Chapter II · THEIR WORK (continued 2)
Reading edition
GOVERNMENT CLERKSHIPS
[In Richmond During the War, pages 174-175.]
From the Treasury Department, the employment of female clerks extended to various offices in the War Department, the Post Office Department, and indeed every branch of business connected with the government. They were all found efficient and useful. By this means many young men could be sent into the ranks, and by testimony of the chiefs of bureaus, the work left for the women was better done; for they were more conscientious in their duties than the more self-satisfied, but not better qualified, male attaches of the government offices. The experiment of placing women in government clerkships proved eminently successful, and grew to be extremely popular under the Confederate government.
Many a young girl remembers with gratitude the kindly encouragement of our Adjutant-General Cooper, our chief of ordnance, Colonel Gorgas, or the first auditor of the Confederate treasury, Judge Bolling Baker, or Postmaster-General Reagan, and various other officials, of whom their necessities drove them to seek employment. The most high-born ladies of the land filled these places as well as the humble poor; but none could obtain employment under the government who could not furnish testimonials of intelligence and superior moral worth.
SCHOOLS IN WAR TIMES
[In Richmond During the War, pages 188-189.]
As the war went on a marked change was made in the educational interests of the South. For a certain number of pupils, the teachers of schools were exempt from military duty. To their credit be it recorded that few, comparatively, availed themselves of this exception, and the care of instructing the youth devolved, with other added responsibilities, upon the women of the country. Only the boys under conscript age were found in the schools; all older were made necessary in the field or in some department of government service, unless physical inability prevented them from falling under the requirements of the law. Many of our colleges for males suspended operation, and at the most important period in the course of their education our youths were instructed in the sterner lessons of military service.
HUMANITY IN THE HOSPITALS
[Richmond Enquirer, June 6, 1862.]
In our visits to the various hospitals, we cannot but remark, admire, and commend the kindly harmony and sweet-tempered familiarity which mark the intercourse of the ladies who have devoted themselves to the care of the sick and the wounded. There is a unity in the actions and solicitude of all which only a unity of motive could induce. The amiable and unpretending sister of mercy, the earnest bright-eyed Jewish girl and the womanly, gentle, and energetic Protestant, mingle their labors with a freedom and geniality which would teach the most prejudiced zealot a lesson that would never be forgotten. The necessity of charity, once demonstrated, teaches us that we are one kindred, after all, and whatever differences may exist in the peculiar tenets of the many, all hearts are alike open to the same impulses, and the couch of suffering at once commands their sympathy and reminds them of an identity of hope and a common fate.
MRS. DAVIS AND THE FEDERAL PRISONER
[Augusta, Ga., Constitutionalist.]
A clerical friend of ours in passing through one of our streets a few days since, to perform a ministerial duty—attending to the sick and wounded in the hospitals—encountered a stranger, who accosted him thus: “My friend, can you tell me if Mrs. Jeff Davis is in the city of Augusta?”
“No, sir,” replied our friend. “She is not.”
“Well, sir,” replied the stranger, “you may be surprised at my asking such a question, and more particularly so when I inform you that I am a discharged United States soldier. But (and here he evinced great feeling), sir, that lady has performed acts of kindness to me which I can never forget. When serving in the valley of Virginia, battling for the Union, I received a severe and dangerous wound. At the same time I was taken prisoner and conveyed to Richmond, where I received such kindness and attention from Mrs. Davis that I can never forget her; and, now that I am discharged from the army and at work in this city, and understanding that the lady was here, I wish to call upon her, renew my expressions of gratitude to her, and offer to share with her, should she unfortunately need it, the last cent I have in the world.”
Can it be truly charged on a nation that it was wantonly, criminally cruel, when a generous foe bears testimony to the mercy, kindness, and lowly service of the highest lady of the land?
SOCKS THAT NEVER WORE OUT
General Gordon tells of a simple-hearted country Confederate woman who gave a striking idea of the straits to which our people were reduced later in the war. She explained that her son’s only pair of socks did not wear out, because, said she: “When the feet of the socks get full of holes, I just knit new feet to the tops, and when the tops wear out I just knit new tops to the feet.”
