[H] Her mother, Mrs. Woolsey.
Anna Maria Ross, the subject of this sketch, was a native of Philadelphia, in which city the greater part of her life was spent, and in which, on the 22d of December, 1863, she passed to her eternal rest.
It was a very beautiful life of which we have now to speak—a life of earnest activity in every work of benevolence and Christian kindness. She had gathered about her, in her native city, scores of devoted friends, who loved her in life, and mourned her in death with the sentiments of a true bereavement.
Miss Ross was patriotic by inheritance, as well as through personal loyalty. Her maternal relatives were largely identified with the war of American Independence. Her mother's uncle, Jacob Root, held a captain's commission in the Continental army, and it is related of her great grandmother that she served voluntarily as a moulder in an establishment where bullets were manufactured to be used in the cause of freedom.
Her mother's name was Mary Root, a native of Chester County, Pennsylvania. Her father was William Ross, who emigrated early in life from the county of Derry, Ireland. There may have been nothing in her early manifestations of character to foreshow the noble womanhood into which she grew. There remains, at any rate, a small record of her earliest years. The wonderful powers which she developed in mature womanhood possess a greater interest for those who know her chiefly in connection with the labors which gave her so just a claim to the title of "The Soldier's Friend."
Endowed by nature with great vigor of mind and uncommon activity and energy, of striking and commanding personal appearance and pleasing address, she had been, before the war, remarkably successful in the prosecution of those works of charity and benevolence which made her life a blessing to mankind. Well-known to the public-spirited and humane of her native city, her claims to attention were fully recognized, and her appeals in behalf of the needy and suffering were never allowed to pass unheeded.
"I have little hope of success," she said once to her companion, in going upon an errand of mercy: "yet we may get one hundred dollars. The lady we are about to visit is not liberal, though wealthy. Let us pray that her heart may be opened to us. Many of my most earnest prayers have been made while hurrying along the street on such errands as this." The lady gave her three hundred dollars.
On one occasion she was at the house of a friend, when a family was incidentally mentioned as being in great poverty and affliction. The father had been attacked with what is known as "black small pox," and was quite destitute of the comforts and attentions which his situation required, some of the members of his own family having left the house from fear of the infection. The quick sympathies of Miss Ross readily responded to this tale of want and neglect. "While God gives me health and strength," she earnestly exclaimed, "no man shall thus suffer!" With no more delay than was required to place in a basket articles of necessity and comfort she hastened to the miserable dwelling; nor did she leave the poor sufferer until he was beyond the reach of human aid forever. And her thoughtful care ceased not even here. From her own friends she sought and obtained the means of giving him a respectable burial.
The lady to whom the writer is indebted for the above incident, relates that on the day when all that was mortal of Anna Maria Ross was consigned to its kindred dust, as she was entering a street-car, the conductor remarked, "I suppose you have been to see the last of Miss Ross." Upon her replying in the affirmative, he added, while tears flowed down his cheeks, "I did not know her, but she watched over my wife for four weeks when she had a terrible sickness. She was almost an entire stranger to her when she came and offered her assistance."
Her work for the soldier was chiefly performed in connection with the institution known as the Cooper Shop Hospital, a branch of the famous Cooper Shop Refreshment Saloon, for Soldiers. Miss Ross was appointed Lady Principal of this Institution, and devoted herself to it with an energy that never wearied. Day and night she was at her post—watching while others slept, dressing with her own hands the most loathsome wounds; winning the love and admiration of all with whom she was associated. Her tasks were arduous, her sympathies were drawn upon to the utmost, her responsibilities were great.
One who knew her well, and often saw her within the walls of the "Cooper Shop," thus gives us some incidents of her work there. The benevolence expressed in her glowing countenance, and the words of hearty welcome with which she greeted a humble coadjutor in her loving labors, will never be forgotten. It was impossible not to be impressed at once by the tender earnestness with which she engaged in her self-imposed duties, and her active interest in everything which concerned the well-being of those committed to her charge. When they were about to leave her watchful care forever, a sister's thoughtfulness was exhibited in her preparations for their comfort and convenience. The wardrobe of the departing soldier was carefully inspected, and everything needful was supplied. It was her custom also to furnish to each one who left, a sum of money, "that he might have something of his own" to meet any unexpected necessity by the way. And if the donation-box at the entrance of the hospital chanced to be empty, her own purse made good the deficiency. The writer well remembers the anxious countenance with which she was met one morning by Miss Ross, when about taking her place for the day's duty. "I am so sorry!" was her exclamation. "When C—— left for Virginia last night I forgot, in the confusion, to give him money; and I am afraid that he has nothing of his own, for he had not received his pay. I thought of it after I was in bed, and it disturbed my sleep."
