FALMOUTH, VA., _opposite Fredericksburgh, December 21, 1862_.--Begin my
visits among the camp hospitals in the army of the Potomac. Spend a
good part of the day in a large brick mansion on the banks of the
Rappahannock, used as a hospital since the battle--seems to have
receiv'd only the worst cases. Out doors, at the foot of a tree, within
ten yards of the front of the house, I notice a heap of amputated feet,
legs, arms, hands, &c., a full load for a one-horse cart. Several dead
bodies lie near, each cover'd with its brown woolen blanket. In the
door-yard, towards the river, are fresh graves, mostly of officers,
their names on pieces of arrel-staves or broken boards, stuck in the
dirt. (Most of these bodies were subsequently taken up and transported
north to their friends.) The large mansion is quite crowded upstairs
and down, everything impromptu, no system, all bad enough, but I have
no doubt the best that can be done; all the wounds pretty bad, some
frightful, the men in their old clothes, unclean and bloody. Some of
the wounded are rebel soldiers and officers, prisoners. One, a
Mississippian, a captain, hit badly in leg, I talk'd with some time; he
ask'd me for papers, which I gave him. (I saw him three months afterward
in Washington, with his leg amputated, doing well.) I went through the
rooms, downstairs and up. Some of the men were dying. I had nothing to
give at that visit, but wrote a few letters to folks home, mothers, &c.
Also talk'd to three or four, who seem'd most susceptible to it, and
needing it.