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OPENING OF THE SECESSION WAR

News of the attack on fort Sumter and _the flag_ at Charleston harbor,
S. C., was receiv'd in New York city late at night (13th April, 1861,)
and was immediately sent out in extras of the newspapers. I had
been to the opera in Fourteenth street that night, and after the
performance was walking down Broadway toward twelve o'clock, on my
way to Brooklyn, when I heard in the distance the loud cries of the
newsboys, who came presently tearing and yelling up the street,
rushing from side to side even more furiously than usual. I bought an
extra and cross'd to the Metropolitan hotel (Niblo's) where the great
lamps were still brightly blazing, and, with a crowd of others, who
gather'd impromptu, read the news, which was evidently authentic. For
the benefit of some who had no papers, one of us read the telegram
aloud, while all listen'd silently and attentively. No remark was made
by any of the crowd, which had increas'd to thirty or forty, but all
stood a minute or two, I remember, before they dispers'd. I can almost
see them there now, under the lamps at midnight again.

NATIONAL UPRISING AND VOLUNTEERING

I have said somewhere that the three Presidentiads preceding 1861
show'd how the weakness and wickedness of rulers are just as eligible
here in America under republican, as in Europe under dynastic
influences. But what can I say of that prompt and splendid wrestling
with secession slavery, the arch-enemy personified, the instant he
unmistakably show'd his face? The volcanic upheaval of the nation,
after that firing on the flag at Charleston, proved for certain
something which had been previously in great doubt, and at once
substantially settled the question of disunion. In my judgment it will
remain as the grandest and most encouraging spectacle yet vouchsafed
in any age, old or new, to political progress and democracy. It
was not for what came to the surface merely--though that was
important--but what it indicated below, which was of eternal
importance. Down in the abysms of New World humanity there had form'd
and harden'd a primal hardpan of national Union will, determin'd and
in the majority, refusing to be tamper'd with or argued against,
confronting all emergencies, and capable at any time of bursting all
surface bonds, and breaking out like an earthquake. It is, indeed,
the best lesson of the century, or of America, and it is a mighty
privilege to have been part of it. (Two great spectacles, immortal
proofs of democracy, unequall'd in all the history of the past, are
furnish'd by the secession war--one at the beginning, the other at
its close. Those are, the general, voluntary, arm'd upheaval, and the
peaceful and harmonious disbanding of the armies in the summer of
1865.)

CONTEMPTUOUS FEELING

Even after the bombardment of Sumter, however, the gravity of the
revolt, and the power and will of the slave States for a strong and
continued military resistance to national authority, were not at all
realized at the North, except by a few. Nine-tenths of the people
of the free States look'd upon the rebellion, as started in South
Carolina, from a feeling one-half of contempt, and the other half
composed of anger and incredulity. It was not thought it would be
join'd in by Virginia, North Carolina, or Georgia. A great and
cautious national official predicted that it would blow over "in sixty
days," and folks generally believ'd the prediction. I remember talking
about it on a Fulton ferry-boat with the Brooklyn mayor, who said he
only "hoped the Southern fire-eaters would commit some overt act of
resistance, as they would then be at once so effectually squelch'd,
we would never hear of secession again--but he was afraid they never
would have the pluck to really do anything."

I remember, too, that a couple of companies of the Thirteenth
Brooklyn, who rendezvou'd at the city armory, and started thence as
thirty days' men, were all provided with pieces of rope, conspicuously
tied to their musket-barrels, with which to bring back each man a
prisoner from the audacious South, to be led in a noose, on our men's
early and triumphant return!

BATTLE OF BULL RUN, JULY, 1861

All this sort of feeling was destin'd to be arrested and revers'd by
a terrible shock--the battle of first Bull Run--certainly, as we now
know it, one of the most singular fights on record. (All battles, and
their results, are far more matters of accident than is generally
thought; but this was throughout a casualty, a chance. Each side
supposed it had won, till the last moment. One had, in point of fact,
just the same right to be routed as the other. By a fiction, or series
of fictions, the national forces at the last moment exploded in a
panic and fled from the field.) The defeated troops commenced pouring
into Washington over the Long Bridge at daylight on Monday, 22d--day
drizzling all through with rain. The Saturday and Sunday of the battle
(20th, 21st,) had been parch'd and hot to an extreme--the dust, the
grime and smoke, in layers, sweated in, follow'd by other layers
again sweated in, absorb'd by those excited souls--their clothes all
saturated with the clay-powder filling the air--stirr'd up everywhere
on the dry roads and trodden fields by the regiments, swarming wagons,
artillery, &c.--all the men with this coating of murk and sweat and
rain, now recoiling back, pouring over the Long Bridge--a horrible
march of twenty miles, returning to Washington baffed, humiliated,
panic-struck. Where are the vaunts, and the proud boasts with which
you went forth? Where are your banners, and your bands of music, and
your ropes to bring back your prisoners? Well, there isn't a band
playing--and there isn't a flag but clings ashamed and lank to its
staff.