The tenderness of Miss Ross's nature was never more touchingly exhibited than in the case of Lieutenant B——, of Saratoga, New York. He was brought to the hospital by his father for a few days' rest before proceeding to his home. Mortally wounded, he failed so rapidly that he could not be removed. During two days and nights of agonizing suffering Miss Ross scarcely left his side, and while she bathed his burning brow and moistened his parched lips she mingled with these tender offices words of Christian hope and consolation. "Call me Anna," she said, "and tell me all which your heart prompts you to say." And as life ebbed away he poured into her sympathizing ear the confidences which his mother, alas! could not receive. With tearful eyes and sorrowing heart this new-found friend watched by him to the last—then closed the heavy eyes, and smoothed the raven locks, and sent the quiet form, lovely even in death, to her who waited its arrival in bitter anguish.
To those who best knew the subject of this sketch, it seems a hopeless task to enumerate the instances of unselfish devotion to the good of others with which that noble life was filled. It was the same tale again and again repeated. Alike the pain, the anxiety, the care; alike the support, the encouragement, the consolation. No marvel was it that the sinking soldier, far from home and friends, mistook the gentle ministry for that which marks earth's strongest tie, and at her approach, whispered "mother."
It would be impossible to enumerate a tithe of the special instances of her kindly ministrations, but there are some that so vividly illustrate prominent points in her character that we cannot refrain from the record. One of these marked traits was her perseverance in the accomplishment of any plan for the good of her charges, and may well be mentioned here.
For a long time an Eastern soldier, named D——, was an inmate of her hospital, and as, though improving, his recovery was slow, and it seemed unlikely that he would soon be fit for service in the ranks, she got him the appointment of hospital steward, and he remained where he could still have care.
After the battle of Gettysburg he relapsed, and from over-work and over-wrought feeling, sank into almost hopeless depression. The death of a beloved child, and an intense passionate longing to revisit his home and family, aided this deep grief, and gave it a force and power that threatened to deprive him of life or reason. It was at this crisis that with her accustomed energy Miss Ross directed all her efforts toward restoring him to his family. After the preliminary steps had been taken she applied to the captain of a Boston steamer, but he refused to receive a sick passenger on account of the want of suitable accommodations. The case was urgent. He must go or die. "There is no room," repeated the captain.
"Give him a place upon the floor," was the rejoinder, "and I will furnish everything needful." "But a sick man cannot have proper attendance under such circumstances," persisted the captain. "I will go with him if necessary," she replied, "and will take the entire charge of his comfort." "Miss Ross, I am sorry to refuse you, but I cannot comply with your request. This answer must be final."
What was to be done? The unsuccessful pleader covered her face with her hands for a few moments; then raising her head said, slowly and sadly, "Captain ——, I have had many letters from the friends of New England soldiers, thanking me with overflowing hearts for restoring to them the dearly loved husband, son, or brother while yet alive. From D.'s wife I shall receive no such message. This is his only chance of life. He cannot bear the journey by land. He must go by water or die. He will die here—far from friends and home." This appeal could not be resisted. "I will take him, Miss Ross," was the answer; "but it must be only upon the condition that you will promise not to ask such a favor of me again whatever the case may be." "Never!" was the quick reply, "never will I bind myself by such a promise while an Eastern soldier needs a friend or a passage to his home! You are the first man to whom I should apply." "Then let him come without a promise. You have conquered; I will do for him all that can be done."
Could such friendship fail to win the hearts of those to whom this inestimable woman gave the cheerful service of her life's best days? "Do you want to see Florence Nightingale?" said one, who had not yet left the nursing care which brought him back to life and hope, to a companion whom he met. "If you do, just come to our hospital and see Miss Ross."
This was the only reward she craved—a word of thoughtful gratitude from those she sought to serve; and in this was lost all remembrance of days of toil and nights of weariness. So from week to week and from month to month the self-consecration grew more complete—the self-forgetfulness more perfect. But the life spent in the service of others was drawing near its end. The busy hands were soon to be folded, the heavy eyelids forever closed, the weary feet were hastening to their rest.
The spring of 1863 found Miss Ross still occupied in the weary round of her labors at the hospital. She had most remarkable strength and vigor of constitution, and that, with every other gift and talent she possessed was unsparingly used for the promotion of any good cause to which she was devoted. During this spring, in addition to all her other and engrossing labors, she was very busy in promoting the interests of a large fair for the purpose of aiding in the establishment of a permanent Home for discharged soldiers, who were incapacitated for active labor. She canvassed the city of Philadelphia, and also traveled in different parts of Pennsylvania and New Jersey in order to obtain assistance in this important undertaking. "Is it not wrong," a friend once asked, "that you should do so much, while so many are doing nothing?" "Oh, there are hundreds who would gladly work as I do," was her reply, "but they have not my powers of endurance."
