daughter of
Justice Grier, of the United States Supreme Court. These ladies were
engaged in distributing supplies of various kinds, furnished by this
association, to the sick and wounded soldiers in the various hospitals.
They had an ambulance at their disposal, and one or two orderlies
detailed to assist them. Their work was most gracious and helpful, and
they were entitled to the greatest credit for their hard and
self-sacrificing labors. The red flag of the hospital floated over them,
and such protection as it afforded they had; but it may be well
understood that this location between two hostile armies, with active
hostilities likely to be resumed any moment, and in the midst of a
picket force keenly on the alert night and day, was not likely to be
selected as a sanitarium for cases of nervous prostration. The men on
picket had reason to remember Mrs. Harris, for those located at the
Lacey House daily partook of her bounty in the way of hot coffee, and
frequently a dish of good hot soup; and the officers stationed there,
usually three or four, were regularly invited to her table for all
meals. These invitations were sure to be accepted, for they afforded an
opportunity for a partially civilized meal. Her meals were always
preceded by a "grace" said by herself, while breakfast was followed by a
worship service, at which a chapter from the Bible was read and prayer
offered by her. These prayers I shall never forget--their sweet
fervency, in which the soldiers came in for a large share of her earnest
requests. This large-hearted, motherly little woman made a host of
friends among the boys in blue that winter. But her motherly kindness
was occasionally taken advantage of by some of those sons of Belial. One
of them told this story of his former tour of duty: The weather was
beastly uncomfortable, from rain and snow making a slush and mud,
through which they had tramped until thoroughly soaked. They concluded
they must have some hot whiskey punch. Mother Harris, they knew, had all
the necessary ingredients, but how to get them was the question. One of
them feigned a sudden attack of colic, and was all doubled up on the
floor, groaning piteously. Mother Harris was told of it. Of course, she
rushed in to render assistance. In reply to her inquiries, the rascal
could think of but one thing that would help him, and that was whiskey.
A bottle was instantly produced, and a dose administered which gave
partial relief; and now if