 CHAPTER 36 During the late war, and when General S. was in command of the department at New Orleans, the Sisters of Charity made frequent applications to him for assistance, especially were they desirous to obtain supplies at what was termed Commissary Prices, that is, at a reduction or commutation of one-third the amount which the same provisions would cost at market rates. The principal demand was for ice, flour, beef and coffee, but mainly ice, a luxury which only the Union forces could enjoy at anything like a reasonable price. The hospitals were full of the sick and wounded of both the federal and Confederate armies, and the benevolent institutions of the city were taxed to the utmost in their endeavors to aid the poor and the suffering, for those were trying times, and war had many victims. Foremost among these Christian workers stood the various Christian sisterhoods. These noble women were busy day and night, never seeming to know fatigue and overcoming every obstacle that, in so many discouraging forms, obstructed the way of doing good, obstacles which would have completely disheartened less-resolute women, or those not trained in the school of patience, faith, hope and charity, and where the first grand lesson learned is self-denial. Of money there was little, and food, fuel and medicine were scarce and dear. Yet they never faltered, going on in the face of all difficulties, through poverty, war and unfriendly aspersions, never turning aside, never complaining, never despairing. One will never know the sublime courage of these good sisters during the dark days of the rebellion. Only in that hour, when the judge of all mankind shall summon before him the living and the dead, will they receive their true reward, the crown everlasting and the benediction. Well done, good and faithful servant! It was just a week previous to the Red River Campaign when all was hurry and activity throughout the Department of the Gulf that General S, a stern, irascible old officer of the Regular Army, sat at his desk in his office on Julia Street, curtly giving orders to subordinates, dispatching messengers hither and thither to every part of the city where troops were stationed, and stiffly receiving such of his command as had important business to transact. In the midst of this unusual hurry and preparation, the door noiselessly opened, and a humble sister of charity entered the room. A handsome young lieutenant of the staff instantly arose and deferentially handed her a chair, for those sombre gray garments were respected if not understood, even though he had no reverence for the religious faith which they represented. General S looked up from his writing, angered by the intrusion of one whose fanaticism he despised, and a frown of annoyance and displeasure gathered darkly on his brow. Orderly! The soldier on duty without the door who had admitted the sister faced about, saluted, and stood mute, awaiting the further command of his chief. Did I not give orders that no one was to be admitted? Yes, sir, but when I say no one, I mean no one, thundered the general. The orderly bowed and returned to his post. He was too wise a soldier to enter into explanation, with so irritable a superior. All this time the patient sisters sat calm and still, biding the moment when she might speak and meekly state the object of her mission. The general gave her the opportunity in the briefest manner possible, and sharply enough too, in all conscious. Well, madam? She raised a pair of sad, dark eyes to his face, and the gaze was so pure, so saintly, so full of silent pleading, that the rough old soldier was touched in spite of himself. Around her fell the heavy muffling dress of her order, which, however coarse and ungraceful, had something strangely solemn and mournful about it. Her hands, small and fair, were clasped almost supplently, and half hidden in the loose sleeves, as if afraid of their own trembling beauty. Hands that had touched tenderly, lovingly, so many death-camped foreheads, that had soothed so much pain, eyes that had met prayerfully, so many dying glances, lips that had cheered to the mysterious land so many parting souls, and she was only a sister of charity, only one of that innumerable band whose good deeds shall live after them. We have a household of sick and wounded, whom we must care for in some way, and I came to ask of you the privilege, which I humbly beseech you will not deny us, of obtaining ice and beef at commissary prices. The gentle earnest pleading fell on deaf ears. Always something, snarled the general, last week it was flour and ice, today it is ice and beef, tomorrow it will be coffee and ice, I suppose, and all for a lot of rascally rebels, who ought to be shot, instead of being nursed back to life and treason. General, the sister was majestic now. Rebel or federal, I do not know. Protestant or Catholic, I do not ask. They are not soldiers when they come to us. They are simply suffering fellow creatures. Rich or poor, of gentle or lowly blood, it is not our province to inquire. Ununiformed, unarmed, sick and helpless, we ask not on which side they fought. Our work begins after yours is done. Yours the carnage, ours the binding up of wounds. Yours the battle, ours the duty of caring for the mangled left behind on the field. Ice I want for the sick, the wounded, the dying. I plead for all. I beg for all. I pray for all God's poor suffering creatures, wherever I may find them. Yes, you can beg, I'll admit. What do you do with all your beggings? It is always more, more, never enough. With this the general returned to his writing, thereby giving the sister to understand that she was dismissed. For a moment her eyes fell, her lips trembled. It was a cruel taunt. Then the tremulous hands slowly lifted and folded tightly across her breast, as if to still some sudden heartache the unkind words called up. Very low and sweet, and earnest was her reply. Union leaders of the Civil War. Howard, Carney, Burnside, Scott, Rosecrans, Wallace, Custer, Thomas, Hancock, McClellan, Hooker, Butler, Logan. What do we do with our beggings? Oh, that is a hard question to ask, of one whose way of life leads ever among the poor, the sorrowing, the unfortunate, the most wretched of all mankind. Not on me is it wasted. I stand here in my earthly all. What do we do with it? Ah, some day you may know. She turned away and left him. Sad of face, heavy of heart, and her dark eyes misty with unshed tears. Stay! The general's request was like a command. He could be stern, nay almost rude, but he knew truth and worth when he saw it, and could be just. The sister paused on the threshold, and for a minute nothing was heard but the rapid scratching of the general's pen. There, madam, is your order on the commissary for ice and beef at army terms. Good for three months. I do it for the sake of the Union soldiers who are, or may be, in your care. Don't come bothering me again. Good morning. In less than three weeks from that day the slaughter of the Red River campaign had been perfected, and there neared the city of New Orleans a steamer, flying the ominous yellow flag, which even the rebel sharpshooters respected, and allowed to pass down the river, unmolested. Another, and still another, followed closely in her wake, and all the decks were covered with the wounded and dying whose bloody bandages and, in many instances, undressed wounds, gave a woeful evidence of the lack of surgeons, as well as the completeness of the route. Among the desperately wounded was General S. He was born from the steamer to the waiting ambulance, writhing in anguish from the pain of his bleeding and shell-torn limb, and when they asked him where he wished to be taken he feebly moaned, anywhere. It matters not. Where I can die in peace. So they took him to the hotel du, a noble and beautiful institution, in charge of the Sisters of Charity. The limb was amputated, and then he was nursed for weeks through the agony of the surgical operation, the fever, the wild delirium, and for many weary days no one could tell whether life or death would be the victor. But who was the quiet, faithful nurse ever at his bedside, ever ministering to his wants, ever watchful of his smallest needs, why only one of the Sisters? At last life triumphed, reason returned, and with it much of the old abrupt manner, the general awoke to consciousness to see a face not altogether unknown bending over him, and to feel a pair of small, deft hands skillfully arranging a bandage, wet in ice-cold water, around his throbbing temples where the mad pain and aching had for so long a time held sway. He was better now, though still very weak, but his mind was clear, and he could think calmly and connectedly of all that had taken place since the fatal battle, a battle which had so nearly cost him his life, and left him at best but a maimed and mutilated remnant of his former self. Yet he was thankful it was no worse that he had not been killed outright. In like degree he was grateful to those who nursed him so tenderly and tirelessly, especially the gray-robed women, who had become almost angelic in his eyes, and it was like him to express his gratitude in his own peculiar way, without preface or circumlocution. Looking intently at the sister as if to get her features well fixed in his memory, he said, did you get the ice and beef? The sister started, the question was so direct and unexpected. Surely her patient must be getting, really, himself. Yes, she replied simply, but with a kind glance of the soft, sad eyes that spoke eloquently her thanks. And your name is? Sister Francis. Well then, Sister Francis, I am glad you got the things, glad I gave you the order. I think I know now what you do with your beggings. I comprehend something of your work, your charity, your religion, and I hope to be the better for the knowledge. I owe you a debt I can never repay, but you will endeavor to believe that I am deeply grateful for all your great goodness and ceaseless care. Nay, you owe me nothing, but to him, whose cross I bear, and in whose divine footsteps I try to follow, you owe a debt of gratitude unbounded. To his infinite mercy I commend you. It matters not for the body. It is that divine mystery, the soul I would save. My work here is done. I leave you to the care of others. Adieu. The door softly opened and closed, and he saw Sister Francis no more. Two months afterward she received a letter sent to the care of the mother's superior and closing a check for a thousand dollars. At the same time the general took occasion to remark that he wished he were able to make it twice the amount, since he knew by experience what they did with their beggings. With this portion of the book is concluded the record of the labors of the Catholic sisterhoods in the war. The appendix which follows contains a number of interesting facts which it was deemed advisable to separate from the text proper. Most of them have reference, either directly or indirectly, to the patience, courage, and loyalty of the sisters. Those that have not are sufficiently allied to the subject matter to justify their insertion in a volume of this character. Before the book went to press the writer went over this additional matter