These letters were written by Dr. Frederick K. Bailey (1816-1876) who graduated from the Castleton Medical College (Vermont) in 1837 and who practiced medicine in Michigan and Joliet, Illinois, for twenty years before entering the service of his country as an Acting Assistant Surgeon. He first went with the 20th Illinois Infantry into the field as its 1st Asst. Surgeon and was with them from 14 May 1861 till he resigned on 31 August 1862. He spent the majority of his time at Quincy, Illinois, where he was in charge of one of the U.S. General Hospitals. After the war, Dr. Bailey moved to Knoxville, Tennessee, and resumed a private practice.
Dr. Bailey was married to Sarah shaw (1812-1887) in January 1841 and together they had three children—two living to adulthood, Edward P. Bailey (1841-1925) and Cynthia Helen Bailey (1844-1902).
Dr. Bailey wrote the letters to his cousin, Elisabeth Annette (Patrick) Gookin (1830-1895), the wife of Frederick (“Fred”) Young Gookin (1822-1936) of Joliet, Will county, Illinois. The Gookins’ had two children, Frederick William Gookin (1853-1936) and Mary Helena Gookin (1855-1915). In 1872, the family relocated to Chicago. [There is a large collection of Gookin Family Papers deposited in the Newberry Library in Chicago.]
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[Acknowledgement: My thanks to Ann Melichar for providing me with a draft of this transcription.]
Savannah, Tennessee
March 18, 1862
My dear Cousin,
It is now evening. I was on the point of retiring to my camp cot for the night, but a few minutes ago a fine band of music commenced a serenade at the Headquarters of Gen. [John A.] McClernand, our Division Commander, just opposite our hospital. Instead of being sleepy, I am so much stirred up by the music that I feel just in the mood for writing a letter. I am not in arrears to anyone in particular in the way of epistolatory correspondences, and in opening a new account, I think of no one that I wish to address more than yourself. Often, very often, do I think of you and of your cozy sitting room with plenty of easy chairs, while I am placed in circumstances where even any kind of seat but the ground or a log is out of the question. Often do I think of you since Edward so frequently alludes to the pleasant home he has in your family.
Now I have filled one page without saying much and you will expect I’m to finish by describing our situation or mentioning something of interest connected with our vast army and the grand expedition now advancing slowly & we hope successfully into the very heart of Rebeldom. Yes, we are many scores of miles away from the limits of a free state, and I am daily the witness of much that is painful and obnoxious in reference to the existing state of things in the South. At the North much has always been said of Southern chivalry and Southern cultivation. Now I never saw such exhibition of ignorance & want of good common sense as here in the South. This is in a good portion of Tennessee, on a fine river, with nothing to hinder having all the appliances of refinement and elegance in life. But since we left Cape Girardeau, I have seen nothing but what shows a want of thrift & intelligence. There are no carriages, no roads, no sidewalks, no good buildings, and in fine, no nothing to constitute a plan desirable. I have not seen a decent church or school house anywhere. Still in Paducah, which I passed in the night, such might exist. Imagine for instance the City of Joliet deserted by three-fourths of the men, the stores closed, offices tenantless, & no one to be seen but frightened women. You have no conception of the effect the rebellion has had upon this whole country.
Well, perhaps you wonder if I am not sick of such a life. You will of course conclude that a man of my antecedents must feel the deprivation of all the comforts and pleasures of social life. I do indeed feel that I am doing violence to my nature in thus exiling myself from home and friends, but I am not alone. Thousands upon thousands like myself are also thronging the streets of this place & of every camp of every department of the service. We are all in the same boat and all rush along in the same tremendous current. You have not the slightest conception of the number of men I meet from all parts—the West especially.
I see so many that I am ever so much given to inquiring where everybody comes from. Am getting tired of asking questions. There must be at least 200,000 men in this region, including our crowd, & that of Gen. Buell & I may ere long see the whole number in one vast column. I have already seen so much of war, and so many soldiers that I am prepared to meet anything without even an emotion of wonder.
We left Fort Donelson 14 days ago and in that number of days to come, we may be many miles distant & in a plan we have no idea of.
The enemy are concentrating their forces somewhere within 60 miles from here and a great battle may soon be fought exceeding all respects, any preceding ones. They may also continue to evacuate till all are taken prisoners or scattered to the mountains or their homes. Our army begins to inspire a dreadful terror in their minds for they, till lately, had no idea how many soldiers we had. They will soon find they cannot with one man whip five of ours. But this sheet is full & I fear nothing is in it that will interest you. I may add more tomorrow & so now goodnight.
