Authors: Jocelyn Green
Wedded to War (21 page)
“Listen Ruby, there’s no use fighting it. I’ve simply got to have my insurance, and you’re the only one who can give it to me. You hit me, I’ll hit you harder. You kick me, I’ll kick you until you walk with a limp and call it an accident. Don’t think I won’t. So just relax, you might even enjoy yourself.”
“I thought a gentleman was supposed to protect a lady, not beat her!”
“Quite right. But you’re not a
lady
, are you?”
“I
am
a lady, I am. I’m not a prostitute!” Her voice sounded hoarse, as if the screaming she had been doing in her mind had already taken its toll on her throat. Her heart beat wildly against its cage.
“You are now. But here’s the nice thing. You and I have an understanding. You keep my secret, and I’ll keep yours. We wouldn’t want Mother finding out her domestic is a prostitute, would we? You’d be out on the street in no time. And if the American Moral Reform Society finds out, why, I’m afraid they simply wouldn’t be able to place you anywhere else, now that you’re—well, reprobate. Whoops, big word, pardon me—hopelessly immoral?”
One by one, he unfastened the buttons of her bodice, slowly, tauntingly. Her eyes squeezed shut. With each open inch of her blouse, her body became stiffer. She imagined the roses of her dress being crushed
beneath Phineas’s feet. Tears flowing out from beneath her lashes and streaming down her face, she concentrated with all her might on the words of a prayer, not at all certain any prayer could be heard in the midst of a cardinal sin.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners. Pray for us sinners. Pray for us sinners. Holy Mary Mother of God, Oh God please no Jesus Mary and Joseph please dear God Mary Mother of God please pray, please pray, dear God don’t cast me away please Holy God don’t leave me here dear God sweet Mary this is not my sin, it’s not my sin, it’s not mine it’s not …
July 31, 1861
F
rederick Law Olmsted puffed on his pipe, the sweet, tangy smoke swirling, dividing, curling above his head in perfect chaos. Much like Bull Run, according to the report in front of him.
No pattern, no system. Absolute chaos. Disaster, and not just for the army, but for the government’s Medical Department, as well. No commission member had been able to learn of a single ambulance that had carried a wounded soldier from the battlefield. Not one. The military drivers took their orders from the Quartermaster Corps and would not take orders from doctors on the field. Other vehicles, driven by civilians, had whipped their horses and fled the field at the first sound of firing. As a result, the worst cases of wounded soldiers had been simply left to their fate on the field. Some doctors stayed and were captured even as they tended the wounded.
The stampede of soldiers coming back that had begun July 22 and
lasted for another three days had been only the least severely wounded, with a few exceptions. One boy who had his arm amputated on the field walked twenty miles to Washington, only to die of gangrene within a few days of landing at the Union Hotel Hospital. All but five hundred wounded had been left on the field, their wounds undressed, exposed to the elements for days.
Those who had made it back to Washington City had only six hospitals to receive them, most of them improvised from former uses: an old hotel, a seminary, a college. Olmsted had sent a committee to inspect them on July 29, and had just received the report.
The Union Hotel Hospital Georgetown
, was occupied as its name implies until recently hired for its present use. The building is old … with windows too small and few in number to afford good ventilation. Its halls and passages are narrow, and in many instances with carpets still unremoved from their floors and walls covered with paper. There are no provisions for bathing, the water closets and sinks are insufficient and defective, and there is no dead-house. The wards are many of them over crowded and destitute of arrangements for artificial ventilation. The cellars and area are damp and undrained and much of the wood work is actively decaying.The Seminary Hospital
, in the immediate vicinity of the last is much better adapted to Hospital purposes, though it also is defective in water closets and baths and many of its wards are small and imperfectly ventilated. The absence of facilities for artificial ventilation will be productive of serious disease.
Olmsted scanned the next few paragraphs describing the Infirmary, C Street, and The Columbian College Hospital and The Alexandria Hospital, both formerly used for academic purposes, and found the same phrases throughout.
Narrow and torturous passages. Poor ventilation. Totally unfit. Overcrowded. No dead-house. Total want of water closets. No running water.
Olmsted scanned down further to read of the treatment the patients received.
In the opinion of your Committee the medical and surgical treatment extended to the sick and wounded in the Hospitals is in the main excellent, and the supply of surgeons ample. The medical students supplied for the emergency from New York, as surgical dressers, with a few exceptions, proved very useful to the surgeons and were doing excellent service.
The female nurses, also, as far as your Committee could ascertain, were of great comfort to the sick. They were tolerated without complaint, and in several instances their services were even highly spoken of by the medical officers in charge. In regard to male nurses, on the contrary, there was much complaint as to their inefficiency and want of aptitude and disposition for their duties. This was especially remarked of the volunteers.
Well
, thought Mr. Olmsted,
hurrah for Dr. Blackwell and her female nurses.
It was little wonder that the male nurses were complained of. All of them were convalescent soldiers. None of them had an interest in nursing anyway. Many of them tired quickly, and as soon as they began to master the duties required of a nurse, they recovered enough to return to their regiments, leaving a new batch of convalescents to be trained.
If I had signed up to be a soldier and found myself spoon-feeding other grown men and emptying their chamber pots instead, I’m sure my disposition would be lacking, too.
The next few paragraphs were no surprise to Olmsted since hearing the account of Miss Waverly and Mrs. Carlisle: no hospital clothing, and no means to wash the dirty uniforms. The Sanitary Commission had made sure every patient had fresh hospital gowns within three days of the battle, and had employed laundresses to wash the soiled uniforms.
