My story of the war: a woman's narrative of four years personal experience as nurse in the Union army, and in relief work at home, in hospitals, camps, and at the front, during the war of the rebellion . ded — Regiments, Soldiers, and Offi-cers received there — An Ovation to General Grant — Executes a flankMovement on the People — Is captured by young Ladies — This beatsYicksburg all out of Sight!— Old Abe, the Eagle of the EighthWisconsin — His military Behavior — Children sell his Pictures for theSoldiers Fair —Make $16, by the Sales. THE GIFT OF A SOLDIERs WIDOW AND MOTHER. OME few ye
My story of the war: a woman's narrative of four years personal experience as nurse in the Union army, and in relief work at home, in hospitals, camps, and at the front, during the war of the rebellion . ded — Regiments, Soldiers, and Offi-cers received there — An Ovation to General Grant — Executes a flankMovement on the People — Is captured by young Ladies — This beatsYicksburg all out of Sight!— Old Abe, the Eagle of the EighthWisconsin — His military Behavior — Children sell his Pictures for theSoldiers Fair —Make $16, by the Sales. THE GIFT OF A SOLDIERs WIDOW AND MOTHER. OME few years ago I filled a lecture engage-ment in Albion, Mich. At the close of thelecture, I observed, standing outside thelittle group of acquaintances who sur-rounded me, a white-haired, elderly woman, whoapproached me with the following inquiry: — Do you remember writing a letter for John , of the Twelfth Michigan, w^hen he lay dying in theOverton Hospital, at Memphis, in the spring of 1863?After he died, you completed the letter, writing tohis mother and wife; do you remember it? I was obliged to tell the sad-faced woman that Iperformed so many offices of this kind during the 613. 614 your letter saved us. war, when at the front or in the hospitals, that it washardly possible for me to recall any individual case. Drawing from her pocket a letter, that had beenworn in pieces where it had been folded, and whichwas sewed together with fine cotton, she held it upto me. Do you remember this letter? I recognized my penmanship, and, glancing overthe contents of the letter, saw what it was. Thefirst four pages I had written at the dictation of ayouug man who had been shot through the lungs, andwas dying. The language was his, not mine, and Ihad not amended his phraseology. I had completedthe letter after his death, by the addition of threepages, in which I sought to comfort the bereavedsurvivors. I thought Johns wife and I would die when weheard he was dead, said the l
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Keywords: ., bookauthorlive, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, booksubjectflags