with a view to omitting some portions that did not appear directly related to the main volume, but it was difficult to make a choice. No two persons could agree upon the part to be retained and the portion to be omitted. So all of the matter has remained as it was originally conceived and arranged. No one can read the story of the labors of the heroic women in the war without a thrill of reverence and admiration for these devoted nurses. They constitute a grand army of the Republic before which the boys in blue and the boys in gray and their descendants after them can bow the head in respectful salutation. They enlisted in the war from motives of the highest patriotism, love of humanity, and love of God. They had no purpose to accomplish, no access to grind, no reward to receive, no pay to earn. They did not forsake their peaceful convent homes, share the privations and the rough fare of the soldiers to gratify any worldly ambition. All that they did was from a pure and elevated sense of duty. The high motives that inspired them in volunteering their services at the crisis in this nation's history has also prevented them from recording or publishing the amount and character of these services. Their light has literally been hid beneath a bushel. This feeble effort to do justice to their labors and their memory has been undertaken, not because they would have it done, but because duty, justice, and patriotism alike demanded that it should be done. If the perusal of these pages furnishes the reader one-tenth of the pleasure involved in their making, the writer will be well repaid for his labor. End of Chapter 36 of Angels of the Battlefield This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Chuck Williamson. Angels of the Battlefield by George Barton Appendix, Part One, An Innocent Victim The front piece, entitled An Innocent Victim, that adorns this volume, is taken from a famous painting executed by S. C. Moore Thomas, an artist who was rapidly rising to fame. Mr. Thomas was born in San Augustine, Texas, studied in New York at the Art Students League, and from there went to Paris, where he is recognized as an artist of great power. This picture was exhibited at the World's Columbian Exposition in Chicago, where it attracted great attention. End of Chapter 37, Part One Section 38 Appendix, Part Two, of Angels of the Battlefield This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Nemo. Angels of the Battlefield by George Barton Appendix, Part Two, Metals for Sisters The official gazette of the French government recently published an order of the Minister of War granting medals to certain Catholic sisters. A gold medal has been awarded to Sister Claire of the Order of Sisters of St. Charles for twenty-seven year service in the wards of the military hospital at Toul and for previous service at Nancy, during the whole of which time she had given constant evidence of her devotion to duty. Silver medals have been given to Sister Gabrielle for thirty-six years' work, during twenty-three of which she has been superior to Sister Adrienne for thirty-eight year service and to Sister Charlotte for eleven year service. These last three religious have been attached to the mixed hospital of Verdon and, according to the official notice, have been remarkable for their zeal and their devoted care of this sick soldiers. End of Appendix, Part Two Section 39 Appendix, Part Three, of Angels of the Battlefield This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Nemo Angels of the Battlefield by George Barton Appendix, Part Three, Honored by the Queen The Queen of England, only a few months ago, showed her appreciation of the work of the Sisters in time of war by bestowing the Royal Red Cross upon the venerable mother Aloysius Doyle of the Convent of Mercy, Gort, Ireland. The following correspondence deserves to be preserved. Palmall, London Southwest, February 15, 1897 Madam, the Queen having been pleased to bestow upon you the decoration of the Royal Red Cross, I have to inform you that in the case of such honours as this, it is the custom of her Majesty to personally bestow the decoration upon the recipient when such a course is convenient to all concerned. And I have, therefore, to request that you will be so good as to inform me whether it would be convenient to you to attend at Windsor sometime within the next few weeks. Should any circumstances prevent you receiving the Royal Red Cross from the Hands of Her Majesty, it could be transmitted by post to your present address. I am, Madam, your obedient servant, George M. Farquharson, Sister Mary Aloysius, St. Patrick's, Gort, County Galloway. Sir, I received your letter of the Fifteenth, intimating to me that her most gracious Majesty the Queen is pleased to bestow on me the order of the Royal Cross in recognition of the services of my sisters in religion and my own in caring for the wounded soldiers at the Crimea during the war. My words cannot express my gratitude for the great honour which Her Majesty is pleased to confer on me. The favour is, if possible, enhanced by the permission to receive this public mark of favour at Her Majesty's own hands. The weight of seventy-six years and the infirmities of age will, I trust, dispense me from the journey to the palace. I will, therefore, with sentiments of deepest gratitude, ask to be permitted to receive this mark of my sovereign's favour in the less public and formal manner you have kindly indicated. I am, sir, faithfully yours in Jesus Christ, Sister M. Aloysius, February 17, 1897. End of Appendix Part 3, Section 40, Appendix Part 4 of Angels of the Battlefield. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Nemo. Angels of the Battlefield by George Barton. Appendix Part 4, Veterans of the Crimean War. In August 1897, at the close of the ceremonies incident to the celebration of her diamond jubilee, the Queen of Great Britain conferred the decoration of the Royal Red Cross upon Army nursing sisters Mary Helen Alice, Mary Stana-Los Jones, Mary Anastasia Kelly, and Mary Deshantal Hutton, in recognition of their services, intending the sick and wounded at the seat of war during the Crimea campaign of 1854 to 1856. Their services were very much appreciated by Miss Nightingale, who indeed has ever since shown her interest in them in many ways. The three sisters first mentioned, together with another who has died since, were on their return from the East, asked to undertake the nursing at hospital, just then being established in Great Ormond Street, for incurable and dying female patients, and to this hospital they have been attached to the present time. End of Appendix Part 4, Section 41, Appendix Part 5 of Angels of the Battlefield. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Nemo. Angels of the Battlefield by George Barton. Appendix Part 5. Poor Sister St. Clair. Professor Edward Roth, the well-known Philadelphia educator, is authority for this episode of the Franco-German War. He quotes General Ambert, who fought as a private in the war as follows. Oh yes, one of them I shall never forget, Poor Sister St. Clair. I see her this moment, her big black veil trimmed with blue, as she makes her way through the blood-smeared straw of our crowded barn. The roaring of the cannon was awful, but she did not seem to mind it. She did not seem to mind even the terrible fire that was now raging through the last houses of the village, the flames near enough to cast an unearthly glimmer on the suffering faces of the wounded men. But oh, how her sharp ear caught the slightest complaint, how she flew towards the faintest whisper. Everywhere at once, with each one of us at the same time, what iron strength God must have put into that little body. Your eye had hardly caught glimpse of it when you felt already at your lips the cool refreshing drink that you would not the courage to ask for. You would hardly open your dim eyes, heavy with pain and fever, when you were aware of a face bending over you, keen, indeed, and bright. Though slightly poxmarked, but so resolute, calm, smiling, and kindly, that you instantly forgot your sufferings, forgot the Prussians with their bombs bursting around you, forgot even the conflagration that was drawn nearer and nearer and threatened soon to swallow up the barn in which our ambulances had taken shelter. Good Sister St. Clair, you are now with your God, the voluntary victim of your heart and your faith, but I have often wished since that you were once more among us, listening to the thanks and prayers of such of us as are still alive and never to forget you. But you did not hear even the tenth part of the blessings of those that died with your name on their lips as they sank to their eternal sleep tranquilly, resignedly, hopefully, thanks to your holy administrations. It was the evening of August 16, 1870, the day of our bloodiest battle, Gravelat. For hours and hours the wounded had been carried persistently and in great numbers to the rear, in a large bar near Resonville, those of us had been laid whose intense sufferings would not permit them to be removed further. Thrown hurriedly down wherever room could be found, the first arms you saw extending towards you were those of that little dark-faced woman, her lips smiling, but her eyes glistening with tears. A few yards only from the field of battle, from the very thick of the fight, a few yards only from the muddy blood-slipping ground where you had just sunk, fully expecting to be soon trampled to death like so many others. What heavenly comfort it was to meet such burning charity. How it at once relieved your physical sufferings, soothed off your mortification, and drove away your deadening despair. Poor Sister St. Clair. All that evening and all that long night to get water for the fifty agonized voices calling for it to every moment you had to cross a yard hissing with bullets, but every five minutes out you went with your two buckets and back you soon came as serene and undisturbed as if God himself had made you invulnerable, and so the long night wore away. But next morning our army, after fifteen hours valiant struggle, and after resting all night on the battlefield, had to fall back towards Metz, and the barn had to be immediately vacated. There was no time for using the regular ambulances for the Prussians, though they could not take any of our positions the previous evening. Being heavily reinforced were now steadily advancing. The wounded picked up hastily and carried out without ceremony, or piled on trucks, tumbles, in every available vehicle. Oh, the cries, the pains, the sufferings. Still, dear Sister St. Clair, though for forty-eight hours you hadn't had a second for your own rest, you contrived to pass continually, from one end of that wretched column to the other, with a little water for this one, a good word for that, a smile or friendly nod for a third, your little arms lifting out of danger ahead, that had leaned over too far, or shifting into a more comfortable position the poor fellow whose leg had been cut off during the night, and who would probably be dead in an hour or two. Then you found a seat for yourself on the last wagon. Alas, you were not there half an hour when the bullets struck you, struck you, as you were striving to keep a poor, wounded, helpless man from rolling out. A squadron of Ulans suddenly cut us off from the army and made us all prisoners. Poor Sister, it was by the hands of our enemies that the grave was dug, where you are now lying in the midst of those on whom you expended the treasures of your saintly soul. Of us that survive you, there is probably not one in a thousand that will ever know the name of that little sister of the Trinity, and religion, Sister St. Clair, that bright vision of charity flashing continually before us during the long ride of agony in the barn near Resonville. Your holy limbs are now resting in an unknown corner of Lorraine, no longer your dear France, but your blessed memory will live forever in the grateful hearts of those you have died for. End of Appendix Part 5. Chapter 42 Part 6 of Angels of the Battlefield by George Barton. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Chuck Williamson. Angels of the Battlefield by George Barton. Appendix Part 6. Lord Napier's Testimony. Lord Napier, who held a diplomatic position under Lord Stratford de Redcliffe during the Crimean War, gives the following testimony to the worth of the Sisters of Mercy. During the distress of the Crimean War, the ambassador called me in one morning and said, Go to the port. You will find a ship there loaded with Jewish exiles, Russian subjects from the Crimea. It is your duty to disembark them. The Turks will give you a house in which they may be placed. I turned them over entirely to you. I went down to the shore and received about 200 persons, the most miserable objects that could be witnessed. Most of them old men, women, and children, sunk in the lowest depths of indigence and despair. I placed them in the cold, ruinous lodging allocated to them by the Ottoman authorities. I went back to the ambassador and said, Your Excellency, these people are cold and I have no fuel or blankets. They are hungry and I have no food. They are very dirty and I have no soap. Their hair is in an undesirable condition and I have no combs. What am I to do with these people? Do, said the ambassador, get a couple of sisters of mercy. They will put all to rights in a moment. I went, saw the mother superior, and explained the case. I asked for two sisters. They were at once sent. They were ladies of refinement and intellect. I was a stranger and a Protestant, and I invoked their assistance for the benefit of Jews. Yet these two women made up their bundles and followed me through the rain without a look, a whisper, or a sign of hesitation. From that moment my fugitives were saved. No one saw the labors of those sisters for months but myself, and they never endeavored to make a single convert. In his speeches in the aftertimes Lord Napier repeatedly referred to the singular zeal and devotedness, constantly shown by the sisters to the sick of every denomination. On one occasion, in Edenburg, he remarked that the sisters faithfully kept their promise not to interfere with the religion of non-Catholics. But continued his lordship. They made at least one convert. They converted me, if not to believe in the Catholic faith, at least to believe in the sisters of mercy. The few months spent at Balaklava by the devoted sisters witnessed a repetition of the deeds of heroism, which had achieved such happy results at Skutari and Kulali. The cholera and a malignant type of fever had broken out in those days in the camp. By night, as well as by day, the sisters were called to help the patients. Yet their strength seemed never to fail in their work of charity. Besides the soldiers, there were six civilians, Maltese, Germans, Greeks, Italians, Americans, and even Negroes. And to all they endeavored to give some attention. The medical orders reveal the constant nature of the nursing required at their hands. At one time, the doctor, quote, requests that a sister would sit up with his Dutch patient in number nine ward tonight. End, quote. Again, quote, sisters to sit up with the Maltese and the Arab. Kind attendance on Jones every night would be necessary until a notification to the contrary be given. Keep the stump moist, a little champagne and water to be given during the night. Elliot is to be watched all night. Powder every half hour. Wine and small dose if necessary. End, quote. The very confidence placed by the physicians in their careful treatment added to their toil. As the deputy purveyor-in-chief reported to the government in December 1855, quote, the medical officer can safely consign his most critical case to their hands. Stimulants or opiates ordered every five minutes will be faithfully administered, though the five minutes labor were repeated uninterruptedly for a week. The heroism of the nuns, however, was now well known in the camp, and never did workers find more sympathetic subordinates than the sisters had in their orderlies. The fact that they would never lodge complaints or have the orderlies punished only made the men more zealous in their service. One of the sisters found it necessary to correct her orderly. Perhaps, James, she said, you do not wish me to speak to you a little more severely. He at once interrupted her. Troth, sister, I glory in your speaking to me. Sure, the day I came to Balaklava I cried with joy when I saw your face. One who had taken a glass too much was so mortified at being seen by the reverend mother, whom the soldiers call their commander in chief, that he sobbed like a child. Another in the same predicament hid himself, that he might not be seen by the sister. He had never hidden from the enemy a medal with three clasps bore eloquent testimony to his bravery. I don't like to say anything harsh, said the sister. Speak, ma'am, interrupted the delinquent. The words out of your blessed mouth are like jewels falling over me. One of the sisters writes, We have not a cross here with anyone. The medical officers all work beautifully with us. They quite rely on our obedience. Sir John Hall, the head medical officer of the army, is quite loud in his promise of the nuns. The hospital and its hunts are scattered over a hill. The respect of all the sisters is daily increasing. Don't be shocked to hear that I am so accustomed to the soldiers now and so sure of their respect and affection, that I don't mind them more than the school children. The soldiers in the camp envied the good fortune of stratagem to have a few words with the nuns. Please, sir, they would say to their chaplain. Do send a couple of us on an errand to the hospital to get a sight of the nuns. As the time for the nuns departure approached, the cordial manifestation of respect and kindly feeling were only the more multiplied. The grateful affection of the soldiers, a sister writes, is most touching. Often ludicrous. They swarm around us like flocks of chickens. A black veiled nun in the midst of red coats, all eyes and ears for whatever she says to them, is an ordinary sight at Balaklava. Our doors were besieged by them to get some little keepsake. A book in which we write, given by a sister of mercy, is so valuable an article that a Protestant declared he would rather have such a gift than the Victoria Cross or Crimean Medal. The Sunday after the nuns departure, the men who went to the chapel sobbed and cried as though their hearts would break. When the priests turned to speak to them and asked their prayers for the safe passage of the nuns, they could not control their emotions. I was obliged to cut short my discourse, wrote the chaplain. Else I should have cried and sobbed with the poor men. This sympathy was shown by Protestants and Catholics alike, and from the commander-in-chief to the private soldier, from the first medical officers to the simple presser in the surgery, all was a chorus of praise of the untiring, judicious, and gentle nursing of the sisters of mercy. Two sisters of mercy were summoned to their crowns from the hospital of the east. One was English, a lay sister from the convent at Liverpool. She fell a victim to the cholera, which raged at Balaclava. The other was a choir sister from Ireland, sister M. Elizabeth Butler. Already, rumors of peace had brought joy to the camp, when, towards the close of February 7th, 1855, she caught typhus attending to the sick, and in a few days joyfully bade farewell to the world. One of the surviving sisters describes her funeral. The 89th Regiment obtained the honour and privilege of bearing the coffin to the grave. One officer earnestly desired to be among the chosen, but thought he was not worthy, as he had not been at Holy Communion on that morning. The whole medical staff attended. The sisters of charity at the Sardinian camp sent five of their number to express sympathy and condolence. Eight chaplains attended to perform the last rites for the heroine of the charity. The place of internment was beside the departed lay sister, on a rocky hill rising over the waters of the Black Sea. The funeral was a most impressive sight. The soldiers, in double file, the multitudes of various nations, ranks, and employments. The silence unbroken, saved by the voice of tears. The groups, still at sanctuary, that crowded the rocks above the grave. The moaning of the sullen waves beneath. All combined in a weird pageant, never to be forgotten by the thousands that took part in it. The graves of these cherished sisters were tended with loving attention. Marked by crosses and enclosed by a high iron railing, set in cut stone. They are still quite visible from the Black Sea beneath. Many a pilgrim went thither to strew the graves with flowers, and to the present day, many a vessel entering the Black Sea lowers its flags in memory of those heroines. Who in the true spirit of charity devoted their lives to alleviate the suffering of their countrymen? End of Chapter 42 Part 6 Appendix Part 7 Of Angels of the Battlefield This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Angels of the Battlefield by George Barton Appendix Part 7 Very Reverend James Francis Burlando, C.M. The very Reverend James Francis Burlando of the Congregation of the Mission, who is mentioned several times in the text of this volume, was born on May 6, 1814 in the city of Genoa, Italy. Very early in life he became impressed with the desire of adopting the priesthood as his vocation, and on the 16th of February 1837 his Archbishop Cardinal Tadini conferred on him the Holy Orders of Sub-Deacon and Deacon. Soon after this he sailed for the United States and enlisted for the American missions under Reverend John Odin C.M., late Archbishop of New Orleans, who at that time was seeking recruits for the infant seminary at the barrens, Missouri. Before Father Burlando could come here, he was obliged to meet and overcome a very strong opposition on the part of his good father, who, although a firm and Christian, could not bear the idea of being separated from his firstborn son. The very day that Father Burlando was to be admitted to the novitiate, he perceived his father at the Archbiscopal Hall, waiting for an audience with Cardinal Tadini. Guessing at once the motive of such an interview, namely that he might exercise his authority and command the young deacon in virtue