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A MODEL HOSPITAL

_Sunday, January 29th, 1865_.--Have been in Armory-square this
afternoon. The wards are very comfortable, new floors and plaster
walls, and models of neatness. I am not sure but this is a model
hospital after all, in important respects. I found several sad cases
of old lingering wounds. One Delaware soldier, William H. Millis, from
Bridgeville, whom I had been with after the battles of the Wilderness,
last May, where he receiv'd a very bad wound in the chest, with
another in the left arm, and whose case was serious (pneumonia had set
in) all last June and July, I now find well enough to do light duty.
For three weeks at the time mention'd he just hovered between life and
death.

BOYS IN THE ARMY

As I walk'd home about sunset, I saw in Fourteenth street a very young
soldier, thinly clad, standing near the house I was about to enter. I
stopt a moment in front of the door and call'd him to me. I knew
that an old Tennessee regiment, and also an Indiana regiment, were
temporarily stopping in new barracks, near Fourteenth street. This boy
I found belonged to the Tennessee regiment. But I could hardly believe
he carried a musket. He was but 15 years old, yet had been twelve
months a soldier, and had borne his part in several battles, even
historic ones. I ask'd him if he did not suffer from the cold, and
if he had no overcoat. No, he did not suffer from cold, and had no
overcoat, but could draw one whenever he wish'd. His father was dead,
and his mother living in some part of East Tennessee; all the men were
from that part of the country. The next forenoon I saw the Tennessee
and Indiana regiments marching down the Avenue. My boy was with the
former, stepping along with the rest. There were many other boys no
older. I stood and watch'd them as they tramp'd along with slow,
strong, heavy, regular steps. There did not appear to be a man over 30
years of age, and a large proportion were from 15 to perhaps 22 or 23.
They had all the look of veterans, worn, stain'd, impassive, and a
certain unbent, lounging gait, carrying in addition to their regular
arms and knapsacks, frequently a frying-pan, broom, &c. They were all
of pleasant physiognomy; no refinement, nor blanch'd with intellect,
but as my eye pick'd them, moving along, rank by rank, there did not
seem to be a single repulsive, brutal or markedly stupid face among
them.

BURIAL OF A LADY NURSE

Here is an incident just occurr'd in one of the hospitals. A lady
named Miss or Mrs. Billings, who has long been a practical friend of
soldiers, and nurse in the army, and had become attached to it in a
way that no one can realize but him or her who has had experience, was
taken sick, early this winter, linger'd some time, and finally died in
the hospital. It was her request that she should be buried among
the soldiers, and after the military method. This request was fully
carried out. Her coffin was carried to the grave by soldiers, with the
usual escort, buried, and a salute fired over the grave. This was at
Annapolis a few days since.

FEMALE NURSES FOR SOLDIERS

There are many women in one position or another, among the hospitals,
mostly as nurses here in Washington, and among the military stations;
quite a number of them young ladies acting as volunteers. They are a
help in certain ways, and deserve to be mention'd with respect. Then
it remains to be distinctly said that few or no young ladies, under
the irresistible conventions of society, answer the practical
requirements of nurses for soldiers. Middle-aged or healthy and good
condition'd elderly women, mothers of children, are always best. Many
of the wounded must be handled. A hundred things which cannot be
gainsay'd, must occur and must be done. The presence of a good
middle-aged or elderly woman, the magnetic touch of hands, the
expressive features of the mother, the silent soothing of her
presence, her words, her knowledge and privileges arrived at only
through having had children, are precious and final qualifications.
It is a natural faculty that is required; it is not merely having a
genteel young woman at a table in a ward. One of the finest nurses I
met was a red-faced illiterate old Irish woman; I have seen her take
the poor wasted naked boys so tenderly up in her arms. There are
plenty of excellent clean old black women that would make tip-top
nurses.

SOUTHERN ESCAPEES

_Feb. 23, '65_.--I saw a large procession of young men from the rebel
army, (deserters they are call'd, but the usual meaning of the word
does not apply to them,) passing the Avenue to-day. There were nearly
200, come up yesterday by boat from James river. I stood and watch'd
them as they shuffled along, in a slow, tired, worn sort of way; a
large proportion of light-hair'd, blonde, light gray-eyed young men
among them. Their costumes had a dirt-stain'd uniformity; most had
been originally gray; some had articles of our uniform, pants on one,
vest or coat on another; I think they were mostly Georgia and North
Carolina boys. They excited little or no attention. As I stood quite
close to them, several good looking enough youths, (but O what a tale
of misery their appearance told,) nodded or just spoke to me, without
doubt divining pity and fatherliness out of my face, for my heart was
full enough of it. Several of the couples trudg'd along with their
arms about each other, some probably brothers, as if they were afraid
they might somehow get separated. They nearly all look'd what one
might call simple, yet intelligent, too. Some had pieces of old
carpet, some blankets, and others old bags around their shoulders.
Some of them here and there had fine faces, still it was a procession
of misery. The two hundred had with them about half a dozen arm'd
guards. Along this week I saw some such procession, more or less
in numbers, every day, as they were brought up by the boat. The
government does what it can for them, and sends them north and west.