BURIAL OF AUNT MATILDA
[Mrs. R. A. Pryor’s Reminiscences.]
This precise type of a Virginia plantation will never appear again, I imagine. I wish I could describe a plantation wedding as I saw it that summer. But a funeral of one of the old servants was peculiarly interesting to me. “Aunt Matilda” had been much loved and, when she found herself dying, she had requested that the mistress and little children should attend her funeral.
“I ain’ been much to church,” she urged. “I couldn’t leave my babies. I ain’ had dat shoutin’ an’ hollerin’ religion, but I gwine to heaven jes’ de same”—a fact of which nobody who knew Aunt Matilda could have the smallest doubt.
We had a long, warm walk behind hundreds of negroes, following the rude coffin in slow procession through the woods, singing antiphonally as they went, one of those strange, weird hymns not to be caught by any Anglo-Saxon voice.
It was a beautiful and touching scene, and at the grave I longed for an artist (we had no kodaks then) to perpetuate the picture. The level rays of the sun were filtered through the green leaves of the forest, and fell gently on the dusky pathetic faces, and on the simple coffin surrounded by orphan children and relatives, very dignified and quiet in their grief.
The spiritual patriarch of the plantation presided. Old Uncle Abel said:
“I ain’ gwine keep you all long. ’Tain’ no use. We can’t do nothin’ for Sis’ Tildy. All is done fer her, an’ she done preach her own fune’al sermon. Her name was on dis church book here, but dat warn’ nothin’; no doubt ’twas on de Lamb book, too.
“Now, whiles dey fillin’ up her grave, I’d like you all to sing a hymn Sis’ Tildy uster love, but you all know I bline in one eye, an’ I dunno as any o’ you all ken do it”—and the first thing I knew, the old man had passed his well-worn book to me, and there I stood at the foot of the grave, “lining out”:
“‘Asleep in Jesus, blessed sleep, From which none ever wake to weep.’”
Words of immortal comfort to the great throng of negro mourners who caught it up line after line, on an air of their own, full of tears and tenderness,—a strange, weird tune no white person’s voice could ever follow.
“ILLEGANT PAIR OF HANDS”
[Phoebe Y. Pember.]
A large number of the surgeons were absent, and the few left would not be able to attend to all the wounds at that late hour of the night. I proposed in reply that the convalescent men should be placed on the floor on blankets or bed-sacks filled with straw, and the wounded take their place, and, purposely construing his silence into consent, gave the necessary orders, eagerly offering my services to dress simple wounds, and extolling the strength of my nerves. He let me have my way (may his ways be of pleasantness and his paths of peace), and so, giving Miss G. orders to make an unlimited supply of coffee, tea, and stimulants, armed with lint, bandages, castile soap, and a basin of warm water, I made my first essay in the surgical line. I had been spectator often enough to be skilful. The first object that needed my care was an Irishman. He was seated upon a bed with his hands crossed, wounded in both arms by the same bullet. The blood was soon washed away, wet lint applied, and no bones being broken, the bandages easily arranged.
“I hope that I have not hurt you much,” I said with some trepidation. “These are the first wounds that I have ever dressed.”
“Sure, they be the most illegant pair of hands that ever touched me, and the lightest,” he gallantly answered. “And I am all right now.”
THE GUN-BOAT “RICHMOND”
[Scharf’s Confederate Navy.]
The “Ladies’ Defence Association” was then formed at Richmond, with Mrs. Maria G. Clopton, president; Mrs. General Henningsen, vice-president; Mrs. R. H. Maury, treasurer, and Mrs. John Adams Smith, secretary. At its meeting, on April 9th, an address, prepared by Captain J. S. Maury, was read by Rev. Dr. Doggett. In this address it was eloquently stated that the first efforts of the association would be “directed to the building and putting afloat in the waters of the James River a steam man-of-war, clad in shot-proof armor; her panoply to be after the manner of that gallant ship, the noble Virginia.” Committees were appointed to solicit subscriptions, and so much encouragement was received that the managers of the association called upon President Davis for sanction of its purpose, which he gladly gave, and it was announced that the keel of the vessel would be laid in a few days; that Commander Farrand would be in charge of the work, and that he would be assisted by Ship-builder Graves.
