Dr. M. M. Marsh was Medical Inspector of the Department of the Gulf and South, his charge comprising the States of Georgia, South Carolina, and Florida. He held his appointment in the capacity mentioned from the Sanitary Commission, and from Government, the latter conferring upon him great authority over hospitals and health matters in general throughout his district.

It was in the early part of the year 1863 that Mrs. Marsh left her home in Vermont and joined her husband at Beaufort.

The object of Mrs. Marsh in going thither, was to establish a home with its comforts amidst the unfamiliar scenes and habitudes of the South.

Everything was strange, unnatural, unreal. Beaufort was in conquered territory occupied by its conquerors. The former inhabitants had fled, leaving lands, houses and negroes—all that refused to go with them, or could not be removed. Military rule prevailed, and the new population were Northern soldiers, and a few adventurous women. Besides these were blacks, men, women and children, many of them far from the homes they had known, and strange alike to freedom and a life made independent by their own efforts. From order to chaos, that was the transition a Northern woman underwent in coming to this place and state of society.

Mrs. Marsh had no sooner arrived than she found there was work to do and duties to perform in her new home on which she had not calculated. Her husband was frequently absent, sometimes for long periods. To his charge came the immense stores of supplies constantly forwarded by the Sanitary Commission, which were to be received, accounted for, unpacked, dealt out to the parties for whom they were intended. All this must be done by an intelligent person or persons, and by the same, reports of the condition of the hospitals must be made, together with the needful requisitions.

Here was business enough to employ the time, exhaust the strength, and occupy the thoughts of any single individual. It was a "man's work," as Mrs. Marsh often declares. Be that as it may, it was accomplished by a woman, and in the most admirable manner. The Sanitary Commission feels both proud and grateful, whenever the name of Mrs. Marsh is mentioned.

Her services were not of a nature to elicit great applause, or to attract much attention. They were quietly performed, and at a point quite aside from battle-fields, or any great center where thousands of spectators had the opportunity to become cognizant of them. But they were not, on account of these facts, less beneficent or useful.

Mrs. Marsh often visited the hospitals and made the acquaintance of the sick and wounded, becoming frequently, deeply interested in individuals. This was a feeling entirely different from that general interest in the welfare of every Union soldier which arose as much from the instincts of a patriotic heart, as from philanthropy.

She never became a hospital nurse, however, for she was fully occupied in other ways, and her husband, Dr. Marsh did not cordially approve, save in a few particular instances, of the introduction of women to the hospitals in that capacity. But living in the immediate vicinity of the hospitals, her benevolent face was often seen there, and welcomed with grateful smiles from many a bed of suffering.

A young officer from one of the Northern States and regiments, wounded at the battle of Olustee, was brought to Beaufort Hospital for treatment and care. Long previously there had been a compact between him and a comrade that the one first wounded should be cared for by the other if possible. The exigencies of the service were at that time such that this comrade could not without much difficulty obtain leave of absence. He finally, however, triumphed over all obstacles, and took his place beside his friend. Mrs. Marsh often saw them together, and listened, at one time, to a discussion or comparison of views which revealed the character and motives of both.

The unwounded one was rejoicing that his term of service was nearly expired. It was at a time when many were re-enlisting, but he emphatically declared he would not. "I would, then," replied the wounded man, "if I had the strength to enter upon another term of service, I would do so. When I did enlist it was because of my country's need, and that need is not less imminent now. Yes," he added, with a sigh, "if God would restore me to health, I would remain in the service till the end of the war. The surgeon tells me I shall not recover, that the next hemorrhage will probably be the last. But I am not sorry, I am glad, that I have done what I have done, and would do it again, if possible."

That this was the spirit of many of the wounded men, Mrs. Marsh delights to testify. This man was God's soldier, as well as the Union's. He had learned to think amid the awful scenes of Fort Wagner, and when wounded at Olustee was prepared to live or die, whichever was God's will. Mrs. Marsh was sitting beside his bed, in quiet conversation with him, when without warning, the hemorrhage commenced. The plash of blood was heard, as the life-current burst from his wound, and, "Go now," he said in his low calm voice. "This is the end, and I would not have you witness it."