_Feb. 27_.--Some three or four hundred more escapees from the
confederate army came up on the boat. As the day has been very
pleasant indeed, (after a long spell of bad weather,) I have been
wandering around a good deal, without any other object than to be
out-doors and enjoy it; have met these escaped men in all directions.
Their apparel is the same ragged, long-worn motley as before
described. I talk'd with a number of the men. Some are quite bright
and stylish, for all their poor clothes--walking with an air, wearing
their old head-coverings on one side, quite saucily. I find the old,
unquestionable proofs, as all along the past four years, of the
unscrupulous tyranny exercised by the secession government in
conscripting the common people by absolute force everywhere, and
paying no attention whatever to the men's time being up--keeping
them in military service just the same. One gigantic young fellow,
a Georgian, at least six feet three inches high, broad-sized in
proportion, attired in the dirtiest, drab, well smear'd rags, tied
with strings, his trousers at the knees all strips and streamers,
was complacently standing eating some bread and meat. He appear'd
contented enough. Then a few minutes after I saw him slowly walking
along. It was plain he did not take anything to heart.

_Feb. 28._--As I pass'd the military headquarters of the city, not far
from the President's house, I stopt to interview some of the crowd of
escapees who were lounging there. In appearance they were the same as
previously mention'd. Two of them, one about 17, and the other perhaps
25 or '6, I talk'd with some time. They were from North Carolina, born
and rais'd there, and had folks there. The elder had been in the rebel
service four years. He was first conscripted for two years. He was
then kept arbitrarily in the ranks. This is the case with a large
proportion of the secession army. There was nothing downcast in these
young men's manners; the younger had been soldiering about a year; he
was conscripted; there were six brothers (all the boys of the family)
in the army, part of them as conscripts, part as volunteers; three had
been kill'd; one had escaped about four months ago, and now this
one had got away; he was a pleasant and well-talking lad, with the
peculiar North Carolina idiom (not at all disagreeable to my ears.) He
and the elder one were of the same company, and escaped together--and
wish'd to remain together. They thought of getting transportation away
to Missouri, and working there; but were not sure it was judicious. I
advised them rather to go to some of the directly northern States, and
get farm work for the present. The younger had made six dollars on the
boat, with some tobacco he brought; he had three and a half left. The
elder had nothing; I gave him a trifle. Soon after, met John Wormley,
9th Alabama, a West Tennessee rais' d boy, parents both dead--had
the look of one for a long time on short allowance--said
very little--chew'd tobacco at a fearful rate, spitting in
proportion--large clear dark-brown eyes, very fine--didn't know what
to make of me--told me at last he wanted much to get some clean
underclothes, and a pair of decent pants. Didn't care about coat or
hat fixings. Wanted a chance to wash himself well, and put on the
underclothes. I had the very great pleasure of helping him to
accomplish all those wholesome designs.

_March 1st_.--Plenty more butternut or clay-color'd escapees every
day. About 160 came in to-day, a large portion South Carolinians. They
generally take the oath of allegiance, and are sent north, west, or
extreme south-west if they wish. Several of them told me that the
desertions in their army, of men going home, leave or no leave, are
far more numerous than their desertions to our side. I saw a very
forlorn looking squad of about a hundred, late this afternoon, on
their way to the Baltimore depot.

THE CAPITOL BY GAS-LIGHT

To-night I have been wandering awhile in the capitol, which is all lit
up. The illuminated rotunda looks fine. I like to stand aside and look
a long, long while, up at the dome; it comforts me somehow. The House
and Senate were both in session till very late. I look'd in upon
them, but only a few moments; they were hard at work on tax and
appropriation bills. I wander'd through the long and rich corridors
and apartments under the Senate; an old habit of mine, former winters,
and now more satisfaction than ever. Not many persons down there,
occasionally a flitting figure in the distance.