Wed. eve. Well another day is gone & darkness evermore veils this devoted portion of Dixie’s land. I have gone through with my usual round of duties, and feel somewhat tired. Could I just drop in and spend the evening chatting with you, or many others I could mention, it would be quite a treat. But we have no such treat in the army. You at the North may think the excitement is enough to keep up our spirits, but of excitement we are filled to satiety. You doubtless have spent many a 4th of July or great public gathering with much delight & pleasure, and so have I; but to have nothing but martial display from day to day & month to month, is too much even of a good thing.
But I will not weary you with the recital of what is rather wearisome to me. True, it is the duty of a letter writer to speak of his surroundings and to mention what may be unpleasant as well as agreeable & pleasing. Surrounded as we are by such a vast crowd of all sorts of men from all parts of the land and world, we naturally expect to see much that is repulsive. On the whole I have little to complain of. I have scarcely met with an officer or soldier in my army life but what has treated me well. One man in Joliet made more trouble & fuss in our regiment than all others combined. I said tenfold more hard things to him in Young Men’s Hall than I ever spoke to live man before, or wish to again. I often think of that memorable occasion & wonder what you Jolieters think of the transaction. But enough of this. How does Adelaide get along in her new home in the West? I should write to her but I have not time nor thought for all my friends.
I thought when I entered the army that I should keep a daily journal of events but that soon played out. About the only record I shall leave of my wanderings and observations are embodied in my letters to friends. From them you can get some idea of what has passed before my eyes and the future perusal of them may serve as a nucleus around which memory may enable me to recollect minute events.
Since the battle of Fort Donelson, our regiment, both officers and privates, have manifested a different appearance than ever before. An air of sadness sets upon the faces of everyone. A beloved officer 1 fell on that memorable occasion and now we will never forget it. I visited the spot where he received the fatal shot. It is said that when he was struck, a smile was upon his face at the sight of the rebels scampering before the galling fire of our men. He was so intent upon the sight that he heeded not the warning of one who told him that the enemy was getting a range so as to hit him. That was a terrible battle and it is worth a lifetime almost to be able to look over the ground where such a contest raged. While we feel sad, we are also hopeful for the future. I am entirely ignorant of what is going on in even this part of the country. 40,000 men may have gone up the river since we came here and we know nothing of it. You know much more what is going on than I do & therefore you will excuse me for not writing news. I have only been able to open my heart to you up on different subjects in a hasty and disconnected manner. If you shall have been in any degree interested in what I have written, I am glad. A reply from you will afford me much gratification and I hope to hear soon.
It thundered dreadfully again during the night but today has been pleasant and warm. I hope to rest well tonight although upon a camp bed. You would laugh to look in upon my room but I will not describe it till we meet. Goodnight and may God to bless us all. From your cousin F. K. Bailey.
1 Lt. Col. William Erwin of Joliet was killed at the Battle of Fort Donelson.
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Savannah, Tennessee
April 18, 1862
Dear Cousin,
Your last letter came duly to hand but business has prevented me from replying sooner. You will excuse me I have no doubt when I tell you that I have about 80 sick and wounded to care for, and with about a dozen nurses and cooks to feed.
You would call it running a small hotel if you had 90 men to provide with food, even laying aside their being sick and wounded. But as I am in a sort of mood this afternoon, and having a few moments of leisure time, it bethoughts my mind to write you & send by Mr. Tourne who is now here. I really don’t know what kind of a strain to assume in my present communication or what would interest you most, You have of course read much of the details of the terrible battle at Pittsburg [Landing]. You have doubtless heard enough to make your ears tingle of the suffering consequent upon such a slaughter.
Still I have no other theme upon which to found a letter to you. I am not much in the habit of sentimentalizing upon any subject of fact, but of dealing plainly and truly of what I see and hear. I have seen what few men living in America have seen—only if connected with the army. I have seen a vast army collect together in one place. I have seen for days in succession regiments of infantry and battalions of cavalry and artillery march by when I stop, and it seems that there is no end of them. For two weeks nearly has Gen. Buell’s column been passing, or at least for a week past, the baggage trains & cavalry & heavy artillery have gone along that were delayed by bad roads. I suppose that not less than 500 cannons have passed here in 12 days past. Adding to this the [ ] that went up with Gen. Grant’s column, there must be an immense number of engines of destruction in that one field now occupied by our forces. I dread to hear the first sound of cannon from that field. I dread to see the wounded soldiers brought into this place for us to attend. I dread to hear of such crowds of dead that must strew the next battlefield.
War is a dreadful thing—even if justifiable and necessary. Ever since the creation of man, destruction has been the aim of the masses. Year after year and century after century have nations for the sake of conquest, to of defense, ben battling against each other. Now, in the middle of the nineteenth century, when the attentions of the good and learned of all civilized nations has been specially directed to the several and diversified means of rendering man more happy. are we, of the United States of America, engaged in a civil war. as Europeans call it, or as we should denominate it, an armed posse for suppressing rebellion.
