Memories by Fannie A. (Mrs.) Beers

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23

At first I did not approach him, but his eyes followed me as I paused
by each bed to ascertain the needs of the sick and to bestow
particular care in many cases. At last I stood by his side, and,
placing my hand upon his head, spoke to him. He moved uneasily,
seemingly trying to repress the quivering of his lip and the tears
that, nevertheless, would come. Not wishing to notice his emotion just
then, I called the nurse, and, by way of diversion, gave a few
trifling directions, then passed on to another ward.

Returning later, bringing some cooling drink and a bottle of
Confederate bay-water (vinegar), I gave him to drink and proceeded to
sponge off his head and hands. He submitted, as it seemed at first,
unwillingly, but just as I turned to leave him he suddenly seized my
hand, kissed it, and laid his burning cheek upon it. From that moment
I was eagerly welcomed by him whenever I appeared among the sick.

When he began to mend and was allowed to talk freely, I learned his
name, Charley Percy, that he was a native of Bayou Sara, Louisiana,
and a member of the fifth company of Washington Artillery, Captain
Slocomb commanding. He had been wounded at Resaca. I grew to love him
dearly. As soon as he was permitted to leave his bed he became averse
to remaining in the ward, and most of his waking hours were spent in
the little room which was specially allotted to me. Whenever I
returned after my rounds among the sick it was a certainty that the
glad, bright presence awaited me, and that many little plans for my
rest and comfort would make the rough place homelike.

He became to me like a dear young brother, devoted and
ever-thoughtful. The matron's room at the hospital was called very
often "Soldiers' Rest," and sometimes "The Promised Land," because
many soldiers came there every day, and those newly convalescent made
it a goal which they aspired to reach as soon as permitted.

This habit gave me an opportunity to use properly what might have been
sent in boxes which arrived frequently from different quarters, filled
with a variety of goodies, but in quantities entirely insufficient to
supply all the soldiers. A sangaree or any other delicacy, taken while
resting after a walk which taxed the weakened energies to the utmost,
or a meal served outside the fevered air of the wards, did more to
build up the strength than any amount of medicine could have done. As
there never was, by any chance, a supply of these things for one
thousand men (the usual number assigned to Buckner Hospital),
delicacies (already becoming scarce) were served only to the very sick
or to convalescents.

It was beautiful to see how young Percy delighted to assist in waiting
on these visitors to "The Soldiers' Rest,"--how his sprightliness
pleased and amused them. His own great embarrassment seemed to be that
he had lost all his clothes at the time he was wounded, so was
compelled to wear the unbleached shirts with blue cottonade collars
and cuffs, which were supplied to all patients, numbered to correspond
with the bunks. These he called State's prison uniform. One day,
however, Dr. Fenner from New Orleans, Louisiana, paid a visit to
Buckner Hospital (then located at Newnan, Georgia), leaving with me
two large boxes of clothing and stores for the Louisiana soldiers.
Percy assisted to unpack these boxes, soon finding himself amply
provided with underclothing and a nice jacket and pants of gray, also
a new blanket. He was pleased, but not yet quite satisfied, for the
jacket was simply gray. He wanted it trimmed with red.

It chanced that there was in one of the boxes a piece of red flannel.
With this I trimmed the suit under his careful supervision. I can
never forget how happy he was to get into this suit, or how he danced
around me, pretending to go through the artillery drill, and to load
and fire at imaginary Yankees.

Later, his cap was retrimmed, the letters and artillery badge
furbished up, and one beautiful day was made sad and gloomy to his
friends and myself by the departure of this brave, dear boy, to rejoin
his command.

Eager, bright, full of fire and ardor, the young soldier went to meet
his doom. He reached the front (where the company to which he belonged
was always to be found) shortly before the battle of Peach-tree Creek,
and here, his bright young face turned to the foe, his eager hands
serving his gun to the last, he met a soldier's death.

Alas! poor Percy, his fate seemed hard; yet, while sincerely grieving,
I remembered with some degree of comfort the fact that so he had
wished to die,--"Upon the field of glory."

There came to the hospital at the same time with young Percy an
intimate friend and comrade of his, whose name and the circumstances
of his death were preserved in a diary kept by me, but which, with all
my papers, fell into the hands of the enemy subsequently. This poor
fellow had pneumonia, which soon developed into typhoid. He was
delirious when brought in and never regained consciousness. Vainly I
strove to soothe him, stroking back the long, straight hair, black as
a raven's wing, vainly trying to close the magnificent black eyes,
which forever stared into space, while the plaintive voice repeated
ceaselessly, "Viens a moi, oh, ma mere" and thus he moaned and moaned
until at last the white eyelids drooped beneath the gaze of Death, and
the finger of eternal silence was laid upon the fevered lips.

