FEINBERG/WHITMAN LITERARY FILE Prose “Tis But Ten Years Since” (Jan. - Mar. 1874). New York Graphic. Box 32 Folder 34 Typescript by Emory Holloway 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE.* BY WALT WHITMAN FROM MEMORANDA MADE AT THE TIME IN NEW YORK CITY, OR IN ARMY HOSPITALS, OR CAMP OR FIELD IN VIRGINIA. (First Paper.) Already, the events of 1863 and '4, and the reasons that immediately preceded, as well as those that closely followed them, have quite lost their direct personal impression, and the living heat and excitement of their own time, and are being marshalled for casting, or getting ready to be cast, into the cold and bloodless electrotype plates of History. Or if we admit that the savage temper and wide differences of opinion, and feelings of wrongs, and mutual recriminations, that lead to the Secession War and flamed in its mortal conflagration, may not have yet entirely burnt themselves out, still, all will acknowledge that the embers of them are already dying embers, and a few more winters and summers, a few more rains and snows, will surely quench their fires, and leave them only as a far off memory. Different indeed our America of the present, and its position and prospects, from those murky clouds and storms, and weeks of suspense, and mortal doubt and dismay, of But 10 Years Since, reddened with gouts of blood, and pallid with wholesale death. *(Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by J. H. and C. M. Goodwill, in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.) 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -2- The present! our great Centennial of 1876 nigher and nigher at hand -- the abandonment, by tacit consent, of dead issues -- the general readjustment and rehabilitation, at least by intention and beginning, South and North, to the exigencies of the Present and Future -- the momentous nebulas left by the convulsions of the previous thirty years definitely considered and settled by the reelection of Gen. Grant -- Twenty-second Presidentiad well-sped on its course -- the inevitable unfolding and development of this tremendous complexity we call the United States -- our Union with restored, doubled, trebled solidarity seems to vault unmistakably to dominant position among the governments of the world in extent, population, products, and in the permanent sources of naval and military power. A STEP TEN YEARS BACKWARD, AND ITS MEMENTOES. During the war, commencing at the close of '62, and all through '63, '4, and '5, I was much around and with the wounded, both in the Army Hospitals in Virginia and on the field. From the first I found it necessary to systematize my doings, and among other things, always kept little note-books for impromptu jottings in pencil to refresh my memory of names and circumstances and what was specially wanted, &c. In these I noted down cases, persons, sights, occurrences in camp, by the fireside in hospital, and not seldom by the corpses of the dead. Several of these sketches I propose to give in the papers following 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -3- are verbatim renderings from such pencilings on the spot. Some were scratched down from narratives I heard and itemized while watching, or waiting, or tending somebody amid these scenes. I have perhaps forty such little books left, forming a special history of those years, for muself alone, full of associations never to be possible written or told. I wish indeed I could convey to the reader a glimpse, or even a few, of the teeming associations that attach to these soiled and creased little livraisons, each composed of two or three sheets of paper, folded small to carry in the pocket, and fastened with a pin. I leave them yet undisturbed just as I threw them by 10 Years Since, full as they are of scrawls and memoranda, half-illegible to any eyes but mine, blotched here and there with more than one bloodstain, hurriedly written, sometimes at the clinique, not seldom amid the excitement of uncertainty, or defeat, or of notion or getting ready for it, or a march. Even these days I can never take them up, or turn their tiny leaves, without the actual camp and hospital and army sights from '62 to '5 rushing like a river in full tide through me. Each page, nay each line, has its history. Some pang of anguish -- some heroic life, or more heroic death, is in every one; some tragedy, profounder than ever poet wrote. To me, the war, abdicating all its grand historical aspects, and entirely untouched by the Slavery question, revolves around these miniature pages, and what is designated by them. 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -4- They are the closest; they are not words, but magic spells. Out of them arise yet active and breathing forms. They summon up, even in this silent and vacant room as I write, not the sinewy regiments and brigades, marching or in camp, but the countless phantoms of those who feel and were hastily buried by wholesale in the battle-pits, or whose dust and hones have been since removed to the National Cemeteries, all through Virginia and Tennessee. Not Northern soldiers only -- many indeed the Carolinian, Georgian, Alabamian, Louisianian, Virginian -- many a Southern face and form, pale, emaciated, with that strange tie of subtlest confidence and love between us, welded by sickness, pain of wounds, and little daily, nightly offices of nursing and friendly words and visits, comes up amid the rest, and does not mar, but rounds and gives a finish to the meditation. A THOUGHT OR SO, UPON THE THRESHOLD. But before entering upon my personal memoranda of the war, I have one or two thoughtts to ventilate before they are entirely out of date. Strange, that these months and years, and all that marked them, with the vividest of their experiences and impressions, should so soon pass away -- as they seem already to have passed -- like a dream! Everything indeed moves in our lands and age, with such a velocity, on such a large scale, and such resistless force (altogether regardless of, and unmeasured by the old standards, other lands, former times,) that I have to stop a 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -5- moment as I now write out -- January, 1874 -- these opening lines to some of my memoranda, and ask myself whether it is indeed so lately since we were in the midst of that thunder-roll of patricidal fights -- that deluge of ruin and death, threatening to submerge the whole Union. SOLID LAND APPEARING -- THE PEAKS OF THE FUTURE. But it is not already dawning upon us that out of that War not only has the Nationality of the United States escaped from being strangled, but more than any of the rest, and, in my opinion, more than the North itself, the vital heart and breath of the South have escaped as from the pressure of a general nightmire, and are now to enter on a life, development, and active freedom whose realities are certain in the future, notwithstanding all the Southern vexations and humiliations of the hour; and could not possibly have been achieved on any less terms or by any other means than that war or something equivalent to it. And I predict that the South is yet to outstrip the North. POINTS OF RELIEF ALREADY. Already points of good unerringly begin, and will in due time overbalance the