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Posted on 12/03/2004 11:21:04 PM PST by snippy_about_it
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 are acknowledged, affirmed and commemorated.
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 Chimborazo Hospital During the Civil War, Phoebe Pember had come to tend the sick and comfort the dying. but she ended up fighting violent alcoholic patients over control of the medicinal whiskey. By Mary C. Meskauskas From atop Chimborazo Hill on the western outskirts of Richmond, Virginia, Phoebe Yates Pember, matron of Chimborazo Hospital Number Two, looked down upon "a scene of indescribable confusion." A few months earlier, the collapse of the Confederacy had been only a whispered rumor. Now, on the afternoon of April 2, 1865, that depressing prospect had become a shocking reality. With Federal troops fast on their heels, Confederate President Jefferson Davis, his cabinet, and other government officials were scampering out of town by train, carriage, and any other available form of transportation.  Surgeons, nurses, and stewards followed their example and skedaddled from the Chimborazo complex. After bidding her fleeing friends farewell, Pember turned away from the turbulent scene and walked through her nearly empty wards. Night was setting in. As she later wrote, "Beds in which paralyzed, rheumatic, and helpless patients had laid for months were empty. The miracles of the New Testament had been re-enacted. The lame, the halt, and the blind had been cured." Pember had arrived at Chimborazo Hospital, a complex of long, single-story, whitewashed buildings sprawled atop Chimborazo Hill, on December 18, 1862. Chimborazo was at the time said to be the largest military hospital in the world, and Phoebe would be its first matron. She had accepted the job from Mrs. George Wythe Randolph, wife of the Confederate secretary of war, mainly to escape unhappiness and inactivity at the Yates homestead in Marietta, Georgia, where she had gone to live after the death of her husband the previous year.  In a November 29, 1862, letter to her sister, Eugenia, Pember admitted she was a little anxious about her decision: "You may imagine how frightened and nervous I feel concerning the step I am about to take and how important in this small way it will be to me, for I have too much common sense to underrate what I am giving up." In the same letter she also wrote proudly that she was to have "entire charge of my department, seeing that everything is clean, orderly and all prescriptions of physicians given in proper time, food properly prepared and so on." Though she had no professional medical training, Pember had run a large household and cared for her husband, who had suffered from tuberculosis. She considered herself an efficient and educated woman well up to the challenge of heading one of Chimborazo's five hospital divisions. Nevertheless, the conditions she encountered at the hospital would challenge her efficiency and her patience. The challenge began with her living space. The surgeon-in-charge had made no preparations for his female nurses, so Phoebe set to work converting a vacant building into her own quarters, an office, parlor, laundry area, pantry, and kitchen. As Pember's confidence grew so did her use of authority. She was responsible for procuring supplies and food for her patients' special diets and she soon insisted upon total control of luxuries such as coffee, tea, and milk. Still, her position seemed little more than that of a chief cook until the surgeon-in-charge, Dr. James B. McCaw, found her peeling potatoes one day. McCaw initiated a thorough study of hospital rules that resulted in the organization of a full staff under Pember's jurisdiction. She was provided with an assistant matron, cooks and bakers, and two laborers to perform menial tasks. Pember soon had her first major skirmish with traditional male authority at the hospital, over a problem that nearly proved her undoing. Each hospital division received its own monthly barrel of whiskey for medicinal purposes. Pember noted that "the monthly barrel of whiskey which I was entitled to draw still remained at the dispensary under the guardianship of the apothecary and his clerks, and quarts and pints were issued through any order coming from surgeons or their substitutes, so that the contents were apt to be gone long before I was entitled to draw more, and my sick would suffer for want of the stimulant."  