Of course Percy was not told how his friend died until long afterward,
when his questions could no longer be evaded. He was deeply moved,
crying out, "I don't want to die like that. If I must die during this
war, I hope I shall be instantly killed upon the battle-field." This
wish was granted.

He sleeps in a soldier's grave. In the light of eternity the sad
mystery which still shadows the hearts of those who live to mourn the
holy cause--loved and lost--exists no more for him.

Besides the "Buckner," there were the "Bragg" and two more hospitals,
the names of which I have forgotten, one presided over by two gentle
ladies,--Mrs. Harrison and Mrs. ----, of Florida,--whose devotion and
self-sacrifice, as well as their lovely Christian character and
perfect manners, made them well-beloved by everybody at the post. Mrs.
Harrison was a zealous Episcopalian. Through her influence and
correspondence frequent services were held in Newnan. We several times
enjoyed the ministrations of Bishops Quintard, Beckwith, and Wilmer.
The large number of wounded men, and the fearful character of their
wounds, made skill and devotion on the part of the surgeons of the
greatest importance. These conditions were well fulfilled, and aided
by the healthy locality "and" (during the first few months) "the
excellent possibilities open to our foragers," many a poor fellow
struggled back to comparative health. I was particularly fortunate
while in Newnan in having at my command supplies of clothing and money
from both Louisiana and Alabama. This, with the aid of my own wages,
which, although I had refused to receive them, had accumulated and
been placed to my account, and which I now drew, gave me excellent
facilities for providing comforts, not only for the sick, but for the
braves at the front, whose rations were growing "small by degrees and
beautifully less." Upon two occasions I received visits from the
venerable Dr. Fenner, of Louisiana, and his colleague, Mr. Collins.
Each time they left money and clothing, giving me large discretionary
powers, although specifying that, as the money was supplied by
Louisianians, the soldiers from that State should be first considered.
Through Mr. Peter Hamilton, of Mobile, Alabama, I also received boxes
of clothing and delicacies, and, upon two occasions, six hundred
dollars in money, with the request, "Of course, help our boys _first_,
but in _any case_ where sufferings or need exist, use your own
judgment." As there were hundreds entirely cut off from home, actually
suffering from want of clothing, sometimes needing a little good wine
or extra food, I found many occasions where it seemed to me right to
use this discretionary power, especially during visits to the front,
which I was called upon to make about this time, first to my husband
and his comrades in Kingston and Dalton, later to Macon to look up
some Louisiana and Alabama soldiers, and lastly to Atlanta, where my
husband and many other friends lay in the trenches. (Of these
experiences more hereafter.)