The fair in which she was so actively interested took place in June, and a large sum was added to the fund previously obtained for the benefit of the "Soldiers' Home." The work now progressed rapidly, and the personal aid and influence of Miss Ross were exerted to forward it in every possible way. Yet while deeply absorbed in the promotion of this object, which was very near to her heart, she found time to brighten, with characteristic tenderness and devotion, the last hours of the Rev. Dr. Clay, the aged and revered minister of the ancient church, in which the marriage of her parents had taken place so many years before. With his own family she watched beside his bed, and with them received his parting blessing.
The waning year found the noble undertaking, the object of so many prayers and the goal of such ardent desire, near a prosperous completion. A suitable building had been obtained, and many busy days were occupied in the delightful task of furnishing it. At the close of a day spent in this manner, the friend who had been Miss Ross's companion proposed that the remaining purchases should be deferred to another time, urging, in addition to her extreme fatigue, that many of the stores were closed. "Come to South Street with me," she replied. "They keep open there until twelve o'clock, and we may find exactly what we want." The long walk was taken, and when the desired articles were secured she yielded to her friend's entreaties, and at a late hour sought her home. As she pursued her solitary way came there no foreshadowing of what was to be? no whisper of the hastening summons? no token of the quick release? Wearily were the steps ascended, which echoed for the last time the familiar tread. Slowly the door closed through which she should pass on angelic mission nevermore. Was there no warning?
"I am tired," she said, "and so cold that I feel as if I never could be warm again." It was an unusual complaint for her to whom fatigue had seemed almost unknown before. But it was very natural that exhaustion should follow a day of such excessive labor, and she would soon be refreshed. So thought those who loved her, unconscious of the threatening danger. The heavy chill retained its grasp, the resistless torpor of paralysis crept slowly on, and then complete insensibility. In this utter helplessness, which baffled every effort of human skill, night wore away, and morning dawned. There was no change and days passed before the veil was lifted.
She could not believe that her work was all done on earth and death near, "but," she said, "God has willed it—His will be done." There was no apparent mental struggle. Well she knew that she had done her uttermost, and that God was capable of placing in the field other laborers, and perhaps better ones than she; and she uttered no meaningless words when, without a murmur, she resigned herself to His will.
A few words of fond farewell, she calmly spoke to the weeping friends about her. Then with fainter and fainter breathing, life fled so gently that they knew not when the shadowy vale was passed. So, silently and peacefully the Death-angel had visited her, and upon her features lay the calm loveliness of perfect rest.
On the 22d of December, 1863, the friends, and sharers of her labors were assembled at the dedication of the Soldiers' Home. It was the crowning work of her life, and it was completed; and thus, at the same hour, this earthly crown was laid upon her dying brow, and the freed soul put on the crown of a glorious immortality.
Her funeral was attended by a sorrowing multitude, all of whom had known, and many, yea, most of whom, had been blest by her labors. For even they are blest to whom it has happened to know and appreciate a character like hers.
They made her a tomb, in the beautiful Monument Cemetery, beneath the shadow of a stately cedar. Nature itself, in the desolation of advancing winter, seemed to join in the lament that such loveliness and worth was lost to earth.
But with returning summer, the branches of her overshadowing cedar are melodious with the song of birds, while roses and many flowering plants scatter fragrance to every passing breeze as their petals falling hide the dark soil beneath. The hands of friends have planted these—an odorous tribute to the memory of her they loved and mourn, and have raised beside, in the enduring marble, a more lasting testimony of her worth.
The tomb is of pure white marble, surmounted by a tablet of the same, which in alto relievo, represents a female figure ministering to a soldier, who lies upon a couch. Beneath, is this inscription:
Her piety was fruitful of good works. The friendless child, the fugitive slave, and the victim of intemperance were ever objects of her tenderest solicitude.
When civil war disclosed its horrors, she dedicated her life to the sick and wounded soldiers of her country, and died a martyr to Humanity and Patriotism.
So closes the brief and imperfect record of a beautiful life; but the light of its lovely example yet remains.
Among the large number of the ladies of New York city who distinguished themselves for their devotion to the welfare of the soldiers of our army, of whom so many in all forms of suffering were brought there during the war, it seems almost invidious to select any individual. But it is perhaps less so in the case of the subject of this sketch, than of many others, since from the very beginning of the war till long after its close, she quietly sacrificed the ease and luxury of her life to devote herself untiringly, and almost without respite, to the duties thus voluntarily assumed and faithfully performed.
Mrs. Davis is the wife of Colonel G. T. M. Davis, who served with great distinction in the Mexican war, but who, having entered into commercial pursuits, is not at present connected with the army. Her maiden name was Pomeroy, and she is a native of Pittsfield, Massachusetts. Her brother, Robert Pomeroy, Esq., of that town, a wealthy manufacturer, was noted for his liberal benefactions during the war, and with all his family omitted no occasion of showing his devotion to his country and to its wounded and suffering defenders. His daughter, near the close of the war, became the wife of one of the most distinguished young officers in the service, General Bartlett.
