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PAYING THE BOUNTIES

One of the things to note here now is the arrival of the paymaster
with his strong box, and the payment of bounties to veterans
re-enlisting. Major H. is here to-day, with a small mountain of
greenbacks, rejoicing the hearts of the 2d division of the First
corps. In the midst of a rickety shanty, behind a little table, sit
the major and clerk Eldridge, with the rolls before them, and much
moneys. A re-enlisted man gets in cash about $200 down, (and heavy
instalments following, as the pay-days arrive, one after another.) The
show of the men crowding around is quite exhilarating; I like to
stand and look. They feel elated, their pockets full, and the ensuing
furlough, the visit home. It is a scene of sparkling eyes and flush'd
cheeks. The soldier has many gloomy and harsh experiences, and this
makes up for some of them. Major H. is order'd to pay first all the
re-enlisted men of the First corps their bounties and back pay, and
then the rest. You hear the peculiar sound of the rustling of the new
and crisp greenbacks by the hour, through the nimble fingers of the
major and my friend clerk E.

RUMORS, CHANGES, ETC.

About the excitement of Sunday, and the orders to be ready to start,
I have heard since that the said orders came from some cautious minor
commander, and that the high principalities knew not and thought not
of any such move; which is likely. The rumor and fear here intimated a
long circuit by Lee, and flank attack on our right. But I cast my eyes
at the mud, which was then at its deepest and palmiest condition, and
retired composedly to rest. Still it is about time for Culpepper to
have a change. Authorities have chased each other here like clouds in
a stormy sky. Before the first Bull Run this was the rendezvous and
camp of instruction of the secession troops. I am stopping at the
house of a lady who has witness'd all the eventful changes of the war,
along this route of contending armies. She is a widow, with a family
of young children, and lives here with her sister in a large handsome
house. A number of army officers board with them.

VIRGINIA

Dilapidated, fenceless, and trodden with war as Virginia is, wherever
I move across her surface, I find myself rous'd to surprise and
admiration. What capacity for products, improvements, human life,
nourishment and expansion. Everywhere that I have been in the Old
Dominion, (the subtle mockery of that title now!) such thoughts
have fill'd me. The soil is yet far above the average of any of the
northern States. And how full of breadth the scenery, everywhere
distant mountains, everywhere convenient rivers. Even yet prodigal in
forest woods, and surely eligible for all the fruits, orchards, and
flowers. The skies and atmosphere most luscious, as I feel certain,
from more than a year's residence in the State, and movements hither
and yon. I should say very healthy, as a general thing. Then a rich
and elastic quality, by night and by day. The sun rejoices in his
strength, dazzling and burning, and yet, to me, never unpleasantly
weakening. It is not the panting tropical heat, but invigorates. The
north tempers it. The nights are often unsurpassable. Last evening
(Feb. 8,) I saw the first of the new moon, the outlined old moon clear
along with it; the sky and air so clear, such transparent hues of
color, it seem'd to me I had never really seen the new moon before. It
was the thinnest cut crescent possible. It hung delicate just above
the sulky shadow of the Blue mountains. Ah, if it might prove an omen
and good prophecy for this unhappy State.

SUMMER OF 1864

I am back again in Washington, on my regular daily and nightly rounds.
Of course there are many specialties. Dotting a ward here and there
are always cases of poor fellows, long-suffering under obstinate
wounds, or weak and dishearten'd from typhoid fever, or the like;
mark'd cases, needing special and sympathetic nourishment. These I sit
down and either talk to, or silently cheer them up. They always like
it hugely, (and so do I.) Each case has its peculiarities, and needs
some new adaptation. I have learnt to thus conform--learnt a good deal
of hospital wisdom. Some of the poor young chaps, away from home for
the first time in their lives, hunger and thirst for affection; this
is sometimes the only thing that will reach their condition. The men
like to have a pencil, and something to write in. I have given them
cheap pocket-diaries, and almanacs for 1864, interleav'd with blank
paper. For reading I generally have some old pictorial magazines or
story papers--they are always acceptable. Also the morning or evening
papers of the day. The best books I do not give, but lend to read
through the wards, and then take them to others, and so on; they are
very punctual about returning the books. In these wards, or on the
field, as I thus continue to go round, I have come to adapt myself
to each emergency, after its kind or call, however trivial, however
solemn, every one justified and made real under its circumstances
--not only visits and cheering talk and little gifts--not only washing
and dressing wounds, (I have some cases where the patient is unwilling
any one should do this but me)--but passages from the Bible,
expounding them, prayer at the bedside, explanations of doctrine, &c.
(I think I see my friends smiling at this confession, but I was never
more in earnest in my life.) In camp and everywhere, I was in the
habit of reading or giving recitations to the men. They were very fond
of it, and liked declamatory poetical pieces. We would gather in a
large group by ourselves, after supper, and spend the time in such
readings, or in talking, and occasionally by an amusing game called
the game of twenty questions.

