A letter from Central Georgia begging for Sisters of Charity.—“Are they men or women?” A cautious priest who took the good nurses for impostors. The train crashes through a bridge. The “magic” lunch basket and how it fed an unlimited number of Sisters and soldiers. The hospitals at Marietta and Atlanta.

After the battle of Fredericksburg, in December, 1862, the Sisters who had been looking after the sick and wounded in the hospitals near Richmond soon found their labors reduced very materially. The armies on both sides were becoming more accustomed to the hardships of the camps, and as a result there was less sickness in the various regiments. There had also been a cessation of battles in the vicinity of Richmond, and as a consequence there were no wounded men to care for. The Sisters, feeling that their usefulness was at an end, called upon the officer in charge and asked for passports in order that they might return through the lines to their Emmittsburg home. The official would not consent to their going away, claiming that he knew they would be needed in other places in the near future. This being the case, they remained.

The next day a letter came from the military in Central Georgia, begging for Sisters of Charity to be sent to their hospital there. Five Sisters left for this place on the night of February 24, 1863. A fierce battle had taken place, rendering the services of the Sisters very necessary. On the way, at many places where they stopped, there was great curiosity at the sight of their peculiar garb. Upon one occasion, having to wait two hours for a train, the curious bystanders examined the Sisters closely, saying:

“Who are they?” “Are they men or women?” “Oh, what a strange uniform this company has adopted.” “Surely the enemy will run from them.”

Once or twice the crowd pushed roughly against the Sisters, as though to see whether they were human beings or not. A Sister spoke to a woman at the station, and thereupon many in the crowd clapped their hands and shouted: ‘She spoke! she spoke!’

At one of the towns where the Sisters stopped they did not know where to look for lodgings. Acting upon the first impulse, they went to the Catholic pastor’s residence and inquired where they might be accommodated. The good old priest, strange as it may seem, had never seen their costume before, and as every day had its impostures to avoid, he was reserved and cautious, even unwilling to direct them to any house. At last his pity got the better of his prudence and he said slowly: “I will show you where the Sisters of Mercy live.” He took them there, where the good Mother received them with open arms, saying: “Oh, the dear Sisters of Charity. You are truly welcome to my house.”

This lady had been kindly entertained some years before by the Sisters of Charity at Baltimore. The poor, abashed priest had kept near the door, fearing he had put trouble on the good Sisters of Mercy, but when he saw the reception accorded the visitors he brightened up. Approaching one of the Sisters with outstretched hands, he said: “Oh, ladies, make friends; I thought you were impostors.”

Continuing the journey, one night a cry suddenly went up: “The cars have gone through the bridge and we are in the river.” The greatest excitement prevailed in the train. Passengers rushed to and fro, falling over one another in their confusion. The Sisters had gone through so many exciting scenes during the war that they had learned the value of retaining their presence of mind in such an emergency. They remained still and soon learned that the accident had not occurred to their train, but to one coming in the opposite direction. Except by the help of torches very little could be done until daylight. Two of the Sisters, however, crossed to the other side of the bridge and gave suitable attention to the sufferers, washing and binding their wounds. None were killed or in serious danger. By 12 o’clock the next day they reached a town. No refreshments were to be had. The work of devastation on the part of Sherman’s army had preceded them. Fortunately a little basket of lunch, originally prepared for five Sisters, offered some sustenance. The next day the number of Sisters had increased to eleven and several strangers also, with whom they shared their supplies. At 9 o’clock the same evening a poor soldier near them in the car said: “Oh, but I am hungry. I have not had one crumb of food this day.”

Out came the magic basket and the sufferer was satisfied. Immediately others asked for food. The two following days the Sisters had the soldiers to supply besides themselves, and yet the generous basket was true to all demands. On the third day’s journey they reached their field of labor. It was in the town of Marietta. A very fine building had been prepared for hospital purposes, and the whole place, with its wants and workings, was placed in charge of the Sisters. Their trained hands soon reduced everything to a system, and from that hour until its close the affairs of the institution went like clockwork.