General Bartlett, at twenty-two, and fresh from the classic precincts of Harvard, entered the service as a private. He rose rapidly through the genius and force of his commanding character. He lost a leg, we believe at the siege of Yorktown, left the service, until partially recovered, when he again re-entered it as the Colonel of the Forty-ninth Massachusetts Regiment, which was raised in Berkshire County. For months he rode at the head of his regiment with his crutch attached to the back of his saddle. It was after his return from the South-west, (where the gallant Forty-ninth distinguished itself at Port Hudson, Plain's Stone, and other hard-won fields), with a maimed arm, that he was rewarded with the hand of one of Berkshire's fairest daughters, a member of this patriotic family. Several other young men, members of the same family, have also greatly distinguished themselves in the service of their country.
At the very outset of the war, or as soon as the sick among the volunteers who were pouring into New York, demanded relief, Mrs. Davis began to devote time and care to them. Daily leaving her elegant home, she sought out and ministered to her country's suffering defenders, at the various temporary barracks erected for their accommodation.
When the Park Barracks Ladies' Association was formed, she became its Secretary, and so continued for a long period, most faithful and energetic in her ministrations. This association included in its work the Hospital on Bedloe's Island, and Mrs. Davis was one of the first who commenced making regular visits there.
Most of the men brought to Bedloe's Island in the earlier part of the war, were sick with the various diseases consequent upon the unaccustomed climate and the unwonted exposure they had encountered. They needed a very careful and regular diet, one which the army rations, though perhaps suitable and sufficient for men in health, were unable to supply. It was but natural that these ladies, full of the warm sympathy which prompted them to the unusual tasks they had undertaken, should shrink from seeing a half-convalescent fever patient fed with hard-bread and salt pork, or the greasy soups of which pork was the basis. They brought delicacies, often prepared by their own hands or in their own kitchens, and were undoubtedly injudicious, sometimes, in their administration. Out of this arose the newspaper controversy between the public and the surgeons in charge, at Bedloe's Island, which is probably yet fresh in many minds. It was characterized by a good deal of acrimony.
Mrs. Davis avers that neither she nor her friends gave food to the patients without the consent of the physicians. The affair terminated, as is well-known, by the removal of the surgeon in charge.
The Ladies Park Barracks' Association was, as a body, opposed to extending its benefactions beyond New York and its immediate vicinity. Mrs. Davis was of a different opinion, and was, beside, not altogether pleased with the management of the association. She therefore, after a time, relinquished her official connection with it, though never for one instant relaxing her efforts for the same general object.
For a long series of months Mrs. Davis repaired almost daily to the large General Hospital at David's Island, where thousands of sick and wounded men were sometimes congregated. Here she and her chief associates, Mrs. Chapman, and Miss Morris, established the most amicable relations with the surgeon in charge, Dr. McDougall, and were welcomed by him, as valued coadjutors.
On the opening of the Soldiers' Rest, in Howard Street, an association of ladies was formed to aid in administering to the comfort of the poor fellows who tarried there during their transit through the city, or were received in the well-conducted hospital connected with the institution. Of this association Mrs. Davis was the Secretary, during the whole term of its existence.
This association, as well as the institution itself, was admirably conducted, and perhaps performed as much real and beneficial work as any other in the vicinity of New York. It was continued in existence till several months after the close of the war.
Besides her visits at David's Island and Howard Street, which were most assiduous, Mrs. Davis as often as possible visited the Central Park, or Mount St. Vincent Hospital, the Ladies' Home Hospital, at the corner of Lexington Avenue and Fifty-first Street, and the New England Rooms in Broadway. At all of these she was welcomed, and her efforts most gratefully received. Seldom indeed did a day pass, during the long four years of the war, and for months after the suspension of hostilities, that her kind face was not seen in one or more of the hospitals.
Her social position, as well as her genuine dignity of manners enforced the respect of all the officials, and won their regard. Her untiring devotion and kindness earned her the almost worshipping affection of the thousands of sufferers to whom she ministered.
Letters still reach her, at intervals, from the men who owe, perhaps life, certainly relief and comfort to her cherishing care. Ignorant men, they may be, little accustomed to the amenities of life, capable only of composing the strangely-worded, ill-spelled letters they send, but the gratitude they express is so abundant and so genuine, that one overlooks the uncouthness of manner, and the unattractive appearance of the epistles. And seldom does she travel but at the most unexpected points scarred and maimed veterans present themselves before her, and with the deepest respect beg the privilege of once more offering their thanks. She may have forgotten the faces, that in the great procession of suffering flitted briefly before her, but they will never forget the face that bent above their couch of pain.