There was a wide discrepancy between Confederate law, which dictated that all spirituous liquors required by hospitals should be entrusted to the matrons, and how whiskey was actually dispensed at Chimborazo. Thoroughly familiar with the hospital bill passed by Congress, Pember made a formal request to Dr. McCaw for total jurisdiction over the monthly whiskey ration. The surgeon-in-charge protested, but then reluctantly released the barrel to the matron's care. Flushed with victory, Pember wrote, "I nailed my colors to the mast, and that evening all the liquor was in my pantry and the key in my pocket." Pember's triumph heralded the beginning of trouble. She soon felt what she called "the thousand miseries of my position." Staff members flooded her office with countless petty requests. Pember's all-consuming passion--the care of the sick, wounded, and dying--kept her going. "My duty prompted me to remain with my sick, on the ground that no general ever deserts his troops," she wrote. She eventually found some respite from her responsibilities by renting a room in town, to which she returned at night. Meanwhile, her patients taught her something about courage. "No words can do justice to the uncomplaining nature of the Southern soldier," she wrote. "Day after day, whether lying wasted by disease or burning up with fever, torn with wounds or sinking from debility, a groan was seldom heard." In her war memoir, A Southern Woman's Story, Yates described a particularly remarkable example of a young soldier named Fisher.  Fisher had suffered a severe hip wound. One night, after months of hard and diligent nursing, he turned over in bed and cried out in pain. Pember examined him and discovered that a sharp edge of splintered bone had severed one of his arteries. She immediately placed her finger in the tiny hole to stop the gush of blood, and summoned the surgeon. After looking at Fisher's injury, the doctor shook his head and declared sadly that the poor man was beyond help. Pember faced what she later considered "the hardest trial of my duty at Chimborazo." She told Fisher there was no hope for him, and the gravely injured man gave her directions on notifying his mother of his death. "How long can I live?" he asked. "Only as long as I keep my finger upon this artery," Pember replied. Then, she later wrote, "A pause ensued. God alone knew what thoughts hurried through that heart and brain, called so unexpectedly from all earthly hopes and ties. He broke the silence at last." "You can let go," Fisher said. Pember froze, unable to obey. The horror of the situation overcame her, and for the only time during her days at Chimborazo, she fainted.      |
Who could even write that sentence in this day and age, let alone serve through that which she describes and stand down a mob with a pistol?
Linked at 45, first published in 1879, A Southern Woman's Story is rated by Civil War historian Douglas Southall Freeman as "the most realistic treatment of the war" ever published.
From the Phoebe Pember and Phillips-Myers Collections, UNC. Reprinted and annotated in A Southern Woman’s Story (1959), Bell I. Wiley, ed.
I received the chemise russe, dear Sister E., for which receive my thanks. The missing sleeve was replaced by a piece of my shawl which I preferred cutting up, as there was no black merino in Richmond. I cannot add to my other obligations by letting you pay the express, small as that sum is compared to the value of the body, [?] so enclose the money, you know a person must begin to pay somewhere and I may as well commence here. It fit beautifully and looks nicely with a homespun skirt I got from North Carolina.
I wrote a note to Henrietta Lay asking the questions you wanted answered, and forgot to send it – however I gave it to Col. Gilmer yesterday to hand to Judge Campbell who is in the War Department where he goes every day, and will en close her answer.[1] I can give you some little information myself which is reliable, as I got it from the lips of Mrs. Swan of Baltimore who has just come over in the flag of truce boat from Washington. Sally Carroll married Griffin of the Army -her brother was killed in one of the battles before Richmond. Old Gaultier, disgusted with the black Republican government, has shut up shop and gone to live in Paris – the Rev. Mr. Elliott, I think, am Episcopal minister in Washington, Prayed for Jeff. Davis openly in church on Christmas day, and these are the only items I remember at present
Poor Mrs. Lay seems to have made an unfortunate match both as to character and position. I hear the officers laughing very much at Lay, who appears to be a good matured but, hardly ever sober. He holds no commission since Virginia turned over her troops to the Confederate government & they say wrote a very good article on the defences of Mobile which nobody wanted, and which if needed would have been meritorious.
Of the fashionable world I can tell you nothing. I am living out at Chimborazo Hospital in a whitewashed board house through the planks of which I can see the stars and the snow too. It is divided into three parts: the first my parlor and chamber in one. The second my kitchen and the third my Laundry. I am sitting all alone writing, for everybody but the sick soldiers and the nurses have gone away, and the nearest house to me is fifty yards off. I have little sliding windows like the cabin of a slip, and when it rains I put my straw mattress in the center of my room as it comes through the planks. At all hours of the day and might you can see me around the wards with my greatest treasure: Miss Amanda's shawl over my lead and a bowl or cup in my land, and I never see a human being but the sick. Each man either receives what is needed if mot from my lands from under my eyes, and nourished by it gets well or dies with the consciousness that there is someone by his pillow that is doing all that can be done. Towards evening my duties are lighter, and I take a little rest but at might I either write for the magazines or copy writing for the Department, as Congress made a ridiculous appropriation for the matrons, only forty dollars a month and fifteen for commutation, making fifty-five dollars and washing is over three dollars a dozen and every expense in proportion. I wrote out a memorial for increase in pay and sent it to my friend old Foote who I knew would be glad of any opportunity to bear himself talk on any subject However I am perfectly happy, lave more than sufficient [means] for my small wants, and thrown upon myself for occupation attend more thoroughly to my duties than I possibly could under other circumstances.
Sometimes a stray visitor comes out to see the “Hospital on the Hill” as was the case of Mrs. Garnett of Washington. She told me that Mrs. Mallory had been very anxious to know of my whereabouts and begged me to send her my card.[2] My assistant matron Miss Ball went to Mrs. Jeff.[3] to get a place in the Treasury note signing room for her sister, and Mrs. Jeff. who is growing very fine said that “places were hard to get, some of the first ladies in the country had applied for the position of housekeeper to her among them Judge Berman's daughter, Mrs. Barton, but said Mrs. Jeff. how could I give to her – the President could not sit at table with my housekeeper.” I go to town to buy delicacies for my sick very often, in my own ambulance, which I call my Volante from some distinction of ideas and the black boy who drives me, “Miss Hensler’s Avalanch.” I met Benjamin and Lt. Martin but they did mot recognize me, as I was holding the reins and bargaining for apples which by the by are three for a dollar. If you want any letters sent to the North I have no difficulty in getting them there, as some one goes every week. Mrs. Lawton whose husband was shot at Fredericksburg went to him through a pass from Gen. Burnside. She was received by Gen. Summer and treated most kindly, found the body of her husband embalmed, and his watch and valuables safely deposited waiting for her. The ladies (southern) of Alexandria were devoted to her. Thinking she had no Federal money they sent her all her mourning from her sloes to her crape veil. She staid at Col. Gilmer's house on her return with her husband's body, and we had a sad time. He was a young man of great promise.
I was very sorry that the silk dress was unfit to send for the poor girl’s sake who needed it She is the Miss Ball I have before spoken of, perhaps you remember the constant mention after the battle of Manassas of the burning of the Ball house. I have no means of disposing of such elegant dresses as you name, although from what I hear they would bring fabulous prices in Richmond. You might send me the lace; perhaps I could sell that, or any collars or sleeves you have.
I hear very often from Mrs. Anzi, and she rather puzzled me in her last letter when she said that Col. Phillips[4] “was much gratified at the successful issue of his wife's visit to Marietta in making peace all round.” I don't know what that means, and so I told her. Adele also wrote me quite an affectionate letter, and I was much surprised by one from Mrs. Lovell telling me that Mrs. George Walker[5] - (Gen. Walker's wife) felt some delicacy in offering her services on a short acquaintance but if I preferred to sign Treasury notes, she could easily get me an appointment. Indeed every day brings me some remembrance from people I hardly knew or spoke to last summer, and though I notice you slur upon my pleasant manners taking strangers, believe me the world is not easily gulled and seldom if their preference is founded upon a person's manners, cares about them when away from their influence.
I had to stop here to go to one of my Patients who sent to me to come and see if he was dying and poor fellow he could only ask the question before he died. I sometimes wonder if I am the same person who was afraid to look at a dead person, for I have no timidity and hardly any sensibility left. I closed the poor fellow's eyes, took his name and money and here I am again, all alone, never thinking of anything but for comfort of the living. After the battle of Fredericksburg I stood by and saw men's fingers and arms cut off and held the brandy to their lips, washing the wounds myself. It is amusing to see their heads pop from under their clothing in bed the moment they hear my name in the morning like turtles out of the shell, and still more amusing to hear their wants as I go round with my slate, not only do they say what they need, but how they wish me to cook it. Some of their receipts are most atrocious, and only this morning I asked a man if he wanted the mixture of bread, milk, pepper and salt to put upon his chest, or to eat.
I saw Mrs. Hopkins[6] a week ago – I went to the Alabama Hospital to ask her where she boarded if I could get a room, living out at Chimborazo was so dull – she was full however of herself and her duties and I did not stay long. Board here is a hundred dollars a month, but when I told the surgeon general that I wanted to take the Crenshaw Hospital[7], not liking my present position he said that I might board anywhere, gave me an ambulance but said I must not leave him – so I suppose my services are valuable. However I cannot in conscience let him pay one hundred dollars for my board when my pay is only forty. I staid nearly two months at Col. Gilmer’s where they had a very pleasant mess, but he will not let me bear my share of the expenses. I was almost afraid to ask him what I owed him with tea at twelve dollars a pound and coffee at five.
I received a letter from Fanny, and have tried hard to embroider a baby shirt for Lena but it is an impossibility, for I have not only to be going all the time, but my hands are frill. I have not been able to get a cook and everything for seven hundred sick men has to be cooked under my eyes by two black imps of fourteen – as you may suppose my hands are never clean – and I get so weary I cannot sew.
What can I tell you interesting? I hear very often from sister and her family but you are not interested in what goes on there and with an immense correspondence it is with people you do not care about or know. The only book I have read has been Bulwer’s strange story, and if he had called it a stupid story he would have been nearer the mark. I think your picture of rural life very taking for those who like it, but I prefer where I am and what I am doing, what good that is I leave report to tell you, and I thank God every night for the courage He gave me to leave those who never cared for me and I believe disliked me for the gifts He had given me. I bring comfort, strength and I believe happiness to many sick beds daily and lie down at night with a happy consciousness of time well and unselfishly spent – if as I was told the children of these men will “rise up and call me blessed” I shall have many blessings. Do give my love . . . [part of letter missing].
___________________________________________________________
[1] Jeremy F. Gilmer, Chief Engineer of the Confederate Army, was promoted major general Aug. 25, 1863. John A. Campbell, of Alabama, Associate Justice of the U. S. Supreme Court, 1853-1861, was during the Civil War Assistant Secretary of War in the Confederacy.
[2] Mrs. Stephen F. Mallory, wife of the Confederate Secretary of Navy.
[3] Mrs. Jefferson Davis.
[4] Philip Phillips, Phoebe's brother-in-law. The title apparently was honorary.
[5] Possibly the wife of Maj. Gen. John G. Walker of Missouri. Mrs. Lovell was the wife of Gen. Mansfield Lovell, who had been in command at New Orleans before the fall of that city.
[6] Mrs. Arthur F. Hopkins, Confederate nurse, who pioneered the organization of the Alabama unit at Chimborazo and who was wounded at Seven Pines. She and her husband are said to have contributed $200,000 for the care of the sick, wounded and needy.
[7] [MDG note] Probably the Crenshaw Mills, which were very briefly used as a hospital
In other news:
"Saddam had given $300,000 in cash to Ayman Al Zawahiri, Osama bin Laden's number two man, in the spring of 1998," the Weekly Standard's Stephen Hayes told WABC Radio's Monica Crowley.
Pay no attention to the estimate of 300K as the cost to mount the 9/11 attacks, that--bonehead Tenet to the contrary notwithstanding--Mohammed Atta, the 911 commander, met with Saddam's intel chief al-Ani in Prague April 2001.
QED connectomundo Saddam, OBL, 911--throw in Scott Ritter, Michael Moore, Jacques Chirac, Vladimir Putin, Kofi Annan, Jean-Fraud Kerry, switch on Puree for 30 seconds, drizzle brandy, add the match fwoomp Flaming Schmuck Jubilee.
And a big smack for the old whores Dan Rather, Tom Brokaw, Peter Jennings.
No connection--come here, I'll show you no connection.
Flaming Schmuck Jubilee
LOL.
Let's hope the public can bring some pressure to bear on the school board.
Evening PE.
One more kill and he'd be a four time Ace.
That would be fun. :-)
Good looking plane, the Hurricane. The SPitfire got all the credit for the Battle of Britain but the Hurricane was more numerous.
You could at least get me some cheese with my whine. ;-)
Thanks for posting the letter of Phoebe Pember
Let's face it, if the MSM can't place the blame on Bush or Haliburton then it's not worth reporting.
BTTT!!!!!!!
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