Words can but inadequately represent the energy with which the women of Virginia undertook this work, or the sacrifices which they made to complete it. That their jewels and their household plate, heirlooms, in many instances, that had been handed down from generation to generation and were the embodiments of ancestral rank and tradition, were freely given up, is known. “Virginia,” said they in their appeal, “when she sent her sons into this war, gave up her jewels to it. Let not her daughters hold back. Mothers, wives, sisters! what are your ornaments of silver and gold in decoration, when by dedicating them to a cause like this, you may in times like these strengthen the hand or nerve the arm, or give comfort to the heart that beats and strikes in your defence! Send them to us.”
The organization, moreover, did not confine itself to urging upon the women of the State that this was particularly their contribution to the maintenance of the Confederacy. “Iron railings,” the address continued, “old and new, scrap-iron about the house, broken ploughshares about the farm, and iron in any shape, though given in quantities ever so small, will be thankfully received if delivered at the Tredegar Works, where it may be put into the furnace, reduced, and wrought into shape or turned into shot and shell.” A friendly invasion of the tobacco factories was made by a committee of ladies, consisting of Mrs. Brooke Gwathney, Mrs. B. Smith, and Mrs. George T. Brooker, and the owners cheerfully broke up much of their machinery that was available for the specified purpose. Mrs. R. H. Maury, treasurer of the association, took charge of the contributions in money, plate, and jewelry; the materials and tools were sent to Commodore Farrand, and an agent, S. D. Hicks, was appointed to receive the contributions of grain, country produce, etc., that were sent in by Virginia farmers to be converted into cash. By the end of April the construction had reached an advanced stage; President Davis and Secretary Mallory had congratulated the Ladies’ Association upon the assured success of its self-allotted task, and by the sale of articles donated to a public bazaar or fair, almost a sufficient sum to complete the ship was secured.
The Richmond was completed in July, 1862, and although detailed descriptions are lacking all mention made of her is unanimous that she was an excellent ship of her type. Captain Parker says that “she was a fine vessel, built on the plan of the Virginia.”
Note.—Mrs. General Henningsen received from New Orleans boxes containing articles to be sold for contribution to building the Richmond. Among the articles were two beautiful vases, which were bought by a gentleman of Richmond and are now in the possession of his family. The Richmond was destroyed on the evacuation of the Capital City.—J. L. U.
CAPTAIN SALLY TOMPKINS
[By J. L. Underwood.]
Southern women have cared little for public honors nor have they courted masculine titles. But a recent number of the Richmond Times-Dispatch recalls the pleasant bit of history that in the case of Miss Sallie Tompkins a remarkable honor was deservedly conferred upon a worthy Virginia girl by the Confederate authorities.
While yet a very young woman Miss Tompkins used her ample means to establish in Richmond a private hospital for Confederate soldiers. She not only provided for its support at her own expense, but devoted her time to the work of nursing the patients.
The wounded were brought into the city by the hundreds and there was hardly a private house without its quota of sick and wounded. Quite a number of private hospitals were established but, unlike Miss Tompkins’s splendid institution, charges were made by some of them for services rendered. In course of time abuses grew with the system, and General Lee ordered that they all be closed—all except the hospital of Miss Tompkins. This was recognized as too helpful to the Confederate cause to be abolished.
In order to preserve it it had to be brought under government control, and to do this General Lee ordered a commission as captain in the Confederate army to be issued to Miss Sallie Tompkins. Though a government hospital from that time on, Captain Tompkins conducted it as before, paying its expenses out of her private purse.
The veterans are proud of her record, and a movement is now on foot among them to place Captain Tompkins in a position of independence as long as she lives.
THE ANGEL OF THE HOSPITAL
[From the Gray Jacket, pages 143-146.]
