neat in her dress she was indifferent to its attractiveness and amid flying sparks from open fires her calico dress would take fire, and was full of little holes. Someone asked her if she were not afraid of being burned. She replied, "My boys put me out." With her clothing in this condition she visited Chicago late in the summer of 1863. The women immediately replenished her wardrobe, and soon after sent her a box of nice clothing for her own use. Some of the articles were richly trimmed, among them two nightgowns. She traded off most of the articles with the rebel women of the place for eggs, butter and other good things for
her sick soldiers, but she was soon to go to Cairo, and she thought the nightgowns would sell for more there. On her way, however, in one of the towns on the Mobile and Ohio Railroad she found two soldiers who had been discharged from the hospital before their wounds had healed. The exertion of travel had opened them afresh. They were in an old shanty bleeding, hungry and penniless. Mrs. Bickerdyke took them at once in hand, washed their wounds, stopped the flow of blood, tore off the bottoms of the gowns and used them for bandages. Then, as the men had no shirts she dressed them in the fine nightgowns, ruffles, lace and all. They demurred a little but she commanded them as their superior officer to obey, and they could only join in the hearty laugh with which she suddenly transformed them into two dandies and sent them on their way.
One of her best known acts is an "interference" that gained for her the title of "General." It was at the time when the Confederates attempted to recapture Corinth and attack the defense, October 3, 1862. The whole action was rapid and concerted. The Board of Trade Regiment, twelve hundred strong, had marched twenty-four miles to enter the conflict, and only four hundred returned. Toward evening Mother Bickerdyke saw a brigade hurrying forward and learned that they had been marching since noon and were about to join in the struggle. The officer in command was requested to let them rest a few minutes, but refused. So the worn-out men were passing the hospital when a strong voice cried "Halt." Instinctively they obeyed, and attendants began to distribute soup and coffee. Meanwhile their canteens were filled and each received a loaf of bread. "Forward march," came the order in a very few minutes, and it was found that the time lost was more than compensated for by the renewed courage of the men, who had no other chance to rest until midnight. Mrs. Bickerdyke had given the order to halt herself, when she found no one else would do it. That her interference was deeply appreciated was shown by the many letters and visits she received from these same men at the close of the war. When the army was ordered to Charleston for the grand review, and the soldiers realized that they were soon to meet the loved ones at home, they became as light-hearted as boys, and the march from Louisiana was a joyous one. Mrs. Bickerdyke accompanied them, riding her glossy horse. She wore a simple calico dress and as always a large sunbonnet. She crossed the Long Bridge in advance of the Fifteenth Army Corps and was met by Dorothea Dix and others who came to welcome her to the Capital. This was a triumph such as few women have ever attained, and during the weeks following she was everywhere treated with the greatest respect and consideration. The calico dress and sunbonnet were sold for one hundred dollars, and preserved as relics of the Rebellion. This money she spent