I need not discuss causes for that would not be interesting, nor profitable in a letter from the seat of war, to a lady. Now you may sometimes wonder and inquire upon it is how I can content myself in such a place and under such unpleasant and self-denying circumstances. Now I will tell you that I feel so deep an interest in the struggle and am so much interested in the details of army matters that I could hardly be induced to return home, and resume the duties of civil life. I should have no taste nor ambition to engage in business at home.
You have undoubtedly thought it strange that anyone could leave a quiet and pleasant home for the tumult and danger of the field. I see every day men of delicate organization and of soft temperament wielding the sword or handling the musket. Many a tender youth of from 18 to 20 or older have I seen shot in the limbs or body who would lie from day to day without a groan or murmur, only lamenting that they cannot engage in the next fight. The crowning feeling among the wounded seems to be that they were shot by the miserable secesh. They seem to feel much as one feels to be kicked by a donkey.
Excuse the homely illustration, but it really is as forcible as I am capable of making. To be insulted or injured by an equal is perhaps tolerable, but to receive an indignity from an inferior is too much for human nature.
There is something so mean and degrading in the sight of a secesh clothed in the miserable butternut clothing that I can hardly endure it. And another fact I have noticed—that is the pigs in the streets here are butternut colored, with spots of black interspersed. The people here, even if dressed as we at the North consider decent or elegant, would look inferior. I called on one family in Savannah where there were four or five daughters that looked quite intelligent. I did not stay long enough to forma very decided opinion of them & may now see them again. I have no desire to form acquaintances here and had I, my engagements would not admit. I spend all my time in my room, or about among my patients. I go out only on business connected with the interests of the sick and in fact, have never spent much time since my connection to the army away from my business. I have company enough where I am and if I have any leisure time, I prefer to spend it in resting or writing letters. It is seldom that I ever write a letter without there being from three to a dozen talking or doing something in my hearing. Such a thing as quiet retirement is out of the question. I have now been alone at any time that I remember.
And how do you get along now-a-days? Are you still quietly walking about the town or sitting in your chair sewing or reading? Are the children still the same old sixpence? Freddy making pictures and little “Many” trying to make a noise? How different two children will be and how frequently it is that boys are more quiet than girls. Still I can look forward into the future when that same bustling and noisy little girl will be a sedate and reserved young lay and the still boy now in childhood, driving about in some active outdoor employment. I love to think of children and to watch the development of temperament and of character. I seldom see a child now-a-days and when I do, I can hardly keep my hands off of them.
There are no families of small children in this place that I know of except of the class called “poor whites,” and they are poor indeed for they seem not to realize the cause of their poverty. Our revolutionary fathers were poor, and the oppressions of the Mother County were calculated to make them poorer, but they had intelligence—enough to appreciate the cause of their distressed condition. But the masses here are made the victims of misrepresentations from the political leaders who compel the people to dig their own political and social graves. Thousands of men are now fighting in the ranks of the rebel army who are the ignorant victims of a lie. They are made to believe that Lincoln is conspiring for their destruction. Their leaders tell them that the Yankees desire only to destroy and pillage. But when they find it otherwise, they must feel an awful indignation against their leaders, and unless the unfortunate originators of this terrible rebellion are either killed or taken prisoners, an awful reaction must sooner or later take place. Enough of this.
My family are one more at home again. You cannot imagine how rejoiced I felt as I read the letter containing the intelligence. I was sick at the time and you cannot imagine how much better I felt immediately. I am fast recovering my health and at present I flatter myself that I am going to enjoy good health. I have a good appetite and if I had something good such as I once could have in Joliet, I should eat with a terrible gusto. I have enough of certain kinds of food & perhaps all that is really necessary, but we cannot have a variety.
I occasionally get hold of something from the good Sanitary [Commission] lady here who distributes the articles—an occasional can of peaches or some dried cherries or currants—are duly appreciated. As for us officers, reveling on the good things sent to the sick soldiers, it is [ ] thing. Think of from two to there. thousand sick men in this place in 28 hospitals & then try to imagine if a great amount of the good things from you good Northern ladies should come into the possession of anyone or any six. It is rather difficult to get articles to make ur men comfortable. We need spittoons and spoons and cups and numerous other articles, and there must be cords of boxes in Chicago & other places, & we can’t get them where they are needed most. I am using articles now in dressing wounds that came from Wilmington in your county last winter.
There are many things in the regimental hospital of the 20th that we brought from Joliet. There are enough articles sent but they do not come to us where most needed. Some Governor will charter a steamboat and come here with perhaps 40 doctors without bringing a things to make one comfortable that came to relieve. So it goes. And I might write many other facts but I have written a good long letter if it hanse other recommendation. It affords me much pleasure to read your favor & I shall hope soon to receive a reply to this provided the mails ever arrive.
