Glimpses of Christian History Presents Pastwords #33: A History of the Labors of the Catholic Sisterhoods in the Late Civil War by George Barton, Philadelphia ©2007

After The Battles The Courage Of Care Begins

On the twelfth day of April, 1861, the first shot fired upon Fort Sumter, formerly inaugurated the civil war in the United States. On the ninth of April, 1865, Grant and Lee were the principals in the historic meeting at Appomattox Court House, by which hostilities were virtually terminated. The interval between those two memorable dates presents the greatest ordeal in the history of the Republic.

As a result of these four momentous years of conflict the nation was deprived by death and disease of one million men. The total number of enlisted soldiers in the Union Army during the whole of the war amounted to 2,688,523. As many of these men were mustered in twice, and as a certain percentage deserted, it is reasonable to estimate that 1,500,000 men were actively engaged in the Northern armies.

Of this number 56,000 died on the field of battle, 35,000 expired in the hospitals from the effects of wounds received in action, and 184,000 perished by disease. It is probable that those who died of disease after their discharge from the army would swell the total to 300,000. If the effects of inferior hospital service and poor sanitary arrangements are added to the other results of war, it is safe to assume that the loss of the South was greater than that of the North. But, considering the Southern loss equal to that of the North, the aggregate is 600,000. Add to this 400,000 men crippled or permanently disabled by disease, and the total subtraction from the productive force of the nation reaches the stupendous total of 1,000,000 men. These figures seem almost incredible, but they come from what, in this particular at least, must be regarded as a trustworthy source.

The task of caring for such an army of dead and wounded was no light one. In the beginning of the war this feature of military life was conducted in an uncertain and spasmodic manner. As time wore on, it became evident that the war was not to consist of a few skirmishes, but was likely to be a protracted struggle between two bodies of determined men. Then the necessity of a systematic sanitary and hospital service made itself apparent. As a result of the pressing needs of the hour the Sanitary Commission and the Christian Commission were organized. The meritorious nature of the work of these great charities has been made known by reports and books published since the war. The details of the good deeds of both organizations in supplying nurses and in caring for invalids generally are too well known to need repetition.

But the story of the labors of the Catholic Sisters is not so well known. To begin with, the Sisters brought to their aid in caring for the sick and wounded soldiers the experience, training and discipline of the religious bodies with which they were identified. Self-denial was a feature of their daily life, and the fact that they had taken vows of poverty, chastity and obedience peculiarly fitted them for a duty that demanded personal sacrifices almost every hour of the day and night.

From the data obtainable it appears that the members of for Catholic Sisterhoods participated in the merciful work incident to the war. These included the Sisters of Charity, the Sisters of Mercy, the Sisters of St. Joseph and the Sisters of the Holy Cross. The soldiers, like many people in civil life, made no distinction between the orders, and to them the dark-robed angels of the battlefields were all "Sisters of Charity." . . .

Very early in the war the question of providing nurses for the sick and wounded of both armies became a serious problem, not only to the civil authorities, but also to the Church officials. In every great emergency questions of this kind generally solve themselves. It proved so in this instance. The first shot had hardly been fired, the first battle fought and the first improvised hospital put into service, before volunteers from all sections of the country had placed themselves at the disposal of generals of the contending armies. These offers came both from lay women and from members of the various Sisterhoods connected with the Catholic Church in the United States. The Sisters, of course, being under certain rules and discipline, were not able to volunteer until they had obtained the consent and approval of their Superiors.

In the beginning the nurses for the armies were taken from all walks of life. While they were zealous and entered upon their work with the desire of alleviating suffering, they did not have the disposition or training necessary to carry on the work with the ease and thoroughness essential to complete success. As the war progressed and battles occurred more frequently, and the number of sick and wounded became alarmingly large, the medical directors in both the Union and Confederate armies began to recognize and appreciate the real value of the Sisters.

The following letter, written by Archbishop Hughes, of New York, to Most Rev. Francis Patrick Kenrick, D. D., Archbishop of the See Baltimore, shows that the subject was a live one in Church circles at that time:
To the Archbishop of Baltimore. May 9, 1861.

Most Reverend and Dear Sir:–

The Superior of the Jesuits here called upon me more than a week ago to state that their society would be prepared to furnish for spiritual necessities of the army, North and South, as many as ten chaplains, speaking all the civilized languages of Europe or America. I heard him, but did not make any reply. For myself I have sent but one chaplain with the Sixty-ninth Regiment, and to him I have already given the faculties which you had the kindness to confer upon me for such an occasion.

There is also another question growing up, and it is about nurses for the sick and wounded. Our Sisters of Mercy have volunteered after the example of their Sisters toiling in the Crimean war. I have signified to them, not harshly, that they had better mind their own affairs until their services are needed. I am now informed indirectly that the Sisters of Charity in the diocese would be willing to volunteer a force of from fifty to one hundred nurses. To this last proposition I have very strong objections. Besides, it would seem to me natural and proper that the Sisters of Charity in Emmittsburg should occupy the very honorable post of nursing the sick and wounded. But, on the other hand, Maryland is a divided community at this moment, whereas New York is understood to be all on one side. In fact, as the question now stands, Maryland is in America, for the moment, as Belgium has been the battlefield of Europe. As I mentioned several days ago, Baltimore must be destroyed or it must succumb to Northern determination.

On these several points I would like much to know what your Grace thinks and would advise.

Sincerely, your devoted brother
and servant in Christ.
JOHN, Archbishop of New York.

While, as the Archbishop stated in his letter, Maryland might have been a divided community, the same could not be said of the Sisters of Charity of Emmittsburg. They were united in occupying “the very honorable post of nursing the sick and wounded” on both sides of the great conflict. Soon after this the Archbishop changed some of his views regarding the Sisters, as expressed in the above letter. Both the Sisters of Charity and the Sisters of Mercy in the Diocese of New York served in the camps and the hospitals. To begin with, the Archbishop withdrew his “strong objection” to the one hundred Sisters of Charity who desired to volunteer in the early stages of the war. After that all those who were willing to undertake the humane work went into it with his blessing and best wishes.

The following letter from President Lincoln to Archbishop Hughes is of interest. It was the beginning of a warm personal friendship between two strong men–a friendship ended only be death.

Washington, D.C., October 21, 1861.
Archbishop Hughes.

Rt. Rev. Sir:–I am sure you will pardon me if, in my ignorance, I do not address you with technical correctness.

I find no law authorizing the appointment of chaplains for our hospitals, and yet the services of chaplains are more needed, perhaps in hospitals than with the healthy soldiers in the field. With this view I have given a sort of quasi appointment (a copy of which I enclose) to each of three Protestant ministers, who have accepted and entered upon the duties.

If you perceive no objection I will thank you to give me the name or names of one or more suitable persons of the Catholic Church to whom I may with propriety tender the same service.
Many thanks for your kind and judicious letters to Governor Seward, and which he regularly allows me the pleasure and profit of perusing.
With the highest respect. Your obedient servant.
A. LINCOLN.

There are conflicting opinions regarding the propriety of the "war stand" taken by the Archbishop, but it is generally agreed that he was one of the heroic figures of war times. He had the absolute confidence of President Lincoln, and on the 21st of October, 1861, was sent abroad with Thurlow Weed on a "peace commission." The Archbishop went to France, while Mr. Weed confined his work to England. At the same time Messrs. Mason and Slidell were in Europe on a mission in the interests of the Confederacy. The late Bishop McNierny, of Albany, then a young priest in New York City, accompanied the Archbishop to France, acting in the capacity of private secretary.

These two rival “missions” to Europe were covered with all sorts of honeyed diplomatic terms, but their real purpose was well known. Messrs. Mason and Slidell went to induce one or more of the powerful nations of the old world to throw the weight of their influence with the Southern Confederacy. The mission of the Archbishop and Mr. Weed was to prevent that result.

A letter written by Archbishop Hughes to Cardinal Barnabo, at the time of his appointment by President Lincoln, goes to show that the Archbishop accepted the mission with the very highest motives. After explaining that he had refused it once and only reconsidered his refusal at the earnest request of the President, he adds: "My mission was and is a mission of peace between France and England on the one side, and the United States on the other. The time was so brief between my visit to Washington and my departure from New York that I had no opportunity of writing to your Eminence upon the subject, or of consulting any of the other Bishops in regard to it. I made it known to the President that if I should come to Europe it would not be as a partisan of the North more than of the South; that I should represent the interests of the South as well as of the North; in short, the interests of all the United States just the same as if they had not been distracted by the present civil war. The people of the South know that I am not opposed to their interests. They have even published that in their papers, and some say that my coming to Europe is with a view to bringing about a reconciliation between the two sections of the country. But in fact no one but myself, either North or South, knows the entire object of my visit to Europe."

Archbishop Hughes was one of the great men of his day. He was on terms of friendship with several of the Presidents who preceded Mr. Lincoln, and also enjoyed the confidence and respect of the leading statesmen of the nation. As early as 1847 he preached before Congress upon the invitation of such men as John Quincy Adams, John C. Calhoun and Thomas H. Benton. His subject was: “Christianity, the Only Source of Moral, Social and Political Regeneration.”

In July, 1863, Archbishop Hughes was instrumental in quelling the draft riots in New York City. The mob was beyond the control of the local authorities, and the Archbishop finally consented to say a few words in the interest of law and order. The venerable prelate was fast approaching his end. He was so weak at this time that he had to be conveyed to the balcony of his residence in an arm chair. He spoke briefly, and succeeded in inducing the rioters to return to their homes for the time being. It was his last public appearance, and soon after this he peacefully passed away, surrounded by friends and relatives and the ever faithful Sisters of Charity. . .

What is now generally conceded to have been the decisive battle of the Civil War was fought on the 1st, 2d and 3d of July, 1863. It took place in and around Gettysburg, a town located only about ten miles north of Emmittsburg, the mother house of the Sisters of Charity. The Union army was under the control of General George G. Meade, and the Confederate forces under General Robert E. Lee. Over 140,000 men were engaged in that bloody struggle, which lasted until the evening of the third day. The contending armies by their movements advanced more and more toward the Sisters' house in Maryland. The scene of this historic battle covered an area of over twenty-five square miles. The soldiers were so close to the Sisters' house that the buildings trembled from the fearful cannonading.

On the morning of July 1, as the head of the One Hundred and Seventh Regiment, Pennsylvania Volunteers, Second Division, First (Reynolds) Corps was approaching St. Joseph's Academy near Emmittsburg the soldiers were greeted with a remarkable and impressive sight. A long line of young girls led by several Sisters of Charity took their position along the side of the road and at a word from the Sister in charge all fell upon their knees and with upturned faces toward the vaulted skies earnestly prayed for the spiritual and physical safety of the men who were about to go into deadly battle. The sight was at once solemn and inspiring in the extreme. The roughest soldiers ofttimes have the tenderest hearts, and this scene affected them more than they cared to confess. In an instant the head of every soldier in the line was bowed and bared, and remained so until the prayer was finished. All instinctively felt that the prayers of those self-sacrificing women and innocent children would be answered. To many of the men it was a harbinger of coming victory as certain as the sunshine that smiled upon them on the beautiful July morning. The scene was photographed upon the mind of many a veteran and remained ever afterwards as one of the sweetest memories of the war.

The night of the third day the rain fell heavily, and it continued raining all the next day. On Sunday morning immediately after Mass, Rev. James Francis Burlando, with twelve Sisters, left Emmittsburg for the battlefield, taking refreshments, bandages, sponges and clothing, with the intention of doing all that was possible for the suffering soldiers and then returning home the next evening. The roads previous to the rain had been in a bad condition and the two armies had passed over them with difficulty. But with the mighty rain the mud became so thick that they were almost impassable. The subdued Southerners having retired, their thousands of dead and wounded were left on the field and in the barns and farmhouses in the vicinity. Scouts of the North were stationed here and there, prepared to meet and cope with any eleventh hour surprises. One of these bands seeing the Sisters' carriages was about to fire on them, thinking they were the ambulances of the enemy. The Sisters had reached a double blockade of zigzag fence thrown across the road for defensive purposes. The visitors wondered whether they dare go around it by turning into the fields, for in the distance they saw soldiers, half hidden in the woods, watching them. Father Burlando put a white handkerchief on a tick and holding it high in the air, walked towards them, while the Sisters alighted and walked about, so that the concealed soldiers might see their white head-dress, known as cornettes. The men viewed the priest sharply, for they had resolved to refuse to recognize a flag of truce if it were offered, but the sight of the cornettes reassured them. They met the priest and, learning his mission, sent an escort with him to open a passage for the Sisters through the fields. The meek messengers of peace and charity soon came in sight of the ravages of grim war.

It was a sight that once seen was not soon to be forgotten. Thousands of guns and swords, representing the weapons of the living, the wounded and the dead, lay scattered about. The downpour from heaven had filled the roads with water, but on this awful battlefield it was red with real blood. The night before the unpitying stars shone down upon the stark forms of the flower of American manhood. Hundreds of magnificent horses--man's best friend to the end--had breathed their last and lay be the sides of their dead masters. Silent sentinels upon horseback, as motionless almost as the dead about them, sat guarding this gruesome open-air charnel.

With the first streak of gray dawn the work of interment had begun. Bands of soldiers were engaged in digging graves and others were busy carrying the bodies to them. The dead were generally buried where they fell. In one trench at the foot of the slope known as Culp's Hill sixty Confederates were buried. In that three days' fight 2834 Union soldiers were killed and 14,492 wounded. On the Confederate side there were 5500 killed and 21,500 wounded. Thousands of the slightly wounded cared for themselves without the assistance of either doctor or nurses. Thousands of others were shipped to the Satterlee Hospital in West Philadelphia, where their wants were looked after by the Sisters of Charity in that institution. The remainder were forced to remain in Gettysburg.

This was the condition of things that confronted the brave Sisters as they rode over the battlefield on that scorching July day. Frightful as it may seem, their carriage wheels actually rolled through blood. At times the horses could scarcely be induced to proceed on account of the ghastly objects in front of them. The sight of bodies piled two and three high caused the animals to rear up on their hind legs and kick over the traces in a most uncomfortable manner. In the midst of the sickening scenes the Sisters discovered one little group sitting about an improvised fire trying to cook some meat. The carriage was directed to this point and here again Father Burlando informed the soldiers of his errand. The officers seemed well pleased and told the Sisters to go into the town of Gettysburg, where they would find sufficient employment for their zealous charity. Every large building in Gettysburg was being filled as fast as the wounded men could be carried in. Within and around the city one hundred and thirteen hospitals were in operation, besides those located in private houses. On reaching Gettysburg the Sisters were shown to the hospital, where they distributed their little stores and did all they could to relieve and console the wounded soldiers.

Two of the Sisters returned to Emmittsburg that same evening with Father Burlando, for the purpose of sending additional nurses to relieve those already on the ground. On arriving at the first hospital the surgeon in charge took the Sisters to the ladies who had been attending there and said to them: "Ladies, here are the Sisters of Charity come to serve our wounded; they will give all directions here; you are only required to observe them." Those addressed cheerfully bowed their assent.

The soldiers seemed to think that the presence of the Sisters softened their anguish. One Sister was giving a drink to a poor dying man with a teaspoon. It was slow work and a gentleman who entered unobserved at the time stood near by without speaking for some moments. This gentleman was from a distance and was in search of the very person the Sister was serving. Standing a moment in silence, he exclaimed in a loud voice: "May God bless the Sisters of Charity," and repeated it emphatically, adding: "I am a Protestant, but may God bless the Sisters of Charity."

The Catholic Church in Gettysburg was filled with sick and wounded. The stations of the cross hung around the walls, with a very large oil painting of St. Francis Xavier holding in his hand a crucifix. The first man put in the sanctuary was baptized, expressing truly Christian sentiments. His pain was excruciating and when sympathy was offered him he said: "Oh, what are the pains I suffer compared with those of my Redeemer." Thus disposed he died. The soldiers lay on the pew seats, under them and in every aisle. They were also in the sanctuary and in the gallery, so close together that there was scarcely room to move about. Many of them lay in their own blood and the water used for bathing their wounds, but no word of complaint escaped from their lips. Others were dying with lockjaw, making it very difficult to administer drinks and nourishment. Numbers of the men had their wounds dressed for the first time by the Sisters, surgeons at that juncture being few in number.. . .

The National Cemetery at Gettysburg was dedicated November 19, 1863. The oration was by Edward Everett. On this occasion President Lincoln made the famous address that will never die. It was as follows:

"Four-score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now, we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that the nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate--we cannot consecrate--we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note nor long remember what we say here, but it never can forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly carried on. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us--that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion. That we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom; and that the government of the people, by the people, and for the people, shall not perish from the earth."