THE INAUGURATION

_March 4th._--The President very quietly rode down to the capitol in
his own carriage, by himself, on a sharp trot, about noon, either
because he wish'd to be on hand to sign bills, or to get rid of
marching in line with the absurd procession, the muslin temple of
liberty and pasteboard monitor. I saw him on his return, at three
o'clock, after the performance was over. He was in his plain two-horse
barouche, and look'd very much worn and tired; the lines, indeed, of
vast responsibilities, intricate questions, and demands of life and
death, cut deeper than ever upon his dark brown face; yet all the old
goodness, tenderness, sadness, and canny shrewdness, underneath the
furrows. (I never see that man without feeling that he is one to
become personally attach'd to, for his combination of purest,
heartiest tenderness, and native western form of manliness.) By his
side sat his little boy, of ten years. There were no soldiers, only
a lot of civilians on horseback, with huge yellow scarfs over their
shoulders, riding around the carriage. (At the inauguration four years
ago, he rode down and back again surrounded by a dense mass of arm'd
cavalrymen eight deep, with drawn sabres; and there were sharpshooters
station'd at every corner on the route.) I ought to make mention of
the closing levee of Saturday night last. Never before was such a
compact jam in front of the White House--all the grounds fill'd, and
away out to the spacious sidewalks. I was there, as I took a notion
to go--was in the rush inside with the crowd--surged along the
passage-ways, the blue and other rooms, and through the great east
room. Crowds of country people, some very funny. Fine music from the
Marine band, off in a side place. I saw Mr. Lincoln, drest all in
black, with white kid gloves and a claw-hammer coat, receiving, as in
duty bound, shaking hands, looking very disconsolate, and as if he
would give anything to be somewhere else.

ATTITUDE OF FOREIGN GOVERNMENTS DURING THE WAR

Looking over my scraps, I find I wrote the following during 1864. The
happening to our America, abroad as well as at home, these years, is
indeed most strange. The democratic republic has paid her today the
terrible and resplendent compliment of the united wish of all the
nations of the world that her union should be broken, her future cut
off, and that she should be compell'd to descend to the level of
kingdoms and empires ordinarily great. There is certainly not one
government in Europe but is now watching the war in this country, with
the ardent prayer that the United States may be effectually split,
crippled, and dismember'd by it. There is not one but would help
toward that dismemberment, if it dared. I say such is the ardent
wish to-day of England and of France, as governments, and of all the
nations of Europe, as governments. I think indeed it is to-day the
real, heartfelt wish of all the nations of the world, with the single
exception of Mexico--Mexico, the only one to whom we have ever really
done wrong, and now the only one who prays for us and for our triumph,
with genuine prayer. Is it not indeed strange? America, made up of
all, cheerfully from the beginning opening her arms to all, the result
and justifier of all, of Britain, Germany, France and Spain--all
here--the accepter, the friend, hope, last resource and general house
of all--she who has harm'd none, but been bounteous to so many, to
millions, the mother of strangers and exiles, all nations--should now,
I say, be paid this dread compliment of general governmental fear and
hatred. Are we indignant? alarm'd? Do we feel jeopardized? No; help'd,
braced, concentrated, rather. We are all too prone to wander from
ourselves, to affect Europe, and watch her frowns and smiles. We need
this hot lesson of general hatred, and henceforth must never
forget it. Never again will we trust the moral sense nor abstract
friendliness of a single _government_ of the old world.

THE WEATHER--DOES IT SYMPATHIZE WITH THESE TIMES?

Whether the rains, the heat and cold, and what underlies them all,
are affected with what affects man in masses, and follow his play of
passionate action, strain'd stronger than usual, and on a larger scale
than usual--whether this, or no, it is certain that there is now, and
has been for twenty months or more, on this American continent north,
many a remarkable, many an unprecedented expression of the subtile
world of air above us and around us. There, since this war, and
the wide and deep national agitation, strange analogies, different
combinations, a different sunlight, or absence of it; different
products even out of the ground. After every great battle, a great
storm. Even civic events the same. On Saturday last, a forenoon like
whirling demons, dark, with slanting rain, full of rage; and then the
afternoon, so calm, so bathed with flooding splendor from heaven's
most excellent sun, with atmosphere of sweetness; so clear, it show'd
the stars, long long before they were due. As the President came out
on the capitol portico, a curious little white cloud, the only one in
that part of the sky, appear'd like a hovering bird, right over him.