A NEW ARMY ORGANIZATION FIT FOR AMERICA

It is plain to me out of the events of the war, north and south, and
out of all considerations, that the current military theory, practice,
rules and organization, (adopted from Europe from the feudal
institutes, with, of course, the "modern improvements," largely from
the French,) though tacitly follow'd, and believ'd in by the officers
generally, are not at all consonant with the United States, nor our
people, nor our days. What it will be I know not--but I know that as
entire an abnegation of the present military system, and the naval
too, and a building up from radically different root-bases and centres
appropriate to us, must eventually result, as that our political
system has resulted and become establish'd, different from feudal
Europe, and built up on itself from original, perennial, democratic
premises. We have undoubtedly in the United States the greatest
military power--an exhaustless, intelligent, brave and reliable rank
and file--in the world, any land, perhaps all lands. The problem is to
organize this in the manner fully appropriate to it, to the principles
of the republic, and to get the best service out of it. In the present
struggle, as already seen and review'd, probably three-fourths of the
losses, men, lives, &c., have been sheer superfluity, extravagance,
waste.

DEATH OF A HERO

I wonder if I could ever convey to another--to you, for instance,
reader dear--the tender and terrible realities of such cases, (many,
many happen'd,) as the one I am now going to mention. Stewart C.
Glover, company E, 5th Wisconsin--was wounded May 5, in one of those
fierce tussles of the Wilderness-died May 21--aged about 20. He was a
small and beardless young man--a splendid soldier--in fact almost an
ideal American, of his age. He had serv'd nearly three years, and
would have been entitled to his discharge in a few days. He was in
Hancock's corps. The fighting had about ceas'd for the day, and the
general commanding the brigade rode by and call'd for volunteers to
bring in the wounded. Glover responded among the first--went out
gayly--but while in the act of bearing in a wounded sergeant to our
lines, was shot in the knee by a rebel sharpshooter; consequence,
amputation and death. He had resided with his father, John Glover, an
aged and feeble man, in Batavia, Genesee county, N. Y., but was at
school in Wisconsin, after the war broke out, and there enlisted--soon
took to soldier-life, liked it, was very manly, was belov'd by
officers and comrades. He kept a little diary, like so many of the
soldiers. On the day of his death he wrote the following in it,
_to-day the doctor says I must die--all is over with me--ah, so young
to die_. On another blank leaf he pencill'd to his brother, _dear
brother Thomas, I have been brave but wicked--pray for me._

HOSPITAL SCENES--INCIDENTS

It is Sunday afternoon, middle of summer, hot and oppressive, and very
silent through the ward. I am taking care of a critical case, now
lying in a half lethargy. Near where I sit is a suffering rebel, from
the 8th Louisiana; his name is Irving. He has been here a long time,
badly wounded, and lately had his leg amputated; it is not doing very
well. Right opposite me is a sick soldier-boy, laid down with his
clothes on, sleeping, looking much wasted, his pallid face on his arm.
I see by the yellow trimming on his jacket that he is a cavalry boy. I
step softly over and find by his card that he is named William Cone,
of the 1st Maine cavalry, and his folks live in Skowhegan.

_Ice Cream Treat_.--One hot day toward the middle of June, I gave the
inmates of Carver hospital a general ice cream treat, purchasing a
large quantity, and, under convoy of the doctor or head nurse, going
around personally through the wards to see to its distribution. _An
Incident_.--In one of the rights before Atlanta, a rebel soldier, of
large size, evidently a young man, was mortally wounded top of the
head, so that the brains partially exuded. He lived three days, lying
on his back on the spot where he first dropt. He dug with his heel in
the ground during that time a hole big enough to put in a couple of
ordinary knapsacks. He just lay there in the open air, and with little
intermission kept his heel going night and day. Some of our soldiers
then moved him to a house, but he died in a few minutes.

_Another_.--After the battles at Columbia, Tennessee, where we
repuls'd about a score of vehement rebel charges, they left a great
many wounded on the ground, mostly within our range. Whenever any
of these wounded attempted to move away by any means, generally by
crawling off, our men without exception brought them down by a bullet.
They let none crawl away, no matter what his condition.

