The man that secured it was very badly wounded, and
they let him keep it. I was with him a good deal; he wanted to give me
some keepsake, he said,--he didn't expect to live,--so he gave me that
flag. The best of it all is, dear M., there isn't a regiment, cavalry
or infantry, that wouldn't do the like, on the like occasion.
_April 12_.--I will finish my letter this morning; it is a beautiful
day. I was up in Congress very late last night. The House had a
very excited night session about expelling the men that proposed
recognizing the Southern Confederacy. You ought to hear (as I do) the
soldiers talk; they are excited to madness. We shall probably have hot
times here, not in the military fields alone. The body of the army is
true and firm as the North Star.
_May 6, '64_.--M., the poor soldier with diarrhoea, is still living,
but, oh, what a looking object! Death would be a relief to him--he
cannot last many hours. Cunningham, the Ohio soldier, with leg
amputated at thigh, has pick'd up beyond expectation; now looks indeed
like getting well. (He died a few weeks afterwards.) The hospitals are
very full. I am very well indeed. Hot here to-day.
_May 23, '64_.--Sometimes I think that should it come when it _must_,
to fall in battle, one's anguish over a son or brother kill'd might
be temper'd with much to take the edge off. Lingering and extreme
suffering from wounds or sickness seem to me far worse than death in
battle. I can honestly say the latter has no terrors for me, as far
as I myself am concern'd.
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