The sun rises, but shines not. The men appear, at first sparsely
and shame-faced enough, then thicker, in the streets of Washington
--appear in Pennsylvania avenue, and on the steps and basement
entrances. They come along in disorderly mobs, some in squads,
stragglers, companies. Occasionally, a rare regiment, in perfect
order, with its officers (some gaps, dead, the true braves,) marching
in silence, with lowering faces, stern, weary to sinking, all black
and dirty, but every man with his musket, and stepping alive; but
these are the exceptions. Sidewalks of Pennsylvania avenue, Fourteenth
street, &c., crowded, jamm'd with citizens, darkies, clerks,
everybody, lookers-on; women in the windows, curious expressions from
faces, as those swarms of dirt-cover'd return'd soldiers there (will
they never end?) move by; but nothing said, no comments; (half our
lookers-on secesh of the most venomous kind--they say nothing; but the
devil snickers in their faces.) During the forenoon Washington gets
all over motley with these defeated soldiers--queer-looking objects,
strange eyes and faces, drench'd (the steady rain drizzles on all
day) and fearfully worn, hungry, haggard, blister'd in the feet. Good
people (but not over-many of them either,) hurry up something for
their grub. They put wash-kettles on the fire, for soup, for coffee.
They set tables on the side-walks--wagon-loads of bread are purchas'd,
swiftly cut in stout chunks. Here are two aged ladies, beautiful, the
first in the city for culture and charm, they stand with store of
eating and drink at an improvis'd table of rough plank, and give food,
and have the store replenished from their house every half-hour
all that day; and there in the rain they stand, active, silent,
white-hair'd, and give food, though the tears stream down their
cheeks, almost without intermission, the whole time. Amid the deep
excitement, crowds and motion, and desperate eagerness, it seems
strange to see many, very many, of the soldiers sleeping--in the midst
of all, sleeping sound. They drop down anywhere, on the steps of
houses, up close by the basements or fences, on the sidewalk, aside on
some vacant lot, and deeply sleep. A poor 17 or 18 year old boy
lies there, on the stoop of a grand house; he sleeps so calmly, so
profoundly. Some clutch their muskets firmly even in sleep. Some in
squads; comrades, brothers, close together--and on them, as they lay,
sulkily drips the rain.

As afternoon pass'd, and evening came, the streets, the bar-rooms,
knots everywhere, listeners, questioners, terrible yarns, bugaboo,
mask'd batteries, our regiment all cut up, &c.--stories and
story-tellers, windy, bragging, vain centres of street-crowds.
Resolution, manliness, seem to have abandon'd Washington. The
principal hotel, Willard's, is full of shoulder-straps--thick,
crush'd, creeping with shoulder-straps. (I see them, and must have a
word with them. There you are, shoulder-straps!--but where are your
companies? where are your men? Incompetents! never tell me of chances
of battle, of getting stray'd, and the like. I think this is your
work, this retreat, after all. Sneak, blow, put on airs there in
Willard's sumptuous parlors and bar-rooms, or anywhere--no explanation
shall save you. Bull Run is your work; had you been half or one-tenth
worthy your men, this would never have happen'd.)

