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By Root 6902 0

soldiers had become a national scandal. Dr. Mayo never saw the gross abuses of the system, since he was caring for officers who were well enough to recuperate in private establishments, but another English doctor, twenty-five-year-old Charles Culverwell, was a reluctant witness to the neglect suffered by soldiers who were sent to the convalescent hospitals.3 Ironically, Culverwell had never wanted to be a doctor. He was addicted to the theater, but his father had pleaded and “reasoned with me, until at last he suggested a compromise. ‘Get your diplomas; get a means of livelihood at your fingers’ ends, and then you may do whatever you like.’ ”4 Culverwell dutifully qualified, married in 1860, became a father himself, and set out to support his family as a doctor by day while acting at night under the stage name Charles Wyndham. The public was unconvinced by either role. “No patient darkened my door,” he wrote, and the theater company went bankrupt in August 1862. There are conflicting accounts as to why he enlisted as a surgeon in the Federal army.5 But regardless of whether he went freely or was pushed by his family, Culverwell later claimed that he relished the prospect of adventure: “I was bound for America, the land of freedom where equality was adored, favoritism abhorred.… I was convinced that on my arrival there I had only to hold up my little finger and every State in the Union would rush at me with a commission.” He arrived in America in October 1862 with just $45. The rest of the family’s savings was left with his wife, Emma, who remained in London, pregnant with their second child. They had agreed she would come out as soon as he was financially secure.

The plan went awry from the beginning. Culverwell had arrived without letters of introduction; they were offered to him, including one to General Nathaniel Banks, but he had turned them down, believing they would not be needed in the egalitarian New World. Not knowing what else to do, Culverwell parked himself in the public sitting room at Willard’s Hotel and placed his illustrated book on surgery on his knees. He sat there reading for two days, hoping that someone would ask him if he was a doctor. At the end of the second day he noticed an elderly gentleman being approached by autograph seekers. He recognized the face but could not recall the name; however, this was enough to give him courage. His heart beating with excitement, Culverwell went up to him and asked for help. The stranger politely declined. Not knowing what else to do, Culverwell returned to the public room the following day. This time, the elderly gentleman sought his eye and asked him:

“How was it you were so foolish to come to America without letters? They are absolutely indispensable here.” I explained to him that I was stupid enough to believe America different from other countries, and the mere fact of introductions being used in Europe stamped them as superfluous here. I told him that a letter to General Banks which had been offered to me, I had even refused to wait for, as it had come from Paris. “I know General Banks,” he replied; “I’ll give you a letter to him if you like, but I shall be bound to say I know nothing about you.” “So long as I am able to get to him,” I said, “I should ask for nothing more.”6

Culverwell discovered that the kind stranger was none other than the impresario P. T. Barnum. His letter opened the way to an appointment as acting assistant surgeon, a position that allowed the holder to resign and rejoin at will. But Barnum’s influence evidently had its limits: Dr. Culverwell was sent to one of the “contraband camps” near Alexandria, the most unpopular posting in the medical corps. He lasted two weeks in the pestilential and stinking shantytown that contained the South’s runaway slaves.17.3 His request for a transfer resulted in the army’s second most unpopular assignment: duty at Camp Convalescent, Fort Ellsworth, known locally as “Camp Misery,” where wounded soldiers too sick to be discharged instead died of neglect. “We don’t get any vegetables at all,” wrote