Mrs. Harrison, Mrs. Gamble, myself, and one or two others were the
only Episcopalians among the ladies of the Post, but the services were
attended by soldiers, both officers and privates. Mrs. Gamble, of
course, led the choir. We could always find bassos and tenors. I sang
alto. The music was really good. The death of Bishop Polk was a great
grief to everybody, especially to the faithful few among us who
revered him as a minister of The Church. Even while saying to
ourselves and to each other "God knows best," we could not at once
stifle the bitterness of grief, for it seemed as if a mighty bulwark
had been swept away. I had known Bishop Polk as a faithful and loving
shepherd of souls, feeding his flock in green pastures, tenderly
leading the weary and grief-stricken ones beside the waters of
comfort. But when the peaceful fold was invaded, when threatening
howls were arising on every side,--casting aside for a time the garb
of a shepherd, he sallied forth, using valorously his trusty sword,
opposing to the advance of the foe his own faithful breast, never
faltering until slain by the horrid fangs which greedily fastened
themselves deep in his heart. As I have already mentioned, I made
during the winter and spring several visits to the front. At one time
my husband, a member of Fenner's Louisiana Battery, was with his
command in winter quarters at Kingston, whither I went to pay a visit
and to inquire after the needs of the "boys." My little son (who had
by this time joined me at Newnan) accompanied me. Kingston was at this
time a bleak, dismal-looking place. I stopped at a large, barn-like
hotel, from the gallery of which, while sitting with visitors from
camp, I witnessed an arrival of Georgia militia, whose disembarkation
from a train in front of the hotel was met by a noisy demonstration.
They were a strange-looking set of men, but had "store clothes," warm
wraps, sometimes tall hats, in all cases _good ones_. This, with the
air of superiority they affected, was enough to provoke the fun-loving
propensities of the ragged, rough-looking veterans who had collected
to watch for the arrival of the train. As the shaking, rickety cars
passed out of sight, these raw troops walked up to the hotel and there
strode up and down, assuming supreme indifference to the storm of
raillery which assailed them. Of course my sympathies were with the
veterans, and I laughed heartily at their pranks. One of the first to
set the ball in motion was a tall, athletic-looking soldier clad in
jeans pants, with a faded red stripe adorning one leg only, ragged
shoes tied up with twine strings, and a flannel shirt which
undoubtedly had been washed by the Confederate military process
(_i.e._, tied by a string to a bush on the bank of a stream, allowed
to lie in the water awhile, then stirred about with a stick or boat
upon a rock, and hung up to drip and dry upon the nearest bush or tied
to the swaying limb of a tree). "A shocking bad hat" of the slouch
order completed his costume. Approaching a tall specimen of "melish,"
who wore a new homespun suit of "butternut jeans," a gorgeous cravat,
etc., the soldier opened his arms and cried out in intense accents,
"_Let_ me kiss him for his mother!" Another was desired to "come out
of that hat." A big veteran, laying his hand on the shoulder of a
small, scared-looking, little victim, and wiping his own eyes upon his
old hat, whined out, "I _say_, buddy, you didn't bring along no
sugar-teats, did you? I'm got a powerful hankerin' atter some." An
innocent-looking soldier would stop suddenly before one of the
new-comers neatly dressed, peer closely at his shirt-front, renewing
the scrutiny again and again with increasing earnestness, then,
striking an attitude, would cry out, "_Biled_, by Jove!" One, with a
stiff, thick, new overcoat, was met with the anxious inquiry, "Have
you got plenty of _stuffing_ in that coat, about _here_" (with a hand
spread over stomach and heart), "because the Yankee bullets is mighty
penetrating." Each new joke was hailed with shouts of laughter and
ear-piercing rebel yells, but at last the "melish" was marched off and
the frolic ended.

I received two invitations for the following day, one to dine with the
officers of Fenner's Louisiana Battery, and one, which I accepted,
from the soldiers of my husband's mess. About twelve o'clock the next
morning an ambulance stood before the door of the hotel. From it
descended a spruce-looking colored driver, who remarked, as he threw
the reins over the mule's back, "Don't nobody go foolin' wid dat da
mule ontwill I comes back. I jes gwine to step ober to de store yander
'bout some biziness fur de cap'n. Dat mule he feel mity gaily dis
mornin'. Look like he jes tryin' hisseff when he fin' nuffin' behin'
him but dis amperlants (ambulance) stid ob dem hebby guns." Off he
went, leaving the mule standing without being tied, and looking an
incarnation of mischief. The road to camp was newly cleared and full
of stumps and ruts. As I stood upon the upper gallery awaiting the
return of our Jehu, our little boy, taking advantage of the extra
fondness inspired in the heart of his father by long absence, clamored
to be lifted into the ambulance. This wish was gratified, his father
intending to take the reins and mount to the driver's seat, but before
he could do so the mule started off at headlong speed, with Georgie's
scared face looking out at the back, and perhaps a dozen men and boys
in hot pursuit. The mule went on to camp, creating great alarm there.
The child in some miraculous manner rolled out at the back of the
ambulance, and was picked up unhurt. This accident delayed matters a
little, but in due time we arrived at the village of log-huts, called
"Camp," and, having paid our respects to the officers, repaired to the
hut of my husband's mess. The dinner was already cooking outside.
Inside on a rough shelf were piles of shining tin-cups and plates,
newly polished. The lower bunk had been filled with new, _pine_ straw,
and made as soft as possible by piling upon it all the blankets of the
mess. This formed the chair of state. Upon it were placed, first,
myself (the centre figure), on one side my husband, exempt from duty
for the day, on the other my little boy, who, far from appreciating
the intended honor, immediately "squirmed" down, and ran off on a tour
of investigation through the camp. The mess consisted of six men
including my husband, of whom the youngest was Lionel C. Levy, Jr., a
mere boy, but a splendid soldier, full of fun and nerve and dash. Then
there was my husband's bosom friend, J. Hollingsworth, or Uncle Jake,
as he was called by everybody. Of the industrial pursuits of the mess,
he was the leading spirit, indeed, in every way his resources were
unbounded. His patience, carefulness, and pains-taking truly achieved
wonderful results in contriving and carrying into execution plans for
the comfort of the mess. He always carried an extra haversack, which
contained everything that could be thought of to meet contingencies or
repair the neglect of other people. He was a devoted patriot and a
contented, uncomplaining soldier; never sick, always on duty, a
thorough gentleman, kindly in impulses and acts, but--well, yes, there
was one spot upon this sun,--he was a confirmed bachelor. He could
face the hottest fire upon the battle-field, but a party of
ladies--_never_ with his own consent. Upon the day in question,
however, I was not only an invited guest, but the wife of his messmate
and friend. So, overcoming his diffidence, he made himself very
agreeable, and meeting several times afterward during the war, under
circumstances which made pleasant intercourse just as imperative, we
became fast friends, and have remained so to this day. John Sharkey,
Miles Sharkey, and one more, whose name I have forgotten, comprised,
with those mentioned above, the entire mess. The dinner was excellent,
better than many a more elegant and plentiful repast of which I have
partaken since the war. All the rations of beef and pork were combined
to make a fricassee _a la camp_, the very small rations of flour being
mixed with the cornmeal to make a large, round loaf of "stuff." These
delectable dishes were both cooked in bake-ovens outside the cabin.
From cross-sticks, arranged gypsy-fashion, swung an iron pot, in which
was prepared the cornmeal coffee, which, with "long sweetening"
(molasses) and without milk, composed the meal. In this well-arranged
mess the work was so divided that each man had his day to cut all the
wood, bring all the water, cook, wash dishes, and keep the cabin in
order. So, on this occasion there was no confusion. All was
accomplished with precision. In due time a piece of board was placed
before me with my rations arranged upon it in a bright tin plate, my
coffee being served in a gorgeous mug, which, I strongly suspect, had
been borrowed for the occasion, having once been a shaving-mug. Dinner
over, Lieutenant Cluverius called to escort me through the camp, and
at the officers' quarters I met many old acquaintances. Upon inquiry,
I found the boys in camp contented and entirely unwilling to receive
any benefit from the fund placed in my hands. They had taken the
chances of a soldier's life, and were quite willing to abide by them.