losses. Among the rest, two cases of relief are even now particularly welcome. In the Southern States, riddance of that special class forever blowing about "the South." The North and West have had, and still have, their full share of bladder humanity, but in the old Slave States there seemed to exist no end of blusterers, braggarts, windy, melodramatic, continually 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -6 screaming in falsetto, a nuisance to the States, their own just as much as any; altogether the most impudent persons that have appeared in the history of lands, and, up to 1860, with the most incredible successes, having pistol'd, bludgeoned, yelled and threatened America into one long train of cowardly concessions. The North, too, has now eliminated, or is fast eliminating from itself, a fierce, unreasoning squad of men and women, quite insane, concentrating their thoughts upon a single fact and idea -- (in this land, of all the world the land of all facts, all ideas) -- full as welcome a release here as the riddance there. By that war, exit Fire-Eaters -- exit Abolitionists. OUR SURGING POLITICS FROM 1840 TO '60. For twenty years preceding the war, and especially during the four or five immediately before its opening, the aspect of affairs in the United States, though without the keenness and flash of military excitement, presents to any man of thoughtfulness, or artistic perceptions, more than the survey of a battle, or any extended campaign, or series even of Nature's convulsions. In politics, what can be more ominous, (though generally unappreciated then,) -- what more significant than the feted condition of everything from 1840 to '60, especially under Fillmore's and Buchanan's administrations. Those two Presidentiads -- and perhaps one other -- prove conclusively that the weakness and wickedness of elected rulers, backed by our great 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -7- parties, are just as likely to afflict us, here, (but to be met and remedied,) as the same evils in the countries of the old world, under their monarchies, emperors, and aristocracies. The Slave power had complete possession of the helm, and was evidently determined on its own tack. All the normal convictions of the best portion of the Nation were outraged. A powerful faction, ruling the North, was art and part with the Slaveocracy, and stood then and stands to-day, just as responsible for the Rebellion. (What would have been the condition of things in the United States -- and what would it be now -- if the secession quarrel had been compromised? which was the other name, of course, for yielding substantially to all the demands of the planters and their satellites). It is difficult enough now to resume the anxieties and fears which at that period, amid all our material prosperity, spread like a lowering horizon over the whole land. In Europe, too, were everywhere heard underground rumblings, that died out, only to again surely return. While in the New World, the volcano, though civic yet, continued to grow more and more conclusive -- more and more lurid, stormy and seething. ABRAHAM LINCOLN -- MY FIRST SIGHT AND IMPRESSION OF HIM. In the midst of all this excitement and chaos, hovering on the edge at first, and then merged in its very 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -8- midst, and destined to play a leading part, appears a strange and awkward figure. I shall not easily forget the first time I saw Abraham Lincoln. It must have been about the 18th or 19th of February, 1861. It was rather a pleasant spring afternoon, in New York City, as Lincoln arrived there from the West to stop a few hours and then pass on to Washington, to prepare for his inauguration. I saw him in Broadway, near the site of this present Post-office. He had come down, I think, from Canal street, to stop at the Astor House. The broad spaces, side-walks, and street in the neighborhood, and for some distance, were crowded with solid masses of people, many thousands. The omnibuses and other vehicles had been all turned off, leaving an unusual hush in that busy part of the city. Presently two or three shabby hack barouches made their way with some difficulty through the crowd and drew up at the Astor House entrance. A tall figure stepped out of the centre of these barouches, paused leisurely on the sidewalk, looked up at the dark granite walls and looming architecture of the grand old hotel -- then, after a relieving stretch of arm and legs, turned round for over a minute to slowly and good-humoredly scan the appearance of the vast and silent crowds -- and so, with very moderate pace, and accompanied by a few unknown-looking persons, ascended the portico steps. 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -9- The figure, the look, the gait, are distinctly impressed upon me yet; the unusual and uncouth height, the dress of complete black, the stovepipe hat pushed back on the head, the dark-brown complexion, the seamed and wrinkled yet comely-looking face, the black, bushy head of hair, the disproportionally long neck, and the hands held behind as he stood observing the people. It was, indeed, a strange scene. All was comparative and ominous silence. The new-comer looked with curiosity upon that immense sea of faces returned the look with similar curiosity. In both there was a dash of something almost comical. Yet there was much anxiety in certain quarters. Cautious persons had feared that there would be some outbreak, some marked indignity or insult to the President elect on his passage through the city, for he possessed no personal popularity in New York and not much political. No such outbreak or insult, however, occurred. Only the silence of the crowd was very significant to those who were accustomed to the usual demonstrations of mass New York in wild, tumultuous hurrahs. The present was a great contrast to the deafening tumults of welcome and the thunder shouts of packed myriads along the whole line of Broadway receiving Hungarian Kossuth and Filibuster Walker. (I saw Lincoln often the three or four years following this date. He changed rapidly and much during his Presidency -- but this scene and his portrait, as he looked, 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -10- and moved, and stood in it, as above given, are indelibly stamped upon my recollection.) But of Abraham Lincoln, (the thought, as I had a good sight of him there in Broadway, from the top of an omnibus, driven up one side and blocked in, was dim and inchoate, but received its negative even then, and has now come out clear and definite enough,) four sorts of genius -- four mighty and primal hands will be needed to the complete limning of his future portrait -- the eyes and brains and finger touch of Plutrach and Eschylus and Michel Angelo, assisted by Rabelais. NIGHT OF APRIL 13, 1861, IN NEW YORK -- NEWS OF THE FIRST GUN FIRED AGAINST THE FLAG, (AND THE END, AFTERWARDS, OF HIM WHO FIRED IT.) The news of the first actual firing on the National Flag -- the attack on Fort Sumter -- was received in New York late at night, (13th April, 1861,) and was immediately sent out in extras of the newspapers. I had been to the opera that night, and after the performance was walking down Broadway, after eleven o'clock, on my way to