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that he behaved so brave, so composed, and so sweet and affectionate,
it could not be surpass'd. And now like many other noble and good men,
after serving his country as a soldier, he has yielded up his young life
at the very outset in her service. Such things are gloomy--yet there
is a text, "God doeth all things well"--the meaning of which, after due
time, appears to the soul.
I thought perhaps a few words, though from a stranger, about your son,
from one who was with him at the last, might be worth while--for I loved
the young man, though I but saw him immediately to lose him. I am merely
a friend visiting the hospitals occasionally to cheer the wounded and
sick.
W. W.
THE ARMIES RETURNING
_May 7_.--Sunday.--To-day as I was walking a mile or two south of
Alexandria, I fell in with several large squads of the returning Western
army, (Sherman's men as they call'd themselves) about a thousand in all,
the largest portion of them half sick, some convalescents, on their way
to a hospital camp. These fragmentary excerpts, with the unmistakable
Western physiognomy and idioms, crawling along slowly--after a great
campaign, blown this way, as it were, out of their latitude--I mark'd
with curiosity, and talk'd with off and on for over an hour. Here and
there was one very sick; but all were able to walk, except some of
the last, who had given out, and were seated on the ground, faint and
despondent. These I tried to cheer, told them the camp they were to
reach was only a little way further over the hill, and so got them up
and started, accompanying some of the worst a little way, and helping
them, or putting them under the support of stronger comrades.
_May 21_.--Saw General Sheridan and his cavalry to-day; a strong,
attractive sight; the men were mostly young, (a few middle-aged,)
superb-looking fellows, brown, spare, keen, with well-worn clothing,
many with pieces of water-proof cloth around their shoulders, hanging
down. They dash'd along pretty fast, in wide close ranks, all spatter'd
with mud; no holiday soldiers; brigade after brigade. I could have
watch'd for a week. Sheridan stood on a balcony, under a big tree,
coolly smoking a cigar. His looks and manner impress'd me favorably.
_May 22_.--Have been taking a walk along Pennsylvania avenue and Seventh
street north. The city is full of soldiers, running around loose.
Officers everywhere, of all grades. All have the weatherbeaten look of
practical service. It is a sight I never tire of. All the armies are
now here (or portions of them,) for to-morrow's review. You see them
swarming like bees everywhere.
THE GRAND REVIEW
For two days now the broad spaces of Pennsylvania avenue along to
Treasury hill, and so by detour around to the President's house, and so
up to Georgetown, and across the aqueduct bridge, have been alive with a
magnificent sight, the returning armies. In their wide ranks stretching
clear across the Avenue, I watch them march or ride along, at a brisk
pace, through two whole days--infantry, cavalry, artillery--some 200,000
men. Some days afterwards one or two other corps; and then, still
afterwards, a good part of Sherman's immense army, brought up from
Charleston, Savannah, &c.
WESTERN SOLDIERS
_May 26-7_.--The streets, the public buildings and grounds of
Washington, still swarm with soldiers from Illinois, Indiana, Ohio,
Missouri, Iowa, and all the Western States. I am continually meeting and
talking with them. They often speak to me first, and always show great
sociability, and glad to have a good interchange of chat. These Western
soldiers are more slow in their movements, and in their intellectual
quality also; have no extreme alertness. They are larger in size, have a
more serious physiognomy, are continually looking at you as they pass in
the street. They are largely animal, and handsomely so. During the war
I have been at times with the Fourteenth, Fifteenth, Seventeenth, and
Twentieth Corps. I always feel drawn toward the men, and like their
personal contact when we are crowded close together, as frequently these
days in the street-cars. They all think the world of General Sherman;
call him "old Bill," or sometimes "uncle Billy."
A SOLDIER ON LINCOLN
_May 28_.--As I sat by the bedside of a sick Michigan soldier in
hospital to-day, a convalescent from the adjoining bed rose and came to
me, and presently we began talking. He was a middleaged man, belonged
to the 2d Virginia regiment, but lived in Racine, Ohio, and had a family
there. He spoke of President Lincoln, and said: "The war is over, and
many are lost. And now we have lost the best, the fairest, the truest
man in America. Take him altogether, he was the best man this country
ever produced. It was quite a while I thought very different; but some
time before the murder, that's the way I have seen it." There was deep
earnestness in the soldier. (I found upon further talk he had known Mr.
Lincoln personally, and quite closely, years before.) He was a veteran;
was now in the fifth year of his service; was a cavalry man, and had
been in a good deal of hard fighting.
TWO BROTHERS, ONE SOUTH, ONE NORTH
_May 28-9_.--I staid to-night a long time by the bedside of a new
patient, a young Baltimorean, aged about 19 years, W. S. P., (2d
Maryland, southern,) very feeble, right leg amputated, can't sleep
hardly at all--has taken a great deal of morphine, which, as usual,
is costing more than it comes to. Evidently very intelligent and well
bred--very affectionate--held on to my hand, and put it by his face, not
willing to let me leave. As I was lingering, soothing him in his pain,
he says to me suddenly, "I hardly think you know who I am--I don't wish
to impose upon you--I am a rebel soldier." I said I did not know that,
but it made no difference. Visiting him daily for about two weeks after
that, while he lived, (death had mark'd him, and he was quite alone,) I
loved him much, always kiss'd him, and he did me. In an adjoining ward
I found his brother, an officer of rank, a Union soldier, a brave and
religious man, (Col. Clifton K. Prentiss, sixth Maryland infantry,
Sixth corps, wounded in one of the engagements at Petersburgh, April
2--linger'd, suffer'd much, died in Brooklyn, Aug. 20, '65). It was
in the same battle both were hit. One was a strong Unionist, the other
Secesh; both fought on their respective sides, both badly wounded, and
both brought together here after a separation of four years. Each died
for his cause.