The hemorrhage was, however, checked, but he died soon after. Meantime the Sanitary Commission stores were constantly arriving, and Mrs. Marsh continued to take the entire charge of them. A portion of her house was used for store-rooms, and there were received thousands of dollars' worth of comforts of all kinds from the North—a constant, never-failing flood of beneficence.

The first prisoners seen by Mrs. Marsh had come from Charleston. There were nine privates and three or four officers. Their rags scarcely covered them decently. They were filthy, squalid, emaciated. They halted at a point several miles from Beaufort, and a requisition was sent by the officers at this outpost, for clothing and other necessaries for the officers of the party. These were sent, but Mrs. Marsh thought there must be others—private soldiers, perhaps, for whom no provision had been made. She accordingly dispatched her nephew, who was a member of her family, to make inquiries and see that the wants of such were provided for.

In a short time she saw him returning at the head of his ragged brigade. The poor fellows were indeed a loathsome sight, worn, feeble, clad only in the unsightly rags which had been their prison wear. They were not shown into the office, but to a vestibule without, and their first desire was for water, soap—the materials for cleanliness. Mrs. Marsh examined her stores for clothing. That which was on hand was mainly designed for hospital use. She would have given each an entire suit, but could find only two or three pairs of coarse blue overalls, such as are worn by laborers at the North. As she stepped to the door to give them this clothing, she remarked upon the scarcity, and said the overalls must be given to the men that most needed them, but at once saw that where all were in filthy rags, there seemed no choice. The one who stood nearest her had taken a pair of the overalls, and was surveying them with delight, but he at once turned to another, "I guess he needs 'em most, I can get along with the old ones, a while," he said, in a cheerful tone, and smothering a little sigh he turned away.

This spirit of self-sacrifice was almost universal among the men of our army, and was shown to all who had any care over them. How much every man needed an entire change of clean, comfortable garments, was shown the instant they left, when the nephew of Mrs. Marsh commenced sweeping the vestibule where they had stood, with great vigor, replying to the remonstrances of his aunt, only "I must," and adding, in a lower tone, "They can't help it, poor fellows," as he made the place too hot to hold anything with life.

It was in the summer of 1864, that communication was first obtained with the prisoners in Charleston, a communication afterwards extended to all the loathsome prison-pens of the South, where our men languished in filth, disease, and starvation.

At this time Dr. Marsh's duties kept him almost entirely at Folly Island, and there he received a letter from General Seymour who was confined, with other Union officers, in Charleston, a part of the time under fire, asking that if possible certain needful articles might be sent to him. This letter was immediately sent to Mrs. Marsh, who at once prepared a box containing more than twice the amount of articles asked for, and forwarded them to the confederate authorities at Charleston, for General Seymour. Almost contrary to all expectations, this box reached the General, and but a short time elapsed before its receipt was acknowledged. The General wrote touchingly of their privations, and while thanking Mrs. Marsh warmly for the articles already sent, represented the wants of some of the other gentlemen, his companions. Supplies were sent them, received and acknowledged, and thus a regular channel of communication was opened.

One noticeable fact attended this correspondence—namely, the extreme modesty of the demands made; no one ever asking for more than he needed at the time, as a pair of stockings, or a single shirt, and always expressing a fear lest others might need these favors more than himself.

When, soon after, by means of this entering wedge, the way to the prisons of Andersonville, Florence, and Salisbury, was opened, the same fact was observed. In the midst of all their dreadful suffering and misery, the prisoners there made no large demands. They asked for but little—the smallest possible amount, and were always fearful lest they might absorb the bounty to which others had a better claim.

After this communication was opened, Mrs. Marsh found a delightful task in preparing the boxes which in great numbers were constantly being sent forward to the prisons. It was a part of her duty, also, to inspect the letters which went and came between the prisons and the outside world.

The pathos of many of these was far beyond description. Touching appeals constantly came to her from distant Northern homes for some tidings of the sons, brothers, fathers of whose captivity they had heard, but whose further existence had been a blank. Where are they? and how are they? were constantly recurring questions, which alas! it was far too often her sad duty to answer in a way to destroy all hope.