Meantime, in Washington, among the great persons and their entourage,
a mixture of awful consternation, uncertainty, rage, shame,
helplessness, and stupefying disappointment. The worst is not only
imminent, but already here. In a few hours--perhaps before the next
meal--the secesh generals, with their victorious hordes, will be upon
us. The dream of humanity, the vaunted Union we thought so strong,
so impregnable--lo! it seems already smash'd like a china plate. One
bitter, bitter hour--perhaps proud America will never again know
such an hour. She must pack and fly--no time to spare. Those white
palaces--the dome-crown'd capitol there on the hill, so stately over
the trees--shall they be left--or destroy'd first? For it is certain
that the talk among certain of the magnates and officers and clerks
and officials everywhere, for twenty-four hours in and around
Washington after Bull Run, was loud and undisguised for yielding out
and out, and substituting the southern rule, and Lincoln promptly
abdicating and departing. If the secesh officers and forces had
immediately follow'd, and by a bold Napoleonic movement had enter'd
Washington the first day, (or even the second,) they could have had
things their own way, and a powerful faction north to back them. One
of our returning colonels express'd in public that night, amid a swarm
of officers and gentlemen in a crowded room, the opinion that it was
useless to fight, that the southerners had made their title clear,
and that the best course for the national government to pursue was to
desist from any further attempt at stopping them, and admit them again
to the lead, on the best terms they were willing to grant. Not a voice
was rais'd against this judgment, amid that large crowd of officers
and gentlemen. (The fact is, the hour was one of the three or four of
those crises we had then and afterward, during the fluctuations of
four years, when human eyes appear'd at least just as likely to see
the last breath of the Union as to see it continue.)

THE STUPOR PASSES--SOMETHING ELSE BEGINS

But the hour, the day, the night pass'd, and whatever returns, an
hour, a day, a night like that can never again return. The President,
recovering himself, begins that very night--sternly, rapidly sets
about the task of reorganizing his forces, and placing himself in
positions for future and surer work. If there were nothing else of
Abraham Lincoln for history to stamp him with, it is enough to send
him with his wreath to the memory of all future time, that he endured
that hour, that day, bitterer than gall--indeed a crucifixion
day--that it did not conquer him--that he unflinchingly stemm'd it,
and resolv'd to lift himself and the Union out of it.

Then the great New York papers at once appear'd, (commencing that
evening, and following it up the next morning, and incessantly through
many days afterwards,) with leaders that rang out over the land with
the loudest, most reverberating ring of clearest bugles, full of
encouragement, hope, inspiration, unfaltering defiance; Those
magnificent editorials! they never flagg'd for a fortnight. The
"Herald" commenced them--I remember the articles well. The "Tribune"
was equally cogent and inspiriting--and the "Times," "Evening Post,"
and other principal papers, were not a whit behind. They came in good
time, for they were needed. For in the humiliation of Bull Run, the
popular feeling north, from its extreme of superciliousness, recoil'd
to the depth of gloom and apprehension.

(Of all the days of the war, there are two especially I can never
forget. Those were the day following the news, in New York and
Brooklyn, of that first Bull Run defeat, and the day of Abraham
Lincoln's death. I was home in Brooklyn on both occasions. The day
of the murder we heard the news very early in the morning. Mother
prepared breakfast--and other meals afterward--as usual; but not a
mouthful was eaten all day by either of us. We each drank half a cup
of coffee; that was all. Little was said. We got every newspaper
morning and evening, and the frequent extras of that period, and
pass'd them silently to each other.)

DOWN AT THE FRONT

FALMOUTH, VA., _opposite Fredericksburgh, December 21, 1862_.--Begin my
visits among the camp hospitals in the army of the Potomac. Spend a good
part of the day in a large brick mansion on the banks of the Rappahannock,
used as a hospital since the battle--seems to have receiv'd only the
worst cases. Out doors, at the foot of a tree, within ten yards of the
front of the house, I notice a heap of amputated feet, legs, arms, hands,
&c., a full load for a one-horse cart. Several dead bodies lie near, each
cover'd with its brown woolen blanket. In the door-yard, towards the
river, are fresh graves, mostly of officers, their names on pieces of
arrel-staves or broken boards, stuck in the dirt. (Most of these bodies
were subsequently taken up and transported north to their friends.) The
large mansion is quite crowded upstairs and down, everything impromptu,
no system, all bad enough, but I have no doubt the best that can be done;
all the wounds pretty bad, some frightful, the men in their old clothes,
unclean and bloody. Some of the wounded are rebel soldiers and officers,
prisoners. One, a Mississippian, a captain, hit badly in leg, I talk'd
with some time; he ask'd me for papers, which I gave him. (I saw him
three months afterward in Washington, with his leg amputated, doing well.)
I went through the rooms, downstairs and up. Some of the men were dying.
I had nothing to give at that visit, but wrote a few letters to folks home,
mothers, &c. Also talk'd to three or four, who seem'd most susceptible to
it, and needing it.

