Some months later I chanced to see a Jersey paper which stated that my old scamp had been arrested for stealing photograph albums, and that he had formerly been a reputable judge.
GENERAL WINFIELD SCOTT HANCOCK
On returning from the train I stopped at the War Department for advice in some other cases. There I chanced to meet General Winfield Hancock, who gave me his autograph, and, chatting easily, we walked up Pennsylvania Avenue. And so it happened that I had walked down Pennsylvania Avenue with a miserable old “prison bird” and had walked up the Avenue with “the handsomest man in the army,” whose appearance was greatly enhanced by a spotless, brilliant uniform.
At Army Square Hospital I met again my former patient of City Point, who had captured his young rebel brother, the Captain. Their faithful brother had, with much care and difficulty, succeeded in bringing them to this hospital, but the cheerful young captain had died there from gangrene,—perhaps due to carelessness. The Major, weaker than when at City Point, unable to speak, motioned his brother to say that he had not forgotten the Lincoln badge I had given him, and that he would always cherish it. His devoted brother had struggled heroically to reach their city, and the Major had at least his wish to die at home. Thus ended another of the many tragedies of our unholy, unnecessary war.
During my last weeks in Washington, I attended a session of the trial of Wirz, a Swiss, formerly turnkey of Andersonville prison, who was later found guilty of barbarous treatment of prisoners of war and condemned to be hanged, with eight conspirators against the life of President Lincoln, including Mrs. Surette. I believe, however, that only four, including Mrs. Surette, were executed. These were the only traitors that suffered ignominious death. Can any other victorious nation show such Christian clemency?
Assisted by the Agency and Government Departments, I had great success in difficult cases. After much travelling about from one department to another in the interest of a convalescent soldier, I collected for him fifty dollars,—which was long due, and which at once enabled him to start for his home, greatly elated by his freedom.
CORDELIA ANDERSON
An erratic, wild Irishman was made almost delirious by getting his long delayed three hundred dollars, and insisted upon giving me fifty dollars of it, but I informed him that I did not work for pay. He wrote me from New York later, on a double sheet of cap, in letters an inch long, with “God bless you!” scrawled all over the page.