The native county of Mrs. Davis, Berkshire, Massachusetts, was famous for the abundance and excellence of the supplies it continually sent forward to the sick and suffering soldiers. The appeals of Mrs. Davis to the women of Berkshire, were numerous and always effective. Her letters were exceedingly graphic and spirited, and were published frequently in the county papers, reaching not only the villages in the teeming valleys but the scattered farm-houses among the hills; and they continually gave impulse and direction to the noble charities of those women, who, in their quiet homes, had already sent forth their dearest and best to the service of the country.
Mrs. Davis for herself disclaims all merit, but has no word of praise too much for these. They made the real sacrifices, these women who from their small means gave so much, who rose before the sun, alike in the cold of winter and the heat of summer, who performed the most menial tasks and the hardest toil that they might save for the soldiers, that they might gain time to work for the soldiers. It was they who gave much, not the lady who laid aside only the soft pleasures of a luxurious life, whose well-trained servants left no task unfinished during her absence, whose bath, and dress, and dinner were always ready on her return from the tour of visiting, who gave only what was not missed from her abundance, and made no sacrifice but that of her personal ease. So speaks Mrs. Davis, in noble self-depreciation of herself and her class. There is a variety of gifts. God and her country will decide whose work was most worthy.
Miss Mary J. Safford, is a native of New England, having been born in Vermont, though her parents, very worthy people, early emigrated to the West, and settled in Northern Illinois, in which State she has since resided, making her home most of the time in Crete, Joliet, Shawneetown and Cairo; the last named place is her present home.
Miss Safford, early in life, evinced an unusual thirst for knowledge, and gave evidence of an intellect of a superior order; and, with an energy and zeal seldom known, she devoted every moment to the attainment of an education, the cultivation of her mind—and the gaining of such information as the means at hand afforded. Her love of the beautiful and good was at once marked, and every opportunity made use of to satisfy her desires in these directions.
Her good deeds date from the days of her childhood, and the remarkably high sense of duty of which she is possessed, makes her continually in search of some object of charity upon which to exert her beneficence and kindly care.
The commencement of the late rebellion, found her a resident of Cairo, Illinois, and immediately upon the arrival of the Union soldiers there, she set about organizing and establishing temporary hospitals throughout the different regiments, in order that the sick might have immediate and proper care and attention until better and more permanent arrangements could be effected. Every day found her a visitor and a laborer among these sick soldiers, scores of whom now bear fresh in their memories the petite form, and gentle and loving face of that good angel of mercy to whom they are indebted, through her kind and watchful care and nursing, for the lives they are now enjoying.
The morning after the battle of Belmont, found her,—the only lady—early on the field, fearlessly penetrating far into the enemies' lines, with her handkerchief tied upon a little stick, and waving above her head as a flag of truce,—ministering to the wounded, which our army had been compelled to leave behind, to some extent—and many a Union soldier owes his life to her almost superhuman efforts on that occasion. She continued her labors with the wounded after their removal to the hospitals, supplying every want in her power, and giving words of comfort and cheer to every heart.
As soon as the news of the terrible battle of Pittsburg Landing reached her, she gathered together a supply of lints and bandages, and provided herself with such stimulants and other supplies as might be required, not forgetting a good share of delicacies, and hastened to the scene of suffering and carnage, where she toiled incessantly day and night in her pilgrimage of love and mission of mercy for more than three weeks, and then only returned with a steamboat-load of the wounded on their way to the general hospitals. She continued her labors among the hospitals at Cairo and the neighborhood, constantly visiting from one to the other. Any day she could be seen on her errands of mercy passing along the streets with her little basket loaded with delicacies, or reading-matter, or accompanied with an attendant carrying ample supplies to those who had made known to her their desire for some favorite dish or relish. On Christmas day, 1861, there were some twenty-five regiments stationed at Cairo, and on that day she visited all the camps, and presented to every sick soldier some little useful present or token. The number of sad hearts that she made glad that day no one will ever know save He who knoweth all things. Her zeal and energy in this good work was so far in excess of her physical abilities, that she labored beyond her endurance, and her health finally became so much impaired that she was induced to leave the work and make a tour in Europe, where at this writing she still is, though an invalid. Her good deeds even followed her in her travels in a foreign land, and no sooner had the German States become involved in war, than she was called upon and consulted as to the establishment of hospital regulations and appointments there—and even urged to take charge of and establish and direct the whole system.
Mrs. Mary A. Livermore, of the Northwestern Sanitary Commission, who has known as much of Miss Safford's work, as any one connected with the service, writes thus of her:
"Miss Safford commenced her labors immediately, when Cairo was occupied. I think she was the very first woman who went into the camps and hospitals, in the country; I know she was in the West. There was no system, no organization, nothing to do with. She systematized everything in Cairo, furnished necessaries with her own means, or rather with her brother's, who is wealthy; went daily to the work, and though surgeons and authorities everywhere were opposed to her efforts, she disarmed all opposition by her sweetness and grace and beauty. She did just what she pleased. At Pittsburg Landing, where she was found in advance of other women, she was hailed by dying soldiers, who did not know her name, but had seen her at Cairo, as the 'Cairo Angel.' She came up with boat-load after boat-load of sick and wounded soldiers who were taken to hospitals at Cairo, Paducah, St. Louis, etc., cooking all the while for them, dressing wounds, singing to them, and praying with them. She did not undress on the way up from Pittsburg Landing, but worked incessantly.
