mother's heart could desire. He had been seen by a comrade during the
terrible battle, sitting up against a tree, shot through the breast
and mortally wounded. The enemy swept over the ground and he was seen
no more. Not even the poor comfort of knowing that his last hours were
rendered comfortable or where his grave was made, was vouchsafed to
this distracted mother. Two more brave boys of the household were
still unheard from, but believed to be unhurt, as they were not
reported "dead," "wounded," or "missing." And yet the noble women of
this as well as of numberless families so situated in every State of
the new Confederacy never intermitted, even for a day, their work for
"the soldiers,"--left no domestic duty unattended to,--in many
instances taking the place and doing the work of the men whom
patriotism had called to the field.

Much as I admired and revered this "noble army of martyrs," I lacked
moral courage to emulate their example. Such a life of anxiety and
suspense would have driven me mad. The pitiful faces of the sick and
wounded haunted me every hour. I yearned to be with them. I felt sure
that I was called to this work. My health being restored, I could no
longer remain idle. But where to go, how to begin, I knew not.

One day there appeared in the Selma paper a letter from Surgeon W.T.
McAllister, Army of Tennessee, describing the dreadful condition of
hundreds of sick and wounded men, who, after the terrible battle of
Shiloh and the subsequent evacuation of Corinth, had been huddled into
hospital-quarters at Gainesville, Alabama, and inquiring for a "lady"
to assist him in organizing, and in caring for the sick. Here was a
chance for me. I applied for the position, and, receiving a favorable
answer, proceeded without delay to Gainesville, leaving my little boy
at the plantation in charge of his father's relations.