EFFORTS FOR SOLDIERS ON RETURN BOAT. 237 Mr. I. Y. Munn, and Rev. Mr. Burnell, of Beloit, worked nobly all the homeward passage to spread the knowledge of the want of vegetables in the army. Mr. Willard, like myself, was prostrate with fever. After the first day, I sank with a congestive chill, the result of excessive exposure and fatigue in the swamps at Young's Point, and but for the powerful remedies of a skilful surgeon, accustomed to such cases, I would never have been able to redeem my pledges to the soldiers. That homeward journey lies in the distance, like a fearful dream. I learned, however, better to understand the sufferings of sick soldiers, and trust my saved life was quickened in their behalf. Within two days after my return, I rode to the rooms of the Commission, and handed in my report. For the first and last time, I was suspected of carrying my heart in my sleeve, and overrating army sickness. My reports were so unexpected and overwhelming, they were not willing to believe them accurate, and laughingly, but courteously told me, they feared I had onion on the brain. I had, and admitted it. The Commission were a lit-. tle slow to believe at first, but our honored president and secretary at once aroused to vigorous action. Ira Y. Munn, Esq., promptly called a meeting of the Board of Trade, and made one of his telling speeches, which brought down the money, and a committee was appointed to send out circulars from the board. Mrs. Livermore and myself labored day and night, sending letters and circulars to every aid society, begging for prompt and liberal action. Agents were sent out to purchase vegetables, sour-krout and pickles. The Board of Trade and Sanitary Commission worked hand in hand. Letters of the most imploring character, from Young's Point, confirming my statements, and begging for assistance, quickly followed me. A furore was raised. Cars came in loaded with vegetables and anti-scorbutics, and in the course of three weeks the pledge was redeemed, and thousands of barrels of vegetables reached, and were distributed to the army at Young's Point. Rations of these supplies were dealt out to regiments as well as to hospitals, and the universal verdict of officers and men was, that these and like supplies had saved the army. WORK AT THE COMMISSION ROOMS. 239 CHAPTER XV. Work at the Commission rooms.-A day at the rooms of the Sanitary Commission, by Mrs. Livermore.-Mode of raising supplies."Where there's a will, there's a way," by Mrs. Livermore.-" Women in the harvest-field," by Mrs. Livermore.—Mrs. Livermore's army trip to Milliken's Bend. SUBSEQUENT to our return from Young's Point, the work of the Commission moved forward more vigorously than ever, as appeals for help, from surgeons, officers and men, were brought by every mail. Life at the "Rooms" became intensified, and the pressure so great, that our sanitary labors were often continued at our homes till midnight, and the sufferings of the army then tucked under our pillows, to visit us in our dreams. Days, weeks and months rapidly succeeded each other, and as they rolled on, cheered us with benisons and hallelujahs that the crisis had passed, the army was relieved and invigorated, and the heroic regiments crowding transports on the Mississippi, to reinforce their veteran brothers for the bloody work before them. Each day repeated the other in our busy life at home, of which I am permitted to present a picture, from the graphic pen of Mrs. Livermore, who has already given a "Peep into the Boxes," and who was my co-laborer in the toils and privileges of sanitary life. A DAY AT THE ROOMS OF THE SANITARY COMMISSION. It is early morning-not nine o'clock-for the children are flocking in merry droves to school, making the sweet air resonant with their joyous treble and musical laugh, as with clustering golden heads, and interlacing arms, they recount their varied experiences since the parting of the night before, and rapturously expatiate on the delights of a coming excursion, or promised picnic. With a good-bye kiss, we launch our own little folks, bonneted, sacqued, and ballasted with books like the rest, into the stream of childhood, that is setting in strong and full towards the school-room, and then catch the street car, that leaves us at the rooms of the "Chicago Sanitary Commission." But early as is our arrival, a dray is already ahead of us, unloading its big boxes and little boxes, barrels and firkins, baskets and bundles at the door of the Commission. The sidewalk is barricaded with multiform packages, which John the porter, with his inseparable truck, is endeavoring to stow away in the "Receiving Room." Here hammers, hatchets, wedges and chisels are in requisition, compelling the crammed boxes to disgorge their heterogeneous contents, which are rapidly assorted, stamped, repacked, and reshipped, their stay in the room rarely exceeding a few hours. We enter the office. Ladies are in waiting, who desire information. The aid society in another State, of which they are officers, has raised at a Fourth of July festival some six hundred dollars, and they wish to know how it shall be dis A DAY AT THE ROOMS OF THE SAN. COM. 211 posed of, so as to afford the greatest amount of relief to the sick and wounded of our army. They are also instructed to investigate the means and method of the Commission, so as to carry conviction to a few obstinate skeptics, who persist in doubting if the Sanitary Commission, after all, be the best means of communication with the hospitals. Patiently and courteously, the history, method, means, views and successes of the Commission are lucidly explained for the hundredth time in a month, and all needed advice and instruction imparted-and the enlightened women leave. An express messenger enters. He brings a package, obtains his fee, gets receipted for the package, and without a word departs. Next comes a budget of letters-the morning's mail. One announces the shipment of a box of hospital stores, which will arrive to-day; another scolds roundly because a letter sent a week ago has not been answered -which has been answered, as the copying-book indisputably asserts, but has been miscarried; the third has a bugaboo, mythical story to relate of the surgeons and nurses in a distant hospital, with large development of alimentiveness, who save little for their patients, being mainly occupied in "seeking what they can devour" of the hospital delicacies; a fourth pleads earnestly and eloquently that the writer may be sent as a nurse to the sad, cheerless, far-away hospitals; a fifth is the agonized letter of a mother and widow, blistered with tears, begging piteously that the Commission will search out, and send to her, tidings of her only son, "Scarce more than a boy with unshaven face |