"She was very frail, as petite as a girl of twelve summers, and utterly unaccustomed to hardships. Sleeping in hospital tents, working on pestilential boats, giving up everything to this life, carrying the sorrows of the country, and the burdens of the soldier on her heart like personal griefs, with none of the aids in the work that came afterwards, she broke down at the end of the first eighteen months, and will never again be well. Her brother sent her immediately to Paris, where she underwent the severest treatment for the cure of the injury to the spine, occasioned by her life in the army and hospitals. The physicians subsequently prescribed travel, and she has been since that time in Europe. She is highly educated, speaks French and German as well as English, and some Italian. She is the most indomitable little creature living, heroic, uncomplaining, self-forgetful, and will yet 'die in harness.' When the war broke out in Italy, she was in Florence, and at Madame Mario's invitation, immediately went to work to assist the Italian ladies in preparing for the sick and wounded of their soldiers. In Norway, she was devising ways and means to assist poor girls to emigrate to America, where they had relatives—and so everywhere. She must be counted among those who have given up health, and ultimately life for the country."
We add also the following extracts from a letter from Cairo, published in one of the Chicago papers, early in the war.
AN ANGEL AT CAIRO.
"I cannot close this letter from Cairo without a passing word of one whose name is mentioned by thousands of our soldiers with gratitude and blessing. Miss Mary Safford is a resident of this town, whose life since the beginning of the war, has been devoted to the amelioration of the soldier's lot, and his comfort in the hospitals. She is a young lady, petite in figure, unpretending, but highly cultivated, by no means officious, and so wholly unconscious of her excellencies, and the great work she is achieving, that I fear this public allusion to her may pain her modest nature. Her sweet, young face, full of benevolence, pleasant voice, and winning manner instate her in every one's heart directly; and the more one sees her, the more he admires her great soul and her noble nature. Not a day elapses but she is found in the hospitals, unless indeed she is absent on an errand of mercy up the Tennessee, or to the hospitals in Kentucky.
"Every sick and wounded soldier in Cairo knows and loves her; and as she enters the ward, every pale face brightens at her approach. As she passes along, she inquires of each one how he has passed the night, if he is well supplied with reading matter, and if there is anything she can do for him. All tell her their story frankly—the man old enough to be her father, and the boy of fifteen, who should be out of the army, and home with his mother. One thinks he would like a baked apple if the doctor will allow it—another a rice pudding, such as she can make—a third a tumbler of buttermilk—a fourth wishes nothing, is discouraged, thinks he shall die, and breaks down utterly, in tears, and him she soothes and encourages, till he resolves for her sake, to keep up a good heart, and hold on to life a little longer—a fifth wants her to write to his wife—a sixth is afraid to die, and with him, and for him, her devout spirit wrestles, till light shines through the dark valley—a seventh desires her to sit by him and read, and so on. Every request is attended to, be it ever so trivial, and when she goes again, if the doctor has sanctioned the gratification of the sick man's wish, the buttermilk, baked apple, rice pudding, etc., are carried along. Doctors, nurses, medical directors, and army officers, are all her true friends; and so judicious and trustworthy is she, that the Chicago Sanitary Commission have given her carte blanche to draw on their stores at Cairo for anything she may need in her errands of mercy. She is performing a noble work, and that too in the quietest and most unconscious manner. Said a sick soldier from the back woods, in the splendid hospital at Mound City, who was transferred thither from one of the miserable regimental hospitals at Cairo, 'I'm taken care of here a heap better than I was at Cairo; but I'd rather be there than here, for the sake of seeing that little gal that used to come in every day to see us. I tell you what, she's an angel, if there is any.' To this latter assertion we say amen! most heartily."
Miss Safford is the sister of A. B. Safford, Esq., a well-known and highly respected banker at Cairo, Illinois, and of Hon. A. P. K. Safford of Nevada.
At the outbreak of hostilities Mrs. Parrish was residing at Media, Pennsylvania, near Philadelphia. Her husband, Dr. Joseph Parrish, had charge of an institution established there for idiots, or those of feeble mental capacity, and it cannot be doubted that Mrs. Parrish, with her kindly and benevolent instincts, and desire for usefulness, found there an ample sphere for her efforts, and a welcome occupation.