Brooklyn, when I heard in the distance the loud cries of the newsboys, who came presently tearing and yelling up the street, rushing from side to side even more furiously than usual. I felt that subtle magnetic something which runs through one, on pronounced occasions -- bought an extra (10 cents), and crossed to the Metropolitan Hotel (Niblo's), where the great lamps were still brightly blazing, and, with a small crowd of others, 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -11- who gathered impromptu, read the news, which was evidently authentic. For the benefit of some one who had no papers, one of us read the telegram aloud, while all listened silently and very attentive. No remark was made by any of the crowd, which had increased to thirty or forty, but all stood a minute or two, I remember, before they dispersed. I can almost see them there now, under the lamps at midnight again! The ball had been opened, then! Not only the first gun had been fired -- and as if to show that it was no mere freak of passion, deliberately by an aged, highly educated, and wealth Southerner -- but continued rounds from well-organized batteries. (Said first gun was fired by Edmund Ruffin, a prominent Virginian, seventy years of age. To anticipate a little I will give the gloomy conclusion of this enthusiastic personal episode, as it took place in less than five years. Soon after the surrender of General Lee and the collapse of the rebellion Mr. Ruffin committed suicide, June, '65, at his residence in Amelia county, Virginia, near Mattaox. He was seventy-four years old. The Richmond Whig, a couple of days after, gave the following account: "It is now said that Mr. Ruffin's mind and been very perceptibly affected since the evacuation of Richmond and the surrender of the Confederate armies. For a week previous to terminating his life, Mr. Ruffin kept his chamber, busily employed in writing what subsequently turned out to be a history of 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -12- his political life. He also wrote letters, and in one of them he left directions as to the disposal of his body. He bathed himself, put on clean under and outer clothing, and directed that his body should be buried in the habiliments he had put on, without shroud or coffin. He then seated himself in a chair, put a loaded musket to his mouth, and leaning back, struck the trigger with his hickory stick. The first cap did not explode, and he replaced it by another, which discharged the musket, the charge of ball and buck blowing off the crown of the venerable old gentleman's head, and scattering his brains and snowy hair against the ceiling of the room. When the family, alarmed by the report, reached Mr. Ruffin's room he was found lying back in his chair, the gun leaning against him, and life gone. A paragraph in the letter left for the perusal of family and friends explained the tragic dead. It reads: 'I cannot survive the loss of the liberties of my country.' ") THE EVE OF A LONG WAR. I have now given out of my memoranda what may be called the overtures of the war -- the first appearance of Lincoln on the scene, the firing of the first round by the Disunionists at Charleston, and the reception of the news in the Free States. In my next paper, after itemizing the prompt uprisal at the North, I shall bring back First Bull Run, and describe what ensued immediately and for several days in Washington City, after the shock and humiliation of that unlooked-for defeat. (To be Continued.) THE WEEKLY GRAPHIC New York Jan. 24, 1874 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE. BY WALT WHITMAN. EARLY CONTEMPT OF THE REVOLT -- FIRST BULL RUN COLLAPSE -- GLOOMY SCENES IN WASHINGTON CITY -- NOBLE STAND OF THE NEW YORK PRESS. (Second Paper) NATIONAL UPRISING AND ENTHUSIASM, (Yet WITH A DRAWBACK.) I have said that the three Presidentiads preceding 1861 showed how the weakness and wickedness of rulers are just as eligible here in America under Republican, as in Europe under dynastic influences. But what shall I say of the prompt and splendid wrestling with the arch enemy, the instant he unmistakably showed his face? The volcanic upheaval of the bulk of the Nation, after that unprovoked outrage and taunt, the firing on the flag at Charleston, so prompt and general, showed something which had been previously in great doubt, and at once in my opinion at the time, (and now after many fluctuations, permanently confirmed) settled the question of Disunion. In my judgment it will remain -- and the whole War will, on the National side -- as the greatest and most encouraging spectacle yet vouchsafed in any age, old or new, to political progress and Democracy. It was not for what came to the surface merely -- though that was important; but what it indicated below, which was of eternal importance. Down in the abysms of New World humanity there had formed and hardened a primal hardpan of National Union Will, determined and in the majority, refusing to be tampered 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -2- with or argued against, confronting all emergencies, and capable at any time of bursting all surface-bonds, and breaking out like a cosmical earthquake. It is the best lesson of the century, or of America, and it is a mighty privilege to have lived in it, and been a part of it. But while the Nationalists were arming in an undoubted majority, and exhibiting a spirit that made it madness to openly oppose them, there was still a wide secession affiliation and sympathy at the North, especially in New York City and Philadelphia -- indeed everywhere at the North, much more than was shown or spoken outright, and continued through the whole war, waiting always for a good chance to make a sortie in any way that would tell best; but it was at first utterly cowed by the general and sudden rising, and though afterward a source of great anxiety to the Government, it never got the coveted chance of successfully showing its treachery, and eventually went under. SUPERCILIOUS FIRST ESTIMATE OF THE REVOLT. At this time, too, through all the Northern, Middle, and western States, the gravity of the revolt, and the power and will of the Slave States for a strong and continued military resistance to a National authority, was not at all realized, except by a few. Nine-tenths of the people of the Free States looked upon the rebellion, as started in South Caraolina, from a feeling one-half of contempt and the other half com- 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -3- posed of anger and incredulity. It was not thought it would be joined in by Virginia, North Carolina or Georgia. A great and cautious National official predicted that it would blow over "in sixty days," and folks generally believed the prediction. I rember talking about it on a Fulton ferry-boat with the Brooklyn Mayor, who said he only "hoped the Southern fire-eaters would commit some overt act of resistance, as they would then be at once so effectually squelched we would never hear of secession again -- but he was afraid they never would have the pluck to really do anything." I remember too that a couple of companies of the Thirteenth Brooklyn, who rendezvoused at the City Armory and started thence as Thirty Days' Men, were all provided with pieces of rope conspiciously tied to their musket barrels, with which to bring back each man a prisoner from the audacious South, to be led in a noose, on our men's early and triumphal return! THE FLOOD-TIDE SUDDENLY EBBS. All this sort of feeling was destined to be arrested and out short and reversed by a sudden and terrible shock, -- the battle of First Bull Run -- certainly, as we now know it, one of the most singular fights on record. All battles, and their results, are far more matters of accident than is generally thought, but this was throughout a casualty, a chance. 