By Rory Hooper, B.A.’26 & M.A.’27, History & Museum Studies
During the Civil War, Washington, D.C. sat precariously on the border between Union and Confederate states. The city changed as people, especially soldiers, moved into, and through, the capital. The National Mall became littered with barracks and mobile forces. Right outside the Capitol, doctors and nurses operated a large hospital, treating wounded from nearby battlefields. Armory Square Hospital’s campus, as seen in a print from the Washingtoniana collection, presents a capital city transformed by war. A closer look at the hospital’s history reveals the challenges of securing D.C. during the unprecedented, deadly conflict.
Constructed in 1862, Armory Square Hospital was grand. Once located on the current site of the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum, the medical facility consisted of 12 pavilion-style wards (carefully labeled ‘A’ through ‘K’ on the print in handwritten ink), plus overflow tents. In its 3 years of service, the hospital treated over 13,000 sick and wounded soldiers. Doctors, “Lady Nurses” and male volunteers administered treatments and care. With proper identification, Union soldiers and Confederate prisoners were allowed entry. Armory Square largely followed the U.S. Medical Department’s rules and regulations to maintain the vast space equipped with kitchens, laundries, mess-rooms, offices, guardhouses, a chapel and more — the hospital’s location in D.C. necessitated adherence for safety. However, the chaos of war and staff’s commitment to treatment no matter one’s loyalties sometimes inspired deviations.
Security was tight in D.C. The proximity to enemy fire and a revolving door of wounded men and fresh recruits made the District a chaotic hub of military activity. Fortifications protected the capital from external Confederate attacks, while policies and official documents tracked movement inside D.C. Armory Square, like other Union general hospitals, maintained a policy to only treat those with medical papers proving their identity. Nonetheless, Armory Square staff reasoned that “here in the hospital all fared alike. The Surgeon and the tenderhearted lady nurse did not stop to inquire whether their patient wore the blue or the gray. All received the same treatment at their hands.” It was a doctor’s ethical obligation to treat wounds, and those brought to Armory Square’s gates were plagued by the most severe wounds and illnesses.
Nearest to a boat-landing and railroad depot, Armory Square Hospital treated soldiers unable to travel much farther north than the eastern theater’s frontlines. A former doctor reflecting on the war remembered the wounded “were often brought all the way from the boat on stretchers, as they could not stand the jar of the ambulances.” He also championed “Lady Nurses” working alongside male doctors and volunteers bathing, dressing and redressing wounds, assisting doctors during surgery, cooking and tending laundry, among other duties. While few in number — only one “Lady Nurse” worked in each of Armory Square’s 12 wards — female nurses held major influence over daily hospital life and comforted soldiers in their darkest hours.
Nancy Maria Hill was one of these important figures, and she made national news defying orders in Washington to protect patients. According to newspaper accounts of the incident, Massachusetts-born Hill “belonged to the best families in the North.” She and her peers “volunteered their services and they sacrificed their own personal comfort to wait upon the sick and wounded.” As the “Lady Nurse” of Ward F, Hill became an advocate for her patients. After the Battle of the Wilderness in 1864, nearly 300 wounded Union soldiers were sent to Alexandria, Virginia, where they then walked to Armory Square as the closest general hospital for assistance.
By some mistake, “the soldiers’ papers had not been forwarded to the officers, and by order of Secretary Stanton they were refused admission into the hospital. Dr. Bliss, acting as head surgeon, was afraid to disobey the orders of Stanton and rather than to witness the men suffering in the street he went home.”
Not so with Hill. She “opened the gates and had the guards turn their backs,” as she brought the wounded men into the hospital to care for them. “The next day their credentials arrived and Miss Hill received the plaudits of all who heard of the case.” Even though the men were Union soldiers, widespread paranoia that rebel troops would infiltrate D.C. forced her to defy general orders. No matter the capital’s place on the edge of war, labeling the troops “deserters” or “enemies” went against Hill’s moral code as a medical professional.
Stories from all wards of Armory Square Hospital illuminate moments in Civil War Washington. The museum’s print of the hospital is but one view, brought to life by documents and photographs related to the people who worked, recovered and died on its vast campus. Hill’s story in Ward F is another, underscoring how the hospital’s history can help students and scholars better understand security challenges in wartime D.C.
About the Author
Rory Hooper is an undergraduate at GW majoring in history and minoring in American studies. She is concurrently pursuing a master’s degree in museum studies and, this past summer, explored museum careers as an intern with the Albert H. Small Center for National Capital Area Studies.