Again occupied in the pleasant duty of distributing Sanitary Commission articles, at the Barracks, to seventeen hundred and sixty men: many have been prisoners but a little while. Among them are some of Sherman’s veterans, and his noted “bummers,” who, smart as they were, could not always escape from the rebels. Such work as this is a most agreeable contrast to the wards, where we see nothing but skeletons, and hear their sad tales of suffering so touchingly related.
In this arrival were many wounded from the late battles and skirmishes; their blankets and coats were taken from them: at night, without any shelter, they suffered from exposure. From Danville to Richmond, one hundred and forty miles, they were crowded on top of box-cars: the rebel lieutenant in charge telling the guard to “push them with his bayonet, crowd them up; he wished they were all dead!” The poor wounded men had to hold on with both hands; many, unable to do so, rolled off, and had broken bones added to the suffering of their wounds; some died there from the effects of that ride, and others who are here cannot live.
A young boy, after he was captured and robbed of his clothing, was shot in the side by a man who rode up, and without one word, fired a revolver, aiming at his heart; a quick movement saved his life, but he lies helpless, and suffering with an ugly wound.
Many of the prisoners have been so long away from home and friends, that they cannot understand why so much sympathy should be manifested for them. Thomas Brown, Company I, 58th Massachusetts, who has been for weeks the most patient sufferer, and now very near his end, says he never saw anything like the kindness and attention shown to the men in this hospital (St. John’s); that certainly the Lord put it into the hearts of the people to do all this for them; he wished the men in Southern prisons might know it.
Calder, of the 174th Ohio, is a Virginian, his wife and children living on the Rapidan when last he heard from home. He had great difficulty in eluding the conscript officers; at length crossed the lines, and enlisted in Ohio; when captured by the rebels, was tried for treason, and a rope tied round his wrists and ankles for three months; was nine months in prison, then made his escape.
A boy was brought into “St. John’s” to-day, the son of a Presbyterian clergyman near Baltimore: since the first battle in which he was engaged, he has been frantic with terror; he knows very well that he was a prisoner in Castle Thunder, but thinks he was put there as a punishment for praying daily “that God would end the war, give victory to our armies, and peace to the land.” His dread of Southern prisons is painful to behold: when the flags which hang upon the walls are pointed out, and he is asked “if they look like the rebels’?” conscious for the moment, he will reply, “oh, no; that looks like home;” but with a shudder he is again in the dreaded prisons, and it is with difficulty he can then be calmed and quieted. The surgeons think the rest and pleasures of home will, in time, restore his mind; he will very soon be sent there.
In another ward is a case something similar to the Maryland boy, though this man has endured longer imprisonment and greater suffering. His name is Ephraim Gould, from Maine; his mind seemed entirely gone; he was only conscious of his prison life: that was all fearfully distinct. To-day there seemed a gleam of returning reason: and observing a lady near him, called his wife, and asked, was she here, had she written, or was it all a dream? Fortunately, his wife had been written to, and a letter received from her; some money was handed to him, and told it was his own; he looked intently at it for a moment, and then remarked: “Surely that is United States; it don’t look like the rebel stuff!” Then recognizing a ten, a five, and so on, gave their value correctly. Inquires as a little child would do how he must get out of bed, must he ask if he wants to sit up, and so on. It is the most complete awakening of an imbecile man that I have yet seen. To the regret of all who knew him, this was but a faint glimmer of reason, ere exhausted nature gave up the struggle. Once more he was conscious for a short time; then sank into the repose of death.
Among those whose minds were not restored was “Fred,” supposed to be a Swede: when asked his name and residence, would give the first he thought of—rarely the same twice. At the breaking up of the hospitals, “Fred” was sent to Baltimore: we saw him there in August, 1865; he seemed better; and wrote his name in a beautiful hand, “Fred, Chicago.”
An intense love of the flag is observed in nearly all who are received here. From the high flag-staff at the Naval School, the vessels can distinguish the flag floating while yet some distance out. A boy was lately carried from one of the boats who seemed wild with excitement when he gazed upon it; and when laid upon his bed in the hospital, asked that it might be placed where he could see it. A small one was given to him: his greatest pleasure seemed to be to lie under its folds; he held it in his hands, laid it upon his face, nestled close to it in sleep, and would never have it out of his sight. The poor emaciated child lingered a few days, forgetting his sufferings and all the dark, weary months of hopeless imprisonment; he was perfectly happy under its protection, and died with his flag in his hands; was carried to his grave with it resting upon the coffin lid.
Another boat load, of two hundred, just arrived: many of them in good condition, having been sent from Wilmington to Fortress Monroe, where they have been for three weeks; some skeletons in the number.