Hospital Steward: Jacob Banta's Civil War Service
“The Regiment never made a better display of the pageantry of war than on that day,” wrote Dr. John Rerick, the regiment’s surgeon in a later history. The uniforms and equipment were pristine in a way that they never would be again. Jacob held the position of hospital steward, a non-commissioned officer. As such, he had a thick crimson stripe down the seam of his pants versus the sky-blue of the enlisted men, and a green half chevron on his arm. On his dress blues that day, he wore a red worsted sash wound twice around his waist. He had a sword belt with a sword hanging from his waist. He had a black felt hat with a feather on one side. On this dress occasion, he wore white cotton gloves.
It was the only time Jacob and the entire regiment would ever march together. Their route was about a mile from Camp Allen on the banks of the St. Mary’s River to the depot on Calhoun Street.
The 44th began forming in early October at Camp Allen, a raw collection of tents and two ramshackle buildings. Jacob enlisted November 22nd. He was 49, father of 10 (seven living), and already a grandfather of 10. Until July, he was the postmaster of Pierceton, Indiana in Kosciusko County. What inspired him to join a day before the Regiment was leaving for war? Was he talked into it, urged by a friend? Did financial pressures tip his hand?
However it happened, Jacob found himself at this send-off ceremony at the depot. The mayor of Fort Wayne gave an inspirational and lengthy speech of the kind considered appropriate in that era. At the end he presented the regiment with a flag with the 34 stars of the United States, made by “patriotic ladies” of Fort Wayne. He ended with a series of questions:
“Do you solemnly promise to love this flag? (“Yes!” the men shouted.)
Do you promise to honor it? (Yes!)
Do you promise to obey it? (Yes!)
Do you promise to sustain and defend it, even unto death? (Yes!)
“I then, in this presence and before these witnesses solemnly join you in the American Flag; and what we have now joined together let not Jeff Davis or his minions put asunder!”
There was a bit more “speechifying,” as an official from the regiment accepted the flag. Finally the men boarded the trains. It took three to accommodate so many men plus all the equipment of a regiment. They arrived in Indianapolis at three in the morning in the midst of a snow storm, and immediately set up tents in the frigid air. Winter came in like a lion, the newspaper said.
On the 26th, they boarded the Terre Haute and Vincennes Railroad, bound for Evansville. Today the drive from Indianapolis to Evansille is about two hours and 45 minutes. Then, it was a 13-hour journey on hard wooden seats. The Evansville Daily Journal published a notice announcing the men of the 44th would arrive in town at 8:00 a.m., tired and hungry. The ladies of town were asked to send coffee and edibles to the market house before then.
The trains actually pulled in at 11:00 and the men marched to the market house at noon where “a bountiful dinner” had been prepared by the ladies. The newspaper noted that the men were a fine-looking bunch but had not had time to “perfect themselves in masterly drill.”
“The boys all inquired eagerly as to the prospect of a fight across the river, and seemed to be anxious to find the secesh,” the Daily Journal said.
Afterwards, the regiment went to set up camp on the east side of town “and for a few days suffered no little from exposure to the cold and unusually inclement weather,” Dr. Rerick wrote. He said at the time, they considered it rough going, but looking back with experienced veterans’ eyes, they would have accepted such conditions “with feelings of much relief.” Quickly, men began to get sick, especially falling victim to measles.
The Hospital Seward
It was not easy to find men to fill the position of hospital steward. It was a demanding job with many responsibilities that few qualified for. He was in charge of the hospital and the dispensary. He had to be knowledgeable in minor surgery, the extraction of teeth, the application of cups and leeches, and the application of bandages and dressings. He had to have basic cooking skills and be able to keep accurate records and books. He was responsible for ordering and keeping inventory of all medical and hospital supplies and overall hospital administration, including supervising male nurses. In many locations he also compounded the drugs. In short, a hospital steward was both a hospital administrator and a pharmacist. All this had to be accomplished on the move, constantly packing and unpacking a hospital.
As far as character, he had to be known as a man of temperate habits, intelligent, honest, patient, and good-tempered, according to the Manual of Hospital Stewards. He had to be motivated by a desire to compassionately minister to the needs of the sick and wounded.
The senior medical officer had to approve his appointment. Despite the small candidate pool, the selection process was rigorous and included a written application. The hospital steward should not be over the age of 35.
