not change the nature of the men you seek to nurse,” he pointed out. “They are a very low, rough, violent sort, not worthy or fit for a lady to visit.”
“Oh, yes, of course. I see.” Lizzie paused, thinking. “But you cannot fault me for wanting to help them. As a lady—as a Christian lady—it is my duty to dispense charity to the less fortunate.”
“I do not fault you at all,” he assured her. “In fact, I commend you.”
“I knew you would understand.” Lizzie fixed him with an admiring smile. “You are the very model of the Christian gentleman, as I knew you would be. I heard you speak once, in peacetime, at a religious convention, and I must say you spoke beautifully on the subject of Christian duty. I was quite moved.”
“Thank you, Miss Van Lew,” he said, visibly pleased. “It is a subject that has occupied my thoughts quite a lot during these challenging times.”
“What was it our Lord said?” Lizzie mused, gazing thoughtfully at the bookshelf to the secretary’s left, where a thick, well-read, leather-bound Bible was given pride of place on its own shelf. “‘Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.’ Matthew 25:40, is it not?”
“I believe it is Matthew 25:36.”
“Really? Then what is Matthew 25:40?”
Secretary Memminger appeared somewhat chagrined as he recited, “‘And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’”
“Mr. Secretary,” said Lizzie earnestly. “Surely these Union prisoners are the least of our brethren. My obligation as a Christian woman is to help them as I would help our Lord Himself.”
He frowned and shifted his weight uncomfortably, but he did not ask her to be silent.
“If we want our cause to succeed,” she continued, emboldened, “we must begin with charity to the thankless. We should also be mindful that the Yankees took many prisoners too, and for their sakes as well as the sake of our own souls, we should show by our example how enemy captives ought to be treated.”
For a long moment, the secretary regarded her in silence, but then he nodded. “Of course you’re right,” he said. “It is not always pleasant to be reminded of our duty, but the Lord Jesus Christ could not have been more clear on this subject. We must care for these prisoners, though they are our sworn enemies, because they are also our brothers.”
“However much we might wish to disavow them.”
He let out a short laugh. “Yes. Especially then, I warrant.” He sat down at his desk, took a sheet of paper from a basket, dipped a pen in ink, and began to write. Lizzie watched, holding herself perfectly still and scarcely breathing rather than disturb him, until he set down the pen and looked up. “Take this letter of introduction to General Winder and tell him I trust he will offer you his complete cooperation.” He waited for the ink to dry before folding the page and sealing it. “He keeps an office on Bank Street—a bit shabby, but it’s only temporary until something better can be found.”
“Yes, I know the place.” When he held out the letter, she quickly rose and took it before he could change his mind. “Mr. Secretary, I cannot thank you enough.”
He accepted her thanks graciously and rose to show her to the door. He was a true gentleman, she thought as she left the Custom House by the Bank Street exit, the precious letter in hand. She could not help thinking, as she had of Mr. Lee, that it was a pity such a man was a rebel.
In no time at all she arrived at General Winder’s shanty office, where she found him seated at a table where two clerks were busily writing. The general—a stout, stern, silver-haired man of about sixty years—received her most politely and kindly, but when his frown deepened as he read Secretary Memminger’s letter, she knew he would require more
“Oh, yes, of course. I see.” Lizzie paused, thinking. “But you cannot fault me for wanting to help them. As a lady—as a Christian lady—it is my duty to dispense charity to the less fortunate.”
“I do not fault you at all,” he assured her. “In fact, I commend you.”
“I knew you would understand.” Lizzie fixed him with an admiring smile. “You are the very model of the Christian gentleman, as I knew you would be. I heard you speak once, in peacetime, at a religious convention, and I must say you spoke beautifully on the subject of Christian duty. I was quite moved.”
“Thank you, Miss Van Lew,” he said, visibly pleased. “It is a subject that has occupied my thoughts quite a lot during these challenging times.”
“What was it our Lord said?” Lizzie mused, gazing thoughtfully at the bookshelf to the secretary’s left, where a thick, well-read, leather-bound Bible was given pride of place on its own shelf. “‘Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.’ Matthew 25:40, is it not?”
“I believe it is Matthew 25:36.”
“Really? Then what is Matthew 25:40?”
Secretary Memminger appeared somewhat chagrined as he recited, “‘And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’”
“Mr. Secretary,” said Lizzie earnestly. “Surely these Union prisoners are the least of our brethren. My obligation as a Christian woman is to help them as I would help our Lord Himself.”
He frowned and shifted his weight uncomfortably, but he did not ask her to be silent.
“If we want our cause to succeed,” she continued, emboldened, “we must begin with charity to the thankless. We should also be mindful that the Yankees took many prisoners too, and for their sakes as well as the sake of our own souls, we should show by our example how enemy captives ought to be treated.”
For a long moment, the secretary regarded her in silence, but then he nodded. “Of course you’re right,” he said. “It is not always pleasant to be reminded of our duty, but the Lord Jesus Christ could not have been more clear on this subject. We must care for these prisoners, though they are our sworn enemies, because they are also our brothers.”
“However much we might wish to disavow them.”
He let out a short laugh. “Yes. Especially then, I warrant.” He sat down at his desk, took a sheet of paper from a basket, dipped a pen in ink, and began to write. Lizzie watched, holding herself perfectly still and scarcely breathing rather than disturb him, until he set down the pen and looked up. “Take this letter of introduction to General Winder and tell him I trust he will offer you his complete cooperation.” He waited for the ink to dry before folding the page and sealing it. “He keeps an office on Bank Street—a bit shabby, but it’s only temporary until something better can be found.”
“Yes, I know the place.” When he held out the letter, she quickly rose and took it before he could change his mind. “Mr. Secretary, I cannot thank you enough.”
He accepted her thanks graciously and rose to show her to the door. He was a true gentleman, she thought as she left the Custom House by the Bank Street exit, the precious letter in hand. She could not help thinking, as she had of Mr. Lee, that it was a pity such a man was a rebel.
In no time at all she arrived at General Winder’s shanty office, where she found him seated at a table where two clerks were busily writing. The general—a stout, stern, silver-haired man of about sixty years—received her most politely and kindly, but when his frown deepened as he read Secretary Memminger’s letter, she knew he would require more
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