Olivia.
[A SOLDIER’S BURIAL.]
Last Scene of all Pathetically Depicted.
Washington, January 31, 1866.
A close observer in Washington is greatly surprised at the easy transition from a state of war to that of peace. An intelligent person might say there is no true peace. We will leave this discussion to the politicians, and say we are no longer awakened in the small hours of the night by the rumbling of the Government ambulances bringing the wounded and dying from the battlefields to the hospitals. We never shall forget that peculiar sound, unlike that produced by any other vehicle. Perhaps it was the zigzag course the driver often took to avoid any little obstruction in the street, which might jar and aggravate the wounded occupant, that made it seem so long in coming. But the movements were always slower than a funeral march.
But sad as this procession seemed, painful almost beyond expression, there was still a sadder sight. It was the same fashioned ambulance, with “U. S. Hearse” marked in large letters on the side of it. Our ears could never distinguish the movements of this from any grocer’s wagon. Sometimes we have been crossing a street, this solitary equipage would dash past, and if we were quick enough to catch a glance at the open end of it, we might see a stained coffin, perhaps two of them, with nothing to distinguish them but their manly proportions. No carriages, no mourners, no comrades, even, with reversed arms, all alone, save detailed soldiers enough to perform the act of burial; even the “chaplain” often absent.
Happening to meet an old soldier whom we knew just as the Government hearse was passing, said he, “I hope you don’t mind that; you see that is only a part of the play. It don’t make much difference how you drop the seed; the Lord will take care of the harvest.” In an instant religion stood stripped of its vaulted roof and broad aisles—Te Deums, new bonnets, gewgaws and pew rent. Anxious for his salvation, we inquired, “Do you ever go to church?” and thus this bronzed soldier answered, “Got too much faith to go very often. They don’t ask a fellow to sit down. Got to stow away somewhere in the back gallery, or near the door, out of everybody’s way. And besides that, I don’t want to go to their heaven. I ain’t got on the right kind of uniform to serve under their General. But hang it, Heaven is big enough for us all—horses and dead rebs into the bargain.”
Only yesterday, as it were, the cloud, the vapor, the storm of war, the wrath of the conflict, bleeding wounds, breaking hearts. To-day the sun shines upon free, proud America, the most powerful nation on the face of the earth—a nation that stands forth pure and undefiled, her late difficulties overcome, or will be just as soon as old Thad Stevens reports the surgical operation a success. Fifteen able doctors are at work, and have been ever since Congress has been in session, and the country can rest assured that everything is going on as well as can be expected.