Indeed, the heavens, the elements, all the meteorological influences,
have run riot for weeks past. Such caprices, abruptest alternation of
frowns and beauty, I never knew. It is a common remark that (as last
summer was different in its spells of intense heat from any preceding
it,) the winter just completed has been without parallel. It has
remain'd so down to the hour I am writing. Much of the daytime of
the past month was sulky, with leaden heaviness, fog, interstices of
bitter cold, and some insane storms. But there have been samples
of another description. Nor earth nor sky ever knew spectacles of
superber beauty than some of the nights lately here. The western star,
Venus, in the earlier hours of evening, has never been so large,
so clear; it seems as if it told something, as if it held rapport
indulgent with humanity, with us Americans. Five or six nights since,
it hung close by the moon, then a little past its first quarter. The
star was wonderful, the moon like a young mother. The sky, dark blue,
the transparent night, the planets, the moderate west wind, the
elastic temperature, the miracle of that great star, and the young and
swelling moon swimming in the west, suffused the soul. Then I heard,
slow and clear, the deliberate notes of a bugle come up out of the
silence, sounding so good through the night's mystery, no hurry, but
firm and faithful, floating along, rising, falling leisurely, with
here and there a long-drawn note; the bugle, well play'd, sounding
tattoo, in one of the army hospitals near here, where the wounded
(some of them personally so dear to me,) are lying in their cots,
and many a sick boy come down to the war from Illinois, Michigan,
Wisconsin, Iowa, and the rest.

INAUGURATION BALL

_March 6_.--I have been up to look at the dance and supper-rooms,
for the inauguration ball at the Patent office; and I could not help
thinking, what a different scene they presented to my view a while
since, fill'd with a crowded mass of the worst wounded of the war,
brought in from second Bull Run, Antietam, and Fredericksburgh.
To-night, beautiful women, perfumes, the violin's sweetness, the polka
and the waltz; then the amputation, the blue face, the groan, the
glassy eye of the dying, the clotted rag, the odor of wounds and
blood, and many a mother's son amid strangers, passing away untended
there, (for the crowd of the badly hurt was great, and much for nurse
to do, and much for surgeon.)

SCENE AT THE CAPITOL

I must mention a strange scene at the capitol, the hall of
Representatives, the morning of Saturday last, (March 4th.) The
day just dawn'd, but in half-darkness, everything dim, leaden, and
soaking. In that dim light, the members nervous from long drawn duty,
exhausted, some asleep, and many half asleep. The gas-light, mix'd
with the dingy day-break, produced an unearthly effect. The poor
little sleepy, stumbling pages, the smell of the hall, the members
with heads leaning on their desks, the sounds of the voices speaking,
with unusual intonations--the general moral atmosphere also of the
close of this important session--the strong hope that the war is
approaching its close--the tantalizing dread lest the hope may be a
false one--the grandeur of the hall itself, with its effect of vast
shadows up toward the panels and spaces over the galleries--all made
a mark'd combination.

In the midst of this, with the suddenness of a thunderbolt, burst one
of the most angry and crashing storms of rain and hail ever heard. It
beat like a deluge on the heavy glass roof of the hall, and the wind
literally howl'd and roar'd. For a moment, (and no wonder,) the
nervous and sleeping Representatives were thrown into confusion. The
slumberers awaked with fear, some started for the doors, some look'd
up with blanch'd cheeks and lips to the roof, and the little pages
began to cry; it was a scene. But it was over almost as soon as the
drowsied men were actually awake. They recover'd themselves; the storm
raged on, beating, dashing, and with loud noises at times. But the
House went ahead with its business then, I think, as calmly and with
as much deliberation as at any time in its career. Perhaps the shock
did it good. (One is not without impression, after all, amid these
members of Congress, of both the Houses, that if the flat routine of
their duties should ever be broken in upon by some great emergency
involving real danger, and calling for first-class personal qualities,
those qualities would be found generally forthcoming, and from men not
now credited with them.)