A YANKEE SOLDIER

As I turn'd off the Avenue one cool October evening into Thirteenth
street, a soldier with knapsack and overcoat stood at the corner
inquiring his way. I found he wanted to go part of the road in my
direction, so we walk'd on together. We soon fell into conversation.
He was small and not very young, and a tough little fellow, as I
judged in the evening light, catching glimpses by the lamps we pass'd.
His answers were short, but clear. His name was Charles Carroll; he
belong'd to one of the Massachusetts regiments, and was born in or
near Lynn. His parents were living, but were very old. There were four
sons, and all had enlisted. Two had died of starvation and misery in
the prison at Andersonville, and one had been kill'd in the west.
He only was left. He was now going home, and by the way he talk'd I
inferr'd that his time was nearly out. He made great calculations on
being with his parents to comfort them the rest of their days.

UNION PRISONERS SOUTH

Michael Stansbury, 48 years of age, a seafaring man, a southerner by
birth and raising, formerly captain of U. S. light ship Long Shoal,
station'd at Long Shoal point, Pamlico sound--though a southerner, a
firm Union man--was captur'd Feb. 17, 1863, and has been nearly two
years in the Confederate prisons; was at one time order'd releas'd by
Governor Vance, but a rebel officer re-arrested him; then sent on to
Richmond for exchange--but instead of being exchanged was sent down
(as a southern citizen, not a soldier,) to Salisbury, N. C., where he
remain'd until lately, when he escap'd among the exchang'd by assuming
the name of a dead soldier, and coming up via Wilmington with the
rest. Was about sixteen months in Salisbury.

Subsequent to October, '64, there were about 11,000 Union prisoners
in the stockade; about 100 of them southern unionists, 200 U. S.
deserters. During the past winter 1500 of the prisoners, to save their
lives, join'd the confederacy, on condition of being assign'd merely
to guard duty. Out of the 11,000 not more than 2500 came out; 500 of
these were pitiable, helpless wretches--the rest were in a condition
to travel. There were often 60 dead bodies to be buried in the
morning; the daily average would be about 40. The regular food was a
meal of corn, the cob and husk ground together, and sometimes once a
week a ration of sorghum molasses. A diminutive ration of meat might
possibly come once a month, not oftener. In the stockade, containing
the 11,000 men, there was a partial show of tents, not enough for
2000. A large proportion of the men lived in holes in the ground, in
the utmost wretchedness. Some froze to death, others had their hands
and feet frozen. The rebel guards would occasionally, and on the least
pretence, fire into the prison from mere demonism and wantonness. All
the horrors that can be named, starvation, lassitude, filth, vermin,
despair, swift loss of self-respect, idiocy, insanity, and frequent
murder, were there. Stansbury has a wife and child living in
Newbern--has written to them from here--is in the U. S. light-house
employ still--(had been home to Newbern to see his family, and on his
return to the ship was captured in his boat.) Has seen men brought
there to Salisbury as hearty as you ever see in your life--in a
few weeks completely dead gone, much of it from thinking on their
condition--hope all gone. Has himself a hard, sad, strangely deaden'd
kind of look, as of one chill' d for years in the cold and dark, where
his good manly nature had no room to exercise itself.

DESERTERS

_Oct. 24_.--Saw a large squad of our own deserters (over 300)
surrounded with a cordon of arm'd guards, marching along Pennsylvania
avenue. The most motley collection I ever saw, all sorts of rig, all
sorts of hats and caps, many fine-looking young fellows, some of them
shame-faced, some sickly, most of them dirty, shirts very dirty and
long worn, &c. They tramp'd along without order, a huge huddling mass,
not in ranks. I saw some of the spectators laughing, but I felt like
anything else but laughing. These deserters are far more numerous than
would be thought. Almost every day I see squads of them, sometimes two
or three at a time, with a small guard; sometimes ten or twelve, under
a larger one. (I hear that desertions from the army now in the field
have often averaged 10,000 a month. One of the commonest sights in
Washington is a squad of deserters.)