Give my best regards to Fred, Mr. Parker, and say to the children that I would like much to see them. Hope you will call at our [ ] frequency and try to cheer the family in their necessary hardship.
I remain very truly, your cousin, — F. K. Bailey
Direct to F. K. Bailey, Asst. Surgeon, 20th Regt. Illinois & Surgeon-in-charge of Post Hospital No. 4, Savannah, Tenn.
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Camp near Oostanaula Landing, Tenn.
August 24, 1862
My dear Cousin,
If I remember rightly, your last favor from Ludlow still remains unanswered. Supposing that you have by this time returned to Joliet, I shall address you at that place. I feel a great loss how to begin even a letter at this time and especially from this place. Place, did I say. I hardly can honor it with any term that is at all dignified. But as it will be impossible to give you any idea of the spot where our camp is located, I might as well merely say that it is in a piece of woods, remote from civilization, even of a Southern character. We are doing picketing in force, to use a military phrase. Now perhaps you do not fully understand what a picket is. Allow me to give you some idea if I can on paper.
In whatever place an army is situated, there are approaches to it, or as you would say, so many roads. In this country, & in fact all places where we have been, the land is so uneven or rough as to render it difficult if not utterly impossible to traverse the district except where there are roads. Well, on each road, or approach to a camp, armed soldiers in charge of a Lieutenant are sent out. One station is generally about a mile out and another about 2 miles. Then frequently there is a station from 3 to 5 miles composed of Cavalry. You will see then that if an enemy comes near, the outside pickets are first alarmed. They, if cavalry, will ride hastily to the next station & those who are there will run in and give information before an army could possibly get in. This gives opportunity for preparation to defend the point.
You will see then the importance of having pickets wide awake & the reason that sleeping on picket is considered so great an offence. Well, we are on the Hatchie River, upon its North East bank. Upon the side opposite to us, the rebels can approach. Wherever the river is fordable, we have to send men to guard the crossings and as it requires a whole company of men in some places, it may be said truly that our whole force consisting of the 20th and 30th Regiments are on picket. The pickets go out at night or in the morning & stay 24 hours. They are then relieved by other companies or squads.
The boys carry their blankets & cooking utensils & woe be to chickens or geese that come night. Now I might give you a detail of camp routine for one day. First at 4 o’clock a.m. the reveille drum is beat. This calls all to their feet, and the roll is called. Each one answers to his name & if there are any sick, they say so & the Orderly Sergeant checks his name. At five, the Surgeon’s call is beaten, and at this time the Orderly Sergeants of each company brings the men who are reported sick to my tent. I then prescribe, & if they are so sick as to be unable to do duty for the next 24 hours, I mark opposite the name, excused. Then at 9 a.m. is guard mounting where the camp guards & pickets are brought up in line, their guns examined, and then conducted to their places. At sunset the retreat is beat, at 8 tattoo, and half past 8, the taps are sounded, which consists of a succession of blows upon a bass drum and means put out the lights. At this time, soldiers are expected to be in bed and officers in their tents. The above routine is followed out every day and each drum beat is made in the same strain of music and of course, constitutes a very tedious and uninteresting monotony from day to day & year to year. You will judge then that dullness reigns in camp unless then with some unusual excitement. You will see then that my day’s work is concluded at an early hour in the day & accordingly, the balance of the time I can only “lay round.”
Joliet is becoming the theatre of another regimental organization I Iearn, and they who are now about to leave their friends & homes, are only to repeat what we did more than 14 months ago. They now must advance to the enemy’s lines and do picket duty and fight too. God speed them & I would not say a word of discouragement. They must be aware that trials and peril will attend them and this is truly a time of peril to us all. But of what value is life or country if we cannot enjoy liberty. It rejoices my heart to learn that the response is so prompt & that so many thousands are still willing to sacrifice comfort & life even, to [ ] the honor of our land.
One P. M. It is very hot today, and in fact we have not had a cool day since 1st June. Some days are not so hot as others, but the weather has been pretty uniform. We expect about 6 weeks of hot weather & then it will be cool enough to venture on south. That is as soon as the new regiment will be ready for the field, I suppose.
I have filled this sheet and still it amounts to but little. My letter writing has nearly played out of late for want of material. Mood or no mood, it makes but little difference in this hot climate for we cannot think without sweating. I have not had on a collar for 3 or 4 weeks, nor hardly a vest. We are glad to keep cool in any way, but don’t tell any of the new soldiers how hot it is here or they may be discouraged. But I must close now & finish after the mail comes in. No more now. So goodnight. — F. K. Bailey
Monday Eve. 25th. Rec’d letter from my wife.