AFTER FIRST FREDERICKSBURG

_December 23 to 31_.--The results of the late battle are exhibited
everywhere about here in thousands of cases, (hundreds die every day,)
in the camp, brigade, and division hospitals. These are merely tents,
and sometimes very poor ones, the wounded lying on the ground, lucky
if their blankets are spread on layers of pine or hemlock twigs, or
small leaves. No cots; seldom even a mattress. It is pretty cold. The
ground is frozen hard, and there is occasional snow. I go around from
one case to another. I do not see that I do much good to these wounded
and dying; but I cannot leave them. Once in a while some youngster
holds on to me convulsively, and I do what I can for him; at any rate,
stop with him and sit near him for hours, if he wishes it.

Besides the hospitals, I also go occasionally on long tours through
the camps, talking with the men, &c. Sometimes at night among the
groups around the fires, in their shebang enclosures of bushes.
These are curious shows, full of characters and groups. I soon get
acquainted anywhere in camp, with officers or men, and am always well
used. Sometimes I go down on picket with the regiments I know best.
As to rations, the army here at present seems to be tolerably well
supplied, and the men have enough, such as it is, mainly salt pork
and hard tack. Most of the regiments lodge in the flimsy little
shelter-tents. A few have built themselves huts of logs and mud, with
fire-places.

BACK TO WASHINGTON

_January, '63_.--Left camp at Falmouth, with some wounded, a few days
since, and came here by Aquia creek railroad, and so on government
steamer up the Potomac. Many wounded were with us on the cars and
boat. The cars were just common platform ones. The railroad journey
of ten or twelve miles was made mostly before sunrise. The soldiers
guarding the road came out from their tents or shebangs of bushes with
rumpled hair and half-awake look. Those on duty were walking their
posts, some on banks over us, others down far below the level of the
track. I saw large cavalry camps off the road. At Aquia creek landing
were numbers of wounded going north. While I waited some three hours,
I went around among them. Several wanted word sent home to parents,
brothers, wives, &c., which I did for them, (by mail the next day from
Washington.) On the boat I had my hands full. One poor fellow died
going up.

I am now remaining in and around Washington, daily visiting the
hospitals. Am much in Patent-office, Eighth street, H street,
Armory-square, and others. Am now able to do a little good, having
money, (as almoner of others home,) and getting experience. To-day,
Sunday afternoon and till nine in the evening, visited Campbell
hospital; attended specially to one case in ward I, very sick with
pleurisy and typhoid fever, young man, farmer's son, D. F. Russell,
company E, 60th New York, downhearted and feeble; a long time before
he would take any interest; wrote a letter home to his mother, in
Malone, Franklin county, N. Y., at his request; gave him some fruit
and one or two other gifts; envelop'd and directed his letter, &c.
Then went thoroughly through ward 6, observ'd every case in the ward,
without, I think, missing one; gave perhaps from twenty to thirty
persons, each one some little gift, such as oranges, apples, sweet
crackers, figs, &c.

_Thursday, Jan. 21._--Devoted the main part of the day to
Armory-square hospital; went pretty thoroughly through wards F, G,
H, and I; some fifty cases in each ward. In ward F supplied the men
throughout with writing paper and stamp'd envelope each; distributed
in small portions, to proper subjects, a large jar of first-rate
preserv'd berries, which had been donated to me by a lady--her own
cooking. Found several cases I thought good subjects for small sums of
money, which I furnish'd. (The wounded men often come up broke, and it
helps their spirits to have even the small sum I give them.) My paper
and envelopes all gone, but distributed a good lot of amusing reading
matter; also, as I thought judicious, tobacco, oranges, apples, &c.
Interesting cases in ward I; Charles Miller, bed 19, company D, 53d
Pennsylvania, is only 16 years of age, very bright, courageous boy,
left leg amputated below the knee; next bed to him, another young
lad very sick; gave each appropriate gifts. In the bed above, also,
amputation of the left leg; gave him a little jar of raspberries; bed
J, this ward, gave a small sum; also to a soldier on crutches, sitting
on his bed near.... (I am more and more surprised at the very great
proportion of youngsters from fifteen to twenty-one in the army. I
afterwards found a still greater proportion among the southerners.)

Evening, same day, went to see D. F. R., before alluded to; found him
remarkably changed for the better; up and dress'd--quite a triumph; he
afterwards got well, and went back to his regiment.

Distributed in the wards a quantity of note-paper, and forty or fifty
stamp'd envelopes, of which I had recruited my stock, and the men were
much in need.