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -4- Each side suposed it had won, till the last moment. One had in point of fact just the same right one routed as the other. By a fiction, or series of fictions, the National forces, at the last moment, exploded in a panic, and fled form the field. Then the popular feeling North, from its extreme of superciliousness, recoiled to the depth of gloom and apprehension. THE TWO BLACKEST DAYS. Of all the days of the War, with the fitful long-drawn four years of ups and downs, there are two especially I can never forget. Those were the days following the news, in New York and Brooklyn, of the first Bull Run defeat, and the day of Abraham Lincoln's death. I was home in Brooklyn on both occasions. (The day of the murder we heard the news very early in the morning. Mother prepared breakfast - and the other meals afterward - as usual; but not a mouthful was eaten by either of us. We each drank half a cup of coffee; that was all. Little was said. We got every newspaper morning and evening, and the frequent extras of those days, and passed them to each other.) WASHINGTON CITY, 22D TO 25TH JULY, 1861, AFTER FIRST BULL RUN. The troops commenced pouring into Washington, over the Long Bridge, at day-light on Monday 22d - day drizzling all through with rain. The Saturday and Sunday of the battle, (20th, 21st) had been parched and hot to an extreme -- 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -5- the dust, the grime and smoke, in layers, sweated in, absorbed by those excited souls, -- their clothes, all saturated with the clay-powder filling the air, those two days - stirred up everywhere on the dry-roads and trodden fields, by the regiments, swarming wagons, artillery, &c. -- all the men, with all this coating of murk and sweat and Virginia rain -- now a solid stream recoiling back -- pouring over the Long Bridge, a horrible march of 20 miles, returning to Washington baffled, humiliated, panic-stricken! Where are the vaunts, and the proud boasts with which you went forth? Where are your banners, and where your bands of music, and your ropes to bring back your prisoners? Well, there isn't a band playing - and there isn't a flag but clings ashamed and lank to its staff. The sun rises but shines not. The men appear, at first sparsely and shame-faced enough - then thicker in the streets of Washington -- appear in Pennsylvania avenue and on the steps and basement entrances. They come along in disorderly mobs, some in squads, stragglers, companies. Occasionally a rare regiment, in perfect order, with its officers (some gaps, dead, the true brave), marching in silence, with lowering faces, stern, weary to sinking, all black and dirty, but every man with his musket, and stepping alive; -- but these are the exceptions. Sidewalks of Pennsylvania avenue, Fourteenth street, &c., crowded, jammed with citizens, darkies, clerks, everybody, lookers-on; women in the windows, curious expressions 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -6- from faces as those swarms of dirt-covered returned soldiers there (will the never end?) move by; but nothing said, no comments; (half our lookers-on secesh of the most venomous kind -- they say nothing; but the devil snickers in their faces.) During the forenoon Washington gets motley with these dirt-covered soldiers. Queer-looking objects, strange eyes and faces, drenched (the steady rain drizzles on all day) and fearfully worn, hungry, haggard, blistered in the feet. Good people (but not over many of them either) hurry up something for their grub. They put wash-kettles on the fire, for soup, for coffee. They set tables on the side-walk -- wagon loads of bread are purchased, swiftly cut in stout chunks. Here are two aged ladies, beautiful, the first in the city for culture and charm, they stand with store of eating and drink at an improvised table of rough plank and give food, and have the store replenished from their house every half-hour all that day; and there in the rain they stand, active, silent, white-haired, and give food, though the tears stream down their cheeks, almost without intermission, the whole time. Amid the deep excitement (too deep for demonstration) amid the crowds and motion, and desperate eagerness, it seems strange to see many, very many, of the soldiers sleeping -- in the midst of all, sleeping sound. They drop down anywhere, on the steps of houses, up close by the basements 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -7- or fences, on the side-walk, aside on some vacant lot, and deeply sleep. A poor seventeen or eighteen year old boy lies there, on the stoop of a grand house; he sleeps so calmly, so profoundly! Some clutch their muskets frimly even in sleep. Some, in squads; comrades, brothers, close together, and on them as they lay, sulkily drips the rain. As afternoon passed on, and evening came, the streets, the bar-rooms, knots everywhere, listeners, questioners, terrible stories, bugaboo, masked-batteries, our regiment all cut up, &c;- stories and story-tellers, windy, bragging, vain centres of street-crowds. Resolution, manliness, seem to have abandoned Washington. The principal hotel, Willard's is full of shoulder-straps -- thick, crushed, creeping with shoulder- straps. I see them, and must have a word with them. There you are, shoulder-straps! -- but where are your companies? , where are your men? Incompetents! never tell me of chances of battle, of getting strayed, and the like. I think this is your work, this retreat, after all. Sneak, blow, put on airs there in Willard's sumptuous parlors and bar-rooms, or anywhere -- no explanations shall save you. Bull Run is your work; had you been half worthy your men, this would never have happened. IS NOT SECESSION ALREADY TRIUMPHANT?-- MUST LINCOLN AND HIS CABINET FLY? Meantime, in Washington, among the great persons and their entourage, a mixture of awful consternation, uncertain- ty, rage, shame, helplessness, and stupefying dissapointment. 