ld you,
last letter, I was quite blue from the deaths of several of the poor young
men I knew well, especially two of whom I had strong hopes of their
getting up. Things are going pretty badly with the wounded. They are
crowded here in Washington in immense numbers, and all those that came up
from the Wilderness and that region arrived here so neglected and in such
plight it was awful (those that were at Fredericksburg, and also from
Belle Plain). The papers are full of puffs, etc., but the truth is the
largest proportion of worst cases get little or no attention.

"We receive them here with their wounds full of worms,--some all swelled
and inflamed. Many of the amputations have to be done over again. One new
feature is, that many of the poor, afflicted young men are crazy; every
ward has some in it that are wandering. They have suffered too much, and
it is perhaps a privilege that they are out of their senses. Mother, it is
most too much for a fellow, and I sometimes wish I was out of it; but I
suppose it is because I have not felt firstrate myself."

Of the Ohio soldier above referred to, Whitman had written a few days
before: "You remember I told you of him a year ago, when he was first
brought in. I thought him the noblest specimen of a young Western man I
had seen. A real giant in size, and always with a smile on his face. Oh,
what a change! He has long been very irritable to every one but me, and
his frame is all wasted away."

To his brother Jeff he wrote: "Of the many I have seen die, or known of
the past year, I have not seen or known of one who met death with any
terror. Yesterday I spent a good part of the afternoon with a young man of
seventeen named Charles Cutter, of Lawrence City, 1st Massachusetts Heavy
Artillery, Battery M. He was brought into one of the hospitals mortally
wounded in abdomen. Well, I thought to myself as I sat looking at him, it
ought to be a relief to his folks, after all, if they could see how little
he suffered. He lay very placid, in a half lethargy, with his eyes closed;
it was very warm, and I sat a long while fanning him and wiping the sweat.
At length he opened his eyes quite wide and clear, and looked inquiringly
around. I said, "What is it, my dear? do you want anything?" He said
quietly, with a good-natured smile, "Oh, nothing; I was only looking
around to see who was with me." His mind was somewhat wandering, yet he
lay so peaceful in his dying condition. He seemed to be a