cases are put inside the covered cars,—close, windowless boxes,—sometimes with a little straw or a blanket to lie on, oftener without. They arrive a festering mass of dead and living together, — or did, during the battle-week. Now they are sent down more comfortably; the bad cases have plenty of straw and plenty of room within, and the slight cases are perched upon the roof, or come down on long trains of trucks. Meantime we have ready in the tent proper food and stimulants, and administer them to all after their hard journey, and before they go either on board the boats, or are taken in ambulances to the Shore hospital.
I shall send this letter by Monsieur de Trobriand, who goes home to-night, having had a severe attack of typhoid fever, from which he is not recovered; ill as he is, he is delightfully amusing, though I suspect him of being slightly out of his head. I think sometimes, when I am idle, of the happiness of getting home again. Oh! I never, never will grumble at anything again. But also I will never eat beef when once I escape from army rations; and I will never again own a carpet-bag. The misery those carpet-bags have cost me! I rush up for something that is wanted in a hurry; it is at the bottom of the bag, — things that are wanted always are. I tip it over into the berth, seize what I want, and am gone again. But then comes midnight! I creep up tired and sleepy, and find a mound of books, boots, cologne-bottles, and other brittle and angular things which must be cleared away before I can fling myself down. Amelia, our black servant, says: “Laws me! I do wonder if you sleep on all dat muss!”
Reinforcements are arriving daily. I suppose from eight to ten thousand of McCall’s division (a small portion of McDowell’s corps) have arrived within a week. At first I scarcely noticed their coming. I heard their gay bands, and the loud cheering of the men as the transports rounded the last bend of the river and came in sight of the landing; but such sounds of the dreadful other side of war filled my ears that if I heard I heeded not. For the last night or two the arrivals by moonlight, the cheers and the gay music have been really enlivening. We see the dark side of all. You must not, however, gather only gloomy ideas from me. I see the worst, short of the actual battle-field, that there is to see. You must not allow yourself to think there is no brightness because I do not speak of it.