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -8- The worst is not only imminent, but already here. In a few hours -- perhaps before the next meal -- the Secesh generals, with their victorious hordes, will be upon us. The dream of Humanity, the vaunted Liberty-Union we thought so strong, so impregnable -- lo! it is smashed like a china plate. One bitter, bitter hour - perhaps proud and dainty personified America will never again know such a bitter hour. She must pack and fly - no time to spare. These white palaces of magnitude and beauty -- the dome-crowned Capitol there on the hill so stately over the trees -- decide quickly -- shall they be left - or destroyed first? For it is not generally known that the talk among the talkers and magnates and officers and clerks and officials everywhere, for twenty-four hours in and around Washington, was loud and undisguised for yielding out to the secession demands, and substituting the Southern rule, and Lincoln promptly abdicating and departing. If the Secesh officers and forces had immediately followed, and by a bold Napoleonic movement, had entered Washington the first day (or even the second) it is certain they could have had things their own way, and a powerful faction North to back them. One of our returning Bull Run officers (T. F. Meagher) expressed in public that night, amid a large swarm of other officers and gentlemen in a crowded room, the opinion that it was useless to fight, that the Southerners had made their title clear to their own terms, and that the best course for the National Government to pursue was to desist from any further attempt at stopping them, and admit them again to the lead 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -9- on the best terms they were willing to grant. Not a voice was raised against this judgment amid that large crowd of officers and gentlemen. (This was Washington "society," remember, and it marks the strongest point against Washington I know of. The fact is, the hour was one of the three or four of those crises we had during the fluctuations of four years, when human eyes appeared at least just as likely to see the last breath of the Union as to see it continue.) But the hour, the day, the night passed, and whatever returns, an hour, a day, a night like that can never again return. The President recovering himself, begins that very night -- sternly and rapidly sets about the work of reorganizing his forces, and placing himself in positions for future and greater work. If there were nothing else of Abraham Lincoln for history to stamp him with, it is to be said, (and I say it here,) that it is enough to send him with his wreath to the memory of all future time, that he endured that hour, that day bitterer than gall -- indeed a crucifixion day -- that he endured it, that it did not conquer him -- that he unflinchingly stemmed it, and resolved to lift himself and the Union out of it. I say that his deed, in this alone, is a first class historic grandeur, fit to stand with all greatest antique and modern samples and personalities, and not afraid of comparison with the best of them. 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -10- THE NEW YORK PRESS DO WELL. Then the great New York papers at once appeared, (commencing that very evening and following it up the next morning, and incessantly through many days afterwards) with leaders that rang out over the land, with all the loudest, most reverberating ring of bands of clearest, wildest, most stirring bugles, full of encouragement, hope, inspiration, unfaltering defiance. Those magnificent editorials! they never flagged for a fortnight. The Herald commenced them -- I remember the articles well. The Tribune was equally cogent and inspiriting -- and the Times, Evening Post, and other principal papers were not a whit behind. They came in good time, for they were needed. And there is no denying that these loud cheerful tones of the Herald and the rest, coming on the instant gave the key-note to what followed, on the National side, and soon restored the Union energies and determination five times magnified, and finally plucked the flower safety out of the nettle danger. THE INNER POINTS OF THE WAR CAN NEVER BE WRITTEN. For the remaining part of my sketches I shall adopt the diary form, in chronological order. The events of the remainder of '61 and most of those of '62, were not of momentous interest North and East, though exciting the West -- the bloody battle of Shiloh, the surrender of Island No. 10, the lower Mississippi occupied, and New Orleans taken by Farragut. 'TIS BUT THE YEARS SINCE -11- Through this time - indeed throughout the whole of the vast and many-threaded drama of conflict that followed, with its sudden and strange surprises, its confounding of prophecies, its moments of despair, the dread of foreign interference, the interminable campaigns, the bloody battles, the mighty and cumburous and fresh armies, the volunteering and drafts and bounties -- with, over the whole land, North and South, an unending, universal mourning-wail of women, parents, orphans -- while of the military movements of all those, and the ups and downs from 1861 to 1865, the ostensible statistics, numbers, dates, &c., have been put on record, (though uch is yet behind to be gradually unearthed, disentangled, clarified, and to furnish points in History, Literature, Art, and even Philosophy, for ages and ages to come,) there was ever going on, in by-scene or behind the scenes, South and North, a mass of complicated weft and warp of subordinate occurrences, not at the time registered, and perhaps never will be -- though in some respects it identifies the most important part of the whole. This formed, and will ever form, the vast Untold and Unwritten History of our Civil War -- infinitely greater (like Life's) than the few scraps and ends and distortions that are ever told or written. Think how much, and of importance, will be -- how much, civic and military, has already been - buried in the grave, in eternal darkness! 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -12- WHAT THE WAR WAS REALLY TO DECIDE. That our Republican experiment, principle, and machinery, (to anticipate again, as we see it clearly enough now,) could triumphantly sustain such a shock, and that the National Constitution could weather it, like a ship in a storm, and come out of it as sound and whole as before, is by far the most signal proof yet of the stability of that Constitution. But the case is not fully stated at that alone. It is certain to me, that the United States, by virtue of the Secession War and its results, and through that and them only, are now ready to enter, upon their genuine career in history, as no more torn and divided in their spinal requisites, but a great Homogeneous Nation, a moral and political unity in variety, such as Nature shows in her grandest physical works, and as much greater than any mere work of Nature, as the moral and political, the work of man, his mind, his soul, are, in their loftiest sense, greater than the merely physical. ITEMS OF MY NEXT. In my next paper I shall come to the battle of First Fredericksburg, and shall enter on my experiences among the wounded in the Army Hospitals, which latter rapidly became a large feature in the war. I shall also give a brief, hitherto unpublished account of the actual particulars of the capture of the United States vessel Hatteras by the Alabama, in the Gulf of Mexico, at the commencement of 1863. (To be Continued.) THE WEEKLY GRAPHIC New York, Feb. 7, 1874 'TIS BUT TEN YEAR SINCE. ( Third Paper) BATTLES OF FIRST FREDERICKSBURGH - VISITS AMONG THE WOUNDED. December 21, 1862. -- Began myvisits among the camp hospitals in Army of the Potomac, about Falmouth, Va. Spent a good part of the day in a large brick mansion, on the banks of the Rappahannock, immediately opposite Fredericksburgh. It is used as a hospital since the battle, and seems to have received only the worst cases. Out doors, at the foot of a tree, within ten years of the front of