"As I write this, in May, 1863, the wounded have begun to arrive from
Hooker's command from bloody Chancellorsville. I was down among the first
arrivals. The men in charge of them told me the bad cases were yet to
come. If that is so, I pity them, for these are bad enough. You ought to
see the scene of the wounded arriving at the landing here foot of Sixth
Street at night. Two boat-loads came about half past seven last night. A
little after eight, it rained a long and violent shower. The poor, pale,
helpless soldiers had been debarked, and lay around on the wharf and
neighborhood anywhere. The rain was, probably, grateful to them; at any
rate they were exposed to it.
"The few torches light up the spectacle. All around on the wharf, on the
ground, out on side places, etc., the men are lying on blankets and old
quilts, with the bloody rags bound round heads, arms, legs, etc. The
attendants are few, and at night few outsiders also,--only a few
hard-worked transportation men and drivers. (The wounded are getting to be
common, and people grow callous.) The men, whatever their condition, lie
there, and patiently wait till their turn comes to be taken up. Near by
the ambulances are now arriving in clusters, and one after another is
called to back up and take its load. Extreme cases are sent off on
stretchers. The men generally make little or no ado, whatever their
sufferings,--a few groans that cannot be repressed, and occasionally a
scream of pain, as they lift a man into the ambulance.
"To-day, as I write, hundreds more are expected, and to-morrow and the
next day more, and so on for many days.
"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
are fearfully burnt from the explosion 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 gentleman--a visitor, apparently, from curiosity--in one
of the wards stop and turn a moment to look at an awful wound they were
probing, etc. He turned pale, and in a moment more he had fainted away and
fallen on the floor."