In the time leading up to the Civil War, the United States didn’t have the same kind of hospital system that exists today.
And many doctors, whether trained in medical colleges or who had learned the tools and treatments of the trade by apprenticing with experienced doctors, brought their tinctures and salves to the homes of patients and treated them there.
But once the Civil War cranked up, it became necessary to have places where wounded soldiers could be tended to. U.S. Army Col. Wade Sokolosky (Ret.) has been researching hospitals in North Carolina during the Civil War and has compiled that research into a two-volume set, the first of which has been published. The first volume is “North Carolina’s Confederate Hospitals 1861-1863.”
The second volume, the research for which was sidelined a bit due to the COVID-19 pandemic, should hit book stores by 2024, Sokolosky told Bill Harris and Mark Pace during the tri-weekly history program.
The Beaufort, NC native returned to Town Talk Thursday for part two of his discussion about the state’s Civil War hospitals. “I’m really excited and super stoked,” Sokolosky said, referring to his book sales and the upcoming publication of the second volume.
Early on in the war, surgeons were sort of tapped into service, Sokolosky said, but once it became evident that the war would not end quickly, the Confederacy developed an examination board for surgeons to demonstrate their medical capabilities.
“One of the surgeons at Fort Macon didn’t pass,” Sokolosky said, and the surgeon general at the time sent him home. “The vast majority did demonstrate competence…they tightened (standards) up pretty good,” he continued, and as the war raged on, so did the quality of medical care.
Sokolosky’s research didn’t delve too deeply into the medical side of things, but he did run across interesting tidbits during his work. For example, the records kept by Chief Surgeon Isaac Tanner who attended soldiers at the Battle of Bentonville have been preserved, he said. In March of 1865, as the Battle raged, there were more than 500 gunshot wounds that were treated. Of that number, only 14 required limb amputation, a testimony to the advances that had been made for medical treatment on or near the battlefield.
There was a trend for each Confederate state to have its own hospital in other states to care for their own soldiers. There was a North Carolina hospital in Richmond, for example, and Otis F. Manson – a Granville County physician – was placed in charge.
There were other hospitals in Virginia that were designated for North Carolina troops, including a couple in Petersburg. If all the soldiers in the hospital were from the same area, it made it easier for visitors – often women from benevolence societies – to come with food and good wishes for a speedy recovery.
Vestiges of this concept of caring for military personnel remain today, Sokolosky said – if you travel through airports, chances are you’ve seen USO spaces that provide respite – and a little special treatment – for members of the armed forces.
The North Carolina Soldier’s Home was established in Richmond for soldiers to take a break from the war.
“If a soldier got a 72-hour pass, it wasn’t enough time to go home,” Sokolosky said, but he could go to the soldier’s home and take a break – get a warm meal and have a hot bath.
Private organizations, often run by women, created wayside hospitals along transportation routes so wounded soldiers could rest as they traveled back to their home states. The soldiers could have their wounds attended to, get their bandages changed at these locations, the idea of which began in South Carolina.
For more information, contact Sokolosky at Sokolosky1@aol.com.
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