the house, I notice a heep of amputated feet, legs, arms, hands, &c., a fun load for a one-horse cart. Several dead bodies lie near, each covered with its brown woolen blanket. In the door-yard, towards the river, are fresh graves, mostly of officers, their names on pieces of barrel-staves or broken board, stuck in the dirt. (Most of these bodies were subsequently taken up and transported North to their friends.) The large brick house is quite crowded, upstairs and down, everything impromptu, no system, all bad enough, but I have no doubt the best that can be done; all the wounds pretty bad, some frightful, the men in their old clothes, unclean and bloody. Some of the wounded are rebel soldiers and officers, prisoners. One, a Mississippian - a captain - hit badly in the leg, I talked with some time; he asked me for papers; which I gave him. (I saw him three months afterward 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -2- in Washington, with his leg amputated, doing well.) I went through the rooms down-stairs and up. Some of the men were dying. I had nothing to give at that visit, but wrote a few letters to folks home, mothers & c. Also talked to three or four, who seemed most susceptible to it, and needing it. AN ARTILLERY STORM. Everything is quiet now, but there was noise enough a week or so ago. Probably the earth never shook by artificial means, nor the air reverberated, more than on that winter daybreak of eight or nine days since, when Burnside ordered all the batteries of the army to combine for the bombardment of Fredericksburgh. It was in its way the most magnificent and terrible spectacle, with all the adjunct of sound, through- out the war. The perfect hush of the just-ending night was suddenly broken by the first gun, and in an instant all the thunderers, big and little, were in full chorus, which they kept up without intermission for several hours. Few know, by experience, the grandeur of immense sound; but it was here then in all its sublimity. Storm symphonies, or battle com- positions, or Wagner's or Beethoven's, were a mere imperti - nence to it. The battle comprised December 12, 13, 14, and 15. On the 11th the engineers succeeded in bridging the Rappahanock with pontoons and keeping their integrity; and on that day and the 12th, (though trebled by the rebel sharp-shooters,) 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -3- our men crossed over, and did pretty much what they pleased in Fredericksburgh. Saturday, 13th, was the main battle. Our troops, with a courage and coolness, taken in the whole never ex- celled anywhere, advanced upon some of the strongest natural positions in the world, receding and rising terraces, fortified tier upon tier with well-handled batteries, protected by covers of swarming rebel sharp-shooters, superb marksmen, in impromptu rifle-pits wherein they canceled themselves. Sunday, 14th, we lay upon the contested field. That night and the next day we recrossed the river in good order to our old camp on the Falmouth side. But our lossesin killed and wounded had been fearful. HOSPITALS IN CAMP. December 23 to 31. -- The results of the late battles are exhibited everywhere about here in thousands of cases, (hundreds die every day,) in the Camp Brigade, and Division Hospitals. These are merely tents, and sometimes very poor ones, the wounded lying on the ground. It is pretty cold. The ground is frozen hard, and there is occasional snow. I go around from one case to another, I do not see that I can do much good, but I cannot leave them. Once in a while some youngster holds on to me convulsively, and I do what I can for him; at any rate, stop with him and sit near him for hours, if he wishes for it, 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -4- Besides the hospitals, I go occasionally on long tours through the camps, talking with the men, &c. Sometimes at night among the groups around the fires, in their shebang enclosures of bushes. These are curious shows, full of characters and groups, worthy of Xenophon to narrate and Rem- brandt to paint. I soon get acquainted anywhere in camp, with officers or men, and am always well used. Sometimes I go down on picket with the regiments I know best. As to rations, the army here at present seems to be tolerably well supplied, and the men have enough, such as it is. It is mainly salt pork and hard tack. Most of the regiments lodge in the flimsy little shelter-tents. A few have built themselves huts of logs and mud, with fireplaces. THE SCENE SHIFTED FROM LAND - SPECIMEN CASE OF A REBEL CAPTURE AT SEA. 1863 -- Sunday, January 11. -- This evening occurred one of the first of those captures, afterwards so common, by rebel privateers at sea. It was about thirty miles off thecoast of Galveston, Texas. (I am able to give here an exact account, hitherto unpublished.) It is a specimen of many cases of the kind, and was the entrapping by the Alabama of the United States steamer Hatteras. The latter had been signalled from Gaveston to pursue a doubtful-looking steamer, a stranger - went on and on several hours - it got to be towards evening - camp up - the stranger showed English colors. Captain Blake, of the Hatteras, hailed her - asked who she was. She 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -5- answered, "We are Her Brittanic Majesty's seamer Vixen." Captain Blake rejoined, "Then lay to, and I will send a boat aboard," (intending to send his compliments, &c.) The two vessels, in the half dusk, lay less than 200 feet apart. The boat was lowered - had just touched the water, when a voice (Captain Semmes) sang out from the stranger, "You needn't come - I am the Confederate vessel Alabama," -- and instantly, without a moment's intermission or warning, sent a full broad- side into the unsuspecting Hatteras. The engagement then commenced. It is a mistake to suppose, as has been asserted and published, that there was no fight. There was a fierce one of half an hour's duration - two men killed and eighteen wounded. The effort of the Hatteras was to board the Alabama; and she would have done so -- was on the move and was likely to do it - when a shot from the Alabama went into her steam chamber, and she lay at once helpless, in full control of the rebel cruiser. The crew and officers of the Hatteras were teansferred rapidly in boats to the Alabama, and as soon as they touched fhe decks were paroled - not a moment's delay. (Out of the 158 men of the Alabama only eight were Americans - and five of these eight were a family of brothers, Southern pilots of the name of King. Nearly all the hands were English; there were no Irish in the rebel crew, or very few indeed; there were two or three Austrians, and one Italian.) 