of holy obedience to remain with his father and family, which would prevent him from carrying out his holy desire, the young man sought to baffle the intention of his father by seeing the Archbishop first and securing his permission and blessing. Accordingly, he had recourse to the following stratagem. He borrowed from his friends the various articles of a clerical suit, from one a hat, from another a cassock differing from his own, from a third a cloak, and to render the disguise more complete, he put on a pair of spectacles and wig. Thus equipped, he entered the house of the Cardinal, had a conversation with him, in which he received his approbation and blessing, and passed out again without being recognized by his father, who he left standing at the door, watchling closely every young seminarian who entered. Fearing he might be discovered, the young man quickened his pace and repaired immediately to the venerable Barcell Mugasano, the superior of the latterists who received him. In the following June he left Ginoa and repaired to Turin, where he was ordained priest on the 9th of July by the most reverent Alozius Fransoni, Archbishop of that sea. To mitigate in some measure the pain, which his good father experienced on account of this separation, Father Burlando wrote him a pressing invitation to honor and gratify him by being present at his first mass on the 10th of July. Touched by his son's filial respect and affection, he at last relented and assisted with tearful devotion at the impressive ceremony. A few weeks after Father Burlando went to the mother house in Paris, whence he set out for New Orleans. Having landed safely on the American shore, he proceeded by steamboat to Missouri and reached the Seminary of the Barrens towards the close of the same year. He filled many positions of trust and honor, the last and most important field of his apostolic labors was the community of the daughters of charity at the central house of St. Joseph's near Emmitsburg, Maryland, wither he repaired in the spring of 1853 and where he remained for the space of 23 years. During all that time, says Father Gandolfo, his assistant, I had more occasion than anyone else of observing his noble qualities of mind and heart, as a superior he was always kind, discreet, obliging, generous, amiable and edifying in all that regarded the observance even of the least rule, beginning from rising at four o'clock in the morning at the first sound of the Benedictine Domino. He was exceedingly charitable and ever ready to assist me at the first request in the performance of my duties, and this notwithstanding his frequent attacks of neuralgia and weakness of the digestive organs, I never saw him misspend a minute of his time. If he was not occupied in answering his numerous correspondence, he was drawing plans of hospitals and other buildings, or attending to similar important affairs of the community. He never retired to rest without having first read the many letters he daily received from every quarter of the United States. Although he frequently retired very late and slept with a few hours during the night, he was always ready for the hard labor of the next day. It was largely due to the wise administration of this worthy director that the community owed and owes its singular prosperity and development. It suffices to state that when he assumed the duties of his position, there were only 300 members distributed among 36 houses, and he lived to see the white cornet on the brow of 1,045 daughters of St. Vincent, having under their control 97 establishments for the service of the poor, affording relief for almost every species of misfortune. Owing to his superior knowledge of architecture, he not only planned but personally supervised the erection of the greater number of these charitable institutions. It would be impossible to enumerate the long and painful journeys he took, the multiplied dangers to which he exposed himself, and the many privations he endured for the particular welfare of the different establishments of the sisters, how many sleepless nights he passed during our late civil war. There were sisters in the north and sisters in the south, but by his constant vigilance, his consummate prudence, his repeated fatherly admonitions, and especially by his continual and fervent prayers, he had the consolation of seeing the entire community free from all reproach and danger. He has left many valuable volumes, which prove his ability as a writer as well as a thinker. One of these is the ceremonial, which was entrusted to him by the most reverent Archbishop Kendrick, approved by the Principale Council, and which is now largely used throughout the United States. In this valuable work, all the details relative to the mass and offices of the church, the sacred vessels, and other articles used are minutely described, so that solemnity, beauty, and becoming uniformity may be maintained. He also compiled the life of Father de Andres, the pioneer of the Lazarists in this country. To him, we are also indebted for the publication of the beautiful life of Sister Eugenie, daughter of charity. A person remarked that he must be well and extensively known throughout the United States, as he was always traveling and had to register his name in the hotels. Oh no, he replied, I give my name in as many different languages as I can, in this way I pass unnoticed and get a little recreation at the expense of the poor recorder, who is often at a loss to spell the foreign name. He looks bewildered, repeats it several times, and casts an inquiring glance at me. Meantime, I pretend stupidity and leave him right whatever he likes. Then you see, Francis Borlendo is not known. This devoted priest breezed his lost on Sunday, February 16, 1873, at the close of a day well spent in the exercise of his sacred functions. The funeral service took place in the central house of the Sisters of Charity, St. Joseph's, Emmitsburg, February the 19th, and the remains were interred in the little cemetery of the Sisters of Charity, besides the mortuary chapel, wherein repose the venerated remains of saintly mother Seaton, founders of the Sisters of Charity in the United States. End of Appendix Part 7 Angels of the Battlefield by George Barton Mary Elizabeth Ann Seaton, the founder and first superior of the Sisters of Charity in the United States, was one of the most remarkable women in the history of the Catholic Church in America. She was reared in the doctrines of the Protestant Episcopal Church, and did not embrace the Catholic faith until after the death of her husband. This distinguished woman, who was born in the city of New York on the 28th of August 1774, was a younger daughter of Dr. Richard Bailey, an eminent physician of the Metropolis. Her mother died when she was but three years of age, but her father watched over her with all the loving care of a good parent. As Miss Bailey advanced in years, nature and education combined in developing those admirable traits of character that would have made her so lovable and merciful in later life. All of her friends and relatives were members of the Protestant Episcopal Church, but the physician's daughter was more fervent in her religious duties than any of those with whom she was associated. From her earliest years, she wore small crucifix on her person, and was frequently heard to express regret and astonishment that the custom was not more general among the members of her church. At the age of twenty, Miss Bailey was married to William Seaton, a prosperous and most estimable merchant of New York City. It was a happy marriage, and husband and wife lived in mutual love and esteem. In 1800, Mr. Seaton became embarrassed through a reaction in business, caused mainly by the consequences of the Revolutionary War. In this crisis, Mrs. Seaton was a helpmate in every sense of the word. She not only cheered her husband by her encouraging counsel, but rendered him practical aid in arranging his business affairs. In the course of her married life, Mrs. Seaton became the mother of five children, Anna Maria, William, Richard, Catherine Josephine, and Rebecca. She was a model mother, restraining, guiding, and educating her offspring, with a mingling of tact, tenderness, and edifying example. She did not confine her goodness to her children, to her children, but was ever ready to assist the poor and suffering. One of her biographers said she was so zealous, in this respect, that she and a relative who accompanied her were commonly called Protestant Sisters of Charity. The death of Mrs. Seaton's father in 1801 was a source of great sorrow to this devoted woman. Years had only served to cement the affectionate relations between father and daughter. During the last three or four years of his life, Dr. Bailey was health officer at the Port of New York. He was naturally of a philanthropic disposition, and his official duties called him to a field that presented an unbounded field for Christian charity. It was while in the discharge of his duty among the immigrants that Dr. Bailey contracted the illness, which carried him to his grave within a week's time. Mrs. Seaton had scarcely recovered from the shock of her father's death when her husband's health, which had never been robust, began to decline rapidly. A sea voyage on a sojourn in Italy were recommended. Mrs. Seaton could not permit her husband to travel alone in his weak and exhausted state, and she accompanied him, along with her oldest child, a girl of eight. The other children were committed to the care of relatives in New York City. The child caught the whooping cough on the way over, and the anxious mother was constantly occupied in nursing the husband and daughter. Before landing, the unfortunate trio were detained for many days at the Lazareto Station in the harbor of Lake Horn. After they landed, the good wife was on tiring in her attentions to her husband. But in spite of her love and solicitude, he died on the 27th of December, among strangers and in a foreign land. On the following 8th of April, with her tears still fresh upon the grave of her devoted husband, Mrs. Seaton sailed for home. Prior to this voyage and during the 56 days that it occupied, Mrs. Seaton began to take a deep interest in the doctrines and practices of the Catholic Church. She eagerly devoured all of the literature upon the subject that opportunity offered, and also learned much by frequent conversations with friends. Deep meditation finally strengthened her in the desire to become a Catholic. Her only fear was that a change in her religious faith might bring about a coldness and a severance of friendship that existed between herself and her friends and relatives, particularly her pastor, Reverend J. H. Hobart, a man of singular talents and goodness, who afterwards became the Protestant Episcopal Bishop of New York. Writing of the possibility of such an estrangement in her diary at this time, Mrs. Seaton says with evident feeling, If your dear friendship and esteem must be the price of my fidelity to what I believe to be the truth, I cannot doubt the mercy of God, who by depriving me of one of my remaining dearest ties on earth will certainly draw me nearer to him. She was not