But as in the case of thousands of others, all over the country, Mrs. Parrish found the current of her life and its occupations marvellously changed, by the war. There was a new call for the efforts of woman, such an one as in our country, or in the world, had never been made. English women had set the example of sacrifice and work for their countrymen in arms, but their efforts were on a limited scale, and bore but a very small proportion to the great uprising of loyal women in our country, and their varied, grand persistent labors during the late civil war in America. Not a class, or grade, or rank, of our countrywomen, but was represented in this work. The humble dweller in the fishing cabins on the bleak and desolate coast, the woman of the prairie, and of the cities, the wife and daughter of the mechanic, and the farmer, of the merchant, and the professional man, the lady from the mansion of wealth, proud perhaps of her old name, of her culture and refinement—all met and labored together, bound by one common bond of patriotism and of sympathy.
Mrs. Parrish was one of the first to lay her talents and her efforts upon the altar of her country. In 1861, and almost as soon as the need of woman's self-sacrificing labors became apparent, she volunteered her services in behalf of the sick and wounded soldiers of the Union.
She visited Washington while the army was yet at the capital and in its vicinity. Her husband, Dr. Parrish, had become connected with the newly organized Sanitary Commission, and in company with him and other gentlemen similarly connected, she examined the different forts, barracks, camps, and hospitals then occupied by our troops, for the purpose of ascertaining their condition, and selecting a suitable sphere for the work in which she intended to engage.
On the first day of 1862, she commenced her hospital labors, selecting for that purpose the Georgetown Seminary Hospital. She wrote letters for the patients, read to them, and gave to them all the aid and comfort in her power; and she was thus enabled to learn their real wants, and to seek the means of supplying them. Their needs were many, and awakened all her sympathies and incited her to ever-renewed effort. After one day's trial of these new scenes, she wrote thus in her journal, January 2, 1862: "My heart is so oppressed with the sight of suffering I see around me that I am almost unfitted for usefulness; such sights are new to me. I feel the need of some resource, where I may apply for delicacies and comforts, which are positively necessary. The Sanitary Commission is rapidly becoming the sinew of strength for the sick and wounded, and I will go to their store-rooms." Application was made to the Commission, and readily and promptly responded to. She was authorized to draw from their stores, and was promised aid and protection from the organization.
Both camps and hospitals were rapidly filling up; the weather was inclement and the roads bad, but at the solicitation of other earnest workers, she made occasional visits to camps in the country, and distributed clothing, books and comforts of various kinds. The "Berdan Sharp-shooters" were encamped a few miles from the city, and needed immediate assistance. She was requested by the Secretary of the Commission to "visit the camps, make observations, inquire into their needs, and report to the Commission." She reached the camp through almost impassable roads, and was received by the officers with respect and consideration, upon announcing the object of her visit. She made calls upon the men in hospitals and quarters, returned to Washington, reported "two hundred sick, tents and streets needing police, small pox breaking out, men discouraged, and officers unable to procure the necessary aid, that she had distributed a few jellies to the sick, checker boards to a few of the tents, and made a requisition for supplies to meet the pressing want." This little effort was the means of affording speedy relief to many suffering men. She did not however feel at liberty to abandon her hospital service, as we learn from a note in her diary, that "this outside work does not seem to be my mission. I have become thoroughly interested in my daily rounds at the city hospitals, particularly at Georgetown Seminary, where my heart and energies are fully enlisted." She passed several weeks in this service, going from bed to bed with her little stores, which she dispensed under instructions from the surgeon, without being known by name to the many recipients of her attention and care.
The stores of the Commission were not then as ample as they afterward became, when its noble aims had become more fully understood, and its grand mission of benevolence more widely known, and the sick and wounded were in need of many things not obtainable from either this source or the Government supplies. Mrs. Parrish determined, therefore, to return to her northern home and endeavor to interest the people of her neighborhood in the cause she had so much at heart. She found the people ready to respond liberally to her appeals, and soon returned to Washington well satisfied with the success of her efforts.
She felt now that her time, and if need be her life, must be consecrated to this work, and as her diary expresses it, she "could not remain at home," and that if she could be of service in her new sphere of labor she "must return."
After her brief absence, she re-entered the Georgetown Seminary Hospital. Death had removed some of her former patients, others had returned to duty, but others whom she left there welcomed her with enthusiasm as the "orange lady," a title she had unconsciously earned from the fact that she had been in the habit of distributing oranges freely to such of the patients as were allowed to have them.
The experience of life often shows us the importance of little acts which so frequently have an entirely disproportionate result. Mrs. Parrish found this true in her hospital ministrations. Little gifts and attentions often opened the way to the closed hearts of those to whom she ministered, and enabled her to reach the innermost concealed thought-life of her patients.
A soldier sat in his chair, wrapped in his blanket, forlorn, haggard from disease, sullen, selfish in expression, and shrinking from her notice as she passed him. To her morning salutation, he would return only a cold recognition. He seemed to be bristling with defenses against encroachment. And thus it remained till one day a small gift penetrated to the very citadel of his fortress.