A GLIMPSE OF WAR'S HELL-SCENES

In one of the late movements of our troops in the valley, (near
Upperville, I think,) a strong force of Moseby's mounted guerillas
attack'd a train of wounded, and the guard of cavalry convoying them.
The ambulances contain'd about 60 wounded, quite a number of them
officers of rank. The rebels were in strength, and the capture of
the train and its partial guard after a short snap was effectually
accomplish'd. No sooner had our men surrender'd, the rebels instantly
commenced robbing the train and murdering their prisoners, even the
wounded. Here is the scene, or a sample of it, ten minutes after.
Among the wounded officers in the ambulances were one, a lieutenant of
regulars, and another of higher rank. These two were dragg'd out on
the ground on their backs, and were now surrounded by the guerillas,
a demoniac crowd, each member of which was stabbing them in different
parts of their bodies. One of the officers had his feet pinn'd firmly
to the ground by bayonets stuck through them and thrust into the
ground. These two officers, as afterwards found on examination, had
receiv'd about twenty such thrusts, some of them through the mouth,
face, &c. The wounded had all been dragg'd (to give a better chance
also for plunder,) out of their wagons; some had been effectually
dispatch'd, and their bodies were lying there lifeless and bloody.
Others, not yet dead, but horribly mutilated, were moaning or
groaning. Of our men who surrender'd, most had been thus maim'd or
slaughter'd.

At this instant a force of our cavalry, who had been following the
train at some interval, charged suddenly upon the secesh captors, who
proceeded at once to make the best escape they could. Most of them got
away, but we gobbled two officers and seventeen men, in the very acts
just described. The sight was one which admitted of little discussion,
as may be imagined. The seventeen captur'd men and two officers were
put under guard for the night, but it was decided there and then that
they should die. The next morning the two officers were taken in the
town, separate places, put in the centre of the street, and shot. The
seventeen men were taken to an open ground, a little one side. They
were placed in a hollow square, half-encompass'd by two of our cavalry
regiments, one of which regiments had three days before found the
bloody corpses of three of their men hamstrung and hung up by the
heels to limbs of trees by Moseby's guerillas, and the other had not
long before had twelve men, after surrendering, shot and then hung by
the neck to limbs of trees, and jeering inscriptions pinn'd to the
breast of one of the corpses, who had been a sergeant. Those three,
and those twelve, had been found, I say, by these environing
regiments. Now, with revolvers, they form'd the grim cordon of the
seventeen prisoners. The latter were placed in the midst of the hollow
square, unfasten'd, and the ironical remark made to them that they
were now to be given "a chance for themselves." A few ran for it. But
what use? From every side the deadly pills came. In a few minutes the
seventeen corpses strew'd the hollow square. I was curious to know
whether some of the Union soldiers, some few, (some one or two at
least of the youngsters,) did not abstain from shooting on the
helpless men. Not one. There was no exultation, very little said,
almost nothing, yet every man there contributed his shot.

Multiply the above by scores, aye hundreds--verify it in all the forms
that different circumstances, individuals, places, could afford--light
it with every lurid passion, the wolf's, the lion's lapping thirst
for blood--the passionate, boiling volcanoes of human revenge for
comrades, brothers slain--with the light of burning farms, and
heaps of smutting, smouldering black embers--and in the human heart
everywhere black, worse embers--and you have an inkling of this war.

GIFTS--MONEY--DISCRIMINATION

As a very large proportion of the wounded came up from the front
without a cent of money in their pockets, I soon discover'd that it
was about the best thing I could do to raise their spirits, and show
them that somebody cared for them, and practically felt a fatherly or
brotherly interest in them, to give them small sums in such cases,
using tact and discretion about it. I am regularly supplied with funds
for this purpose by good women and men in Boston, Salem, Providence,
Brooklyn, and New York. I provide myself with a quantity of bright new
ten-cent and five-cent bills, and, when I think it incumbent, I give
25 or 30 cents, or perhaps 50 cents, and occasionally a still larger
sum to some particular case. As I have started this subject, I
take opportunity to ventilate the financial question. My supplies,
altogether voluntary, mostly confidential, often seeming quite
Providential, were numerous and varied. For instance, there were two
distant and wealthy ladies, sisters, who sent regularly, for two
years, quite heavy sums, enjoining that their names should be kept
secret. The same delicacy was indeed a frequent condition. From
several I had _carte blanche_. Many were entire strangers. From these
sources, during from two to three years, in the manner described, in
the hospitals, I bestowed, as almoner for others, many, many thousands
of dollars. I learn'd one thing conclusively--that beneath all the
ostensible greed and heartlessness of our times there is no end to the
generous benevolence of men and women in the United States, when once
sure of their object. Another thing became clear to me--while _cash_
is not amiss to bring up the rear, tact and magnetic sympathy and
unction are, and ever will be, sovereign still.