Yet Jacob got the job at 49 (although the military listed him as 44). When he enlisted, his pay was $22 a month with one ration a day, one cord of wood monthly for the winter months (half a cord otherwise), and the clothing allowance of enlisted men. In April 1862, Congress increased the pay to $30 a month. (Female nurses were paid 40 cents a day, or $8 a month. Laundresses were paid $6 monthly.)
There was a lot of responsibility on Jacob’s shoulders. Creating an army, creating a training camp, creating a field hospital – all of it was like building a plane while flying it. There was no precedent for what he was now tasked to do, and the hospital steward’s manual wouldn’t be published for another year. He had an inventory form to be filled out each week - how many bed pans were there? How many spittoons? The dispensary had to be mobile and required quick assembly and disassembly. Significant time was spent just in packing the glass bottles that held drugs. And increasing numbers of men kept getting sick.
Background
Jacob was born in Preble County, Ohio in 1812. His military records say he was 44 at enlistment. The date on his family gravestone says he was 49. It’s likely he shaved off a few years to join the Union; I am going with the family. He was the son of Albert Banta Jr. and Mary Ackerman. Mary was from Maryland; Albert was part of an extraordinary family descended from Dutch Frisian settlers in New Amsterdam (New York) in the 1650s. (There are Dutch, German and Danish Frisians.) For almost two hundred years the Bantas lived in colonies of other Dutch descendants, keeping their language, culture and religion, moving to New Jersey; Conestoga, Pennsylvania; Kentucky, and Ohio trying to stay away from English influences. As this insularity began breaking up, Bantas moved into Indiana.
Jacob and his brother John V. Banta married sisters, two of the Rohrer girls, in Darke County, Ohio in 1832. John, 22, married Catherine, 17. Jacob was 19 and Mary Magdalena was only 15. Both couples moved to Indiana; each had large families. John was a wagon maker and Jacob became a doctor.
In May 1857 Jacob was appointed postmaster of Pierceton, a town created by the construction of the railroad. The post office was established just three years earlier. The postmaster position was then a political patronage job and position of trust. Postmasters were selected based on their political affiliations, and their standing in the community and past business success. They handled money and were relied on for honest information by federal agencies, such as in determining who qualified for a pension.
In July 1861, Jacob was replaced. This likely meant that he had supported Stephen A. Douglas for president in the 1860 election.
Daily Details in the 44th
December 9th, The First Fatality: David Wirt, a private in Company E, died of disease. He was buried with military honors in the city cemetery in Evansville, and nearly all the soldiers attended. There were 30 sick in the regiment hospital.
December 11th, The First March: Under orders from General Thomas Crittenden, they left Evansville at 8:00 a.m. and set off on their first march, 12 miles to Henderson, Kentucky. The road was muddy but the day pleasant, and the men were in high spirits according to Captain Charles F. Kinney, who reported on the 44th, Company A in letters to his hometown newspaper in Steuben, Indiana. The men carried their guns, cartridge boxes, canteens and haversacks. Their knapsacks and blankets were shipped by steamer. A haversack differs from a knapsack in that it is small, has a single strap, and is intended to hold food.
They halted at noon and had a lunch of cold beef and bread. Then on they moved, reaching the bank of the river opposite Henderson around 2:30. A steamer was waiting for them, which ferried them across. Once more they got into formation and marched another mile and a half before arriving at their campsite southeast of town. The tents were already there, and soon they had their “cloth village” set up. Kinney describes it as a very pleasant site with large maples and elms that would have been wonderful clothed in leaves. There was a stream along the edge of the field with the best water outside Steuben, Kinney’s men said.
Due to a mistake, “mismanagement in some quarter,” bales of blankets and knapsacks were not sent in the first load as they were supposed to be, so the men of Company A, and others, had tents and fires but no blankets. The night was freezing cold and they were exhausted, but there was little they could do. The steamer with these missing, vital supplies arrived at midnight. The drayman, who had worked all day and until then, midnight, refused to haul any more baggage and went home to bed. In the morning, their goods were finally delivered. They would remain in the field camp through the month.
Henderson, Kentucky
When the men crossed the river into Kentucky, they found themselves faced with novel situations. For most, it was their first experience in field camp. But secondly, they were in strange territory.
