_Washington, June 7, 1864._ DEAREST MOTHER--I cannot write you anything
about the 51st, as I have not heard a word. I felt very much disturbed
yesterday afternoon, as Major Hapgood came up from the paymaster general's
office, and said that news had arrived that Burnside was killed, and that
the 9th Corps had had a terrible slaughter. He said it was believed at the
paymaster general's office. Well, I went out to see what reliance there
was on it. The rumor soon spread over town, and was believed by many--but
as near as I can make it out, it proves to be one of those unaccountable
stories that get started these times. Saturday night we heard that Grant
was routed completely, etc. etc.--so that's the way stories fly. I suppose
you hear the same big lies there in Brooklyn. Well, the truth is sad
enough, without adding anything to it--but Grant is not destroyed yet, but
I think is going into Richmond yet, but the cost is terrible. Mother, I
have not felt well at all the last week. I had spells of deathly faintness
and bad trouble in my head too, and sore throat (quite a little budget,
ain't they?) My head was the worst, though I don't know, the faint spells
were not very pleasant--but I feel so much better this forenoon I believe
it has passed over. There is a very horrible collection in Armory
building, (in Armory-square hospital)--about 200 of the worst cases you
ever see, and I had been probably too much with them. It is enough to melt
the heart of a stone; over one third of them are amputation cases. Well,
mother, poor Oscar Cunningham is gone at last. He is the 82d Ohio boy
(wounded May 3d, '63). I have written so much of him I suppose you feel as
if you almost knew him. I was with him Saturday forenoon and also evening.
He was more composed than usual, could not articulate very well. He died
about 2 o'clock Sunday morning--very easy they told me. I was not there.
It was a blessed relief; his life has been misery for months. The cause of
death at last was the system absorbing the pus, the bad matter, instead of
discharging it from [the] wound. I believe I told you I was quite blue
from the deaths of several of the poor young men I knew well, especially
two I had strong hopes of their getting up. Things are going pretty badly
with the wounded. They are crowded here in Washington in immense numbers,
and all those that come up from the Wilderness and that region, arrived
here so neglected, and in such plight, it was awful--(those that were at
Fredericksburg and also from Ball Plain). The papers are full of puffs,
etc., but the truth is, the largest proportion of worst cases got little
or no attention. We receive them here with their wounds full of
worms--some all swelled and inflamed. Many of the amputations have to be
done over again. One new feature is that many of the poor afflicted young
men are crazy. Every ward has some in it that are wandering. They have
suffered too much, and it is perhaps a privilege that they are out of
their senses. Mother, it is most too much for a fellow, and I sometimes
wish I was out of it--but I suppose it is because I have not felt first
rate myself. I am going to write to George to-day, as I see there is a
daily mail to White House. O, I must tell you that we get the wounded from
our present field near Richmond much better than we did from the
Wilderness and Fredericksburg. We get them now from White House. They are
put on boats there, and come all the way here, about 160 or 170 miles.
White House is only twelve or fifteen miles from the field, and is our
present depot and base of supplies. It is very pleasant here to-day, a
little cooler than it has been--a good rain shower last evening. The
Western reg'ts continue to pour in here, the 100 days men;--may go down to
front to guard posts, trains, etc.
Well, mother, how do things go on with you all? It seems to me if I could
only be home two or three days, and have some good teas with you and Mat,
and set in the old basement a while, and have a good time and talk with
Jeff, and see the little girls, etc., I should be willing to keep on
afterward among these sad scenes for the rest of the summer--but I shall
remain here until this Richmond campaign is settled, anyhow, unless I get
sick, and I don't anticipate that. Mother dear, I hope you are well and in
fair spirits--you must try to. Have you heard from sister Han?