XXIII
Washington, May 25, 1864. Dearest Mother—I have not heard anything of George or the reg’t or Corps more than I have already written. I got Jeff’s letter on Sunday and wrote to him next day, which you have seen, mother, of course. I have written to Han and sent her George’s letter to me dated 16th. I have heard that the 9th Corps has been moved to the extreme left of the army. I should think by accounts this morning that the army must be nearly half way from Fredericksburg to Richmond. The advance can’t be more than 30 to 35 miles from there. I see Fred McReady about every other day. I have to go down to Alexandria, about 6 miles from here. He is doing quite well, but very tired of the confinement. I still go around daily and nightly among wounded. Mother, it is just the same old story; poor suffering young men, great swarms of them, come up here now every day all battered and bloody—there have 4000 arrived here this morning, and 1500 yesterday. They appear to be bringing them all up here from Fredericksburg. The journey from the field till they get aboard the boats at Ball plain is horrible. I believe I wrote several times about Oscar Cunningham, 82nd Ohio, amputation of right leg, wounded over a year ago, a friend of mine here. He is rapidly sinking; said to me yesterday, O, if he could only die. The young lad Cutter, of 1st Massachusetts heavy artillery, I was with Sunday afternoon, (I wrote about in Jeff’s letter) still holds out. Poor boy, there is no chance for him at all.
But mother, I shall make you gloomy enough if I go on with these kind of particulars—only I know you like to hear about the poor young men, after I have once begun to mention them. Mother, I have changed my quarters—am at 502 Pennsylvania av., near 3d street, only a little way from the Capitol. Where I was, the house was sold and the old lady I hired the room from had to move out and give the owner possession. I like my new quarters pretty well—I have a room to myself, 3d story hall bedroom. I have my meals in the house. Mother, it must be sad enough about Nance and the young ones. Is the little baby still hearty? I believe you wrote a few weeks after it was born that it was quite a fine child. I see you had a draft in the 3d Congressional district. I was glad enough to see Jeff’s name was not drawn. We have had it awful hot here, but there was a sharp storm of thunder and lightning last night, and to-day it is fine. Mother, do any of the soldiers I see here from Brooklyn or New York ever call upon you? They sometimes say they will here. Tell Jeff I got a letter yesterday from W. E. Worthen, in which he sent me some money for the men. I have acknowledged it to Mr. W. by letter. Well, dear mother, I must close. O, how I want to see you all—I will surely have to come home as soon as this Richmond campaign is decided—then I want to print my new book. Love to Mat—write to a fellow often as you can.
Walt.
XXIV
Washington, May 30, 1864. Dearest Mother—I have no news at all to write this time. I have not heard anything of the 51st since I last wrote you, and about the general war news only what you see in the papers. Grant is gradually getting nearer and nearer to Richmond. Many here anticipate that should Grant go into Richmond, Lee will make a side movement and march up west into the North, either to attempt to strike Washington, or to go again into Pennsylvania. I only say if that should happen, I for one shall not be dissatisfied so very much. Well, mother, how are you getting along home?—how do you feel in health these days, dear mother? I hope you are well and in good heart yet. I remain pretty well: my head begins to trouble me a little with a sort of fullness, as it often does in the hot weather. Singular to relate, the 1st Mass. artillery boy, Charles Cutter, is still living, and may get well. I saw him this morning. I am still around among wounded same, but will not make you feel blue by filling my letter with sad particulars.
I am writing this in Willard’s hotel, hurrying to catch this afternoon’s mail. Mother, do you get your letters now next morning, as you ought? I got a letter from the postmaster of Brooklyn about it—said if the letters were neglected again, to send him word. I have not heard from home now in some days. I am going to put up a lot of my old things in a box and send them home by express. I will write when I send them. Have you heard anything from Mary or Han lately? I should like to hear. Tell Jeff he must write, and you must, too, mother. I have been in one of the worst hospitals all the forenoon, it containing about 1600. I have given the men pipes and tobacco. (I am the only one that gives them tobacco.) O how much good it does some of them—the chaplains and most of the doctors are down upon it—but I give them and let them smoke. To others I have given oranges, fed them, etc. Well, dear mother, good-bye—love to Matty and Sis.
Walt.
Fred McReady is coming home very soon on furlough—have any of the soldiers called on you?
XXV