_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.