mistaken. When she returned home, the coldness of many of her Protestant friends was a great trial to her warm and still bleeding heart, the storm of opposition added to her grief. The fact that Mrs. Seaton was in doubt upon the question of religion made her a subject of attack for the friends of all denominations. Writing of this, she says I had a most affectionate note from Mr. Hobart today, asking me how I could ever think of leaving the church in which I was baptized. But though whatever he says has the weight of my partiality for him, as well as the respected seems to me I could scarcely have for anyone else, yet that question made me smile. For it is like saying that wherever a child is born, and wherever its parents place it, there it will find the truth. And he does not hear the droll invitations made me every day, since I am in my little new home and old friends come to see me. It has already happened that one of the most excellent women I ever knew, who is of the church of Scotland, fighting me unsettled about the great subject of a true faith said to me, oh, do dear soul, come and hear our J. Mason, and I'm sure you will join us. A little after came one whom I loved for the purest and most innocent of manners of the Society of Quakers, to which I have always been attached. She coaxed me too with artless persuasion. Let's see, I tell thee, thee had better come with us. And my faithful old friend of the Anabaptist meeting, Mrs. T., says with tears in her eyes, oh, could you be regenerated? Could you know our experiences and enjoy with us our heavenly banquet? And my good old Mary, the Methodist, groans and contemplates, as she calls it, over my soul, so misled because I have got no convictions. But, oh, my Father and my God, all that will not do for me. Your word is truth, and without contradiction, whatever it is. One faith, one hope, one baptism. I look for whatever it is, and I often think my sins, my miseries, hide the light. Yet I will cling and hold to my God to the last gasp, begging for that light, and never change until I find it. Mrs. Seton's doubts were finally set at rest, and on Ash Wednesday, 1805, she was received into Catholicism in Old St. Peter's Church, New York City. The embarrassed state of her husband's finances at the time of his death had involved her, and she opened a boarding house for some of the boys who attended a neighboring school. Some months later, Mrs. Celia Seton, the youngest sister-in-law of Mrs. Seton, followed her into the Catholic Church. The one thought of Mrs. Seton was now to devote her life to the poor and to the church. The opportunity came sooner than she anticipated. The cooperation of the church authorities and financial resources being forthcoming, a little community was formed in St. Joseph's Valley, Emmitsburg. Vows were taken in accordance with the rules of the Institute of the Sisters of Charity of France, and in a few months, ten sisters were employed with the instruction of youth and the care of the sick. They were poor but happy. The first Christmas day, for instance, they rejoiced to have some smoked herring for dinner. Rigid regulations were adopted for the government of the new order, and its growth was remarkable. Mother Seton had the satisfaction of receiving her eldest daughter into the sisterhood. Mrs. Seton's youngest daughter lived into the 90s, and died recently at the Mercy Convent, New York, where she had lived as a sister of Mercy for over 40 years. The sons of Mrs. Seton were prosperously launched in business enterprises. Mother Seton died on the 4th of January, 1821, in the 47th year of her age. Her bedside was surrounded by the dark-robed Sisters of Charity, and her only surviving daughter, Josephine. Her end was happy and tranquil. Her career was one of great piety and usefulness. She has gone, but her memory will live forever through the perpetration of the great order that she planted in the United States, and which has already grown to proportions far beyond the most sanguine expectation of its tender and affectionate founder. Appendix Part 9, The Sisters of Charity This beautiful poem, descriptive of a sister of charity written by Gerald Griffin, has taken its place among those precious bits of literature that never died. The author was born in Limerick, Ireland in 1803, and began his literary career as a reporter for London Daily. He wrote many novels, a tragedy, and various poems. He died in Cork in 1840. A correspondent whose opinion is valued very highly writes to remind the author of The Angels of the Battlefield that a Society of Sisters of Charity was first established in Dublin by Mary Mother Aikenhead early in this century. It was these ladies, particularly a sister and a cousin of the poet, who joined Mother Aikenhead that inspired Gerald Griffin's beautiful lines. The Irish Sisters of Charity make perpetual vows where veils and dress somewhat similar to the Sisters of Mercy. They are not connected with any other congregation. The Sister of Charity is as false. She was once a lady of honor and wealth, bright glowed on her features the roses of health. Her vesture was blended of silk and of gold, and her motion shook perfume from every fold. Joy reveled around her, love shone at her side, and gay was her smile as the glances of a bride, and light was her step in mirth-sounding hall when she heard of the daughters of Vincent de Paul. She felt in her spirit the summons of grace that called her to live for the suffering race. And heedless of pleasure a comfort of home rose quickly like Mary and answered, Aikenhead. She put from her person the trappings of pride and passed from her home with the joy of a bride, nor wept at the threshold as onward she moved for her heart was on fire, in the cause it approved. Lost ever to fashion, to vanity lost, that beauty that once was the song and the toast, no more in the ballroom that figure we meet, but gliding at dusk to the wretches retreat. Forgotten the hall is that high-sounding name for the Sister of Charity blushes at fame. Forgot are the claims of her riches and birth, for she barters for heaven the glory of earth. Those feet that to music could gracefully move, now hear her alone on the mission of love. Those hands that once dangled the perfume and gem are tending the helpless, or lifted for them. That voice that once echoed the song of the vain, now whispers relief to the bosom of pain. And the hair that was shining with diamond and pearl is wet with the tears of a penitent girl. Her down bed appellate, her trinkets a bead, her luster one taper that serves her to read, her sculpture the crucifix nailed by her bed, her paintings one print of the crown-thorned head, her cushion the pavement that wearies her knees, her music the psalm or the sigh of disease. The delicate body lives mortified there, and the feast is forsaken for fasting and prayer. Yet not in the service of heart and mind are the cures of the heaven-minded virgin confined. Like him whom she loves to the mansions of grief, she haste with the tidings of joy and relief. She strengthens the weary, she comforts the weak, and soft is her voice in the ear of the sick. Where want and affliction on mortals attend, the sister of charity there is a friend. Unshreaking where pestilence caters his breath, like an angel she moves mid the vapor of death, where rings the loud musket and flashes the sword, unfearing she walks where she follows the Lord, how sweetly she bends o'er each plague-tainted face, with looks that are lighted with holiest grace, how kindly she dresses each suffering limb, for she sees in the wounded the image of him. Behold her yet worldly! Behold her, ye vain! Who shrink from the pathway of virtue and pain, who yield up to pleasure your nights and your days, forgetful of service forgetful of praise. Yet lazy philosophers, self-seeking men, ye fireside philanthropists, great at the pen, how stands in the balance your eloquence weighed with the life and deeds of that high-born maid? In Mr. Solis, Sir Thomas Moore, the following account of the beguines of Belgium and the sisters of charity of France is reprinted from the London Medical Gazette Volume 1. A few summers ago I passed through Flanders on my way to Germany and at the hospital at Bruges saw some of the beguines, unheard the physician, with whom I was intimate, speaking strong terms of their services. He said, there are no such nurses. I saw them in the wards attending on the sick and in the chapel of the hospital on their knees washing the floor. They were obviously a superior class of woman, and the contrast was striking between these menial offices and the respectability of their dress and appearance. But the beginnage of Ghent is one of their principal establishments, and spending a Sunday there I went in the evening to Wespers. It was twilight when I entered the chapel. It was dimly lighted by two or three tall tapers before the altar, and a few candles at the remotest end of the building in the orchestra. But the body of the chapel was in deep gloom, filled from end to end with several hundreds of these nuns seated in rows, in their dark dresses and white culls, silent and motionless, excepting now and then one of them started up, and stretching out her arms in the attitude of the crucifixion, stood in that posture many minutes, then sank and disappeared among the crowd. The gloom of the chapel, the long line of these unearthly-looking figures, like so many corpses propped up in their grave-closes, the dead silence of the building, once only interrupted by a few voices in the distant orchestra chanting Wespers, was one of the most striking sights I ever beheld. To some readers, the occasional attitude of the nuns may seem an absurd expression of fanaticism, but they are anything but fanatics. Whoever is as accustomed to the manners of continental nations knows that they employ a grimace in everything. I much doubt whether, apart from the internal emotion of piety, the external expression of it is grateful in anyone save only a little child in his night-shirt on his knees saying his evening prayer. The Beginnage, or Residence of the Begins at Ghent, is a little town of itself adjoining the city and enclosed from it. The transition from the crowded streets of Ghent to the silence and solitude of the Beginnage is very striking. The houses in which the Begins reside are contiguous, each having its small garden, and on the door the name, not of the resident, but of the protecting saint of the house. These houses arranged into streets. There is also the large church, which were visited, and a burial ground, in which there are no monuments. There are upwards of six hundred of these nuns in the Beginnage of Ghent, and about six thousand in Brabant and Flanders. They receive sick persons into the Beginnage, and not only nurse, but support them, until they are recovered. They also go out to nurse the sick. They are bound by no woe, excepting to be chased and obedient, while they remain in the order. They have the power of quitting it, and returning again into the world whenever they please. But this it is said, they seldom or never do. They are most of them women and married or widows past the middle of life. In 1244 a synod at