_Washington, Oct. 11, 1863._ DEAR FRIEND[18]--Your letters were both
received, and were indeed welcome. Don't mind my not answering them
promptly, for you know what a wretch I am about such things. But you must
write just as often as you conveniently can. Tell me all about your folks,
especially the girls, and about Mr. A. Of course you won't forget
Arthur,[19] and always when you write to him send my love. Tell me about
Mrs. U. and the dear little rogues. Tell Mrs. B. she ought to be here,
hospital matron, only it is a harder pull than folks anticipate. You wrote
about Emma;[20] she thinks she might and ought to come as nurse for the
soldiers. Dear girl, I know it would be a blessed thing for the men to
have her loving spirit and hand, and whoever of the poor fellows had them
would indeed think it so. But, my darling, it is a dreadful thing--you
don't know these wounds, sickness, etc., the sad condition in which many
of the men are brought here, and remain for days; sometimes the wounds
full of crawling corruption, etc. Down in the field-hospitals in front
they have no proper care (can't have), and after a battle go for many days
unattended to.
Abby, I think often about you and the pleasant days, the visits I used to
pay you, and how good it was always to be made so welcome. O, I wish I
could come in this afternoon and have a good tea with you, and have three
or four hours of mutual comfort, and rest and talk, and be all of us
together again. Is Helen home and well? and what is she doing now? And
you, my dear friend, how sorry I am to hear that your health is not
rugged--but, dear Abby, you must not dwell on anticipations of the worst
(but I know that is not your nature, or did not use to be). I hope this
will find you quite well and in good spirits. I feel so well myself--I
will have to come and see you, I think--I am so fat, out considerable in
the open air, and all red and tanned worse than ever. You see, therefore,
that my life amid these sad and death-stricken hospitals has not told upon
me, for I am this fall so running over with health, and I feel as if I
ought to go on, on that account, working among all the sick and deficient;
and O how gladly I would bestow upon you a liberal share of my health,
dear Abby, if such a thing were possible.
I am continually moving around among the hospitals. One I go to oftenest
the last three months is "Armory-square," as it is large, generally full
of the worst wounds and sickness, and is among the least visited. To this
or some other I never miss a day or evening. I am enabled to give the men
something, and perhaps some trifle to their supper all around. Then there
are always special cases calling for something special. Above all the poor
boys welcome magnetic friendship, personality (some are so fervent, so
hungering for this)--poor fellows, how young they are, lying there with
their pale faces, and that mute look in their eyes. O, how one gets to
love them--often, particular cases, so suffering, so good, so manly and
affectionate! Abby, you would all smile to see me among them--many of them
like children. Ceremony is mostly discarded--they suffer and get exhausted
and so weary--not a few are on their dying beds--lots of them have grown
to expect, as I leave at night, that we should kiss each other, sometimes
quite a number; I have to go round, poor boys. There is little petting in
a soldier's life in the field, but, Abby, I know what is in their hearts,
always waiting, though they may be unconscious of it themselves.
I have a place where I buy very nice homemade biscuits, sweet crackers,
etc. Among others, one of my ways is to get a good lot of these, and, for
supper, go through a couple of wards and give a portion to each man--next
day two wards more, and so on. Then each marked case needs something to
itself. I spend my evenings altogether at the hospitals--my days often. I
give little gifts of money in small sums, which I am enabled to do--all
sorts of things indeed, food, clothing, letter-stamps (I write lots of
letters), now and then a good pair of crutches, etc., etc. Then I read to
the boys. The whole ward that can walk gathers around me and listens.
All this I tell you, my dear, because I know it will interest you. I like
Washington very well. (Did you see my last letter in the New York _Times_
of October 4th, Sunday?) I have three or four hours' work every day
copying, and in writing letters for the press, etc.; make enough to pay my
way--live in an inexpensive manner anyhow. I like the mission I am on
here, and as it deeply holds me I shall continue.
_October 15._ Well, Abby, I guess I send you letter enough. I ought to
have finished and sent off the letter last Sunday, when it was written. I
have been pretty busy. We are having new arrivals of wounded and sick now
all the time--some very bad cases. Abby, should you come across any one
who feels to help contribute to the men through me, write me. (I may then
send word some purchases I should find acceptable for the men). But this
only if it happens to come in that you know or meet any one, perfectly
convenient. Abby, I have found some good friends here, a few, but true as
steel--W. D. O'Connor and wife above all. He is a clerk in the
Treasury--she is a Yankee girl. Then C. W. Eldridge[21] in Paymaster's
Department. He is a Boston boy, too--their friendship has been unswerving.
In the hospitals, among these American young men, I could not describe to
you what mutual attachments, and how passing deep and tender these boys.
Some have died, but the love for them lives as long as I draw breath.
These soldiers know how to love too, when once they have the right person
and the right love offered them. It is wonderful. You see I am running off
into the clouds, but this is my element. Abby, I am writing this note this
afternoon in Major H's office--he is away sick--I am here a good deal of
the time alone. It is a dark rainy afternoon--we don't know what is going
on down in front, whether Meade is getting the worst of it or not--(but
the result of the big elections cheers us). I believe fully in
Lincoln--few know the rocks and quicksands he has to steer through. I
enclose you a note Mrs. O'C. handed me to send you--written, I suppose,
upon impulse. She is a noble Massachusetts woman, is not very rugged in
health--I am there very much--her husband and I are great friends too.
Well, I will close--the rain is pouring, the sky leaden, it is between 2
and 3. I am going to get some dinner, and then to the hospital. Good-bye,
dear friends, and I send my love to all.