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THE SOLDIERS.
Soldiers in the Streets of Washington--Extracts from a Diary--Four brothers, but One Left--Boys in the Army--An Unknown Hero. From An Occasional Correspondent. WASHINGTON, February 28, 1865.
This city, its suburbs, the Capitol, the front of the
White House, the places of amusement, the avenue, and all the main streets
swarm with soldiers this Winter more than ever before. Some are out
from the hospitals, some from the neighboring camps, &c. Out
of one source or another they pour in plenteously, and make, I should say,
the marked feature in the human movement and costume appearance of our
national city. Their blue pants and overcoats are everywhere.
The clump of crutches is heard, and up the stairs of the Paymasters' offices;
and there are characteristic groups around the doors of the same, often
waiting long and wearily in the cold.
Toward the latter part of the afternoon you see the furloughed men, sometimes singly, sometimes in small squads, making their way to the Baltimore depot. At all times, except early in the morning, the patrol detachments are moving around, especially during the earlier hours of the evening, examining passes and arresting all without them. They do not question the one-legged, or men badly disabled or maimed, but all others are stopped. They also go around through the auditoriums of the theatres, and make officers and all show their passes, or other authority, for being here. FOUR BROTHERS--BUT ONE LEFT. Jan, 28.--As I turned off the avenue into Thirteenth-street, a soldier, with knapsack and overcoat on, stood at the corner inquiring his way. I found he wanted to go part of the road in my direction, so we walked on together. We soon fell into conversation. He was small and not very young, and a tough little fellow, as I judged in the evening light, catching glimpses by the lamps we passed. His answers were short, but clear. His name was CHALLES CARROLL; he belonged to one of the Massachusetts regiments, and was born in or near Lynn. his parents were living, but were very old. There were four sons, and all had enlisted. Two had died of starvation and misery in the prison at Andersonville, Georgia, and one had been killed in battle in the West. He only was left. He was not going home, and, by the way he talked, I inferred that his time was nearly out. He made great calculations on woman at the table in a ward. One of the finest nurses I have met was a red-faced old Irish woman; I have seen her take the poor wasted naked boys so tenderly up in her arms. There are plenty of excellent clean old black women that would make tip-top nurses. AN UNKNOWN HERO, THOUGH AN ENEMY. The brave, grand soldiers are not comprised in those of one side, any more than the other. Here is sample of an unknown Southerner, a lad of seventeen. At the War Department, a few days ago, I witnessed a presentation of captured flags to the Secretary. Among others, a soldier named GANT, of the one Hundred and Fourth Ohio Volunteers, presented a rebel battle-flag, which one of the officers stated was borne to the mouth of our cannon and planted there by a boy but seventeen years of age, who actually endeavored to stop the muzzle of the gun with fence-rails. He was killed in the effort, and the flag-staff was severed by a shot from one of our men. Perhaps, in that boy of seventeen, untold in history, unsung in poems, altogether unnamed, felt as strong a spirit, and as sweet, as any in this war, (and that is as much as to say, any in all time.) WALT WHITMAN.
P.S.-- As I am now, after an interval, visiting the
hospitals again, and among the soldiers, wounded or ill, or in their camps
or barracks, as during the past two years. I would like to state
that letters by mail, relating to the sick or wounded, directed to me simply
to Washington, D.C., will reach me.
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