FIFTY HOURS LEFT WOUNDED ON THE FIELD

Here is a case of a soldier I found among the crowded cots in the
Patent-office. He likes to have some one to talk to, and we will
listen to him. He got badly hit in his leg and side at Fredericksburgh
that eventful Saturday, 13th of December. He lay the succeeding two
days and nights helpless on the field, between the city and those grim
terraces of batteries; his company and regiment had been compell'd to
leave him to his fate. To make matters worse, it happen'd he lay with
his head slightly down hill, and could not help himself. At the end of
some fifty hours he was brought off, with other wounded, under a flag
of truce. I ask him how the rebels treated him as he lay during
those two days and nights within reach of them--whether they came to
him--whether they abused him? He answers that several of the rebels,
soldiers and others, came to him at one time and another. A couple of
them, who were together, spoke roughly and sarcastically, but nothing
worse. One middle-aged man, however, who seem'd to be moving around
the field, among the dead and wounded, for benevolent purposes, came
to him in a way he will never forget; treated our soldier kindly,
bound up his wounds, cheer'd him, gave him a couple of biscuits and a
drink of whiskey and water; asked him if he could eat some beef. This
good secesh, however, did not change our soldier's position, for it
might have caused the blood to burst from the wounds, clotted and
stagnated. Our soldier is from Pennsylvania; has had a pretty severe
time; the wounds proved to be bad ones. But he retains a good heart,
and is at present on the gain. (It is not uncommon for the men to
remain on the field this way, one, two, or even four or five days.)

HOSPITAL SCENES AND PERSONS

_Letter Writing_.--When eligible, I encourage the men to write,
and myself, when called upon, write all sorts of letters for them
(including love letters, very tender ones.) Almost as I reel off these
memoranda, I write for a new patient to his wife. M. de F., of the
17th Connecticut, company H, has just come up (February 17th) from
Windmill point, and is received in ward H, Armory-square. He is an
intelligent looking man, has a foreign accent, black-eyed and hair'd,
a Hebraic appearance. Wants a telegraphic message sent to his wife,
New Canaan, Conn. I agree to send the message--but to make things sure
I also sit down and write the wife a letter, and despatch it to the
post-office immediately, as he fears she will come on, and he does not
wish her to, as he will surely get well.

_Saturday, January 30th._--Afternoon, visited Campbell hospital. Scene
of cleaning up the ward, and giving the men all clean clothes--through
the ward (6) the patients dressing or being dress'd--the naked upper
half of the bodies--the good-humor and fun--the shirts, drawers,
sheets of beds, &c., and the general fixing up for Sunday. Gave J. L.
50 cents.

_Wednesday, February 4th._--Visited Armory-square hospital, went
pretty thoroughly through wards E and D. Supplied paper and envelopes
to all who wish'd--as usual, found plenty of men who needed those
articles. Wrote letters. Saw and talk'd with two or three members of
the Brooklyn 14th regt. A poor fellow in ward D, with a fearful wound
in a fearful condition, was having some loose splinters of bone taken
from the neighborhood of the wound. The operation was long, and one of
great pain--yet, after it was well commenced, the soldier bore it in
silence. He sat up, propp'd--was much wasted--had lain a long time
quiet in one position (not for days only but weeks,) a bloodless,
brown-skinn'd face, with eyes full of determination--belong'd to a
New York regiment. There was an unusual cluster of surgeons, medical
cadets, nurses, &c., around his bed--I thought the whole thing was
done with tenderness, and done well. In one case, the wife sat by
the side of her husband, his sickness typhoid fever, pretty bad. In
another, by the side of her son, a mother--she told me she had seven
children, and this was the youngest. (A fine, kind, healthy, gentle
mother, good-looking, not very old, with a cap on her head, and
dress'd like home--what a charm it gave to the whole ward.) I liked
the woman nurse in ward E--I noticed how she sat a long time by a poor
fellow who just had, that morning, in addition to his other sickness,
bad hemorrhage--she gently assisted him, reliev'd him of the blood,
holding a cloth to his mouth, as he coughed it up--he was so weak he
could only just turn his head over on the pillow.

One young New York man, with a bright, handsome face, had been lying
several months from a most disagreeable wound, receiv'd at Bull Run.
A bullet had shot him right through the bladder, hitting him front,
low in the belly, and coming out back. He had suffer'd much--the
water came out of the wound, by slow but steady quantities, for many
weeks--so that he lay almost constantly in a sort of puddle--and there
were other disagreeable circumstances. He was of good heart, however.
At present comparatively comfortable, had a bad throat, was delighted
with a stick of horehound candy I gave him, with one or two other
trifles.