[I put strong
envelopes on these, and two or three other letters, directed them
plainly and fully, and dropt them in the Washington post-office the
next morning myself.]
The large ward I am in is used for secession soldiers exclusively.
One man, about forty years of age, emaciated with diarrhoea, I was
attracted to, as he lay with his eyes turn'd up, looking like death.
His weakness was so extreme that it took a minute or so, every time,
for him to talk with anything like consecutive meaning; yet he
was evidently a man of good intelligence and education. As I said
anything, he would lie a moment perfectly still, then, with closed
eyes, answer in a low, very slow voice, quite correct and sensible,
but in a way and tone that wrung my heart. He had a mother, wife, and
child living (or probably living) in his home in Mississippi. It was
long, long since he had seen them. Had he caus'd a letter to be sent
them since he got here in Washington? No answer. I repeated the
question, very slowly and soothingly. He could not tell whether he had
or not--things of late seem'd to him like a dream. After waiting a
moment, I said: "Well, I am going to walk down the ward a moment, and
when I come back you can tell me. If you have not written, I will sit
down and write." A few minutes after I return'd; he said he remember'd
now that some one had written for him two or three days before. The
presence of this man impress'd me profoundly. The flesh was all sunken
on face and arms; the eyes low in their sockets and glassy, and with
purple rings around them.
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