In most of Kinney’s letters, he describes the novelty of seeing enslaved people, or really, even the novelty of seeing Black people. The three counties forming the Henderson area had the state’s second-largest population of people in bondage - 22 to 40 percent of the population, depending on the county. Theirs was a slave-based economy focused on a particularly prized tobacco. Kinney described the richness of the farmland, and the beauty of the Kentucky landscape. He thought Henderson was a very pretty city. He commented that he had yet to see a white man working, because he saw the enslaved doing everything.
Kentucky originally declared neutrality before aligning with the Union. Community leaders in the Henderson area in general were “conservative unionists,” as a historian dubbed them. They believed both abolition and secession were too extreme, and that the “perpetuation of the Union was the only way to preserve the slave-based social order.” The federal government appeased these slaveholders by issuing orders that the federal army would not assist slaves in running away or otherwise interfere with slave ownership.
The Henderson area experienced the Civil War in three stages. The first was hoping they could be unaffected, and continuing life as before. This lasted until Jacob’s regiment crossed the Ohio.
Suddenly, the war was real and present. Stage Two hit hard. The people of the Henderson area experienced the arrival of the 44th as an occupation. Dr. Rerick reported that the men of the 44th felt like they had crossed into enemy territory. They could feel the cool reception, in contrast to the enthusiastic crowds and eagerly-served community meals back home.
To avoid any diplomatic incidents, they were under strict orders not to talk to the enslaved or to help them at all. The men of the 44th believed some of the local population was just itching for them to try something, silently daring them to, so the locals would be justified in striking at them. Dr. Rerick wrote of an incident in which four or five free Black men were tricked, kidnapped and sent south while they were in Henderson. Yet they could do nothing.
“Such were the sentiments…and such were the orders of the Government, that a commander of troops on slave soil, fighting for the union of the states attempted to be overthrown by a rebellion whose cornerstone was acknowledged to be slavery…[could] not rescue a brother man with a dark face, stolen to serve the men in the rebel army,” he wrote.
December 12-31, Sickness in Camp: As the weeks passed, about ten percent of the men were sick and a hospital was established in an old hotel. Pneumonia, typhoid fever and diphtheria were on the scene, diseases of misery. The wives of two men had accompanied the regiment hoping to serve as nurses. They were certainly welcomed. An overflow of men were sent back to a Marine Hospital the federal government established in Evansville.
Christmas 1861: “The holydays do not change the monotony of camp life,” wrote C.F. Kinney. “The sentry silently treads his beat as usual – the companies perform their usual amount of drilling –the officers attend as usual to their thousand and one duties: but there is a class here in the South, that if enjoyment is for them at any time, it is the last week of the year. We refer, of course, to the slave.”
Kinney reported seeing hundreds pass by the camp in that week. Traditionally, it was the one time of year when people held in slavery were allowed days off and “jollification.” At this time, some were paid for extra work they did in hiring out to others.
January 1, 1862, The Next-to-Last Slave Auction: The annual New Year’s slave market went on as usual, and was a novelty witnessed by most of the officers and some of the enlisted. Captain Kinney described what he saw in his letter to the newspaper. When slave owners had more enslaved people than they had work, they auctioned them off for a year to landowners who couldn’t afford to purchase a human outright. Kinney used the racist terms that were used so casually at the time. Leaving that out, he said a man would be placed standing on a wagon for the crowd to easily see him, then bidding began. A healthy 30-year old man was hired out at $180 to $225 with two summer and one winter suit and a blanket to be supplied. The employer also had to agree to pay for any doctor bills. If the man in bondage died in the course of the year, his employer still had to pay the full auction amount.
Orders to Calhoun: Calhoun, Kentucky was a small town of little more than 500 people. It had a strategic location, however, along the Green River, which was an important trade route with busy steamboat traffic. Controlling that access was vital. Near the end of September, other Indiana regiments were sent to the area. When the 44th arrived, the total number of federal troops was between 10,000 to 15,000 men. The Louisville Courier-Journal reported that the horses in General Crittendon’s division consumed 98 tons of hay per week. With no army depot, no Costco, it’s hard to imagine the logistics of feeding so many men each day.
Calhoun was 34 miles from Henderson, and made for a “very unpleasant tramp of four days through mud, rain and slush,” Dr. Rerick said. A winter camp was set up.
