_Washington, June 30th, 1863._ DEAREST MOTHER--Your letter, with Han's, I
have sent to George, though whether it will find him or not I cannot tell,
as I think the 51st must be away down at Vicksburg. I have not had a word
from George yet. Mother, I have had quite an attack of sore throat and
distress in my head for some days past, up to last night, but to-day I
feel nearly all right again. I have been about the city same as usual
nearly--to the hospitals, etc., I mean. I am told that I hover too much
over the beds of the hospitals, with fever and putrid wounds, etc. One
soldier brought here about fifteen days ago, very low with typhoid fever,
Livingston Brooks, Co. B., 17th Penn. Cavalry, I have particularly stuck
to, as I found him to be in what appeared to be a dying condition, from
negligence and a horrible journey of about forty miles, bad roads and fast
driving; and then after he got here, as he is a simple country boy, very
shy and silent, and made no complaint, they neglected him. I found him
something like I found John Holmes last winter. I called the doctor's
attention to him, shook up the nurses, had him bathed in spirits, gave him
lumps of ice, and ice to his head; he had a fearful bursting pain in his
head, and his body was like fire. He was very quiet, a very sensible boy,
old fashioned; he did not want to die, and I had to lie to him without
stint, for he thought I knew everything, and I always put in of course
that what I told him was exactly the truth, and that if he got really
dangerous I would tell him and not conceal it. The rule is to remove bad
fever patients out from the main wards to a tent by themselves, and the
doctor told me he would have to be removed. I broke it gently to him, but
the poor boy got it immediately in his head that he was marked with death,
and was to be removed on that account. It had a great effect upon him, and
although I told the truth this time it did not have as good a result as my
former fibs. I persuaded the doctor to let him remain. For three days he
lay just about an even chance, go or stay, with a little leaning toward
the first. But, mother, to make a long story short, he is now out of any
immediate danger. He has been perfectly rational throughout--begins to
taste a little food (for a week he ate nothing; I had to compel him to
take a quarter of an orange now and then), and I will say, whether anyone
calls it pride or not, that if he _does_ get up and around again it's me
that saved his life. Mother, as I have said in former letters, you can
have no idea how these sick and dying youngsters cling to a fellow, and
how fascinating it is, with all its hospital surroundings of sadness and
scenes of repulsion and death. In this same hospital, Armory-square, where
this cavalry boy is, I have about fifteen or twenty particular cases I see
much to--some of them as much as him. There are two from East Brooklyn;
George Monk, Co. A, 78th N. Y., and Stephen Redgate (his mother is a widow
in East Brooklyn--I have written to her). Both are pretty badly
wounded--both are youngsters under 19. O mother, it seems to me as I go
through these rows of cots as if it was too bad to accept these
_children_, to subject them to such premature experiences. I devote myself
much to Armory-square hospital because it contains by far the worst cases,
most repulsive wounds, has the most suffering and most need of
consolation. I go every day without fail, and often at night--sometimes
stay very late. No one interferes with me, guards, nurses, doctors, nor
anyone. I am let to take my own course.
Well, mother, I suppose you folks think we are in a somewhat dubious
position here in Washington, with Lee in strong force almost between us
and you Northerners. Well, it does look ticklish; if the Rebs cut the
connection then there will be fun. The Reb cavalry come quite near us,
dash in and steal wagon trains, etc.; it would be funny if they should
come some night to the President's country house (Soldiers' home), where
he goes out to sleep every night; it is in the same direction as their
saucy raid last Sunday. Mr. Lincoln passes here (14th st.) every evening
on his way out. I noticed him last evening about half-past 6--he was in
his barouche, two horses, guarded by about thirty cavalry. The barouche
comes first under a slow trot, driven by one man in the box, no servant or
footman beside; the cavalry all follow closely after with a lieutenant at
their head. I had a good view of the President last evening. He looks more
careworn even than usual, his face with deep cut lines, seams, and his
_complexion gray_ through very dark skin--a curious looking man, very sad.
I said to a lady who was looking with me, "Who can see that man without
losing all wish to be sharp upon him personally?" The lady assented,
although she is almost vindictive on the course of the administration
(thinks it wants nerve, etc.--the usual complaint). The equipage is rather
shabby, horses indeed almost what my friends the Broadway drivers would
call _old plugs_. The President dresses in plain black clothes, cylinder
hat--he was alone yesterday. As he came up, he first drove over to the
house of the Sec. of War, on K st., about 300 feet from here; sat in his
carriage while Stanton came out and had a 15 minutes interview with him (I
can see from my window), and then wheeled around the corner and up
Fourteenth st., the cavalry after him. I really think it would be safer
for him just now to stop at the White House, but I expect he is too proud
to abandon the former custom. Then about an hour after we had a large
cavalry regiment pass, with blankets, arms, etc., on the war march over
the same track. The regt. was very full, over a thousand--indeed thirteen
or fourteen hundred. It was an old regt., veterans, _old fighters_, young
as they were. They were preceded by a fine mounted band of sixteen (about
ten bugles, the rest cymbals and drums). I tell you, mother, it made
everything ring--made my heart leap. They played with a will. Then the
accompaniment: the sabers rattled on a thousand men's sides--they had
pistols, their heels were spurred--handsome American young men (I make no
acc't of any other); rude uniforms, well worn, but good cattle,
prancing--all good riders, full of the devil; nobody shaved, very
sunburnt. The regimental officers (splendidly mounted, but just as roughly
dressed as the men) came immediately after the band, then company after
company, with each its officers at its head--the tramps of so many horses
(there is a good hard turnpike)--then a long train of men with led horses,
mounted negroes, and a long, long string of baggage wagons, each with four
horses, and then a strong rear guard. I tell you it had the look of _real
war_--noble looking fellows; a man feels so proud on a good horse, and
armed. They are off toward the region of Lee's (supposed) rendezvous,
toward Susquehannah, for the great anticipated battle. Alas! how many of
these healthy, handsome, rollicking young men will lie cold in death
before the apples ripen in the orchard. Mother, it is curious and stirring
here in some respects. Smaller or larger bodies of troops are moving
continually--many just-well men are turned out of the hospitals. I am
where I see a good deal of them. There are getting to be _many black
troops_. There is one very good regt. here black as tar; they go around,
have the regular uniform--they submit to no nonsense. Others are
constantly forming. It is getting to be a common sight. [_The rest of the
letter is lost._--ED.]