A YANKEE ANTIQUE

_March 27, 1865_.--Sergeant Calvin F. Harlowe, company C, 29th
Massachusetts, 3d brigade, 1st division, Ninth corps--a mark'd sample
of heroism and death, (some may say bravado, but I say heroism, of
grandest, oldest order)--in the late attack by the rebel troops, and
temporary capture by them, of fort Steadman, at night. The fort was
surprised at dead of night. Suddenly awaken'd from their sleep, and
rushing from their tents, Harlowe, with others, found himself in the
hands of the secesh--they demanded his surrender--he answer'd, _Never
while I live_. (Of course it was useless. The others surrender'd; the
odds were too great.) Again he was ask'd to yield, this time by a
rebel captain. Though surrounded, and quite calm, he again refused,
call'd sternly to his comrades to fight on, and himself attempted to
do so. The rebel captain then shot him--but at the same instant he
shot the captain. Both fell together mortally wounded. Harlowe died
almost instantly. The rebels were driven out in a very short time. The
body was buried next day, but soon taken up and sent home, (Plymouth
county, Mass.) Harlowe was only 22 years of age--was a tall, slim,
dark-hair'd, blue-eyed young man--had come out originally with
the 29th; and that is the way he met his death, after four years'
campaign. He was in the Seven Days fight before Richmond, in second
Bull Run, Antietam, first Fredericksburgh, Vicksburgh, Jackson,
Wilderness, and the campaigns following--was as good a soldier as ever
wore the blue, and every old officer in the regiment will bear that
testimony. Though so young, and in a common rank, he had a spirit as
resolute and brave as any hero in the books, ancient or modern--It
was too great to say the words "I surrender"--and so he died. (When I
think of such things, knowing them well, all the vast and complicated
events of the war, on which history dwells and makes its volumes, fall
aside, and for the moment at any rate I see nothing but young Calvin
Harlowe's figure in the night, disdaining to surrender.)

WOUNDS AND DISEASES

The war is over, but the hospitals are fuller than ever, from former
and current cases. A large' majority of the wounds are in the arms and
legs. But there is every kind of wound, in every part of the body.
I should say of the sick, from my observation, that the prevailing
maladies are typhoid fever and the camp fevers generally, diarrhoea,
catarrhal affections and bronchitis, rheumatism and pneumonia. These
forms of sickness lead; all the rest follow. There are twice as many
sick as there are wounded. The deaths range from seven to ten per
cent, of those under treatment.[7]

Note:

[7] In the U. S. Surgeon-General's office since, there is a formal
record and treatment of 153, 142 cases of wounds by government
surgeons. What must have been the number unofficial, indirect--to say
nothing of the Southern armies?

DEATH OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN

_April 16, '65_.--I find in my notes of the time, this passage on
the death of Abraham Lincoln: He leaves for America's history and
biography, so far, not only its most dramatic reminiscence--he
leaves, in my opinion, the greatest, best, most characteristic,
artistic, moral personality. Not but that he had faults, and show'd
them in the Presidency; but honesty, goodness, shrewdness, conscience,
and (a new virtue, unknown to other lands, and hardly yet really known
here, but the foundation and tie of all, as the future will grandly
develop,) UNIONISM, in its truest and amplest sense, form'd the
hard-pan of his character. These he seal'd with his life. The tragic
splendor of his death, purging, illuminating all, throws round his
form, his head, an aureole that will remain and will grow brighter
through time, while history lives, and love of country lasts. By many
has this Union been help'd; but if one name, one man, must be pick'd
out, he, most of all, is the conservator of it, to the future. He was
assassinated--but the Union is not assassinated--_ca ira_! One falls
and another falls. The soldier drops, sinks like a wave--but the ranks
of the ocean eternally press on. Death does its work, obliterates a
hundred, a thousand--President, general, captain, private,--but the
Nation is immortal.

SHERMAN'S ARMY'S JUBILATION--ITS SUDDEN STOPPAGE

When Sherman's armies, (long after they left Atlanta,) were marching
through Southand North Carolina--after leaving Savannah, the news of
Lee's capitulation having been receiv'd--the men never mov'd a mile
without from some part of the line sending up continued, inspiriting
shouts. At intervals all day long sounded out the wild music of those
peculiar army cries. They would be commenc'd by one regiment or
brigade, immediately taken up by others, and at length whole corps and
armies would join in these wild triumphant choruses. It was one of the
characteristic expressions of the western troops, and became a habit,
serving as a relief and outlet to the men--a vent for their feelings
of victory, returning peace, &c. Morning, noon, and afternoon,
spontaneous, for occasion or without occasion, these huge, strange
cries, differing from any other, echoing through the open air for many
a mile, expressing youth, joy, wildness, irrepressible strength,
and the ideas of advance and conquest, sounded along the swamps and
uplands of the South, floating to the skies. ("There never were men
that kept in better spirits in danger or defeat--what then could they
do in victory?"--said one of the 15th corps to me, afterwards.) This
exuberance continued till the armies arrived at Raleigh. There the
news of the President's murder was receiv'd. Then no more shouts or
yells, for a week. All the marching was comparatively muffled. It
was very significant--hardly a loud word or laugh in many of the
regiments. A hush and silence pervaded all.