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -6- The Alabama immediately sailed for Kingston into which port she made a gale-entrance with her prize. Bands on the English vessels and ashore played "Dixie," and all Kingston went to hurrahing and treating and shaking hands in great glee. The officers and crew of the Hatteras came on to Key West in the Borodino, and thence to New York in a Gov- ernment vessel. I REMOVE TO WASHINGTON - SIGHTS ON THE ROAD. January, '63, - Left camp at Falmouth, with some wounded, a few days since, and came here (to Washington) by Aquia Creek Railroad, and so on Government steamer up the Potomac. Many wounded were with us on the cars and boat. The cars were just common platform ones. The railroad journey of ten or twelve miles was made mostly before sunrise. The soldiers guarding the road came out from their tents or shebangs of bushes with rumpled hair and half-awake look. Those on duty were walking their posts, some on banks over us, others down far below the level of the track. I saw large cavalry camps off the road. At Aquia Creek Landing were numbers of wounded going North. While I waited some three hours, I went around among them. Several wanted word senthome to parents, brothers, wives &c., which I did for them, (by mail the next day from Washington.) On the boat I had my hands full. One poor fellow died going up. 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -7- WOUNDED SOLDIERS -- SPECIMEN CASES. I am now remaining in and around Washington, daily visiting the hospitals. Am much in Patent Office, Eighth street, H street, Armory square, and others. Am now able to do a little good, having money, (as almoner of others home,) and getting experience. To-day, Sunday afternoon and till nine in the evening, visited Campbell Hospital; attended specially to one case in Ward I; very sick with pleurisy and typhoid fever; young man, farmer's son, D. F. Russell, Company E, Sixtieth New York; downhearted and feeble; a long time before he would take any interest, wrote a letter home to his mother, in Malone, Franklin County, N. Y., at his request; gave him some fruit and one or two other gifts; enveloped and directed his letter, &c. Then went thoroughly through Ward 6; observed every case in the ward, (without, I think, missing one;) found some cases I thought needed little sums of money; supplied them; (sums of perhaps 30, 20, or 15 cents;) dis- tributed a pretty bountiful supply of cheerful reading matter, and gave perhaps from twenty to thirty persons, each one some little gift, such as oranges, apples, sweet crackers, figs, &., &. ARMORY SQUARE HOSPITAL. Thursday, January 21. - Devoted the main part of the day to Armory Square Hospital; went pretty thoroughly through Wards F, G, H, and I; some fifty cases in each ward. In Ward F supplied the men throughout with writing-paper and a stamped envelope each; also some cheerful reading matter; 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -8- distributed in small portions, to proper subjects, a large jar of first-rate preserved berries, which had been donated to me by a lady -- her own cooking. In Wards G, H, and I, found several cases I thought good subjects for small sums of money, which I furnished. The wounded men often come up broke, and it helps their spirits to have even the small sum I give them. My paper and envelopes all gone, but distributed a good lot of amusing reading matter; also, as I thought judicious, tobacco, oranges, apples, &c. Very interesting cases in Ward I: Charles Miller, bed No. 19, Company D, Fifty- third Pennsylvania, is only sixteen years of age, very bright, courageous boy, left leg amoutated below the knee, next bed to him, another young lad very sick; gave each appropriate gifts. In the bed above, also amputation of the left leg; gave him a little jar of raspberries; bed No. 1, this ward, gave a small sum; also to a soldier on crutches, sitting on his bed near. (I am more and more surprised at the very great proportion of youngsters from fifteen to twenty-one in the army. I afterwards found a still greater proportion among the Southerners.) Evening, same day, went to see D. F. R., before alluded to; found him remarkably changed for the better; up and dressed, quite a triumph; he afterwards got well and went back to his regiment. Distributed in the wards a quantity of note-paper, and forty or fifty stamped en- velopes, of which the men were much in need. 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -9- FIFTY HOURS LEFT WOUNDED ON THE FIELD. Here is a case of a soldier I found among the crowded cots in the Patent Office -- (they have removed most of the men of late, and are breaking up that hospital.) He likes to have some one to talk to, and we will listen to him. He got badly hit in his leg and side at Fredericksburgh that eventful Saturday, 13th of December. He lay the succeeding two days and nights helpless on the field, between the city and those grim terraces of batteries; for his company and regiment had been compelled to leave him to his fate. To make matters worse, he lay with his head slightly down hill, and could not help himself. At the end of some fifty hours he was brought off, with some wounded, under a flag of truce. I ask him how the rebels treated him as he lay during those two days and nights within reach of them -- whether they came to him -- whether they abused him? He answers that several of the rebels, soldiers and others, came to him, at one time and another. A couple of them, who were together, spoke rough- ly and sarcastically, but did nothing to him. One middle-aged man, however, who seemed to be moving around the field, among the dead and wounded, for benevolent purposes, came to him in a way he will never forget. This man treated our soldier kind- ly, bound up his wounds, cheered him, gave him a couple of biscuits, and a drink of whiskey and water; asked him if he could eat some beef. This good Secesh, however, did not change our soldier's position, for it might have caused the blood to burst from the wounds where they were clotted and stagnated. Our soldier is from Pennsylvania; has had a pretty severe time; 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -10- The wounds proved to be bad ones. But he retains a good heart, and is at present on the gain. (It is not uncommon for the men to remain on the field this way, one, two, or even four or five days.) THE ARMY WOUNDED. In my Fourth Paper, next week, I shall give a fuller description of the immense army hospitals, with characteristic cases. (Though following and running into the others, each paper is, for the reader's purposes, complete in itself. It but makes almost random selections out of a vast mass of contemporaneous memoranda. Of those notes of Soldiers, Hospitals, Battles, President Lincoln, &c., I collate some of them now to occupy and while away the tedium of a strange illness, paralysis disabling me bodily, temporarily. They are significant, if at all, of the vast and interesting, indescribable arriere -- the graves of the past, nearly obliterated, though but ten years have intervened. Phantoms now, yet terribly real then, -- a countless crowd, still fading, still receding -- of which each here, flashed from life, is but a rigid suggestion-sketch. -- W.W. Camden, N. J., February 5, 1874.) (To be Continued.) -- THE WEEKLY GRAPHIC: New York, Feb. 14, 1874 'TIS BY TEN YEARS SINCE. BY Walt Whitman FROM MEMORANDA MADE AT THE TIME IN NEW YORK CITY, OR IN ARMY HOSPITALS, OR CAMP OR FIELD IN VIRGINIA. (Fourth Paper.) FIFTY ARMY HOSPITALS HERE -- 1863 -- SPRING. You will easily judge that one of the greatest institutions of Washington and its neighborhood this current time is the Hospital. I don't mean by that any particular hospital, for I think there are about fifty such establishments. There is a regular directory of them printed in most of the papers here