The Confederate sympathizers in Calhoun did not make things pleasant. A letter from an Indiana infantryman to his brother, dated December 29th said, “the rebels are continually committing all manner of depredations upon the property of Union men. They went to Dr. Bailey’s house last night, and not finding him, cursed and abused his wife awfully, and thus they conduct themselves everywhere in the vicinity. If they fail to find the man they are in search of, they maltreat the woman in the coarsest manner.” This was a serious violation of the Victorian code of behavior, of course.
January 15, 1862, Marching and Moving: A little more than a week later they were moved 10 miles up the Green River to South Calhoun. Jacob would have been packing and unpacking, setting up and taking down hospital facilities.
Weather was “exceedingly inclement,” and the sick list increased. On January 25, in advance of an anticipated rebel attack, men were set to work felling trees and putting up breastworks. On the 30th the sick were ordered to be taken by boat to Calhoun. “At that early stage of the war the facilities for caring for the sick were very poor and inadequate,” Dr. Rerick said. At Calhoun there were about 1,000 sick and “no general hospital provision whatsoever. The sick were sheltered in “bar rooms, vacant buildings, a church, a Masonic hall, and scattered in dwelling houses.” There was only one physician. This had to be stressful for the hospital steward.
The rest of the regiment marched back to Calhoun on February 1st. Short distance or not, it was wearing, setting up and breaking down camp, marching to and fro, and it “brought very many down,” Dr. Rerick said. The majority of the men were young and still green enough in the business of war to eagerly imagine themselves whooping the Rebs…but they still hadn’t seen battle. What was the point of what they were doing?
January 28, 1862, Another Death: The news -- or at least, the details – of Private Arthur Hayward’s death did not reach the newspaper closest to his hometown until March 8th. Arthur was a member of the 44th, Company H from LaGrange County, Indiana. He enlisted with William D. Groves, who cared for him in his final days. William wrote a letter that was cherished by Arthur’s family, and shared with the Steuben Republican. This was their coverage, followed by the letter:
Died at South Carrolton, Ky. on Tuesday Jan. 28th ARTHUR HAYWARD of the 44th Indiana Regiment, age 25 years, 6 months and 25 days.
Thus has perished another brave and estimable young man who was set for the defense of the Union and Liberty. Kentucky gave him a sepulcher in her bosom for a few weeks, from which his remains have been transferred to mingle with kindred dust in the State of his adoption….
Below is given an extract from the letter addressed to his only surviving, and stricken parent - a letter full of consolation and hope to the mourner, from the hand of one who watched the parting breath, and closed the weary eyes of the noble son, and brother.
“Green be the turf above thee,
Friend of my better days.”
“Arthur has been called from the tented field to a world of spirits. He no longer suffers in this tenement of clay; he no longer arises at the sound of the drum, to answer his name at roll call, showing himself ready to go forth to meet the enemy face to face, and ready to stand or fall for the principles of equity.
“A short time before he expired he said, I am ready, and willing to die.”
He gave an evidence that although the Typhoid Pneumonia might have power to lay his body in the cold grave, he was the victor – and conquered the monster Death, and that with him, all was well – that, beyond the “dark valley and shadow of death,” lay an eternity of rest, and he was going to enjoy it.
“Arthur was a good soldier and bold – a good man, and loved by all who knew him. His life has been a sacrifice for the cause of Liberty. He died on the tented field, but permit one to say, that he had every attention that could possibly be given him. Though he had not the gentle, loving attention of a kind mother or a gentle sister, yet he bore up manfully under his affliction, and yielded to the icy embraces of the stern “King of Terror” unwaveringly. He was never heard to murmur, or complain of his fate, but died a blessed martyr for his country.”
Wm. D. Groves.
Within a year, William too would be buried, though he was sent home sick and died there.
February 9, 1862, Orders to Tennessee: Time to move again. They left Calhoun and headed down the Green River to the Ohio, and on to Paducah. In his history of the 44th, Dr. Rerick included a poem one of the men wrote on a boat to Paducah. Here are a couple of stanzas:
Lines By a Hoosier Volunteer
On Ohio’s bright waters I’m floating once more,
As I send forth my greetings to Hoosierdom’s shore,
But a sigh is born with them far over the lee
For my own humble home in the land of the free.
For the perils of battle my heart may be steel,
But for the home-land and kindred ‘tis manly to feel;
Then a moment for grief, as my boat hurries past,
And I look, Indiana, on therefore the last.
