Accompanying CD-ROM contains ... "complete patient listings of more than 18,000 patients."--dust jacket.

This work tells the story of Samuel Hollingsworth Stout, an innovative Confederate doctor and medical director of the Army of Tennessee, and his successful administration and establishment of more than sixty mobile military hospitals scattered throughout the western theatre.

As many as 20,000 women worked in Union and Confederate hospitals during America's bloodiest war. Black and white, and from various social classes, these women served as nurses, administrators, matrons, seamstresses, cooks, laundresses, and custodial workers. Jane E. Schultz provides the first full history of these female relief workers, showing how the domestic and military arenas merged in Civil War America, blurring the line between homefront and battlefront. Schultz uses government records, private manuscripts, and published sources by and about women hospital workers, some of whom are familiar--such as Dorothea Dix, Clara Barton, Louisa May Alcott, and Sojourner Truth--but most of whom are not well-known. Examining the lives and legacies of these women, Schultz considers who they were, how they became involved in wartime hospital work, how they adjusted to it, and how they challenged it. She demonstrates that class, race, and gender roles linked female workers with soldiers, both black and white, but became sites of conflict between the women and doctors and even among themselves. Schultz also explores the women's postwar lives--their professional and domestic choices, their pursuit of pensions, and their memorials to the war in published narratives. Surprisingly few parlayed their war experience into postwar medical work, and their extremely varied postwar experiences, Schultz argues, defy any simple narrative of pre-professionalism, triumphalism, or conciliation.

Chimborazo Hospital, just outside Richmond, Virginia, served as the Confederacy's largest hospital for four years. During this time, it treated nearly eighty thousand patients, boasting a mortality rate of just over 11 percent. This book, the first full-length study of a facility that was vital to the Southern war effort, tells the story of those who lived and worked at Chimborazo. Organized by Dr. James Brown McCaw, Chimborazo was an innovative hospital with well-trained physicians, efficient stewards, and a unique supply system. Physicians had access to the latest medical knowledge and specialists in Richmond. The hospital soon became a model for other facilities. The hospital's clinical reputation grew as it established connections with the Medical College of Virginia and hosted several drug and treatment trials requested by the Confederate Medical Department. In fascinating detail, Chimborazo recounts the issues, trials, and triumphs of a Civil War hospital. Based on an extensive study of hospital and Confederate Medical Department records found at the National Archives, along with other primary sources, the study includes information on the patients, hospital stewards, matrons, and slaves who served as support staff. Since Chimborazo was designated as an independent army post, the book discusses other features of its organization, staff, and supply system as well. This careful examination describes the challenges facing the hospital and reveals the humanity of those who lived and worked there.

In antebellum society, women were regarded as ideal nurses because of their sympathetic natures. However, they were expected to exercise their talents only in the home; nursing strange men in hospitals was considered inappropriate, if not indecent. Nevertheless, in defiance of tradition, Confederate women set up hospitals early in the Civil War and organized volunteers to care for the increasing number of sick and wounded soldiers. As a fledgling government engaged in a long and bloody war, the Confederacy relied on this female labor, which prompted a new understanding of women’s place in public life and a shift in gender roles. Challenging the assumption that Southern women’s contributions to the war effort were less systematic and organized than those of Union women, Worth a Dozen Men looks at the Civil War as a watershed moment for Southern women. Female nurses in the South played a critical role in raising army and civilian morale and reducing mortality rates, thus allowing the South to continue fighting. They embodied a new model of heroic energy and nationalism, and came to be seen as the female equivalent of soldiers. Moreover, nursing provided them with a foundation for pro-Confederate political activity, both during and after the war, when gender roles and race relations underwent dramatic changes. Worth a Dozen Men chronicles the Southern wartime nursing experience, tracking the course of the conflict from the initial burst of Confederate nationalism to the shock and sorrow of losing the war. Through newspapers and official records, as well as letters, diaries, and memoirs—not only those of the remarkable and dedicated women who participated, but also of the doctors with whom they served, their soldier patients, and the patients’ families—a comprehensive picture of what it was like to be a nurse in the South during the Civil War emerges.

This previously unpublished diary is the best-surviving firsthand account of life in Civil War-era Atlanta. Bookseller Samuel Pearce Richards (1824-1910) kept a diary for sixty-seven years. This volume excerpts the diary from October 1860, just before the presidential election of Abraham Lincoln, through August 1865, when the Richards family returned to Atlanta after being forced out by Sherman's troops and spending a period of exile in New York City. The Richardses were among the last Confederate loyalists to leave Atlanta. Sam's recollections of the Union bombardment, the evacuation of the city, the looting of his store, and the influx of Yankee forces are riveting. Sam was a Unionist until 1860, when his sentiments shifted in favor of the Confederacy. However, as he wrote in early 1862, he had "no ambition to acquire military renown and glory." Likewise, Sam chafed at financial setbacks caused by the war and at Confederate policies that seemed to limit his freedom. Such conflicted attitudes come through even as Sam writes about civic celebrations, benefit concerts, and the chaotic optimism of life in a strategically critical rebel stronghold. He also reflects with soberness on hospitals filled with wounded soldiers, the threat of epidemics, inflation, and food shortages. A man of deep faith who liked to attend churches all over town, Sam often commments on Atlanta's religious life and grounds his defense of slavery and secession in the Bible. Sam owned and rented slaves, and his diary is a window into race relations at a time when the end of slavery was no longer unthinkable. Perhaps most important, the diary conveys the tenor of Sam's family life. Both Sam and his wife, Sallie, came from families divided politically and geographically by war. They feared for their children's health and mourned for relatives wounded and killed in battle. The figures in Sam Richards's Civil War Diary emerge as real people; the intimate experience of the Civil War home front is conveyed with great power.

Madison, Georgia was a hoppin' place while it hosted three (and later a fourth) Confederate hospitals during the eight months before their final retreat in July 1864. Every few days the train depot was a flurry of activity as surgeons, attendants, and locals unloaded hundreds of sick and wounded soldiers fresh from the battles in Tennessee and North Georgia. Most of the records of their care were saved by the Director of Hospitals of the Army of Tennessee and then ferreted out 140 years later by the author from collections scattered across many states. This book includes verbatim transcriptions of those documents, the subsequent hospital histories, surgeon biographies, and thousands of names in hundreds of regiments.