[for the Richmond Dispatch]
a Moral Heroine's reward.
‘"Died, on Tuesday, August 6th, 1861, in Staunton, Va., of typhoid fever, Mary Hampden Wight, daughter of John and Margaret C. Wight, of or near Norfolk, in the 26th year of her age."’ Such is the common-place notice of the martyrdom of a woman,--a lady whose heroism was not second to that of Florence Nightingales,--she of Albion and Scutari, whose merited fame was spread world-wide while yet her heroic deeds were being performed, and whose slightest change of health is ever yet instantly made known through Christendom with feelings of sadness or emotions of joy, as such change may be for better or worse.
Her death was as much a martyrdom to some of the South's brave defenders as though she had by the process of transfusion, given the last of her precious blood unto their veins for the preservation of their lives,--the necessary destruction of her own.
Leaving her business, the source of her support, her little less noble devotion to the youth of her native place, Norfolk, the cradle of the historic greatness of our American ‘"more than Florence Nightingale,"’ Miss Mary Andrews,--leaving these, and all the comforts of home, parents, relatives, and friends, she came the first one of the many noble ones as she — came to this dull village, ‘"the hospital town,"’--came all alone, as to females, into this great bazaar, the Smith Hospital,--came not as the curious come, to see, to speak an idle word or two of intended comfort, to administer, perchance, for form's sake, with dissembled yet not hidden distaste, some slight material comfort to the sick soldiers — came not thus; but, she came as did the Samaritan to the traveler, as did Mary to the dead Christ, as did she of Louisiana to the plague-stricken of Norfolk, as did ‘"Sainte Philomena"’ to the Crimean soldiers at Scutari,--came earnestly, whole-solidly, and religiously zealous to the lonely suffering soldiers, and nursed them as would a Sister of Charity,--as would a sister, aye as a mother.
Her ministrations were not those of form, but were those of deed--deeds not intermittent or transient; but continuous and enduring. She sat not selfishly or prudishly aloof from her patients until their manly forbearance, overcome by their swelling anguish, called timidly for relief; but she stayed, whether waking or dozing, by their sides, anticipating their every want.
Had this been only to the undiseased wounded, she would have merited praise; and had she in this died only from exhaustion, she would have deserved a golden monument of memory in the heart of her country; but when, as was the case, these ministrations were to the sick — the infectiously diseased, from whom she died, she deserves — what shall I have it?
Let those now recovered soldiers upon the tented field, and those convalescents now amid the endearments of home, whose renewed lives are parts of her life given them; let their parents, relatives and friends; let her grateful country and an appreciating world, say what shall be her reward. For, unlike the manly soldier, she ventured not within the gates of death under the sustaining influence of martial music, of enthusiastic multitudes, and the surety of glory's reward — nor yet, for a pecuniary consideration; but she visited the charnel precincts from a religiously patriotic sense of duty.
Beside those solemn portals I made her cheerful acquaintance, and, as simulation cannot be upon the stage she trod so nobly, I feel that I knew her well, and can well say that no purer, sweeter soul dew drop was ever from the Hermon of virtue absorbed into Heaven by the sun-ray of duty performed.
Her Friend, Maggie.