February 11, 1862, The Fleet of Gunboats: About noon February 6th, Captain Andrew Hull Foote’s flotilla of gunboats - ironclads and timberlands - attacked Confederate Fort Henry. The mission was to cut Confederate supply lines by stopping river traffic. Cut off the supply lines, cut off the Confederacy. The Confederacy lacked naval craft, but the Union had this newly-constructed flotilla with 54 mounted guns, more than could be positioned at one time to point at the fort.
The battle was brief. Two of the Confederate cannons exploded on firing, or were left inoperable by inexperienced gun crews. As the gunboats came within 300 yards of the fort, the carnage inside was devastating. Decapitated and armless bodies, shattered gun carriages and battered parapets littered the scene. Yet for an hour and a half a Confederate force of about 100 men continued to put up a fight, while the infantry fled to Fort Donelson. Finally Brigadier General Lloyd Tighman asked for the terms of surrender.
“Your surrender will be unconditional,” he was told.
When the stars and bars were hoisted over Fort Henry, Union forces found abandoned pots of stew and other food, and sizable quantities of supplies including ordnance. On the road to Fort Donelson six abandoned cannons were mired in mud. Victory was certainly expected at Fort Donelson. Yet Foote was hesitant, because the flotilla had been damaged by Confederate fire. So Grant ordered General Lew Wallace to bring in reinforcements. This is where the 44th came in.
On the 11th, their movements looked like this: From Paducah they moved up the Tennessee River to Fort Henry. They spent only a few hours there when they were attached to General Lew Wallace’s division. This division was just about to leave with Captain Andrew Hull Foote’s fleet of gunboats to Fort Donelson.
February 14, 1862, Battle: They landed five miles below Fort Donelson. They were bivouacked that night, one of the coldest in that part of the country - 12 degrees Fahrenheit. No shelter and only one blanket apiece. Fires were banned because it would let the enemy know their precise location. A snow storm blew up overnight, snow and freezing rain. In the morning the soldiers could be seen emerging from “gravelike hillocks of snow.” By the time hardtack and coffee were served, the orders came to fall in. They had the five-mile march to Fort Donelson where they received heavy fire upon arrival.
The Battle of Fort Donelson was where the previously obscure Ulysses S. Grant earned his promotion to brigadier general. The Union’s successful capture of the fort, along with Fort Henry, gave access to the Cumberland River, a “highway” into the south. It resulted in nearly all of Kentucky and much of Tennessee falling under Union control.
Dr. Rerick went into a great deal of detail, including Col. Hugh B. Reed’s entire official report. The regiment lost seven men, killed in battle, had two missing and 34 wounded. That evening, Jacob would have been involved in a grim task. A detail was sent out to bring in the wounded, “who in the gloom of darkness could only be found by their moans.” Many were found frozen to the ground due to their blood-drenched clothing. One badly wounded man had to have his frozen hair cut to release him from the ground.
March 10, 1862, A Question of Illness: Immediately after the capture of Fort Donelson, the regiment moved back to Fort Henry where camp was set up. They were now assigned to a new division under General S.A. Hurlburt. On the 10th, they broke camp and boarded some 60 steamers and transports, which headed up the Tennessee River. During the journey and once they reached camp, an outbreak of diarrhea broke out so severely that scarcely a man was left unafflicted. As increasing numbers of men were excused from duty, commanders questioned the medical staff thinking they were being too lenient with the men. It was embarrassing, but this is the kind of problem that can make or break an army. The assistant surgeon suggested that the commander personally inspect the men who’d been excused from duty. He did so…and never questioned the judgment of the medical team again.
Mustering Out
Jacob wouldn't be moving on to Pittsburg, Tennessee with his comrades. He was going back home again, to Indiana. He was too sick to be able to serve, and was sent home where he could die in his own bed, attended by the hands of his wife, his children around him one more time.
Every detail would have been crucially important to the family, but unfortunately, they are lost. It’s confusing, too, as to exactly when he died. His Muster Out date is clear: March 21, 1862. He has two gravestones, one military and one not, which is unusual. The one paid for by the family says he died March 20th. Unfortunately, I have not found any newspaper items about his return or death.
Hillcrest Cemetery
It was summer 2019, and I saw the sign that said ‘Pierceton’ as I was driving towards the Indiana Dunes National Park. In spite of my deep interest in family history, I hadn’t planned on a visit to the little town and didn’t even realize I’d pass right by it. How could I not pull off the highway now?
Pierceton today has a population of a little over 900. The historic downtown was all built after Jacob’s death. Still, I imagine there would be a familiarity about the town if he were able to walk the streets again. The train tracks of course have not been moved since he rode the rails to Fort Wayne to enlist. The depot is in its same location, with an 1880s former hotel across from it, a familiar configuration in any town of the time. The small downtown stretches about a block with one-and two-story mostly brick buildings, the same location as in his lifetime. He would be amazed by the paved street and sidewalk, the total lack of pedestrian traffic, and the absence of horses. The lack of vital businesses - replaced by antique and gift shops - would be confusing, too.
Just outside of town is Hillcrest Cemetery, and here is where Jacob and Mary are buried. This gentle hill allows a view of farmland with the green edge of trees beyond it. This would be the most recognizable, changeless spot for them. Jacob and Mary are my third great-grandparents.
I wandered around searching for their graves, but didn’t find them. Later I mentioned this to the proprietor of an antique and gift shop downtown, and she suggested I stop in at the township trustee’s office. The office was closed for his lunch break, but he would have a record of their precise location. I considered it, but that day was the only one I had available to see the Indiana Dunes, so I did not wait around.
Later one of my sisters asked if I was disappointed that I didn’t get to see their graves. I wasn’t. This was a stop I hadn’t expected, and it was a gift just to be in the cemetery, walking where they once attended many a burial, seeing a view that had to be very similar to what they saw.
“How we remember the past makes a difference in our present lives,” said Fath [correct spelling] Davis Ruffins, a curator of African American history and culture for the Smithsonian. “It may not be as urgent as responding to present-day needs of present-day people,” she told the New York Times in a July 2023 article. But memory and remembrance is part of the human experience, she said.
Sources:
“More Soldiers Coming,” The Evansville Daily Journal (Evansville, Indiana), 27 Nov 1861, p. 2.
“Arrival of the 44th Regiment,” The Evansville Daily Journal, 28 Nov 1861, p. 2.
“Camp Reed, Ky., Dec. 12, 1861,” Steuben Republican (Steuben, Indiana), 21 Dec 1861, p. 2.
Letter to a Brother: The Courier-Journal (Louisville, Kentucky), 6 Jan 1862, p. 4.
“Army Correspondence - Camp Reed, Henderson, Ky.,” Steuben Republican (Steuben, Indiana), 11 Jan 1862, p. 2.
Horses’ Hay Consumption: Courier-Journal, 24 Jan 1862, p. 4.
“Died – At South Carrolton,” Steuben Republican (Steuben, Indiana), 8 March 1862, p. 2.
Other:
Campbell, William T. “Hospital Stewards in the Civil War: Overworked, Undermanned, and Indispensable,” Military Images, Vol. 36, No. 3 (Autumn 2018), pp. 52-56.
Castaldi, Tom. “Camp Allen Park on the Saint Mary’s,” 15 Sept. 2015, History Center Notes & Queries - Our Stories From Fort Wayne & Allen County, https://historycenterfw.blogspot.com/2015/09/camp-allen-park-on-saint-marys.html
Cooling, Benjamin Franklin. National Park Civil War Series: The Campaign For Fort Donelson, Eastern Park: 2008.
Crane, J. Michael, Jr. “The Demise of Slavery on the Border: Federal Policy and the Union Army in Henderson, Kentucky,” The Register of the Kentucky Historical Society, Vol. 113, No. 4 (Autumn 2015), pp. 601-640.
Kolakowski, Chris. “Fort Wayne’s Camp Allen,” Emerging Civil War, https://emergingcivilwar.com/2022/12/23/fort-waynes-camp-allen/
Pretchtel-Kluskens, Claire. “The Nineteenth-Century Postmaster and His Duties,” NGS News Magazine, (Jan/Feb/March 2007), pp. 33-37.
Rerick, John H., M.D. The Forty-Fourth Volunteer Indiana Infantry - History of Its Services in the War of Rebellion and a Personal Record of Its Members, La Grange, Indiana: John H. Rerick.
Woodward, Joseph Janvier, M.D. The Hospital Steward’s Manual: For the Instruction of Hospital Stewards, Ward-Masters and Attendants, In Their Several Duties, Philadelphia: J.B. Lippencott, 1862.
Copyright Andrea Auclair © 2023
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