HOSPITAL DAYS

Reminisence of a Civil War Nurse

The popular image of the Civil War nurse is that of the angel of mercy, caring for the wounded on the battlefield. Hospital Days shows a woman nurse as administrator, establishing the groundwork for a new profession.

Jane Woolsey, Superintendent of Nurses at the Fairfax Seminary Hospital in Alexandria, Virginia, gives a contemporary insight into the medical practices of the period, the role of women, and the routine of a soldier's hospital recovery. Woolsey shares stories of hardship and courage based on her three years in the wards.

"Read this book! It is a wonderful addition to Civil War literature."--Jan Romanovich, The Citizen's Companion

"...a thoughtful commentary on the successes and failures of wartime nursing." --Agatha Young, Women and the Crisis

"Happily, over a century later, this wonderfully composed memoir is widely accessible, attractively presented, and affordable."--Civil War Magazine

"This excellent memoir will appeal to both scholars and general readers alike. Writing in a crisp narrative style, Woolsey enlivened her comprehensive narrative by including anecdotes. She could also touch the emotions deeply, without resorting to sentimentality."--Linda G. Black, The Civil War News

This second edition includes a new introduction by Daniel J. Hoisington.

ISBN 1-889020-09-5
Softbound. 5 1/2 x 8 1/2 144 pages
$14.95

Jane Stuart Woolsey
Following her service as hospital superintendent at Fairfax Seminary Hospital, Woolsey wrote her book, Hospital Days. The New York Evening Post called this preface: "One of the most perfect bits of English prose within our knowledge."

Preface
IN THE AUTUMN OF 1865 when the new Peace on all the hills and fields made them seem so sweet and fair, we found ourselves, a family long parted, exploring the by-roads in the north New Hampshire country. Following, one day, a winding green wagon-track, far from the main road, we came upon a desolate rough farm half way up the lower slopes of the Bartlett mountain. A dozen sheep were scattered over the stony fields, and among them sat a man in the full uniform of a Zouave, bagging trowsers, gay-braided jacket, cap, tassel, and long bright crimson scarf, complete. He had but just got home from some distant post, with very little back pay in his pocket for the sick wife, and none at all to spend in sober clothes, and had gone at once to work upon the obstinate farm, all in his gay attire. He seemed a little stunned by the silence round him. He missed the drums, he said.

We had a little talk over the old days already so distant although so near, and left him, the sun touching the red and the blue of his bright garments, tending his sheep under the solemn hills. One who sits and listens for the drums to-day seems like the Zouave among the sheep-crofts; the flags and the music have marched so far away. And yet there may be some, in these times of gain-getting, pleasure-seeking, and reaction who are not sorry to look backward a little, now and then, and refresh from the old fountains their courage and their love of country.

Copyright ©2006 Edinborough Press