’Twas nightfall in the hospital. The day, As though its eyes were dimmed with bloody rain From the red clouds of war, had quenched its light, And in its stead some pale, sepulchral lamps Shed their dim lustre in the halls of pain, And flitted mystic shadows o’er the walls. No more the cry of “Charge! On, soldiers, on!” Stirred the thick billows of the sulphurous air; But the deep moan of human agony, From the pale lips quivering as they strove in vain To smother mortal pain, appalled the ear, And made the life-blood curdle in the heart. Nor flag, nor bayonet, nor plume, nor lance, Nor burnished gun, nor clarion call, nor drum, Displayed the pomp of battle; but instead The tourniquet, the scalpel, and the draught, The bandage, and the splint were strewn around— Dumb symbols, telling more than tongues could speak The awful shadows of the fiend of war. Look! Look! What gentle form with cautious step Passes from couch to couch as silently As yon faint shadows flickering on the walls, And, bending o’er the gasping sufferer’s head, Cools his flushed forehead with the icy bath, From her own tender hand, or pours the cup Whose cordial powers can quench the inward flame That burns his heart to ashes, or with voice As tender as a mother’s to her babe, Pours pious consolation in his ear. She came to one long used in war’s rude scenes— A soldier from his youth, grown gray in arms, Now pierced with mortal wounds. Untutored, rough, Though brave and true, uncared for by the world. His life had passed without a friendly word, Which timely spoken to his willing ear, Had wakened God-like hopes, and filled his heart With the unfading bloom of sacred truth. Beside his couch she stood, and read the page Of heavenly wisdom and the law of love, And bade him follow the triumphant chief Who bears the unconquered banner of the cross. The veteran heard with tears and grateful smile, Like a long-frozen fount whose ice is touched By the restless sun, and melts away, And, fixing his last gaze on her and heaven, Went to the Judge in penitential prayer. She passed to one, in manhood’s blooming prime, Lately the glory of the martial field, But now, sore-scathed by the fierce shock of arms, Like a tall pine shattered by the lightning’s stroke, Prostrate he lay, and felt the pangs of death, And saw its thickening damps obscure the light Which make our world so beautiful. Yet those He heeded not. His anxious thoughts had flown O’er rivers and illimitable woods, To his fair cottage in the Western wilds, Where his young bride and prattling little ones— Poor hapless little ones, chafed by the wolf of war— Watched for the coming of the absent one In utter desolation’s bitterness. O, agonizing thought! which smote his heart With sharper anguish than the sabre’s point. The angel came with sympathetic voice, And whispered in his ear: “Our God will be A husband to the widow, and embrace The orphan tenderly within his arms; For human sorrow never cries in vain To His compassionate ear.” The dying man Drank in her words with rapture; cheering hope Shone like a rainbow in his tearful eyes, And arched his cloud of sorrow, while he gave The dearest earthly treasures of his heart, In resignation to the care of God. A fair man-boy of fifteen summers tossed His wasted limbs upon a cheerless couch. Ah! how unlike the downy bed prepared By his fond mother’s love, whose tireless hands No comforts for her only offspring spared From earliest childhood, when the sweet babe slept, Soft—nestling in her bosom all the night, Like a half-blown lily sleeping on the heart Of swelling summer wave, till that sad day He left the untold treasure of her love To seek the rude companionship of war. The fiery fever struck his swelling brain With raving madness, and the big veins throbbed A death-knell on his temples, and his breath Was hot and quick, as is the panting deer’s, Stretched by the Indian’s arrow on the plain. “Mother! Oh, mother!” oft his faltering tongue Shrieked to the cold, bare wall, which echoed back His wailing in the mocking of despair. Oh! angel nurse, what sorrow wrung thy heart For the young sufferer’s grief! She knelt beside The dying lad, and smoothed his tangled locks Back from his aching brow, and wept and prayed With all a woman’s tenderness and love, That the good Shepherd would receive this lamb, Far wandering from the dear maternal fold, And shelter him in His all-circling arms, In the green valleys of Immortal rest. And so the angel passed from scene to scene Of human suffering, like that blessed One, Himself the man of sorrows and of grief, Who came to earth to teach the law of love, And pour sweet balm upon the mourner’s heart, And raise the fallen and restore the lost. Bright vision of my dreams! thy light shall shine Through all the darkness of this weary world— Its selfishness, its coolness, and its sin, Pure as the holy evening star of love, The brightest planet in the host of heaven.