"Shall I read to you?" she commenced, kindly, to which he replied, surlily, "Don't want reading." "Shall I write to any of your friends?" she continued. "I hav'n't any friends," he said in the sourest tone. Repulsed, but not baffled, she presently, and in the same kind manner, took an orange from her basket, and gently asked him if he would accept it. There was a perceptible brightening of his face, but he only answered, in the same surly tone, as he held forth his hand, "Don't care if I do."
And yet, in a little time, his sullen spirit yielded—he spread all his troubles before the friend he had so long repulsed, and opening his heart, showed that what had seemed so selfish and moody in him, arose from a deep sense of loneliness and discouragement, which disappeared the moment the orange had unlocked his heart, and admitted her to his confidence and affection.
About six weeks she spent thus in alternate visits to the various hospitals in the vicinity of Washington, though her labors were principally confined to the Georgetown Hospital, where they commenced, and where her last visit was made.
As her home duties called her at that time, she returned thither, briefly. Soon after she reached home, she received a letter from one of her former patients to whom she had given her address, requesting her to call at the Broad and Cherry Street Hospital, in Philadelphia. She did so, and on entering the building found herself surrounded by familiar faces. Her old Washington friends had just arrived, and welcomed her with cordial greetings. The stronger ones approached her with outstretched hands—some, too feeble to rise, covered their faces and wept with joy—she was the only person known to them in all the great lonely city. The surgeon-in-charge, observing this scene, urged her to visit the hospital often, where her presence was sure to do the men great good.
During her stay at home she assisted in organizing a Ladies' Aid Society at Chester. She was appointed Directress for the township where she resided, and as the hospital was about to be located near Chester, she, with others, directed her attention to preparing and furnishing it. Sewing-circles were formed, and as a result of the efforts made, by the time the soldiers arrived, a plentiful supply of nice clothing, delicacies, etc., etc., was ready for them.
Mrs. Parrish united with other women of the vicinity in organizing a corps of volunteer nurses, who continued to perform their duties with regularity and faithfulness until some time after, a new order dispensed with their services.
Her labors during the summer and autumn of 1862 visibly affected her health, and were the cause of a severe illness which continued for several weeks.
Her health being at length restored, she went to Washington, spent a few days in visiting the hospitals there, and then, with a pass sent her by Major-General Sumner, from Falmouth, she joined Mrs. Dr. Harris and started, January 17th, 1863, for Falmouth via Acquia Creek.
The army was in motion and much confusion existed, but they found comfortable quarters at the Lacy House, where they were under the protection of the General and his staff.
Here Mrs. Parrish found much to do, there being a great deal of sickness among the troops. The weather was stormy, and the movement of the army was impeded; and though she underwent much privation for want of suitable food, and on account of the inclement season she continued faithful at her post and accomplished much good.
In December of the same year she accompanied her husband, with the Medical Director of the Department of Virginia and North Carolina, on a tour of inspection to the hospitals of Yorktown, Fortress Monroe, Norfolk, Portsmouth, and Newbern, North Carolina. While at Old Point she learned that there was about to be an exchange of prisoners, and desiring to render some services in this direction obtained permission from General Butler to proceed, in company with a friend, Miss L. C. on the flag-of-truce boat to City Point, witness the exchange, and render such aid as was possible to our men on their return passage.
There were five hundred Confederate prisoners on board, who, as her journal records, "sang our National airs, and seemed to be a jolly and happy healthy company."
Our men were in a very different condition—"sick and weary," and needing the Sanitary Commission supplies, which had been brought for them, yet shouting with feeble voices their gladness at being once more under the old flag, and in freedom. Mrs. Parrish fed and comforted these poor men as best she could, till the steamer anchored off Old Point again.
It had been intended to continue the exchange much further, but a dispute arising concerning the treatment of negro prisoners, the operations of the cartel were arrested, and the exchange suspended. She found, therefore, no further need of her services in this direction, and so returned home.
For many months to come, as one of the managers of the women's branch of the United States Sanitary Commission, she found ample employment in preparation for the great Philadelphia Fair, in which arduous service she continued until its close, in July, 1864. The exhausting labors of these months, and the heat of the weather during the continuance of the Fair, made it necessary for her to have a respite for the remainder of the summer.
It was in the early winter of this year that she accompanied her husband on a tour of inspection to the hospitals of Annapolis, and became so interested in the condition of the returned prisoners, who needed so much done for them in the way of personal care, that she gladly consented, at the solicitation of the medical officers and agent of the Commission, to serve there for a season.
Of the usefulness of her work among the prisoners, testimony is abundant. What she saw, and what she did, is most touchingly set forth in the following letters from her pen, extracted from the Bulletin of the United States Sanitary Commission: