June 9, 1863, The New York Herald
Visit to the Fifth Corps Hospital and the Camp of Sykes’ Regulars.
MR. W. BUCKINGHAM’S LETTER.
NEAR STAFFORD COURT HOUSE, Va., June 4, 1863.
LOCATION OF THE HOSPITAL.
I accidentally became acquainted with Major Augustus M. Clark the other day, who is the surgeon in charge of the Fifth corps hospital. This hospital is situated on the north of the road between Brooks’ Station and Stoneman’s switch, and about a mile from the latter place, on ground admirably adapted for the purpose. The tents are pitched on the edges of wooded hills, where a cool breeze is constantly playing over a clear stream that winds through the picturesque valley. After riding over a rough road through almost impenetrable clouds of dust, it was a godsend to have the privilege of resting a short time in so beautiful a spot.
HOW THE WOUNDED ARE ATTENDED TO
Mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, need have no fear of lack of attention or want of comfort towards these poor wounded in this camp; for they are all cheerful and doing more than well. The quiet they enjoy is very beneficial to a speedy recovery. Should they be allowed to visit their homes many slight cases might become dangerous from the excitement of seeing friends and asking and answering countless questions. If a man’s mind is clear and at ease the surgeon is relieved of half of his anxiety. Without saying more of a subject which is understood by all, I will state by request that citizens frequent the hospitals on passes from Mr. Secretary Stanton to see their friends, although orders from General Hooker strictly prohibit it. The effect is bad, and proves a great nuisance to the surgeons and patients.
BENEVOLENT HUMBUGS.
There is too much benevolent humbuggery also practised, which is a constant nuisance. All our hospitals are laid out, according to regulations on a military plan which cannot be excelled. Christian associations, tract societies and the Sanitary Commission may be all very well in their way; but we don’t want them to interfere in our way. They are prone to come at the eleventh hour and endeavor to steal the thunder belonging to others. There is a regular channel of giving aid and comfort to the wounded, and that is by making application at our several headquarters.
A VERY NICE YOUNG LADY, who was very pretty and carried a love of a parasol, called at the Twelfth corps hospital recently, leaning on the arm of a medical cadet. She came from some praying contribution society and demanded a tent for herself. This was denied her. “We have an experienced matron who can take what you have to give,” was the reply of the surgeon, whereupon our dashing young angel remarked: – “Do you suppose I shall have anything to do with a woman whose character I do not know?” The Doctor answered – “Do you think we can provide quarters for a female whose character we do not know?” Praying divines evidently come sometimes with good intentions as well as tracts; but still their presence does not generally make the troops any more cheerful, and what they leave is freely given to those who wish it by comrades always in attendance.
RECOVERY OF PATIENTS – FRESH AIR.
Dr. Clark states that after the battles of Chancellorsville he had sixteen hundred patients: but now he has only nine hundred and eighty-three. The sides of the tents were all raised some distance from the ground, allowing a free circulation of air.
INCIDENTS OF PATIENTS.
In the first tent I visited lay a handsome young drummer boy, scarcely fifteen years of age, patient and contented. His leg was amputated three inches below the knee. “Well, my boy, you were lucky to save so much of it.” “Yes,”he replied, “Doctor says I can have an artificial piece put on so the girls won’t know it.” By his side lay an Irishman with his leg off close to his hip. He removed the oilcloth covering, and I saw a stump anything but beautiful. It had not healed, and the seam, or whatever the doctors call it, was much inflamed. “Does it pain you much?” “Yes, all the time; but he who dances must pay the fiddler.”
By his side was a young fellow who had been shot through the right cheek, the ball breaking the left jaw, then breaking the shoulder blade and lodging in the fleshy part of the arm. His face was frightfully distorted, and he suffered great agony. He was unable to take much nourishment and was very weak. But still, with great difficulty, he told me that the ball had been extracted, and he said it was too hard to have the surgeons cut him after the rebs had already made four holes in his body. He then endeavored to say something else; but the suppressed smile caused so much pain he relinquished the effort. I merely cite these trifles to show the spirits of the men.
BROKEN LIMBS.
In the next tent were men with broken legs. They would lay helplessly in bed, but comparatively comfortable. Their backs were generally propped up by pillows and the broken limb suspended a slight distance from the bed by the use of an interior splinter. This is a very cheap, invaluable article. It is nothing but a thick wire, bent in a rectangular shape, the length of the limb, and the width about four inches. Two moveable slides or hooks run on the sides by which it is attached to the top of the tent by a cord and pulley. The bandaged leg is then suspended by this simple contrivance (the splint being above) so that it can be raised or lowered at will without changing the position as set. When a limb has been shot or broken and suspended in this manner, an empty can (that once contained hermetically sealed oysters or fruit) is hung directly over the wound and filled with water. In the bottom is pierced a small hole which just allows a constant dripping of water to keep the bandage sufficiently moist.
SLIGHTLY WOUNDED PATIENTS.
In another apartment were men slightly wounded, who were playing checkers or cards, writing, &c. A showy chandelier was hung in this tent, and two soldiers were making another for the doctor. They were very pretty, although barber-polish. Three hoops of different sizes were covered with strips of red and white flannel, and then connected by quill cord. Wooden sockets for the candles were covered with tin foil and fastened at intervals upon the hoops. Other men were carving pipes from laurels or making rings from old beef bones. Instead of being a disagreeable sight, a visit to our hospital is really pleasant, the patients are so much more comfortable than one would suppose.
THE REGULARS.
After an hour with the wounded, I mounted my horse and penetrated the dust to the camps of the Second, Sixth, Seventh, Tenth, Eleventh and Seventeenth regular infantry. The Eleventh and Seventeenth are worthy of especial mention. The ground was once a grove, then apparently a graveyard. No graves were there of any number; but the remaining stumps of trees, covered with dust, shone out in the moonlight like so many tombstones.
THEIR CAMP.
Sykes’men – for so they call themselves – had levelled all off to the ground and evened the surface. What was once a grove, then a wilderness, or a desert, or a grave yard, is now a garden of bowers. From a distance you look down upon it as a lawn of green. From the street you look into it as at a gentleman’s garden. Common camps are a multitude of circuses. This is a multitude of bowers. The whole camp is laid out regularly in company streets, &c., tents are pitched, and then it is all substantially and handsomely built over with pines, laurel and locust. The first long bower is the officers’ street. We look through it and see nothing but evergreens; we walk through it, and, tucked away regularly but almost concealed, are the wall houses of canvass. The street is carpeted with green sods, and the shade prevents their drying by the sun.
THE BOWERS.
We may call this the right bower; but the left is all the same. The privates vie with each other for the palm, and you will often see little flower gardens surrounding the tents; but, alas! For the flowers; the gardens are only sods surrounded by clean stones, with there and there a transplanted shrub. All this pine, and laurel, and locust, was hauled by them a distance of seven miles. Send the regulars to Dry Tortugas, and, my word for it, they would soon transform it into a paradise.