Beyond All Price

by Carolyn Poling Schriber

  Nellie was suddenly excited about her job again. “Wonderful, but how do I go about arranging all of that?”

  “Draw up a list of what you’ll need, submit it to General Rosecrans, and he’ll pass it on to his favorite sutler,” James grinned. “I’ll have your centralized system up and running in short order. Now, what else do you need?”

  “Well, then, since you’re solving all of my problems, what can you do about the Ensley Building?” she asked. Nellie was holding her fork in mid-air but had forgotten to eat.

  “What’s the major problem?”

  “More transportation, but vertical this time,” Nellie said. “I think we’ll use the beds at the Jones Hotel for our most serious cases, and keep the Ensley Building for our convalescent wards. The exercise of climbing all those stairs will help our patients regain their strength, and if they have to come down to the main dining hall for their meals, it will get them all up and moving. One problem will arise when our nurses have to carry linens and other supplies up those same flights of stairs. The more serious issue, however, is ventilation. Fresh air is vital, and those sealed windows are of no earthly use. If we could get them opened, with some sort of protection to prevent falls, it would help. My big wish, however, is to open some of the walls for dumb waiters and ventilation shafts. How’s that for a dream?” Nellie laughed at herself.

  James wasn’t laughing because he was busy calculating. “We can do it. Opening the windows only takes a small pry bar to break the seals. Then I’ll find you some railings to use as protection. As for the shafts, I suspect the building is honeycombed with hidden shafts that were used during construction. We’ll have to find them and open them up again.”

  “Really? It can be done?”

  “In the Army, labor is never a problem. What’s usually missing are fresh ideas. But since you already have those, I promise you the workers and materials to make them a reality. George certainly knew what he was doing when he recommended you for this job.” Then James bit his tongue. He hadn’t meant to mention George and he waited, half expecting another denial from Nellie.

  Instead, she grinned back at him. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell everyone.”

  The next several weeks were so busy Nellie seldom had time to think about anything except the formidable list of tasks awaiting her attention. As Bill Currin had promised, the Camerons proved to be an invaluable resource. James had quickly hired a crew to open the windows of the Ensley Building. Then he went off to the Courthouse and managed to find the original plans for the building’s construction. Just as he had predicted, the shafts Nellie needed for dumb waiters and ventilation were already in place. Now the task was to break through the walls to reach them, a process that involved a great deal of noise and even more dust and debris.

  Meanwhile, Matilda was busy locating employees for the new hospitals. There weren’t many Union sympathizers in Nashville, but the ones she knew were eager to be doing something to help with the war effort. Soon, Nellie had a class of nursing recruits to train, as well as a kitchen staff to improve the quality of the hospital’s menus.

  George’s name seldom came up. Everyone around Nellie had learned it was not wise to suggest Nellie was interested in him. No one asked if she had heard from him, and no one told her when he might be coming back to Nashville. Thus Nellie was caught off guard one June morning when an orderly told her a young man was asking for her at the front door. Brushing construction dust from her hands, she hurried down the stairs, only to be brought up short by the sight of a familiar face in the doorway.

  “George!”

  “Nellie, my dear,” he reached out to greet her. “I’m sorry I’ve been away from Nashville so long. I didn’t even know for sure you would be coming—or when. I should have been here to welcome you.”

  “Why?” She glared at him. “You’re not responsible for me, although you seem to have led several people around here to believe otherwise.”

  “What? You seem angry and I don’t understand why. What have I done? You knew I would be tied up with official regimental duties, didn’t you?”

  “I’m upset—and have been for some time—that you led the people I was going to be working with to believe we were an item. I’m not thrilled to see you now because it has taken me weeks to get people to quit referring to me as ‘George’s young woman’. Now here you are on my doorstep again, acting as if we are the best of friends.”

  “But we are, aren’t we? Back in Philadelphia, you certainly gave me the impression we could be friends—maybe even more than friends.”

  “Yes, I suppose I did. But I was being foolish. I tend to do that when I act before I have time to think. This job sounded wonderful then—and it’s wonderful now. For that I am grateful to you. But I’ve come to realize I can’t have a personal life and a professional life at the same time.”

  “Nonsense! You can’t mean that.”

  “I certainly do. Look, George. I’m a woman trying to function in a man’s world. Ever since I joined my first regiment, well-meaning folks have been telling me a war is no place for a woman. I make people uncomfortable because I am somehow out of place. I have to work constantly to show I am good at what I do and I am serious about my work. Any hint of a relationship with a man throws a shadow of doubt on my intentions. If I’m to be the head matron of Nashville’s Hospital #3, I can’t also be ‘George’s young woman’. Do you understand?”