And the letters of the prisoners, filled to the uttermost, not with complaints, but with the pervading sadness that could not for one moment be banished from their horrible lives! No words can describe them, they were simply heart-breaking! Just as the horror of the prison-pens is beyond the power of words to fitly tell, so are the griefs which grew out of them.

Mrs. Marsh continued busily employed in this work of mercy until it was suddenly suspended. Some formality had not been complied with, and the privilege of communication was discontinued; and all their friends disappointed and disheartened. This we can easily imagine, but not what the suspension was to the suffering prisoners who had for a short season enjoyed this one gleam of light from the outer world, and were now plunged into a rayless hopeless night. When the time of deliverance came, as we all know, many of them were past the power of rejoicing in it.

Dr. Marsh was for a long time detained at Folly and Morris Islands. The force at Beaufort was quite inadequate, and exceedingly onerous and absorbing duties fell to the share of Mrs. Marsh. Communication was difficult. Dr. Marsh at times could not reach his home. Vessels which had been running between New York and Port Royal and Hilton Head were detained at the North. The receipt and transmission of sanitary stores, and the immense correspondence growing out of it; the general oversight of the needs of the hospitals, and the monthly reports of the same all fell heavily upon one brain and one pair of hands.

It was at just such an emergency that the army of Sherman, the "Great March" to the sea nearly completed, arrived upon the scene. The sick and disabled arrived by hundreds, the hospitals were filled up directly, and even thronged; while so numerous were the cases of small-pox, which had appeared in the army, that a large separate hospital had to be provided for them.

We may perhaps imagine how busy was the brave woman, left with such an immense responsibility on her hands.

Early in 1865, Dr. Marsh received notice that it had been determined to send him to Newbern, North Carolina, but he never went, being attacked soon after by a long and dangerous illness which for a time rendered it improbable that he would ever see his Northern home again.

It was at this time that a cargo of sanitary supplies arrived from New York. A part of these were a contribution from Montreal. Montreal had before sent goods to the Commission, but these were forwarded to Mrs. Marsh herself. A letter of hers written not long previous to a friend in New York, had been forwarded to Montreal, and had aroused a strong desire there to help her in her peculiar work. A large portion of this gift was from an M. P., who, though he might, like others, lift his voice against the American war, had yet enough of the milk of human kindness in his heart to lead him to desire to do something for her suffering soldiers and prisoners.

This gift Mrs. Marsh never saw, it being sent with the rest of the unbroken cargo back to Newbern in view of the expected arrival of her family there.

The surrender of Lee virtually closed the war, and the necessity of Dr. Marsh's stay in the South was no longer an important one. Besides this, his health would not permit it, and he returned to New York where he had long been wanted to take charge of the "Lincoln Home" in Grove Street, a hospital opened by the Sanitary Commission for lingering cases of wounds and sickness among homeless and destitute soldiers.

Of this hospital and home Dr. Marsh was surgeon, and Mrs. Marsh matron. Dr. Hoadly who had been with Dr. Marsh at the South, still retained the position of assistant. The health of Dr. Marsh improved, but he has never entirely recovered.

They entered the Lincoln Home on the 1st of May, 1865, and the house was immediately filled with patients. They remained there until June of the following year, 1866. During their stay between three and four hundred patients were admitted, and of those who were regular patients none died. One soldier, a Swede, was found in the street in the last stages of exhaustion and suffering, and died before the morning following his admission. He bore about him evidences of education and gentle birth, but he could not speak English, and carried with him into another world the secret of his name and identity. He had no disease, but the foundations of his life had been sapped by the irritation caused by filth and vermin.

As at the South, in the services of Mrs. Marsh here, there was a great disproportion between their showiness and their usefulness. She pursued her quiet round of labors, the results of which will be seen and felt for years, as much as in the present. Her kind voice, and pleasant smile will be an ever living and delightful memory in the hearts of all to whom she ministered during those long hours of the nation's peril, in which the best blood of her sons was poured out a red libation to Liberty.

After the close of the Lincoln Home, Mrs. Marsh continued to devote herself to suffering soldiers and their families, making herself notably useful in this important department of the nation's work.