Complete Prose Works
J. G. lies in bed 52, ward I; is of company B, 7th Pennsylvania. I
gave him a small sum of money, some tobacco, and envelopes. To a man
adjoining also gave twenty-five cents; he flush'd in the face when I
offer'd it--refused at first, but as I found he had not a cent, and was
very fond of having the daily papers to read, I prest it on him. He was
evidently very grateful, but said little.
J.T.L., of company F, 9th New Hampshire, lies in bed 37, ward I. Is
very fond of tobacco. I furnish him some; also with a little money. Has
gangrene of the feet; a pretty bad case; will surely have to lose three
toes. Is a regular specimen of an old-fashion'd, rude, hearty, New
England countryman, impressing me with his likeness to that celebrated
singed cat, who was better than she look'd.
Bed 3, ward E, Armory, has a great hankering for pickles, something
pungent. After consulting the doctor, I gave him a small bottle of
horse-radish; also some apples; also a book. Some of the nurses
are excellent. The woman-nurse in this ward I like very much. (Mrs.
Wright--a year afterwards I found her in Mansion house hospital,
Alexandria--she is a perfect nurse.)
In one bed a young man, Marcus Small, company K, 7th Maine--sick with
dysentery and typhoid fever--pretty critical case--I talk with him
often--he thinks he will die--looks like it indeed. I write a letter for
him home to East Livermore, Maine--I let him talk to me a little,
but not much, advise him to keep very quiet--do most of the talking
myself--stay quite a while with him, as he holds on to my hand--talk
to him in a cheering, but slow, low and measured manner--talk about his
furlough, and going home as soon as he is able to travel.
Thomas Lindly, 1st Pennsylvania cavalry, shot very badly through the
foot--poor young man, he suffers horridly, has to be constantly dosed
with morphine, his face ashy and glazed, bright young eyes--I give him
a large handsome apple, lay it in sight, tell him to have it roasted
in the morning, as he generally feels easier then, and can eat a little
breakfast. I write two letters for him.
Opposite, an old Quaker lady sits by the side of her son, Amer Moore,
2d U. S. artillery--shot in the head two weeks since, very low, quite
rational--from hips down paralyzed--he will surely die. I speak a very
few words to him every day and evening--he answers pleasantly--wants
nothing--(he told me soon after he came about his home affairs,
his mother had been an invalid, and he fear'd to let her know his
condition.) He died soon after she came.
MY PREPARATIONS FOR VISITS
In my visits to the hospitals I found it was in the simple matter of
personal presence, and emanating ordinary cheer and magnetism, that I
succeeded and help'd more than by medical nursing, or delicacies,
or gifts of money, or anything else. During the war I possess'd the
perfection of physical health. My habit, when practicable, was to
prepare for starting out on one of those daily or nightly tours of from
a couple to four or five hours, by fortifying myself with previous rest,
the bath, clean clothes, a good meal, and as cheerful an appearance as
possible.
AMBULANCE PROCESSIONS
_June 23, Sundown._--As I sit writing this paragraph I see a train of
about thirty huge four-horse wagons, used as ambulances, fill'd with
wounded, passing up Fourteenth street, on their way, probably, to
Columbian, Carver, and Mount Pleasant hospitals. This is the way the men
come in now, seldom in small numbers, but almost always in these long,
sad processions. Through the past winter, while our army lay opposite
Fredericksburg, the like strings of ambulances were of frequent
occurrence along Seventh street, passing slowly up from the steamboat
wharf, with loads from Aquia creek.
BAD WOUNDS--THE YOUNG
The soldiers are nearly all young men, and far more American than is
generally supposed--I should say nine-tenths are native-born. Among
the arrivals from Chancellorsville I find a large proportion of Ohio,
Indiana, and Illinois men. As usual, there are all sorts of wounds. Some
of the men fearfully burnt from the explosions of artillery caissons.
One ward has a long row of officers, some with ugly hurts. Yesterday was
perhaps worse than usual. Amputations are going on--the attendants are
dressing wounds. As you pass by, you must be on your guard where
you look. I saw the other day a gentlemen, a visitor apparently from
curiosity, in one of the wards, stop and turn a moment to look at an
awful wound they were probing. He turn'd pale, and in a moment more he
had fainted away and fallen to the floor.
THE MOST INSPIRITING OF ALL WAR'S SHOWS
_June 29._--Just before sundown this evening a very large cavalry force
went by--a fine sight. The men evidently had seen service. First came a
mounted band of sixteen bugles, drums and cymbals, playing wild martial
tunes--made my heart jump. Then the principal officers, then company
after company, with their officers at their heads, making of course the
main part of the cavalcade; then a long train of men with led horses,
lots of mounted negroes with special horses--and a long string of
baggage-wagons, each drawn by four horses--and then a motley rear guard.
It was a pronouncedly warlike and gay show; the sabres clank'd, the men
look'd young and healthy and strong; the electric tramping of so many
horses on the hard road, and the gallant bearing, fine seat, and bright
faced appearance of a thousand and more handsome young American men,
were so good to see. An hour later another troop went by, smaller in
numbers, perhaps three hundred men. They too look'd like serviceable
men, campaigners used to field and fight.
_July 3_.--This forenoon, for more than an hour, again long strings
of cavalry, several regiments, very fine men and horses, four or five
abreast. I saw them in Fourteenth street, coming in town from north.
