_Washington, Tuesday forenoon, May 19, 1863._ DEAREST MOTHER--... I sent
George a letter yesterday--have not got any letter myself from Georgy, but
have sent him quite a good many and papers. Mother, what a tramp the 51st
has had--they only need now to go to California, and they will finish the
job complete. O mother, how welcome the shirts were--I was putting off and
putting off, to get some new ones. I could not find any one to do them as
I want them, and it would have cost such a price--and so my old ones had
got to be. When they came back from the wash I had to laugh; they were a
lot of rags, held together with starch. I have a very nice old black aunty
for a washwoman, but she bears down pretty hard, I guess, when she irons
them, and they showed something like the poor old city of Fredericksburg
does, since Burnside bombarded it. Well, mother, when the bundle came, I
was so glad--and the coats too, worn as they are, they come in very
handy--and the cake, dear mother, I am almost like the boy that put it
under his pillow and woke up in the night and eat some. I carried a good
chunk to a young man wounded I think a good deal of, and it did him so
much good--it is dry, but all the better, as he eat it with tea and it
relished. I eat a piece with him, and drinked some tea out of his cup, as
I sat by the side of his cot. Mother, I have neglected, I think, what I
ought to have told you two or three weeks ago, that is that I have
discarded my old clothes--somewhat because they were too thick, and more
still because they were worse gone in than any I have ever yet wore, I
think, in my life, especially the trowsers. Wearing my big boots had
caused the inside of the legs just above the knee to wear two beautiful
round holes right through cloth and partly through the lining, producing
a novel effect, which was not necessary, as I produce a sufficient
sensation without--then they were desperately faded. I have a nice plain
suit of a dark wine color; looks very well, and feels good--single
breasted sack coat with breast pockets, etc., and vest and pants same as
what I always wear (pants pretty full), so upon the whole all looks
unusually good for me. My hat is very good yet, boots ditto; have a new
necktie, nice shirts--you can imagine I cut quite a swell. I have not
trimmed my beard since I left home, but it is not grown much longer, only
perhaps a little bushier. I keep about as stout as ever, and the past five
or six days I have felt wonderful well, indeed never did I feel better.
About ten or twelve days ago, we had a short spell of very warm weather
here, but for about six days now it has been delightful, just warm enough.
I generally go to the hospitals from 12 to 4--and then again from 6 to 9;
some days I only go in the middle of the day or evening, not both--and
then when I feel somewhat opprest, I skip over a day, or make perhaps a
light call only, as I have several cautions from the doctors, who tell me
that one must beware of continuing too steady and long in the air and
influences of the hospitals. I find the caution a wise one.
Mother, you or Jeff must write me what Andrew does about going to North
Carolina. I should think it might have a beneficial effect upon his
throat. I wrote Jeff quite a long letter Sunday. Jeff must write to me
whenever he can, I like dearly to have them--and whenever you feel like it
you too, dear mother. Tell Sis her uncle Walt will come back one of these
days from the sick soldiers and take her out on Fort Greene again. Mother,
I received a letter yesterday from John Elliot's father, in Bedford co.,
Pennsylvania (the young man I told you about, who died under the
operation). It was very sad; it was the first he knew about it. I don't
know whether I told you of Dennis Barrett, pneumonia three weeks since,
had got well enough to be sent home. Dearest Mother, I hope you will take
things as easy as possible and try to keep a good heart. Matty, my dear
sister, I have to inform you that I was treated to a splendid dish of
ice-cream Sunday night; I wished you was with me to have another. I send
you my love, dear sister. Mother, I hope by all means it will be possible
to keep the money whole to get some ranch next spring, if not before; I
mean to come home and build it. Good-bye for the present, dear mother.