_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
yards distant. Clusters of gnats swimming and dancing in the air in all
directions. The oak leaves are thick under the bare trees, and give a
strong and delicious perfume. Inside the wards everything is gloomy.
Death is there. As I enter'd, I was confronted by it the first thing;
a corpse of a poor soldier, just dead, of typhoid fever. The attendants
had just straighten'd the limbs, put coppers on the eyes, and were
laying it out.
_The roads_--A great recreation, the past three years, has been in
taking long walks out from Washington, five, seven, perhaps ten miles
and back; generally with my friend Peter Doyle, who is as fond of it as
I am. Fine moonlight nights, over the perfect military roads, hard
and smooth--or Sundays--we had these delightful walks, never to be
forgotten. The roads connecting Washington and the numerous forts around
the city, made one useful result, at any rate, out of the war.