  “I understand what you are saying, but I can’t believe you’re right. Surely we can be friends without raising suspicion.”

  “No, I’m afraid not. You took care of that possibility by whatever it was you told all your friends about me. Mr. and Mrs. Cameron were convinced we were a couple long before they met me. I’ve needed their help in many ways, and you made that more difficult. You even had General Rosecrans leering at me as he asked whether I was really up to the responsibilities of this job.”

  “I . . . I’m sorry, Nellie. I never meant to cast doubt on your capabilities. I was excited about bringing you here so we could have more time together.”

  “Exactly, and you let all your feelings show—to my detriment. You need to go away, George. I don’t want to be seen with you. You need to let all your friends know you have no interest in me. Go on about your duties and forget about me.”

  “Nellie. . . .”

  “No. Enough. Good-bye, George.”

  Nashville’s summer was unbearably hot, and Nellie blamed the weather for her own misery. To avoid the heat, she worked longer hours, starting earlier in the morning and continuing until late at night. She was a demanding and exacting supervisor. She checked on every project several times a day, and no small omission escaped her notice. No one complained that she was unreasonable or unfair, but neither did she encourage any familiarity from those who worked with her. If asked, they would have said no one disliked her. But no one liked her much, either. She was unfailingly polite, but cold and distant to her employees. Even the Camerons gave up asking her to the house for a meal or a social event. Only with the patients themselves did she allow herself to relax. The sicker the man, the kinder she became.

  Her hard work paid dividends, of course, as she knew it would. General Rosecrans returned to Nashville after the Tullahoma Campaign had run its course, and on July 16th, he began a tour of all the hospitals and defenses in the city. Work was still going on in many of the hospitals, but he pronounced himself well-pleased by the improvements he saw. Nellie’s influence had encouraged an emphasis on cleanliness and fresh air. Most medical facilities were running smoothly, their staffs well-trained and well-organized. Hospital #3 itself was a model of efficiency. Nellie’s plans to designate the Broad Street units as disease wards had resulted in a dramatic drop in the death rate. And her plan to keep the convalescents exercising themselves on the stairs worked to send men home or back to their units sooner than expected.

  At the end of his review, Rosecrans called Nellie in to praise her accomplishments. “Is there anything
you lack?” he asked.

  “Yes, but I don’t know how to solve the problem.”

  “Name it.”

  “Well, our patients are comfortable enough. They have fresh linens, good food, knowledgeable care, a chance to exercise in the sunshine and fresh air of this beautiful climate. What they lack is mental and social stimulation. We have staff enough to do what is necessary, but not to spend time with the patients. They need visitors, books, music, things to do with their hands, religious services, games, social hours. . . .” She stopped, having run out of breath.

  The general cocked his head at her. “Sounds delightful, but maybe impractical for a hospital, don’t you think?”

  “No, I don’t. In many of the northern cities, there are Ladies’ Aid Societies to provide such activities. I’m not talking about the services of the Sanitary Commission, but about groups of women whose husbands and sons have gone off to war. They find their own comfort by caring for the soldiers in hospitals. They come in with cookies, books, fresh flowers, Bibles, whatever they can think of to make life cheerier for the patients. I’ve seen women set up painting classes, chess tournaments, musical entertainment. They write letters for those who need help, they share pictures of families, and sometimes they just listen.”

  “And we have nothing of the sort going on in Nashville.”

  “No, Sir. As you know, there aren’t many women in Nashville anymore. Those citizens who chose to take a loyalty oath to the Union and keep their businesses open to serve our needs—even they sent their wives and daughters off somewhere for safety. Matilda Cameron was able to find a few women with Union sympathies to fill out our hospital staffs, and they are doing a fine job. But we need women with leisure time on their hands, and we just can’t find them.”

  “I wish I could help, but even I can’t create a supply of such lovely ladies for you.”

  “I didn’t expect you to,” Nellie said, “but I thought I’d mention it just in case you hear of a bored housewife or two. . . .”

  “I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  Nellie thought no more about her impossible suggestion. She knew the general had no time for such a flippant request, and she was a bit ashamed she had even asked. Then, almost a month later, she received another summons to Rosecrans’s headquarters. As an aide showed her into his office, the general waved a newspaper at her. “Been reading about you again. You certainly have a way of getting yourself into the papers.”

  “I can’t imagine what. . . .”

  “Another fellow falling in love with his nurse, I suspect. Listen to this.”