The terrible bumping which I had experienced while riding to camp, in
the ambulance drawn by the "gaily mule," disinclined me for another
ride. So, just at sunset, my husband and I, with our boy and one or
two friends, walked through the piny woods to the hotel, whence I
returned next day to Newnan. This was during the winter. Later, I made
a second trip, this time to Macon, having been called upon to supply
money to the family of an old soldier (deceased) who wanted to reach
home. Wishing to investigate in person, I went to Macon. On the
morning of my return, while passing through one of the hospitals, I
met at the bedside of a Louisiana soldier a member of Fenner's
Battery, John Augustin, of New Orleans. At the depot we met again, and
the gentleman very kindly took charge of me. I was going to Newnan, he
returning to camp. Delightful conversation beguiled the way. Among
other subjects, poets and poetry were discussed. I told him of Dr.
Archer, and a beautiful "Ode to Hygeia" composed by him, parts of
which I remembered and repeated. Gradually I discovered that Mr.
Augustin had an unfinished manuscript of his own with him, entitled
"Doubt," and at last persuaded him to let me read it. Finding me
interested, he yielded to my earnest request,--that he would send me
all his poems in manuscript. In due time they came, and with them a
dedication to myself, so gracefully conceived, so beautifully
expressed, that I may be pardoned for inserting it here.

"L'ENVOI.

"TO MRS. FANNIE A. BEERS.

"To you, though known but yesterday, I trust
These winged thoughts of mine.
Be not, I pray, too critically just,
Rather be mercy thine!

"Nor think on reading my despairing rhymes
That I am prone to sigh.
Poets, like children, weep and laugh at times,
Without scarce knowing why!

"Thoughts tend to heaven, mine are weak and faint.
Please help them up for me;
The sick and wounded bless you as a saint,
In this my patron be;

"And as the sun when shining it appears
On dripping rain awhile,
Make a bright rainbow of my fancy's tears
With your condoling smile.

"KINGSTON, February 23, 1864."

