Tad Lincoln's Father

Chapter 6

six Doctor Barnes, the surgeon of the Twenty-seventh New York, was an old friend of my father and well liked by all the family. As he saw I had a good deal of spare time, he said be would make me his “assistant surgeon.” I was at first highly complimented by this imposing title and had visions of assisting him in complicated operations and being sent to stanch the wounds of handsome soldiers, but I soon found that my duties were more like those of a secretary. He was, I believe, supposed to have a qualified assistant surgeon under him, but that young doctor, for some reason or other, still remained in the North and did not join the regiment while it remained in Washington. When I proudly announced my appointment to my friends at the White House, Mrs. Lincoln seemed pleased, and the President, rumpling my curls after a habit he had, said laughingly, “Well, well. Little Julie an assistant surgeon. When McClellan hears that, he’ll advance on Richmond at once.” It was about this time that the administration was being severely criticized by Northern papers for delaying the advance against Richmond and I think Mr. Lincoln himself was rather tired of the excuses offered by the army leaders. I have spoken of his habit of ruffling my curls. He would put his hand on my head and rotate it rapidly, causing my curls to stand out in all directions. This seemed to please him better than it did me. It did, however, serve one good purpose. It gave me a ready excuse whenever my mother criticized the appearance of my hair. I could always say, “I can’t help it when the President tad lincoln’s father 41 musses up my curls every time he sees me.” My mother had no answer to that. SurgeonBarneshadmanylettersofinquiryfromfriendsandrelatives about soldiers of the Twenty-seventh. Some were sick, two or three shot themselves with their own guns, being unused to firearms. Some did not trouble to write home. The surgeon would scribble a few words on the outside of these letters of inquiry and pass them over to me to make into pleasant letters of reply. When the Twenty-seventh was ordered over the Long Bridge into Virginia I was given the duty of visiting the members of the regiment who remained behind in different hospitals and reporting their condition to the surgeon twice a week. Two of the soldiers I visited were very ill and only fit for a discharge andtobesenthome,intheopinionofthehospitalsurgeon.Accordingly I filled out the discharge papers, which, however, needed the signatures of the colonel and regimental surgeon to make them official. So my father and I applied at the Provost Marshal’s office for a pass to visit the Twenty-seventh, encamped in front of Munson’s Hill in Virginia. We knew Major Slipper but were sternly, if smilingly, made to take the “ironclad oath” before a pass was given us. The pass was limited to two days. With some difficulty we secured a Negro to drive us to the camp. He had an ancient horse hitched to a more ancient, dilapidated buggy and regaled us all the way with hair-raising stories of the terrible soldiers. “I don’t trus’ no so’gers,” he declared in parting, when we arrived at the camp. “Norf and Souf so’gers is all de same. None of ’em keer who gits killed.” Having delivered this final warning, he drew whip over his ancient nag and disappeared swiftly in a cloud of dust. We were joyfully received in camp. My father was quartered with the surgeon and a nice little tent was put up for me between the surgeon and the colonel. There were two or three women in camp, wives of soldiers, and one captain’s wife had “sneaked in” without a pass. About the middle of that first night I was awakened by the “long roll,” usually the call to arms when the camp is attacked. It is a low, monotonous roll of the drums. I shall never forget the strange, weird sound of that long roll. I rose and put on my dress, a blue flannel suit as much like a uniform as my 42 tad lincoln’s father mother would permit. When I tried to open my tent flap, I found it fastened on the outside. Finally getting...