  A Western soldier, at Nashville, writes of Miss Nellie M. Chase, the Florence Nightingale of the Western army: “As a Western soldier boy, I take pride in acknowledging—and I speak of the Western boys in the army—that we have the real Florence Nightingale of the United States army with us, and, were it within their power, every soldier who had in any way been thrown under her care, or within the range of her influence, would procure a picture of Miss Nellie M. Chase, and preserve it as memorial of the chief deliverer of the suffering soldier in this war, wherever she operates. I seek not the opportunity to speak of her noble deeds, but, as a patient of her hospital, and a witness of her unparalleled kindness and services, I wish to add the testimony of one, not of her adopted state, that by her deeds of kindness, her superior skill and judgment, her coolness and powers of endurance, both of body and mind, she has already gained a name that will be handed down to succeeding generations, by hundreds of sick and wounded soldiers who may have been the recipients of her care.

  “That little article appeared in the Philadelphia Press on August 19th. Tell me, Florence Nightingale, what exactly is it you do to these young men?”

  “I have no idea, Sir. It’s really embarrassing.”

  “No need to be embarrassed. It suggests to me you are doing something right—and you are probably right about the need to have more women working in the hospitals. How would you like to take a trip for me?”

  “A trip to. . . .?”

  “Philadelphia. To talk to one of the founders of the Ladies Aid Society there.”

  “Oh, no, Sir. I couldn’t possibly get away for something like that.”

  Rosecrans lifted one of his famous eyebrows at her. “Miss Chase. When a general of the army asks if you would like to do something, your only choice is to say yes. It’s an order, couched in polite terms. Got that?”

  “Yes, Sir, I understand, but. . . .”

  “Miss Chase. Kindly quit talking and start listening. You leave on Monday. Your train fare will be covered by official orders. You will go to Philadelphia and meet with Mrs. John Harris. She is expecting you. If she likes you—and I do mean if—she will arrange for us to receive some personnel to start a Ladies’ Aid Society here in Nashville. Further, she will keep you supplied with the kinds of things their ladies take to the hospitals—Bibles, books, writing materials, games, all the things you mentioned. You asked for this, and I have arranged it. Now go and start getting ready to leave.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Oh, and while you’re at it, in Philadelphia there’s a fellow named Gudekunst. Takes good photographs. Go to his studio and have some cartes de visites printed up. If our patients want pictures of you, they shall have them.” The general held up his hand. “And don’t protest that, either. I figure it’s best to encourage all these young blades to fall in love with you. The more suitors you have, the less chance you’ll take off with any one of them.”

  ggg

  26

  The Power of Words

  By the time Nellie returned from Philadelphia, General Rosecrans and his army had departed for Chattanooga, where they were preparing for the push into Georgia. To many observers, it appeared the Confederacy was suffering its death throes. The fall of Vicksburg and the Union victory at Gettysburg suggested the Federal forces were carrying the war away from Nashville. Despite a few guerilla attacks on Middle Tennessee, the clearest evidence of declining Confederate strength came from an influx of rebel prisoners sent back from southern Tennessee.

  Then, in the Battle of Chickamauga on September 19th and 20th, Confederate General Braxton Bragg drove Rosecrans and his army back to Chattanooga. The losses from those two days of battle were staggering on both sides. In a three-day period, over 12,000 rebel prisoners were paraded through the streets of Nashville on the way to their detention barracks. The news that many soldiers from Nashville’s most prominent families had died in the battle caused further grief among longtime residents of the city. Union sympathizers mourned their own losses, as on one day alone over 900 seriously wounded Union soldiers arrived for treatment in Nashville’s military hospitals. Bragg, although ultimately victorious, had lost some 20,000 men, Rosecrans’s losses numbered 17,000.

  For Nellie, one day blurred into the next. She moved from bed to bed, offering what little comfort she could to men who had suffered amputations and other crushing injuries. By September 28th, every available bed was full, and it seemed there could not possibly be any further disasters. But that morning, a blast rocked the city. A steam locomotive had exploded minutes after leaving the Nashville station. Although there were no deaths, the flying shards of metal had caused innumerable injuries to both soldiers and civilians. When another rumbling explosion occurred the next day, even the usually nerveless Nellie leaped to her feet in alarm.

  “What was that?”

  “Cannon fire?”

  “No, it lasted too long.”

  By now, people were rushing by in the streets, and Nellie hurried to the doorway.

  “Is this a hospital?” one passer-by asked. “Can you come? The convalescent barracks at the Maxwell House Hotel has collapsed.”

  Grabbing her medical bag, Nellie rushed toward a cloud of dust rising some four blocks away. Near the site of the disaster, a cordon of soldiers blocked access to the shattered building that had housed Confederate prisoners.

  “Let me through,” Nellie demanded, but a s
trong hand grabbed her arm and turned her away.

  “This here’s a dangerous place, M’am. The rest of them walls could come a tumblin’ down most any time. It ain’t no place for a lady such as yourself.”