At the front, desultory fighting was always going on. Our army under
General Johnston acting on the defensive, although retreating,
contesting every step of the way, and from intrenched position, doing
great damage to the enemy. As the spring fairly opened, our troops
became more actively engaged. From the skirmishes came to us many
wounded. In May, the battle of New Hope Church was fought. General
Johnston, in his "Narrative," speaks of this as "the _affair_ at New
Hope." Judging from my own knowledge of the number of wounded who were
sent to the rear, and the desperate character of their wounds, I
should say it was a _very terrible_ "affair." A great many officers
were wounded and all our wards were full. There came to me some
special friends from Fenner's Louisiana Battery, which was heavily
engaged, losing several men and nearly all the horses. Lieutenant Wat.
Tyler Cluverius, while standing on the top of the breastworks and
turning towards his men to wave his sword, was shot through both
shoulders, a very painful wound, but which the gallant young soldier
made light of, pretending to be deeply mortified because "he had been
_shot in the back_." Although an exceptional soldier, he was a most
troublesome patient, because his strong desire to return to his
command made him restless and dissatisfied, greatly retarding his
recovery. Indeed, he would not remain in bed or in his ward. A more
splendid-looking officer I never saw. Better still, under his jacket
of gray there beat a heart instinct with every virtue which belongs by
nature to a Virginia gentleman. With the ladies of the "post" he
became a prime favorite. So kind and attentive were they that I gave
myself little thought concerning him. He was off and away in a
wonderfully short time, for duty lay _at the front_ and the strongest
attractions could not outweigh its claims.

W.T. Vaudry, also of Fenner's Louisiana Battery, was by his own
request sent to me. His wound was as painful as any that can be
imagined. He had been struck full in the pit of the stomach by a spent
ball, and was completely doubled up. He had been left on the field for
dead, and for some time it was feared that fatal internal injuries had
been received. From the nature of the wound, a full examination could
not be made at first. Speedy relief was quite impossible. Even the
loss of a limb or the most severe flesh-wound would have caused less
intense agony. Courage and endurance equally distinguish the true
soldier: the one distinction was his already, the other he now nobly
won during days of exquisite torture. I little thought as I bent over
him day after day, bathing the fevered brow, meeting with sorrowful
sympathy the eyes dim with anguish, that in this suffering _boy_ I
beheld one of the future deliverers of an outraged and oppressed
people. The officers' ward was delightfully situated on the corner of
the main street. Its many windows commanded a pleasant view of a
beautiful shaded square in the midst of which stood the brick
court-house (now filled with sick, and pertaining to the Bragg
Hospital). The windows on the side street gave a view far up the
street, becoming a post of observation for the gallant young officers
within, who invariably arranged themselves here "_for inspection_," at
the usual hour for the ladies' promenade, looking as became
interesting invalids, returning with becoming languor the glances of
bright eyes in which shone the pity which we are told is "akin to
love." Later these knights being permitted to join in the promenade,
made the very most of their helplessness, enjoying hugely the
necessary ministrations so simply and kindly given. Among these
officers were two whose condition excited my most profound sympathy as
well as required special care. Both were exiles; both badly wounded.
One, indeed, bore a wound so terrible that even though I looked upon
it every day, I could never behold it without a shudder. From a little
above the knee to the toes the mechanism of the leg was entirely
exposed, except upon the heel, which always rested in a suspensory
bandage lifted above the level of the bed upon which he rested. Every
particle of the flesh had sloughed off, and the leg began to heal not
"by first intention" but by unhealthy granulations like excrescences.
These had constantly to be removed, either by the use of nitric acid
(I believe) or by the knife. As maybe imagined, it was horribly
painful, _and there was no chloroform_. Day after day I was sent for,
and stood by, while this terrible thing was going on, wiping the sweat
from the face that, though pale as death, never quivered. Save an
occasional groan, deep and suppressed, there was no "fuss."

Does it seem to you that this was exceptional, dear reader? Ah! no; in
the wards outside, where lay hundreds of _private soldiers_, without
the pride of rank to sustain them, only their simple, noble manhood, I
daily witnessed such scenes. The courage and daring of our soldiers
have won full appreciation from the whole world. Of their patient
endurance, I was for four years a constant witness, and I declare that
it was sublime beyond conception. I cannot remember the name of the
heroic officer whose wound I have described. I remember, however, that
Dr. Jackson treated it successfully, and that in the desperate days,
towards the close of the war, the wounded man was again at his post. I
know not whether he fell in battle or if he still lives bearing that
horrible scar. Captain Weller, of Louisville, Kentucky, was also an
inmate of the same ward. My remembrance of him is that he also was
badly wounded. I also recollect that he was a great favorite with his
comrades in the ward, who spoke enthusiastically of his "record." He
was never gay like the others, but self-contained and reticent, and
frequently grave and sad, as became an exile from "the old Kentucky
home." My cares were at this time of constant skirmishing, greatly
increased by anxiety for my husband.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23