Several hundred extra horses, some of the mares with colts, trotting
along. (Appear'd to be a number of prisoners too.) How inspiriting
always the cavalry regiments. Our men are generally well mounted, feel
good, are young, gay on the saddle, their blankets in a roll behind
them, their sabres clanking at their sides. This noise and movement
and the tramp of many horses' hoofs has a curious effect upon one. The
bugles play--presently you hear them afar off, deaden'd, mix'd with
other noises. Then just as they had all pass'd, a string of ambulances
commenc'd from the other way, moving up Fourteenth street north, slowly
wending along, bearing a large lot of wounded to the hospitals.
BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG
_July 4th_.--The weather to-day, upon the whole, is very fine, warm,
but from a smart rain last night, fresh enough, and no dust, which is
a great relief for this city. I saw the parade about noon, Pennsylvania
avenue, from Fifteenth street down toward the capitol. There were three
regiments of infantry, (I suppose the ones doing patrol duty here,) two
or three societies of Odd Fellows, a lot of children in barouches, and
a squad of policemen. (A useless imposition upon the soldiers--they have
work enough on their backs without piling the like of this.)
As I went down the Avenue, saw a big flaring placard on the bulletin
board of a newspaper office, announcing "Glorious Victory for the Union
Army!" Meade had fought Lee at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, yesterday and
day before, and repuls'd him most signally, taken 3,000 prisoners, &c.
(I afterwards saw Meade's despatch, very modest, and a sort of order of
the day from the President himself, quite religious, giving thanks to
the Supreme, and calling on the people to do the same.)
I walk'd on to Armory hospital--took along with me several bottles of
blackberry and cherry syrup, good and strong, but innocent. Went through
several of the wards, announc'd to the soldiers the news from Meade,
and gave them all a good drink of the syrups with ice water, quite
refreshing--prepar'd it all myself, and serv'd it around. Meanwhile the
Washington bells are ringing their sun-down peals for Fourth of July,
and the usual fusilades of boys' pistols, crackers, and guns.
A CAVALRY CAMP
I am writing this, nearly sundown, watching a cavalry company (acting
Signal service,) just come in through a shower, making their night's
camp ready on some broad, vacant ground, a sort of hill, in full view
opposite my window. There are the men in their yellow-striped jackets.
All are dismounted; the freed horses stand with drooping heads and wet
sides; they are to be led off presently in groups, to water. The little
wall-tents and shelter tents spring up quickly. I see the fires already
blazing, and pots and kettles over them. Some among the men are driving
in tent-poles, wielding their axes with strong, slow blows. I see great
huddles of horses, bundles of hay, groups of men (some with unbuckled
sabres yet on their sides,) a few officers, piles of wood, the flames
of the fires, saddles, harness, &c. The smoke streams upward, additional
men arrive and dismount--some drive in stakes, and tie their horses to
them; some go with buckets for water, some are chopping wood, and so on.
_July 6th_.--A steady rain, dark and thick and warm. A train of six-mule
wagons has just pass'd bearing pontoons, great square-end flatboats, and
the heavy planking for overlaying them. We hear that the Potomac above
here is flooded, and are wondering whether Lee will be able to get back
across again, or whether Meade will indeed break him to pieces. The
cavalry camp on the hill is a ceaseless field of observation for me.
This forenoon there stand the horses, tether'd together, dripping,
steaming, chewing their hay. The men emerge from their tents, dripping
also. The fires are half quench'd.
_July 10th_.--Still the camp opposite--perhaps fifty or sixty tents.
Some of the men are cleaning their sabres (pleasant to-day,) some
brushing boots, some laying off, reading, writing--some cooking, some
sleeping. On long temporary cross-sticks back of the tents are cavalry
accoutrements--blankets and overcoats are hung out to air--there are the
squads of horses tether'd, feeding, continually stamping and whisking
their tails to keep off flies. I sit long in my third story window and
look at the scene--a hundred little things going on--peculiar objects
connected with the camp that could not be described, any one of them
justly, without much minute drawing and coloring in words.
A NEW YORK SOLDIER
This afternoon, July 22d, I have spent a long time with Oscar F. Wilber,
company G, 154th New York, low with chronic diarrhoea, and a bad
wound also. He asked me to read him a chapter in the New Testament.
I complied, and ask'd him what I should read. He said, "Make your
own choice." I open'd at the close of one of the first books of the
evangelists, and read the chapters describing the latter hours of
Christ, and the scenes at the crucifixion. The poor, wasted young man
ask'd me to read the following chapter also, how Christ rose again. I
read very slowly, for Oscar was feeble. It pleased him very much, yet
the tears were in his eyes. He ask'd me if I enjoy'd religion. I said,
"Perhaps not, my dear, in the way you mean, and yet, may-be, it is the
same thing." He said, "It is my chief reliance." He talk'd of death, and
said he did not fear it. I said, "Why, Oscar, don't you think you will
get well?" He said, "I may, but it is not probable." He spoke calmly
of his condition. The wound was very bad, it discharg'd much. Then the
diarrhoea had prostrated him, and I felt that he was even then the same
as dying. He behaved very manly and affectionate. The kiss I gave him
as I was about leaving he return'd fourfold. He gave me his mother's
address, Mrs. Sally D. Wilber, Alleghany pest-office, Cattaraugus