her go any farther, when springing from the ambulance, she fell on her knees before him and begged her way through. Thus while Miss Dix and her faithful nurses were detained three miles away, she was inside the lines and ready for action. When almost on the battlefield they came to a little negro cabin and resolved to use it for a hospital. It was a tiny affair, but on opening the door they found that it was already occupied. A terrified crowd of negroes had sought shelter there. Almost wild with fear, they could scarcely obey the order, "Be oft," but were soon on their way to Washington. The preparation had not been made any too quickly for almost immediately wounded men began to arrive. The little cabin would hold about fifty, and after Mr. Fowle had done what he could for one patient he was removed and another took his place. When the stores had been distributed Mrs. Fowle determined to go in and help care for the wounded. She found the floor completely hidden with blood, but she entered firmly and helped to bind up fearful wounds until the close of that famous Sunday night when the army retreated. Mrs. Fowle carried to her death a scar on her face as a relic of war time, and its story defines her whole attitude during the Civil War. A large carbuncle, the result of blood poisoning while washing wounds on the battlefield, appeared on her cheek. The doctor said it must be lanced. Having a horror of a knife and with nerves already quivering from the sights around her she did not feel equal to the ordeal. Still knowing it must be done she said, "Let me go over to the Judiciary Hospital and see the boys who have had their arms and legs amputated and I can bear it." A chair was placed in one end of the ward and calmly seating herself she looked for a moment at the long rows of cots then told the surgeon to go on. After the close of the war Mr. and Mrs. Fowle resided in Baltimore.
The Woman's Relief Corps, Auxiliary to the Grand Army of the Republic.
Introduction by Mary M. North.
When the war cloud hangs darkly over a land, then is the strength of woman made perfect, and she is ready with the kindly ministrations which can only come from the sympathetic hand of the home-maker—the mother, wife, sister, daughter, sweetheart—the loyal woman.
When the dove of peace had taken its departure from our own fair land, and the boom of cannon was heard upon that fateful day in April, '6i, then there arose the need for the kindly ministrations of woman, and as ever, she was ready with