SOME SAD CASES YET
_May 31_.--James H. Williams, aged 21, 3d Virginia cavalry.-About as
mark'd a case of a strong man brought low by a complication of diseases,
(laryngitis, fever, debility and diarrhoea,) as I have ever seen--has
superb physique, remains swarthy yet, and flushed and red with fever-is
altogether flighty--flesh of his great breast and arms tremulous, and
pulse pounding away with treble quickness--lies a good deal of the time
in a partial sleep, but with low muttering and groans--a sleep in which
there is no rest. Powerful as he is, and so young, he will not be able
to stand many more days of the strain and sapping heat of yesterday and
to-day. His throat is in a bad way, tongue and lips parch'd. When I ask
him how he feels, he is able just to articulate, "I feel pretty bad
yet, old man," and looks at me with his great bright eyes. Father, John
Williams, Millensport, Ohio.
_June 9-10_.--I have been sitting late to-night by the bedside of a
wounded captain, a special friend of mine, lying with a painful fracture
of left leg in one of the hospitals, in a large ward partially vacant.
The lights were put out, all but a little candle, far from where I
sat. The full moon shone in through the windows, making long, slanting
silvery patches on the floor. All was still, my friend too was silent,
but could not sleep; so I sat there by him, slowly wafting the fan, and
occupied with the musings that arose out of the scene, the long shadowy
ward, the beautiful ghostly moonlight on the floor, the white beds, here
and there an occupant with huddled form, the bed-clothes thrown off. The
hospitals have a number of cases of sun-stroke and exhaustion by heat,
from the late reviews. There are many such from the Sixth corps, from
the hot parade of day before yesterday. (Some of these shows cost the
lives of scores of men.)
_Sunday, Sep. 10_.--Visited Douglas and Stanton hospitals. They are
quite full. Many of the cases are bad ones, lingering wounds, and old
sickness. There is a more than usual look of despair on the countenances
of many of the men; hope has left them. I went through the wards,
talking as usual. There are several here from the confederate army whom
I had seen in other hospitals, and they recognized me. Two were in a
dying condition.
CALHOUN'S REAL MONUMENT
In one of the hospital tents for special cases, as I sat to-day tending
a new amputation, I heard a couple of neighboring soldiers talking to
each other from their cots. One down with fever, but improving, had come
up belated from Charleston not long before. The other was what we now
call an "old veteran," (_i.e._, he was a Connecticut youth, probably of
less than the age of twenty-five years, the four last of which he had
spent in active service in the war in all parts of the country.) The two
were chatting of one thing and another. The fever soldier spoke of John
C. Calhoun's monument, which he had seen, and was describing it. The
veteran said: "I have seen Calhoun's monument. That you saw is not the
real monument. But I have seen it. It is the desolated, ruined south;
nearly the whole generation of young men between seventeen and
thirty destroyed or maim'd; all the old families used up--the rich
impoverish'd, the plantations cover'd with weeds, the slaves unloos'd
and become the masters, and the name of southerner blacken'd with every
shame--all that is Calhoun's real monument."
HOSPITALS CLOSING
_October 3_.--There are two army hospitals now remaining. I went to the
largest of these (Douglas) and spent the afternoon and evening. There
are many sad cases, old wounds, incurable sickness, and some of the
wounded from the March and April battles before Richmond. Few realize
how sharp and bloody those closing battles were. Our men exposed
themselves more than usual; press'd ahead without urging. Then the
southerners fought with extra desperation. Both sides knew that with the
successful chasing of the rebel cabal from Richmond, and the occupation
of that city by the national troops, the game was up. The dead and
wounded were unusually many. Of the wounded the last lingering driblets
have been brought to hospital here. I find many rebel wounded here, and
have been extra busy to-day 'tending to the worst cases of them with the
rest.
_Oct., Nov. and Dec., '65--Sundays_--Every Sunday of these months
visited Harewood hospital out in the woods, pleasant and recluse, some
two and a half or three miles north of the capitol. The situation is
healthy, with broken ground, grassy slopes and patches of oak woods, the
trees large and fine. It was one of the most extensive of the hospitals,
now reduced to four or five partially occupied wards, the numerous
others being vacant. In November, this became the last military hospital
kept up by the government, all the others being closed. Cases of the
worst and most incurable wounds, obstinate illness, and of poor fellows
who have no homes to go to, are found here.
_Dec. 10--Sunday_--Again spending a good part of the day at Harewood.
I write this about an hour before sundown. I have walk'd out for a few
minutes to the edge of the woods to soothe myself with the hour and
scene. It is a glorious, warm, golden-sunny, still afternoon. The only
noise is from a crowd of cawing crows, on some trees three hundred