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We learn from this letter that Dr. Bailey (now a civilian) was working as a physician at a military hospital in Quincy, Illinois—-perhaps the same one supervised by Dr. Edward Gaggs Castle, a civilian physician of Quincy. This hospital was located on the west side of South Fifth Street and operated from July 1861 to July 1865. “Governor Richard Yates wanted Illinois soldiers treated in Illinois hospitals. The riverboats would regularly deliver the wounded and sick to Quincy. In the first four months, the hospital treated 605 cases, with only 18 deaths. Unfortunately, 17 of those deaths were due to diseases such as typhoid fever, measles, heart disease, bronchitis, bilious fever (malaria), and consumption (tuberculosis). Only one death was from a war wound. The Quincy Whig said in 1861, “Dr. Castle and his assistants, with the nurses give the kindest care and watchfulness to the patients, and are hoping for better times soon; though as yet the government has not advanced the first dimes of compensation.” The newspaper also suggested that citizens bring in reading materials for those recovering soldiers as “reading and writing constitute the chief ‘pastime’ of these able to sit up.” By 1865, there were five hospitals in Quincy to care for the soldiers.”
Quincy, Illinois
December 15h 1862
My dear Cousin,
I was agreeably surprised a few days ago to receive a letter from you. I was glad that you found time amid all the toil & bustle of housewifery to think of e & drop me a line. Now I don’t feel in much of a “mood” tonight. Perhaps I better beg in by quoting the well known introductory with slight variations perhaps, “I now take my pen in hand to inform you that we have small pox at our house and hope these few lines may find you enjoying the same blessing.” That is a pleasing item of intelligence to write to a lady—“shure,” but inasmuch as it is too true, I will not withhold it from even you. The thing came upon me some like a wet blanket for me as all in close confinement in our “shantie” of a hospital. The unfortunate has a fine large airy all to himself, being 80 by 40 feet. I need not tell you that he is a horrid looking oblect and strange as it may seem, the first case I ever saw of the kind. But enough of this. And now I will tell you a little of how I spend my time.
Well in the first place, the Chicago Tribune of the previous is thrown into my room before I am up. Before breakfast I generally devour all that is in the paper besides attending to the weightier matters of the toilet. In other word, I wash my face and hands, comb my hair (Cynthia should know that) and fix up real nice. After breakfast I make a trip to the upper room to visit my poor patient. I put on an old coat and put on old dressing gown over me and approach the bed. I however keep at a respectable distance from the bed and do not touch my hands to him. Spending a few minutes only, I leave, giving directions to Pat who is his nurse. Now Pat had the small pox when in Ireland as a little boy and therefore he is safe. So you see I am considerably cut off from communications with the good people of Quincy. [And] as I had just formed many acquaintances, it is rather “tough” just so, you will say, I suppose. But to some other more pleasing topic.
You speak of growing fleshy by skating. If your health is improved, just continue. As to your being a hospital nurse, I must say to you as I did to a young lady here who resembles you very much—that she was too good-looking. Now don’t feel flattered for Miss [Dorothea] Dix wanted those who were really ugly looking, and one might be too good-looking to be a nurse, and be what are generally considered homely. But then we don’t find any trouble in getting homely nurses.
You allude to my being dangerously situated here because of there being so many fine ladies. Now I can tell you one thing—that no one need feel in any danger of being charmed with beauty who has lived in Joliet among so many beautiful ladies. Now don’t say anything out loud that I “intimated” there being handsome ladies among you in Joliet for everyone might feel cause to know to whom I alluded.
Well, I began to tell how I spend my time & just run on in such a string. “Pardon the digression,” as the ministers say. Well, next I go to about among my patients & prescribe & that generally takes nearly till noon. Then I may be supposed to eat dinner when it is ready. The afternoon I spend in reading one thing and another. The good people have brought in a good many books so there is quite a library. I read today Bayard Taylor’s travels in Sweden, Norway, & Lapland. Was amused at some of his descriptions of persons and places.
I play checkers some with the boys, and talk and chat and then read again, and then get up and look out of doors and kind of wish I could go out. I suppose people would turn aside if they were about to meet me in the street. Besides it is not right to expose the community.
Now perhaps I might mention writing letters among y rounds of employment. I correspond but little of late. Such is the sameness & monotony of life that I can think of but little to interest. My health is good and weigh more than I ever did except once. I weigh about 132, making a pound a week since coming to Quincy. I had a pleasant Thanksgiving and shall ever remember with pleasure the good people who so kindly invited me a stranger to their festive board.