ITEMS FROM MY NOTE BOOKS

Some of the half-eras'd, and not over-legible when made, memoranda
of things wanted by one patient or another, will convey quite a fair
idea. D. S. G., bed 52, wants a good book; has a sore, weak throat;
would like some horehound candy; is from New Jersey, 28th regiment.
C. H. L., 145th Pennsylvania, lies in bed 6, with jaundice and
erysipelas; also wounded; stomach easily nauseated; bring him some
oranges, also a little tart jelly; hearty, full-blooded young
fellow--(he got better in a few days, and is now home on a furlough.)
J. H. G., bed 24, wants an undershirt, drawers, and socks; has not had
a change for quite a while; is evidently a neat, clean boy from New
England--(I supplied him; also with a comb, tooth-brush, and some
soap and towels; I noticed afterward he was the cleanest of the whole
ward.) Mrs. G., lady-nurse, ward F, wants a bottle of brandy--has
two patients imperatively requiring stimulus--low with wounds and
exhaustion. (I supplied her with a bottle of first-rate brandy from
the Christian commission rooms.)

A CASE FROM SECOND BULL RUN

Well, Poor John Mahay is dead. He died yesterday. His was a painful
and long-lingering case (see p. 24 _ante_.) I have been with him at
times for the past fifteen months. He belonged to company A, 101st New
York, and was shot through the lower region of the abdomen at second
Bull Run, August, '62. One scene at his bedside will suffice for the
agonies of nearly two years. The bladder had been perforated by a
bullet going entirely through him. Not long since I sat a good part of
the morning by his bedside, ward E, Armory square. The water ran out
of his eyes from the intense pain, and the muscles of his face were
distorted, but he utter'd nothing except a low groan now and then. Hot
moist cloths were applied, and reliev'd him somewhat. Poor Mahay, a
mere boy in age, but old in misfortune. He never knew the love of
parents, was placed in infancy in one of the New York charitable
institutions, and subsequently bound out to a tyrannical master in
Sullivan county, (the scars of whose cowhide and club remain'd yet on
his back.) His wound here was a most disagreeable one, for he was
a gentle, cleanly, and affectionate boy. He found friends in his
hospital life, and, indeed, was a universal favorite. He had quite a
funeral ceremony.

ARMY SURGEONS--AID DEFICIENCIES

I must bear my most emphatic testimony to the zeal, manliness, and
professional spirit and capacity, generally prevailing among the
surgeons, many of them young men, in the hospitals and the army. I
will not say much about the exceptions, for they are few; (but I have
met some of those few, and very incompetent and airish they were.)
I never ceas'd to find the best men, and the hardest and most
disinterested workers, among the surgeons in the hospitals. They are
full of genius, too. I have seen many hundreds of them and this is my
testimony. There are, however, serious deficiencies, wastes, sad
want of system, in the commissions, contributions, and in all the
voluntary, and a great part of the governmental nursing, edibles,
medicines, stores, &c. (I do not say surgical attendance, because
the surgeons cannot do more than human endurance permits.) Whatever
puffing accounts there may be in the papers of the North, this is
the actual fact. No thorough previous preparation, no system, no
foresight, no genius. Always plenty of stores, no doubt, but never
where they are needed, and never the proper application. Of all
harrowing experiences, none is greater than that of the days following
a heavy battle. Scores, hundreds of the noblest men on earth,
uncomplaining, lie helpless, mangled, faint, alone, and so bleed to
death, or die from exhaustion, either actually untouch'd at all, or
merely the laying of them down and leaving them, when there ought to
be means provided to save them.

THE BLUE EVERYWHERE

This city, its suburbs, the capitol, the front of the White House, the
places of amusement, the Avenue, and all the main streets, swarm with
soldiers this winter, more than ever before. Some are out from the
hospitals, some from the neighboring camps, &c. One source or another,
they pour plenteously, and make, I should say, the mark'd feature in
the human movement and costume-appearance of our national city. Their
blue pants and overcoats are everywhere. The clump of crutches
is heard up the stairs of the paymasters' offices, and there are
characteristic groups around the doors of the same, often waiting long
and wearily in the cold. Toward the latter part of the afternoon, you
see the furlough'd men, sometimes singly, sometimes in small squads,
making their way to the Baltimore depot. At all times, except early
in the morning, the patrol detachments are moving around, especially
during the earlier hours of evening, examining passes, and arresting
all soldiers without them. They do not question the one-legged, or
men badly disabled or main'd, but all others are stopt. They also go
around evenings through the auditoriums of the theatres, and make
officers and all show their passes, or other authority, for being
there.