The services of a barber were also authorized to be procured for the sick, and your Committee can bear witness that he contributed not a little to their cleanliness and comfort. Wire frames for the protection of wounded limbs from the pressure of bedclothes were found to be wanted and they were supplied. Water beds of India rubber; drinking cups with spouts for administering food and medicine; splints, bandages, and lint have also been furnished. Bed tables with writing paper and franked envelopes have also been obtained and it is proposed to add easy chairs, games, and other articles for the comfort and amusement of convalescents, as they seem to be desirable.
A fifth wheel to the coach, indeed!
Olmsted shook his head at Lincoln’s ludicrous label for the Sanitary Commission. The aftermath of the first major battle proved the Commission’s work was absolutely critical for the soldiers. A sense of vindication swelled in his chest. The last paragraph of the report before the list of recommendations, however, deflated him.
… if a larger proportion of our wounded had been consequently brought by ambulances to the Hospitals together with the wounded of the enemy, the Hospital accommodations and supplies would not have been sufficiently ample to have met their wants and the expectations of the nation. We would suggest that Government cannot err in making the most liberal provision for the sick and wounded and in the promptest manner by the accumulation of large stores of bedding and hospital supplies at safe and available localities near the main body of the army. It is a just estimate to assume the necessity of providing for ten percent at least of sick for an army in the field; and this would bring the number nearer 15,000 than 1,500, whilst with hard-fought battles in prospect, and the sickness of the autumn months, the percentage to be provided for will probably be much higher than this estimate.
Suggestions for improvement followed, as always: New pavilion-style hospitals, fully provided with water for bathing, washing, and water closets, with no more than thirty to sixty patients in a building, and ample space between so as not to poison each other. More trained nurses. A military hospital in the harbor of New York for overflow sick. Fix the problems in the current hospitals …
Mr. Olmsted signed his name and date to the end of the report, indicating it had been accepted and adopted by the Commission, and hoped it would not fall upon deaf ears. Surgeon General Finley had made no secret of the fact that he despised the Commission for all its criticism and “nosing around.” Cooperation thus impossible, the only leverage the Commission had to move the government toward reform was that of public opinion.
Well, this should give the public plenty to form an opinion about.
Thursday, August 1, 1861
Charlotte dabbed a violet-scented handkerchief against her damp forehead and neck and stepped out of the scorching sun into the shade of the Columbian College Hospital—still hot inside, but at least it wasn’t as bright. After she had spent a full week laboring over the laundry at the Union Hotel Hospital, Mrs. Moore had hired some Negroes to do the job, and Miss Dix had sent Charlotte here to nurse instead. It was about time.
“And you are?” A stout man with red hair and beard looked down at her.
“Charlotte Waverly, sir. Miss Dix sent me. I am at your service, trained in New York Hospital.”
“Is that so?” His bushy eyebrows raised, looking more amused than impressed. “I’m Dr. Murray, and I don’t need your help.”
“Oh no, no, I’m sure you are very capable, Dr. Murray. I don’t mean
that you personally need help, but what about the patients? In a hospital of this size, couldn’t you use another set of hands for dressing wounds, changing bandages, washing the men, feeding them, that sort of thing?”
Dr. Murray was walking away now. “Not interested, lady. Go knit some socks.”
“If it’s socks you need, then socks you shall have, along with anything else you request from the Sanitary Commission stores.” Charlotte trotted alongside him to keep up.
“Splendid. We’ll take three hundred pairs of socks, then, as much morphia powder as you can give us and—one other thing, what was it now? Coffins. Yes, we would like five dozen coffins as soon as possible, if you please.”
“Coffins?”
“Or did you expect me to put the bodies in the ground in blankets? India rubber would probably be best. Waterproof, you know. Yes, if you have no coffins, send me blankets. You can help roll up the bodies.”
“Dr. Murray, I don’t understand you.”
“Of course you don’t.” He stopped and turned to face her. “Here’s the thing—the army does not give me what I really need. Like coffins. Like a dead-house. Like running water and water closets. But what I emphatically do
not
need, that it sends me.” He looked at her pointedly, and she felt her cheeks grow warm.
“Perhaps you didn’t ask for me, Dr. Murray, but I am willing to prove my usefulness to you.”
“I told you already, I’m not interested. I don’t need a woman to take care of when I’ve got two hundred fifty-eight patients to look after.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Dr. Murray shook his head.
“I’ll do anything you need.” Charlotte stood her ground.
Dr. Murray looked her over from head to toe, while Charlotte hid her broken nails and red, chafed hands behind her back. Finally, light sparked in his eyes and he nodded.
“All right, I’ve got a job for you then. As I mentioned, we have two hundred fifty-eight patients in the hospital presently, which includes the wards inside as well as the tents outside—for patients with typhoid fever, dysentery, erysipelas. Nasty stuff. As I also mentioned, we have no water closets. Zero. Which means, these men are continually filling up the chamber pots in their close stools. It’s becoming a real problem for us, as you can imagine. Contagious disease emanating into the air from the vapors and all of that. You want to help? Empty the chamber pots. There’s a trench in the rear. Just don’t fall in.”
“You’re trying to force me out, aren’t you?”
“Not at all!” He smiled. “The army has decided for me—without even asking my opinion—that I should have women nurses. I can’t do anything about that. If you should decide to leave on your own, however, that would be entirely up to you.”