I am not extravagant when I say that the people of this place are very social and friendly, so far as I have seen them. I account for this from the fact that they are from New England. “That is what’s the matter.” Now it is time to retire to my cot. I sleep “beautifully” and if I remember right ,y mother thought so when I was quite a “chunk” of a boy. My youthful preferences follow now even to this day. My bed is the best after having lain all night. Cynthia need not think that I intimate that the propensity to sleep is entirely confined to myself. Other members of the family have similar trials no doubt. I will lay this up and perhaps like my correspondent let it remain till 2 or 3 days shall have passed. I don’t wish to do anything hasty, but deliberate well when I write. You will perceive that I devote much thought and study upon my epistolatory productions. But good night and so I will close.
Tuesday P. M. 4 o’clock. My poor smallpox patient was buried today. So you see my first case proved fatal. God grant it may be my last. Now just to break in upon my letter, allow me to say that a young lady brought me a pie today as a present from her mother. It was from one of the families who were so kind to write me too during Thanksgiving day. Now I am just so weak-minded as to feel a good deal of regard for those who are polite to me. Do you have any such feelings yourself? Now I do believe that it is a part of every person’s duty “to remember the stranger that is within his or her gate.” Such little manifestations of regard, I do feel are to be long remembered. In the midst of our hurry and bustle now-a-day, we too often forget that strangers are among us. In future, I mean to be more particular about such things. I always thought it was cruel in people not to call upon new families just moved into town.
If there is a time in one’s life that a kindness will be felt, it is when all are strangers to him. I say it for Quincy people that some of them are not forgetful of sojourners. I have commented in full upon that grand virtue, but hope you will not think I am too tender upon the subject. Then if it is of so much a duty for people to take notice of those older, of how much more importance that young men who go into a place strangers should be looked up and invited to good society before the saloons absorb them body and soul.
It is said by someone that he who is instrumental in the growth of a single blade of grass adds to the human happiness. If that true, how much truer is it that he or she who speaks kind words to a stranger adds greatly to the happiness too. I think of this more than most do for I am constantly coming in contact with strangers—not only incidentally, but also in a hospital. My patients are all somebody and somebody’s son or brother, or husband, or all combined. Then I think that my son might be similarly situated & he might want somebody’s sympathy & kindness. There are a good many of my patients who are younger than Edward and only a few days ago a poor boy came to me and said he had just received a letter from home stating that his mother was very sick. A few days later he received another letter and as he read, I saw that his countenance was sad. I asked him what news from home when he said, “My mother is dead.” Poor boy. I pity him but I can do little else for him.
“…I am sad when I think how much social suffering there is from this miserable war. And we at the North know nothing of it compared with our Southern brethren. Oh! the horror of war. Oh! the curse of slavery which has brought this misfortune upon us.”
—Frederick Kinsman Bailey, December 1862
I might fill a volume in telling such incidents but I am sad when I think how much social suffering there is from this miserable war. And we at the North know nothing of it compared with our Southern brethren. Oh! the horror of war. Oh! the curse of slavery which has brought this misfortune upon us. But I must stop now for it al almost dark and may take another strain when I again resume my pen.
Again I am seated at my table. It is about seven P. M. and a beautiful evening. Were it not that I might do injury, I would call & spend an hour with some pleasant family. But people are afraid of smallpox & would of course be afraid of me. But I don’t complain of anything now-a-days. I have learned to take events as they transpire and make the most and the best of everything.
Speaking of calling, I will just say that I love to drop in to a house about half past 7 o’clock and find them just as they live day by day. That is the way—and only way—to learn people. Many never go into their neighbors houses except when invited specially & then everything is fixed up for the occasion. The life and daily action is not seen. But going at any time & take them by surprise, then you see how they live. I have thus visited families for nearly a quarter of a century. <y profession led me thus of course but aside from that, I have been in the habit of making evening calls. That is the most pleasant way of visiting and enjoying social life. Then “Aunt Hap” used to make “family visits,” — that is, go in the morning and stay all day. It seems to me that some of my worthy aunts in Rutland used to call them “visitations” when she made family visits, and you may wonder why I should mention her name in connection with this subject, but that is quite the way with me. I am apt to associate some ludicrous or ridiculous circumstance to enforce a truth. I never forget a character and I have in my mind scores of persons whom I have not seen for 25 or 30 years whose virtues or vices, weaknesses or foibles, are daily furnishing new material for thought where parallel or like characters are met with. Hardly a day passes but I tel someone in some way or other a yard of my youth.