Fretzlau decided that no Beginn should be younger than forty years of age. They generally dine together in the refractory. Their apartments are barely yet comfortably furnished, and like all the habitations of Flanders remarkably clean. About their origin and name little is known by the Beginns themselves, or is to be found in books. For the following particulars I am chiefly indebted to the history des Ordres Monasticus, term the Eight. Some attributed both their origin and name to Saint Beghi, who lived in the seventh century, others to Lambert Le Beg, who lived about the end of the twelfth century. This latter saint is said to have founded two communities of them at Lige, one for women, in 1173, the other for men, in 1177. After his death they multiplied fast, and were introduced by St. Louis into Paris and other French cities. The plan flourished in France, and was adopted under other forms and names. In 1443 Nicholas Rollin, Chancellor to Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, founded a hospital at Born, and brought six Begins from Mellons to attend upon it. And the hospital became so famed for the care of its patients, that the opulent people of the neighborhood, when sick, were often removed to it, preferring its attendance to what they received at home. In one part of the hospital there was a large square court bordered with galleries, leading to apartments suitable to such patients. When they quitted the hospital, the donations which they left were added to its funds. The sores de la Charité of France are another order of religious nurses, but different from the Begins in being bound by monastic bows. They originated in a charity sermon, perhaps the most useful and extensive in its influence that ever was preached. Vincent de Paul, a celebrated missionary, preaching at Châtillon in 1617, recommended a poor sick family of the neighborhood to the care of his congregation. At the conclusion of the sermon a number of persons visited the sick family, with bread, wine, meat and other comforts. This led to the formation of a committee of charitable women, under the direction of Vincent de Paul, who went about relieving the sick poor of the neighborhood, and met every month to give an account of their proceedings to their superior. Such was the origin of the celebrated order of the sores de la Charité. Wherever this missionary went, he attempted to form similar establishments. In the country they spread the cities, at first to Paris, where in 1629 they were established in the parish of Saint-Sébius. And in 1625 a female devotee named La Grosse joined the order of the sores de la Charité. She was married young to M. La Grosse, one of whose family had founded a hospital at Peay, but becoming a widow in 1625, in the 34th year of her age, she made a vow of celibacy and dedicated the rest of her life to the service of the poor. In her, Vincent de Paul found a great accession. Under his direction she took many journeys, visiting and inspecting the establishments which he had founded. She was commonly accompanied by a few pious ladies. Many women of quality enrolled themselves in the order, but the superiors were assisted by inferior servants. The hotel due was the first hospital in Paris, where they exercised their vocation. They visited every day, supplying the patients with comforts above what the hospital afforded, and administering besides religious consolation. By degrees, they spread into all the provinces of France, and at length the Queen of Poland requested M. La Grosse, for though a widow that was her title, to send her a supply of sores de la Charité, who were thus established in Warsaw in 1652. At length, after a long life spent in the service of charity and religion, M. La Grosse died on the 15th of March 1660, nearly 70 years of age, and for a day and a half her body lay exposed to the gaze of the pious. A country clergyman who spent several years in various parts of France gives an account of the present state of the order, which, together with what I have gathered from other sources, is in substance as follows. It consists of women of all ranks, many of them of the higher orders. After a year's novitiate in the convent, they take a bow which binds them to the order for the rest of their lives. They have two objects to attend the sick and to educate the poor. They are spread all over France and the superior nurses at the hospitals, and are to be found in every town and often even in villages. Go into the Paris hospitals at almost any hour of the day, and you will see one of these respectable-looking women, in her black gown and white hood, passing slowly from bed to bed, and stopping to inquire of some poor wretch what little comfort his fancying will alleviate his sufferings. If a parochial cure wants assistance in the care of his flock, he applies to the order of the source de la Carité. Two of them, for they generally go in couples, set out on their charitable mission, wherever they travel their dress protects them. Even more enlightened persons than the common peasantry hail it as a happy omen when on a journey with a source de la Carité happens to travel with them, and even instances are recorded in which their presence has saved travelers from the attacks of robbers. During the revolution they were rarely molested. They were the only religious order permitted openly to wear their dress and pursue their vocation. Government gives a hundred francs a year to each sister, besides her traveling expenses, and if the parish where they go cannot maintain them, they are supported out of the funds of the order. In old age they retire to their convents and spend the rest of their lives in educating the novitiates. Thus, like the vestal virgins of old, the first part of their life is spent learning their duties, the second in practicing them, and the last in teaching them. End of Appendix Part 10. Chapter 47 of Angels of the Battlefield. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Larry Wilson. Angels of the Battlefield by George Barton. Appendix Part 11. The Angels of Buena Vista. Written by John Greenleaf Whittier, with reference to the work of the Sisters of Mercy at the Battle of Buena Vista during the Mexican War. Speak and tell us, Arzimina, looking northward far away, or the camp of the invaders, or the Mexican army? Who is losing? Who is winning? Are they far, or come they near? Look ahead and tell us, sister, where the rolls the storm we hear. Down the hills of Agustura still the storm of battle rolls. Blood is flowing, men are dying. God have mercy on their souls. Who is losing? Who is winning? Over hill and over plain, I see but smoke of cannon clouding through the mountain rain. Holy Mother, keep our brothers. Look, Zimina, look once more. Still I see the fearful whirlwind rolling darkly as before, bearing on in strange confusion, friend and foeman, foot and horse, like some wild and troubled torrent sweeping down its mountain course. Look once more, Zimina. Oh, the smoke has rolled away, and I see the northern rifles gleaming down the ranks of gray. Hark, that sudden blast of bugles. They're the troop of minion wheels. They're the northern horses thundered with the cannon at their heels. Jesu, pity, how it thickens. Now retreat to now advance, right against the blazing cannon showers Pueblo's charging lance. On they go, the brave young riders, horse and foot together fall, like a plowsher in the fallow through them plows, the northern ball. Nearer came the storm and nearer, rolling fast and frightful on. Speak, Zimina, speak and tell us who has lost and who has won. Alas, alas, I know not, friend and foe together fall, or the dying rush the living. Pray my sisters for them all. Lo, the wind, the smoke is lifting. Blessed Mother, save my brain. I can see the wounded crawling slowly out from heaps of slain. Now they stagger, blind and bleeding. Now they fall and strive to rise. Haste and sisters, haste and save them lest they die before our eyes. O my harsh love, O my dear one, lay thy poor head on my knee. Does thou know the lips that kiss thee? Canst thou hear me? Canst thou see? O my husband, brave and gentle. O my Bernal, look once more on the blessed cross before thee. Mercy, mercy, all is o'er. Dry thy tears, my poor Zimina. Lay thy dear one down to rest. Let his hands be meekly folded. Lay the cross upon his breast. Let his dirge be sung hereafter, and his funeral masses said, Today, thou poor bereaved one, the living ask thy aid. Close beside her, fately, fately moaning, fair and young, a soldier lay, torn with shot and pierced with lances, bleeding slow his life away. But as tenderly before him the Lorne Zimina knelt, she saw the northern eagle shining on his pistol belt. With a stifled cry of horror, straight she turned away her head, with a sad and bitter feeling looked she back upon her dead. But she heard the youths low moaning, and his struggling breath of pain, and she raised the cooling water to his marching lips again. Whispered the dying soldier, pressed her hand in faintly smiled. Was that pity in face his mother's? Did she watch, besides her child, all his stronger words with meaning her woman's heart supplied, with her kiss upon his forehead? Mother! murmured he, and died. A bitter curse upon them poor boy who led the forth from some gentle, sad-eyed mother weeping lonely in the north, spoke the mournful Mexican woman, as she laid him with her dead, and turned to soothe the living and bind the wounds which bled. Look forth once more Zimina, like a cloud before the wind rolls the battle down the mountains, leaving blood and death behind. Oh, they pleaded in vain for mercy. In the dust the wounded strive. Hide your faces, holy angels. O thou Christ of God, forgive. Sink, O night, among thy mountains. Let the cool gray shadows fall. Dying brothers, fighting demons drop thy curtain over all. Through the thickening winter twilight, wide apart the battle rolled, in its sheath the saber rested, and the cannon's mouth grew cold. But the noble Mexican women, still their holy task pursued. Through that long dark night of sorrow worn in faint and lacking food, over weakened suffering brothers, with a tender care they hung, and the dying and foment blessed them in a strange and northern tongue. Not wholly lost, O Father, is this evil world of ours. Upward through its blood and ashes spring afresh the Eden flowers, and from its smoking hill of battle, love and pity sin their prayer, and still thy white-winged angels hover dimly in our air. CHAPTER XIV. ANGELS OF THE BATTLEFIELD by George Barton Catherine Elizabeth Macaulay Miss Catherine Elizabeth Macaulay, the Foundress of the Order of Sisters of Mercy, ranks high among the notable women whose achievements have enriched the history of the Catholic Church. The religious institution first planted by her in the city of Dublin has spread to such an extent that its branches now spread into at least every quarter of the English-speaking globe. The communities of the Sisters of Mercy in the United States have done excellent work in many fields, but they particularly distinguished themselves as nurses during the unhappy conflict between the North and the South. Miss Macaulay was born September 29, 