The Sisters were five weeks without having the opportunity or facilities for hearing Mass. Two Sisters at last went to Atlanta, where there were two priests, and begged that they might at least have Mass at Easter, which was then approaching. This was agreed to, and not only the Sisters, but many poor soldiers made their Easter duty. An earnest appeal was also made for a chaplain, and “headquarters” appointed one. Before he arrived, however, orders were given to remove, as the enemy was advancing. The Sisters had just received many wounded soldiers, and these men grieved bitterly when the religious left them.9

On the 24th of May, in response to an urgent appeal, the Sisters reached Atlanta, where nearly all the houses were filled with the sick and wounded. Only tents could be raised for the Sisters. They had five hundred patients in the tents at the start, and large numbers were added daily. The Sisters were provided with a little log house, containing two small rooms. The mice ran over them at night and the rain was so constant through the day that their umbrellas were always in their hands. Two of them became very ill. The surgeon told them to keep in readiness for a move, but the patients were so happy and doing so well under their care that he could not think of their leaving at that time.

A poor man, badly wounded, had been very cross and abusive towards the Sister who served him, but she increased her kindness and on the surface did not seem to understand his rudeness. At last he became very weak, and one day when she was waiting on him she saw that he was weeping. She said: “Have I pained you? I know I am too rough. Pardon me this time and I will try to spare you pain again, for I would rather lessen than augment distress in this hour of misery.”

He burst into tears and said: “My heart is indeed pained at my ingratitude towards you, for I have received nothing less than maternal care from you, and I have received it in anger. Do pardon me. I declare I am forced to respect your patience and charity. When I came into this hospital and found that the Sisters were the nurses my heart was filled with hatred. My mind was filled with prejudice—a prejudice which I confess was inherited from those nearest and dearest to me. I did not believe that anything good could come from the Sisters. But now I see my mistake all too clearly, and in seeing it I recognize the unintentional blackness of my own heart. I have seen the Sisters in their true light. I see their gentleness, their humility, their daily—aye, their hourly sacrifices, their untiring work for others; in a word, their great love for humanity. Forgive me if you can.”

This man soon after expired with the most edifying sentiments upon his lips.

The Sisters were employed at Camp Dennison until the hospitals there were systematized; then they went to New Creek, Va., and Cumberland, Md. During Pope’s campaign they followed Sigel’s corps in the ambulances. After the battle of Stone River they went to Nashville and took charge of Hospital 14, capable of accommodating 700 or 800 patients. The following document, written on the occasion of the Sisters leaving Nashville, will show the light in which they were regarded by the inmates of the hospital. The paper was signed by two hundred and thirty-six persons.

General Hospital No. 14, Nashville, Tenn., November, 1863.

To the Late Superior and Sisters of Charity in Attendance of Said Hospital:—The undersigned attaches and patients in said hospital have learned with regret that you contemplate leaving your present post of labor, and the object of this is to express the hope that you may be induced to forego that intention, and kindly consent to remain with us:

During your stay in the hospital you have been indeed sisters to all the patients, and your uniform kindness to all has endeared you to all our hearts.

Should you leave us we can only say that wherever you may go you will bear with you the soldier’s gratitude and our earnest hope and prayer is that in whatever field you may labor in future you may be as happy as you have been kind and charitable to us, and may heaven’s choicest blessings be showered upon you for your kindnesses to the poor sick and wounded soldier.

Private William N. Nelson, Nineteenth Illinois Infantry, writes that he was passing through the ward getting signatures to the above petition when one poor fellow, who was lying on the bed almost dead, aroused himself and said: “I want to sign that paper. I would sign it fifty times if asked, for the Sisters have been to me as my mother since I have been here, and I believe had I been here before I would have been well long ago. But if the Sisters leave I know I shall die. This is the feeling of every sick soldier under the care of the Sisters.”

On May 2, 1863, General Joseph Hooker, who had succeeded Burnside, fought General Lee at Chancellorsville, but was defeated. Lee followed up this victory by crossing the Potomac at Harper’s Ferry, and marching into Pennsylvania. The Union army under General Meade advanced to meet him, and then came Gettysburg.