Whether I am at the fireside of some good family or in my own room, ot at our common table in the hospital, or when I resolve myself into a committee of the whole on the state of the ward, when something occurs to displease me, some story I read or heard in my childhood comes in play. I find some little events that transpired wile I was a little unimportat boy serve for material to help along conversation when it gets dull. But I suppose now & in future my war stories will take the lead. I can astonish people by some dreadful story and who knows but I may get to be a really “yarner.” But I must “dry up” for this time, for you will begin to call this tedious. So I will stop right here for the bottom of the sheet stares me in the face. So good night and maybe it will not be long before I can finish what I began to say face to face.
Your cousin, — F. K. Bailey
~5~
Quincy, Illinois
February 26, 1863
My dear cousin,
I was agreeably surprised a day or two ago to be the recipient of a letter from you. It was handed to me while I was at the bedside of one of my patients, but did not open till I had finished my round.
There are but 132 bedsides to visit now, and you may think that I don’t have much to do, but I must beg leave to differ with you that “pint” if you do think so. I guess that is more than you ever saw in our house sick. This number I can very easily prescribe for in about two hours. I find there is some difference between visiting patients in hospital and in the city and country. I am feeling very well at present but it is since I came here that I consider my health was restored since the sickness I had in March. I am about as well as ever I was in my life, and I am in the most favorable position to keep well, that I could select. I am not at all exposed to the cold or wet, and have not been caught in a shower in a shown since the last day I was at home. You may remember the occasion. I had been at the house of a friend on Scott Street. Well, I must not stop to write more now because I am expecting to attend a pot pourri (or something of the kind) at Concert Hall this evening, & I must go and call on the lady whom I had invited to attend with me. I will write you all about it when I shall have returned. It is all for the benefit of the soldier & of course should be encouraged. So no more now for it is about 6 o’clock P. M.
Friday P. M. I have just got a few minutes to write about the entertainment last night. It was a most grand affair, there being about 500 present and tableaux, charades, music &c constituted the program. The first charade was Phantom, Tableaux were “Highland Mary,” The Maiden, bride & widow. Paul before Agrippa, Esther before King Ahasuerus in two scenes, the Tom Thumb Wedding, & many others that I can’t remember, among other things was the Old Folks Kitchen & looked really natural. There was the cupboard with pewter dishes (made of tin), a wood mortar & pestle on top, a line stringing diagonally across the room on which were dried apples, dried pumpkin, sausages &c. and many other things too numerous to mention. There is to be a repetition next Sunday evening with an entire change of program.
This evening I expect to attend an Odd Fellows’ Festival (no, not festival but sociable). The program is about as follows. First singing, 2nd address by Mr. [Martin W.] Willis the Unitarian Minister of Quincy (whom by the way I esteem a very fine man and classical writer). Then promenade, collation, after which dancing. I don’t think I shall dance myself for one good reason at least. I may look on possibly. Speaking of dancing, however, I presume that have the name of an opposer of dancing from having been so mixed up in that affair at Young’s Hall once, and I then was opposed to dancing because it was fairly decided by the committee of arrangements (of which I was on) that there should be no dancing and one of the committee proved false to his vote on committee. But I need not enlarge on this subject for I presume you understand my position. Family down here and I have as yet seen none that oppose it—even among the members of orthodox churches.
But I can’t write more now as I must “dress for the sociable,” as you ladies would say. I hope you won’t think I am getting gay for I must go somewhere during the evening as my head gets so confused by the hurly burly of the day that relaxation is absolutely imperative.
Well, I went to the Odd Fellows’ Sociable and staid till about 10. Saw them dance Polka and Scottish 2 or 3 times. Did not see more than half dozen that I had ever met & therefore I could not make it very pleasant. Still I had a chance to see & that is what I went for. On the whole the company did not compare with most circles I have previously met in Quincy.
I am sorry to hear that Schoolhouse No. 2 has been burned up. It must have made a hot fire. But I can’t drill tonight for I am so sleepy. Beautiful day it has been and by the way, a couple of U. S. Sanitary Commission [members] called on us today & I was gratified to have one of them say to me that the appearance of No. 3 was quite satisfactory. A notice from Cincinnati today says, “400 more sick are ordered from Louisville to Quincy.” That looks like more work ahead and still they will come. Melancholy consideration. Good night.
Saturday 11 A. M. I have finished my morning round and will now try to finish this letter. I feel. none the worse for my last evening dissipation. It is rainy and gloomy today & we shall have gloomy weather for sometime yet, I presume.
I have nothing new to communicate. My love to “Freddy and Mary” with kind regards to “Fred,” Mr. Parker, & in fact to one and all of my numerous (it is hoped) friends in Joliet. Miss Hall is near you now I conclude. Remember me to her if you please for I have not forgotten the flag quilt.
I may have something new to write when I reply to your next (presuming, is it not?). I would like much to surprise you with a call sometime even if I had to go into the kitchen to visit with you. One who can grace the drawing room should be able to move with ease and dignity in the kitchen, all of which we will suppose to be true in your case. (I excel in the dining room.) Now goodbye and may a kind Providence watch over you and yours in all. the vicissitudes of this checkered life.