1787, at Stormonstown, Dublin, Ireland. She was the daughter of pious, well-known and respectable parents. Her father was especially prominent by reason of his goodness to the poor and the unfortunate. One of his regular practices was to have all the poor of the vicinity come to his house on Sundays and holidays for the purpose of instructing them in their religion. Both father and mother died when the subject of this sketch was very young. Shortly after this unfortunate event Catherine was adopted by Mr. and Mrs. William Callahan, who belonged to a family that was distantly connected with the mother of Miss Macaulay. Her foster parents, although very worthy people, were bitterly prejudiced against the religion practised by their adopted child. They were so opposed to anything Catholic that they would not permit a crucifix or a pious picture in the house. Despite this, Catherine attended to her religious duties with great regularity and fidelity, and by her gentleness succeeded in disarming any anger or annoyance that they may have otherwise felt regarding her course. She was a model of all the virtues, and this fact did not escape the attention of her foster parents. Dean Gaffney, writing of her at this period, says, Everyone who had distressed to be relieved, affliction to be mitigated, troubles to be encountered, came to her, and to the best of her ability she advised them what to do. Her zeal made her a missionary in her district. In these works of charity and usefulness she continued for several years, during which she was rendering herself dearer and dearer to her adopted parents. In the course of a few years both these estimable people died, but not before the gentle foster-child had led both of them into the Catholic Church. Catherine was left the sole heiress of Mr. Callahan, and at once made arrangements for systematically distributing food and clothing to the poor. Ms. Macaulay was now in a position to realize her early vision of founding an institution in which servants and other women of good character might, when out of work, find a temporary home and be shielded from the dangers to which the unprotected members of the sex are exposed. She unfolded her plans to the very Reverend Dr. Armstrong and very Reverend Dr. Blake, her spiritual advisors. It was deemed advisable, says Dean Murphy, writing of this, not to take a house already built and occupied for other purposes, in which she would have some difficulty in adapting to her own designs, but to secure a plot of ground that had never been built upon, and to erect an edifice for the honour and glory of God that had never been profaned by the vices and folly of the world, and which should be as holy in its creation as in its use, and be dedicated to God from its very foundation. The building was constructed and put into operation within a reasonably short time. When finished it was discovered that the architect had created a building which, for all purposes, could be used as a convent. This was regarded as a fortunate mistake. In the beginning Miss Macaulay had no thought of founding a religious institute, but in working out the ideas that were near to her heart she, imperceptibly and almost unconsciously, drifted towards that end. Daniel O'Connell, the great Irish liberator, was a friend and patron of Miss Macaulay, and frequently visited her establishment, which he regarded as filling a long-felt want in the Irish capital. In 1827 O'Connell presided over a Christmas dinner given by Miss Macaulay to the poor children of Dublin. In 1828, at the suggestion of the Archbishop of the Diocese, she formed the Order of the Sisters of Mercy. There had been a royal, military and religious order of Our Lady of Mercy dating back to the twelfth century, and this new order, founded by a pious young woman, was largely based upon the old one, except that it was intended for women and not for men. Miss Macaulay frequently said that what she desired was to found an order whose members would combine the silence, recollection and prayer of the Carmelite with the active zeal of a sister of charity. It seems to be generally conceded that she succeeded in achieving her purpose. Three words, works of mercy, briefly tell the story of the character of the labours of the Sisters of Mercy. Miss Macaulay did not finally complete her laudable plan, without having to overcome many obstacles, and to set aside some very bitter opposition, part of which came not only from her own relatives, but from bishops and priests as well. A few years after the dedication of her institute, Miss Macaulay and a few chosen companions decided that the high purpose to which they had consecrated their lives could be carried out if they would enter the religious state. They were admitted to one of the convents of the presentation order, and after an ovitiate lasting one year she and her companions received the religious habit. In October 1831 she professed and was canonically appointed by the Archbishop as superior of the new order. The costume worn by the members of the order was devised by Mother Catherine, as she was thereafter called. The order grew rapidly in numbers and in prominence. The life of its first mother and foundress was active and edifying. Her labours were not confined to any particular work, but embraced everything that was in the interest and for the benefit of the poor and unfortunate. In 1832 she won enduring laurels by assuming charge of the cholera hospital in Dublin. She died on November 11, 1837, resigned and happy, and furnished an example of pious fortitude to the sisters that crowded around her deathbed. The order that she founded, as it exists today, is her best monument. Beginning in Ireland in 1827 it was afterwards successfully introduced into England, Newfoundland, Australia, New Zealand, South America, and the United States of America. End of Appendix Part 12 Appendix Part 13 of Angels of the Battlefield. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Angels of the Battlefield by George Barton. Appendix Part 13. Clerical Veterans Notre Dame Indiana enjoys the distinction of a grand army post, composed of Catholic clergymen, most of whom are members of the Faculty of Notre Dame University. The organization was officially entered on October 6, 1897, as post number 569, Department of Indiana. Very reverend William E. Corby, C.S.C. The commander of the new post was chaplain of the Irish Brigade, and is now the provincial or head officer of the Order of the Holy Cross in the United States. Dr. Corby is also the chaplain of the Indiana Commandery of the Loyal Legion. To this position he was nominated by General Lou Wallace. The membership of the new post will be very small, but large enough to have a few famous fighters and great men of the war. With the exception of the Colonel William E. Haynes, the only lay member, the post is composed, altogether of members of the Congregation of the Holy Cross. The following completes the roster. Very reverend William Corby, C.S.C. Chaplain, 88, New York Volunteers, Irish Brigade. Reverend Peter P. Cooney, C.S.C. Chaplain, 35th Medina. James McLean, Brother Leander, C.S.C. B Company, 24th United States Infantry. William A. Olmsted, C.S.C. Captain and Lloyd Nett Colonel, 2nd Infantry, New York Volunteers. Colonel, 59th New York Veteran Volunteers. Brigadier General by Brevet, Commandery, 1st Brigade, 2nd Division, 2nd Army Corpse, Army of the Potomac. Mark A. Willis, Brother John Chrysostom, C.S.C. 1st Company, 54th Pennsylvania Volunteers. Nicholas A. Bath, Brother Cosmos, C.S.C. D Company, 2nd United States Artillery. James Mantle, Brother Benedict, C.S.C. A Company, 1st Pennsylvania Heavy Artillery and 6th United States Cavalry. John McInnerney, Brother Eustathius, C.S.C. H Company, 83rd Ohio Volunteers. Joseph Staley, Brother Agathus, C.S.C. C Company, 8th Indiana Regulars. Ignace Meyer, Brother Ignatius, C.S.C. C Company, 75th Pennsylvania Volunteers and 157th Pennsylvania Volunteers. James C. Malloy, Brother Raphael, C.S.C. B Company, 133rd Pennsylvania Volunteers. Colonel William E. Haynes. General Olmsted, who is studying for the priesthood, is much interested in the little gathering. He is justly proud of the work of his men in the celebrated Hancock's division. He refers to the government reports in every case as proof of the bravery of his soldiers. The general said not long ago in an interview, very much that this said of me is not true, but to show you that my men were brave, I give you the reports from the department at Washington. The general read, The losses of the 1st Brigade, 2nd Division, 2nd Corps, my brigade, were greater in the Battle of Gettysburg than those that accured to any one brigade in the army. There was beside a total casualty of 763 killed and wounded out of 1246 men at Antietam, a percentage of 61. Father Corby has the honor of being the only chaplain to give up solution under fire. The event of his giving up solution at Gettysburg to the Irish Brigade is the best known of his achievements in chaplain life. It is said that every man Catholic and Protestant knelt before the rock upon which he stood and the colors well lowered. Then they went out and fought and how many fell upon that bloody field is too well known to be repeated. Father Corby, although an old man, is hail and hearty and does all his work as provincial of the order without the aid of a secretary. Rev. Peter Cooney also has a brilliant war record, but he and Father Corby are by no means the only two who went to war from Notre Dame. In all there were eight priests who went forth to service as chaplains in the war. Beside these, Mother Mary Angela, a cousin of James G. Blaine, went forth with a large number of sisters to nurse the wounded and care for the dying. To these, also, great praise is due. There was much enthusiasm in Notre Dame over the organization exercises and among those present or who send their congratulations were General Lou Wallace, General Molo Land of Philadelphia, Colonel G. A. Smith of Indianapolis, General G. A. Golden of New York, General William G. C. Wall, Colonel R. S. Robertson of Fort Wayne, General G. A. Starburg of Boston, Captain Florence McCarthy of New York, Captain Emil A. Dapper of Grand Rapids, Captain G. G. Abercrombie of Chicago, Department Commander James S. Dodge with his full staff. The G. A. Air post from Elkhart and two posts from South Bend helped to master in the clerical veterans. Commandatory messages were also received from a large number of posts and leaders in the G. A. R. End of appendix part 13. Chapter 50 part 14 of Angels of the Battlefield. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information on the violence here, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Brandon. Angels of the Battlefield by George Barton. Chapter 50 part 14. Catholics in the War. St. Teresa's Church at the northeast corner of Broad and Catherine streets was temporarily used as a hospital for wounded soldiers during the war. On July 4th, 1897, Reverend Joseph V. O'Connor, one of the eloquent priests of the Diocese of Philadelphia, delivered an address in this church relative to Catholics in the war. A score of grand army posts attended the exercises, which were also honored by the presence of the venerable Hugh Lane, who has been pastor of the church during and since the war. Father O'Connor's address deserves a place in this volume, he said. The sacred edifice in which you assemble is an appropriate spot for religion and patriotism to meet. For St. Teresa's Church was for a time in the Civil War, a military hospital. The old railway station at Broad and Prime streets was the rendezvous of the union troops from the north and east going to and from the seat of war. The gleaming cross upon the church seemed lifted in benediction over army after army marching past. The poet Byron represents the forest of Ardennes as weeping over the unreturning brave of Waterloo. But the sign of man's redemption may have lifted up many a Catholic soldier's heart destined to be stilled in the next battle. These walls, now bright with light and color, have re-echoed the moans of the dying. The venerable priest whose gracious presence lends dignity and historic interest to this celebration prepared here many a soldier for the last dread fight with death, the universal conqueror. I seem to behold, mingling with your solid phalanx, the shadowy forms of the brave men who were delivered from the storm and earthquake of battle to breathe out their spirits here in the peace of the sanctuary. Far be it from me to limit to the Catholic breast that noble fire of the love of country, which with purifying flame burned in the great heart of the nation when war sounded the trumpet call to the children of the republic. It is occasion that chose the man. Our civil war was an occasion that showed our church. The legislative code of England was disgraced, even in Victoria's reign, by the calamity and imbecility of penal laws against Catholics. To be a Catholic was to be a traitor. In vain did we appeal to history, which crowns with laurels the brows of unnumbered Catholic patriots and heroes in every land of the universal church. The thundering legion fought for the Roman emperor who decreed its martyrdom. The fleet of Protestant England was led against the armada of Catholic Spain by a Catholic in the service of a queen who sent his fellow religionists to this stake, an account of their faith. The patriotism of the Catholic is motivated by his religion. It rises superior to the form in which civil government may be embodied. Where the Pope has temporal prints to invade our country, we should be bound in conscience to repel him. Nor would our patriotism conflict one iota with our religious faith. Our people driven by misgovernment from their native soil found the portals of the great republic flung open to them in friendly welcome. They came to the north and to the west. Thus the great centers of industry in the northern states were crowded with Catholics. Many of us had learned the bitter lessons which tyranny, bad government, and religious ranker had to impart under the scourge of England's misrule of Ireland. As Burke Cochran says, England's treatment of the Irish people has made the world distrust her. Ireland's love for America dates from before the revolution. The Irish parliament passed resolutions of sympathy with the American colonists. The great tides of emigration from Ireland set in early and continued until, at the outbreak of the civil war, the north was one fourth Celtic in blood. The Catholic Church studiously refrained from any official pronouncement upon the causes of the conflict which he deplored. The first regiment to respond to President Lincoln's initial call for troops was the 69th New York. It was mainly Irish and Catholic. Within 48 hours it was on its way to the front. New York preeminently a Catholic state furnished one seventh of the military forces in the war for the union. Obviously the government had no reason for recording the religious faith of its soldiers. Patriotism is at once a natural and a civic virtue. That it may be supernaturalized is evident from the words of St. Paul, bidding us obey the higher powers for conscience's sake. The country had to face a condition, not a theory. And whatever abstract reasoning has to say about state rights, the will of the majority of the people, which is the supreme law in a republic, decided for the maintenance of the Federal Union. The best traditions of the country, north and south, identified liberty with union. God appears to have made the country one in geographical formation, in sameness of language, in homogeneity of character. Two illustrious Catholic prelates recognized as leaders in Israel, the Moses, and the Joshua of the church, Archbishop Kendrick of Baltimore and Archbishop Hughes of New York, declared in favor of the union. The sainted sage of the primatial city flung the starry banner from the pinnacle of his cathedral. The Archbishop of New York was so thoroughly identified with the cause of the union that he was invested by the President and his Secretary of State with the authority of Envoy Extraordinary to the courts of Europe. Unroll the military records of our country and you will read column after column of names that are historically Catholic. Read the names on the tombstones of soldiers in the great national cemeteries, and you will find in the Christian name alone confirmatory evidence of the faith of the hero that sleeps beneath. The Catholic knows that the church imposes in baptism the name of a saint. We may safely judge that he is a Catholic who bears the name of Patrick and Michael of Bernard and Dominic. Not even the conservative spirit of the Church of England could retain the old saintly nomenclature and Puritanism chose the names of old testament worthies or names taken from natural history and even heathen mythology. If we reckon our soldiers by their religion the majority would be Catholic and we should find that we had given our children in far greater number than any one denomination. On the second day of Gettysburg a Catholic priest ascending in eminence lifted his hand to give absolution and far as the eye could reach rank upon rank of soldiers bent their heads like cornfields swept by the summer breeze. Hancock the superb impressed by the solemnity of the scene bared his brow. If the poet thought that a tear should fall for Stonewall Jackson because he spared Barbara Fritchie's union flag will not a Catholic murmur a prayer for the great general who gave heed to the priest calling upon his people to be contrite for their sins in the hour which for many would be the last. The seventh successive stormings of the heights of Fredericksburg by the Irish brigade has long passed into history as surpassing Alma and the Sedan. Keenan's cavalry charge at Chancellorville saved the Union army at the cost of 300 lives. The charge of the light brigade at Bellaclava was described by a French officer as magnificent but unmilitary. C'est magnifique, may say, n'est pas la guerre. But Keenan's charge was both glorious and strategic. His troop rushed like a whirlwind upon 20,000 Confederates. His men were shot down or sabered in the saddle. The steeds maddened by wounds and uncontrolled by their dead riders plunged into the thick of the Confederate ranks and so disconcerted and appalled them that the main army of the Union had time to save itself from otherwise inevitable destruction. Perhaps the most critical point of the war was the success or the failure of Sheridan's devastation of the Shenandoah Valley, which was the great base of supplies for the South. Sheridan's historic ride, which saved the day at Winchester, was the exploit of a Catholic. The Republic subsequently conferred upon this son of the Church one of the highest and most responsible positions in her keeping the generalship of her armies. One of the first, if not the first, band of trained nurses that offered their services to the government was the religious society of the Sisters of Charity. Their title is their history. Their services in hospitals and on the field did more than tomes of controversy to make the Catholic Church better known and consequently loved by the American people. The convalescing soldier by word and by letter spread the information throughout the land that the ministrations of the Catholic sisterhood reminded him of a mother's love and a sister's tenderness. The heroic devotion to duty of the Catholic chaplains who made no distinction of religion when a soldier was to be helped endeared the Catholic religion to many who met a Catholic priest for the first time in camp or hospital. Our own noble-hearted archbishop rendered such service to the wounded soldiers in St. Louis that the government offered him a chaplaincy. Care of the body was often supplemented with the higher care of the soul. In that parting hour when mortality leans upon the breast of religion, the example of devoted priest and religious gently led many a soul into the hope and the consolation of divine faith. God granted our country shall never again reel under the shock of war yet out of the nettle of danger has come the flower of safety. Calumny, suspicion, distrust of our patriotism were struck dumb. Never again shall we be taunted with secret antipathy to free institutions. The banner of the stars was rebaptized in our blood. To the soldier of the war, the church owes a debt of gratitude. He proved often by his death that the religion which he professed, far from condemning his patriotism, commended it as a virtue. And the faith that sustained him in battle supported him when his heart poured out the blood of supreme sacrifice upon the altar of his country. And though no memorial marks his resting place, the church in every mass pleads for the repose of his soul. The soldier stands as the highest value which we place upon our country and her institutions. He says to all my country is worth dying for. In our thoughtless way we take liberty, security of life and property, the blessings of religion and safeguards of law, and all the beauty and amenity of our civilization as a matter of course. Without the soldier, all these goods would perish. It is war that preserves and protects peace. The soldier is the guardian of our homes. Honor him. Make peaceful and happy his declining years. Thank God with David for preparing our hands for the sword before whose blinding ray and the hand of the hero, domestic treason and foreign conspiracy slink into their dens. Bless God for making us a nation of soldiers as well as of citizens. The war proved that the American soldier, North and South, is without a peer in bravery, in discipline and self-control. Whilst our republic gives birth to such heroic sons, we may laugh armed Europe to scorn. Soldiers, there is another battle, another field, a greater captain than even the archangel who led the embattled Seraphine to war. You divine my meaning? Be soldiers of the cross. Fight the good fight of faith. Be sober, pure, charitable. The laurel that binds the warrior's brow on earth soon fades. The flowers of decoration day droop with the setting sun. But the divine captain of our salvation will place upon your brow, if you are faithful to the end, a crown that faded not away. A wreath which you will receive amid the shout of the heavenly armies. End of chapter 50 part 14. Recording by John Brandon