Showing posts with label Consumption. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Consumption. Show all posts

Friday, June 7, 2019

Diary of to Amos A. Lawrence: January 10, 1859

Cold. 14° below zero at my house. Much colder elsewhere, especially in New Hampshire and Vermont. 38 in Montpelier and in some other places. Rode over to Cambridge. Asked a boy about a poor woman who is dying of consumption. He knew her and told me she had been burnt out (of the old Porter Tavern) and was living near. He jumped on my horse and rode him up and down the road while I went in and found the poor woman. She was overjoyed at seeing me, and laughed and cried by turns.

SOURCE: William Lawrence, Life of Amos A. Lawrence: With Extracts from His Diary and Correspondence, p. 152

Thursday, April 7, 2016

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Saturday, July 8, 1865

Captain Spencer returned to our company today. He is in ill health and it is supposed that he has consumption. He is a fine officer, tall, and as straight as an arrow. He is kind to his men at all times, on or off duty. We still have dress parade every evening.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 286

Saturday, October 3, 2015

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: August 10, 1863

Spent this morning in the house of mourning. Our neighbour Mrs. Stebbins has lost her eldest son. The disease was “that most fatal of Pandora's train,” consumption. He contracted it in the Western Army. His poor mother has watched the ebbing of his life for several months, and last night he died most suddenly. That young soldier related to me an anecdote, some weeks ago, with his short, oppressed breathing and broken sentences, which showed the horrors of this fratricidal war. He said that the day after a battle in Missouri, in the Fall of 1861, he, among others, was detailed to bury the dead. Some Yankee soldiers were on the field doing the same thing. As they turned over a dead man, he saw a Yankee stop, look intently, and then run to the spot with an exclamation of horror. In a moment he was on his knees by the body, in a paroxysm of grief. It was his brother. They were Missourians. The brother now dead had emigrated South some years before. He said that before the war communication had been kept up between them, and he had strongly suspected that he was in the army; he had consequently been in constant search of his brother. The Northern and Southern soldier then united in burying him, who was brother in arms of the one, and the mother's son of the other!

The Bishop and Mrs. J. returned home to-day from their long trip in the South-west. They travelled with great comfort, but barely escaped a raid at Wytheville. We welcomed them gladly. So many of our family party are wandering about, that our little cottage has become lonely.

Mr. C. has come out, and reports a furious bombardment of Sumter. This has been going on so long, that I begin to feel that it is indeed impregnable,

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 236-7

Thursday, August 13, 2015

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: April 15, 1863

Spent yesterday in the hospital. I am particularly interested in two very ill men. One is a youth of seventeen years, who has been seventeen months in service. Poor boy! he is now sinking with consumption, and has lately been brought to our hospital from another. His case elicits great sympathy and kindness. His name is Stansberry, and he is from Baltimore. We have reason to hope that he is prepared to meet his God.

Letters (underground) from the Valley to-day. Millroy is doing his worst among the dear people there. It is grievous to think how much of Virginia is down-trodden and lying in ruins. The old State has bared her breast to the destroyer, and borne the brunt of battle for the good of the Confederacy, and this too after long and vain efforts for peace. Her citizens, young and old, are doing what they can. Her sons have bled and died, and are still offering themselves willing sacrifices on the country's altar. Her daughters are striving in their vocation in this hallowed cause, all looking to God for his blessing upon our efforts.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 207