Believe me as ever your affectionate cousin, — F. K. Bailey
~6~
Quincy, Illinois
April 10, 1863
My dear cousin,
Yours of the 6th came duly to hand this P. M. I find it hanging on my wire in which I put unfinished business. I will endeavor to answer it so that tomorrow’s mail will not have to wait for it. Sometimes I am not able to get letters ready by 3 P. M. and consequently the train will not wait. (Strange! isn’t it?) Well, about the medicine.
The pills contain the same as others you have taken, except an ingredient which has no effect upon the head. There must be some different condition of your stomach than formerly for ordinarily no such effect is felt. The better way will be to divide the pills, instead of taking one a day. You had better use the injections of course and use quite a quantity of water too. Enough to produce a feeling of distension. The bowels will be thus stimulated throughout. There must be some local affection of the stomach to produce such dyspeptic symptoms and the pills may be too active. Half a pill may be enough to produce the effect.
Rubbing the spine opposite the stomach will be good, supposing you try the electromagnetic machine that Mr. Parker has.
I really wish I could see you for as you remark, it is difficult to form a correct and complete [diagnosis] of a case so far off. I have a great variety of diseases to treat in my hospital and in some classes I am becoming quite and adept. Diseases of the heart and lung are most common and there are so many that I can have all the opportunity needed to study such cases. You must write from time to time how you are and I may find I am “New Winkle” as Aunt Gookin used to say.
I had a letter from [my son] Edward yesterday and he speaks of being home. He seems pleased with his room mate & I am glad he has someone with him. Now I do think the “clerical affair” is really the mixedest up mess entirely. Singular that the Bishop should exclude reporters when Mr. H is willing to have them present, and especially when the whole things has become so ridiculously public.
I am really sorry for the ladies who are so curiously involved. I am occasionally asked here about the matter and I can only say that I know part of the ladies and no more—nothing more. You must be on the qui vivo in Joliet & with the hourly expectation of news from Charleston and Vicksburg. You must be rather excited in the quiet and order loving City of Joliet. The Quincy folks had some trouble about Mr. Egan of Galena because he would not pray for the soldiers and you better believe the Episcopal ladies here are for the Union (Tell [my daughter] Cynthia I mean the National Union). Some of them are my most constant callers & are real good too. I don’t make any denominational distinctions now-a-days but find all are equally friendly to the sick soldiers.
I attend Episcopal church sometimes on Sunday evening but generally go to the 1st Congregational. I am invited to sit with a good Yankee family whose pew is now full. I find every attention paid to seating strangers in all the churches.
Oh! the Father Kemp Company of Singers have been here this week and as you. say, it was “perfectly splendid.” I generally succeed in finding good company when I attend concerts. I invited Father [Robert] Kemp to visit my hospital but they were all engaged and so he thanked me for my invitation and proved the sincerity of his professions by giving me a couple of complimentary tickets. In that case of course, I ought not to go alone.
You have no idea of the great numbers of ladies here compared with that of men. Crowds of ladies club together and go to such public assemblies unattended by a gentleman. The war has taken nearly two regiments from Quincy, notwithstanding it is such a Copperhead town. I would like very much to have my wife and Cynthia here with me. I don’t know as it would be best but Cynthia could have some advantages where I am that she could not have anywhere else of course. A father is quite a convenience to a young lady as well as a mother as you may be aware. I hear good accounts of the Misses Gilbert from reliable sources. Some claim to be a judge of young ladies. My native timidity prevents me from seeing the ladies much and I scarcely ever call on them except in the evening and they generally call on my during the day.
Thus you see that circumstances conspire to bring me into female society somewhat. Thus on Monday evening I attend Good Templars where ladies do meet. On Thursday evening we have a Soldier’s Club where ladies so meet. This next Wednesday & Thursday evenings I heard the Old Folk’s Concert where ladies do love to meet. Tonight I have not fully decided where I shall go but the fact is I can hardly go to any place but what I find ladies present. Is not that strange? But as music is the most agreeable of noises, so ladies may be termed the most agreeable of mortals. You may not agree with me in this respect for you are probably prejudiced in favor of the gentlemen. I don’t wish to [debate] you on this question, however, for it don’t pay to argue with the ladies. Dr. Hein has been here and has taken his wife to Nashville. To borrow an expression of your own, “I find I am near the bottom of the street.” I may add more before mailing and would here ask you to inform my dear daughter Cynthia that her pen once so ready and eloquent has been of late almost silent.
Goodbye and believe me your affectionate cousin, — F. K. Bailey
Spared & Shared 22 