The surgeon in charge of our hospital boat had gone off to the field. There was no one in authority left on the boat, and we took possession. I had several boxes of canned oysters, and three or four barrels of crackers, but we soon exhausted these; then we began on the beef in the storeroom. Barrels of soup were made and distributed. The other two ladies made the soup, and I distributed it from boat to boat, and from one to another. Oh, the sights and scenes I witnessed that day! As I was carrying a bucket of soup across a gang-plank, an officer met me. He came bounding forward, with his sword clanging by his side. “Madam,” he said, “what are you doing?” I was startled nearly out of my wits, but I managed to say,-- “I am carrying soup to the wounded.” “Why, you ought not to do that. See here, soldier, I detail you to carry soup for this woman.” The soldier sprang forward and took the bucket of soup from my hand, and the officer went on. I never knew who he was. If this falls under his eyes, I want to thank him for his thoughtfulness. On and on, all day, I went with my assistant, while the two lady helpers worked as fast as they possibly could, to get the food ready. The distribution of food was very rapid. Men with broken legs and arms and gashed faces would hold out their tin cups or canteens to be filled. The tin cups were easily filled, but the canteens took longer. When they saw us coming, they would pound on the floor or on the side of the boat, calling piteously,-- “_Don’t pass me by._ I am here, lady; please give me some soup.” “Please, lady, pour some water on my arm, it is so dry and hot and the wound hurts so.” Without a moment’s relaxation the day passed in this kind of work. In the afternoon the gunboats stopped firing, and the news came that the Confederates were driven back. Oh, how much that meant to us all; for through all that morning the boats had their full head of steam on, so that if the army was driven to the river, as many as possible could escape by that means. Now and then I would help a surgeon who was dressing some of the worst wounds. My clothing was wet and muddy to the knees, and covered with blood, but I did not see it. I had not eaten a mouthful of food since the night before, but I did not know it. I was entirely unconscious of weariness and human needs. It was about ten o’clock at night when some one asked,-- “Did you have supper?” This little question called me to the consciousness of my condition. “No,” I answered; “I have not had a mouthful to eat since yesterday evening.” A surgeon operating near by looked at me earnestly, and then said, with the voice of authority,-- “Madam, stop work immediately. We will have you on our hands next.” I was cutting a fragment of a blue blouse away from the arm of a wounded young soldier. I continued my work till the bits of the blouse were gotten out, as far as I could see, then laid on a wet compress.