in alphabetical order, and it has a dreary significance. Now, such a list makes a Washington journal an indespensible part of the intelligence sought here. Amid the confusion of this great army of sick it is almost impossible for a stranger to find any friend or relative, unless he has the particular address to start upon. There are one or two general directories of the hospitals kept at Provost's headquarters, but they are nothing like complete; they are never up to date, and, as things are, with the daily streams of coming and going and changing, cannot be. I have known cases, for instance, such as a farmer coming here from Northern New York to find a wounded brother, faithfully hunting round for a week, and then compelled to leave and go home without getting any trace of him. When he got home he found a letter from the brother 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -2- giving the right address in a hospital in Seventh street here. MY VISITS AND DISTRIBUTIONS. I now regularly devote from four to five hours every day or evening going among the sick and wounded. I have not yet been to all the Washington establishments; to visit them effectually would be next to impossible for one visitor. I keep going a good deal to Campbell and Armory squares, and Judiciary and Emory Hospitals, and occasionally to that at the Patent Office (now broken up), and once or twice to others. There is plenty to do, and one soon falls in the way of putting his means where it will do the most good. Tobacco I buy bb the quantity, and cut it up in small plugs. Then I buy now and then a box of oranges. Everything at retail is dear here in Washington (and wholesale too, for that matter). LETTER WRITING. Of course when eligible, I generally encourage all the men to write, and myself, when called upon, write all sorts of letters for them, (including love letters, very tender ones,) almost as I reel off this sketch, I write for a new patient to his wife. M. D. F., of the Seventeenth Connecticut, Company H, has just come up (February 17) from Windmill Point, and is received in Ward H, Armory square. He is an intelligent looking man, has a foreign accent, black-eyed and haired, has a Hebraic appearance. Wants a telegraphic message sent to his wife, New Canaan, Ct. 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -3- I agree to send the message -- but to make things sure, I also sit down and write the wife a letter, and despatch it to the post-office immediately, as he fears she will come on, and he does not wish her to, as he will surely get well. AN ARMY HOSPITAL WARD. Let me mention a visit I made to the collection of barrack-like one-story edifices, called the Campbell Hospital, out on the flats, at the present end of the horse-railway route, on Seventh street. There is a long building appropriated to each ward. Let us go intto Ward 6. It contains today, S should judge, eighty or a hundred patients, half sick, half wounded. The edifice is nothing but boards, well whitewashed inside, and the usual slender-framed iron bedsteads, narrow and plain. You walk down the central passage, with a row on either side, their feet toward you, and their heads to the wall. There are two or three large stoves, and the prevailing white of the walls is relieved by some ornaments, stars, circles &c., made of evergreens. The view of the whole edifice and occupants van be taken at once, for their is no partition. You see a melancholy spectacle. You may hear groans, or other sounds of unendurable suffering, from two or three of the iron cots, but in the main there is quiet -- almost a painful absence of demonstrations; but the pallid face, the dulled eye, and the moisture on the lip, are demonstration enough. Most of these sick or hurt are evidently young fellows from the 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -4- country, farmer's sons, and such like. Look at the fine large frames, the bright and broad countenances, and the many yet lingering proofs of strong constitution and physique. I haven ever seen a more pathetic sight than the patient and mute manner of our American wounded and sick young soldiers, as they lie in such a sad collection; representatives from all New England, and from New York and New Jersey and Pennsylvania -- indeed from all the cities -- largely from the west. Most of them are entirely without friends or acquaintances here -- no familiar face, and hardly a word of judicious sympathy or cheer through their sometimes long and tedious sickness, or the pangs of aggravated wounds. A CONNECTICUT CASE. This young man in bed 25 is H. D. B. of the Twenty-seventh Connecticut, Company B. His folks live at Northford, near New Haven. Though not more than twenty-one, or thereabout, he has knocked much around the world, on sea and land, and seen some fighting on both. When I first saw him he was very sick, with no appetite. He declined offers of money -- said he did not need anything. As I was quite anxious to do something, he confessed that the had a hankering for a good home-made rice-pudding -- thought he could relish it better than anything. At this time his stomach was very weak. The doctor, whom I consulted, said nourishment would do him more good than anything; but things in the hospital, though better than usual, revolted him. 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -5- I soon procured B his rice pudding. A Washington lady (Mrs. O'C.), hearing his wish, made the pudding herself, and I took it up to him the next day. He subsequently told me he lived upon it for three or four days. This B is a good sample of the American Eastern young man - the typical Yankee. I took a fancy to him, and gave him a nice pipe, for a keepsake. He received afterwards a box of things from home, and nothing would do but I must take dinner with him, which I did, and a very good one it was. TWO BROOKLYN BOYS. Here in this same ward are two young men from Brooklyn, members of that war-worn regiment, the Fifty-first New York. I had known both the two was young lads at home, so they seem near to me. One of them, J. L., lies there with an amputated arm, the stump healing pretty well. (I saw him lying on the ground at Fredericksburgh last December, all bloody, just after the arm was taken off. He was very phlegmatic about it, munching away at a cracker in the remaining hand -- made no fuss.) He will recover, and thinks and talks yet of meeting the Johnny Rebs. ABOUT MULES. One hardly supposed there were so many mules in the Western world as you see these times about Washington, and everywhere in the military camps, little and large, through Virginia. Saturday forenoon last on K street, moving 'TIS BUT TEN YEAR SINCE -6- up, I saw an immense drove of mules, I should think towards two thousand, and most of them very fine animals. Three or four horsemen went just ahead, with peculiar cries that seemed to have a kind of charm over the creatures, for those along the most part of the drove followed the shouting horsemen implicitly, and thus the great mass were drawn relentlessly on. Other horsemen - a score of them - dashed athwart the sides, whipping in the stragglers; but it was remarkable to me how such a great mule army in motion kept together with so little perversity one doff-shooting. The charm was the magnetic shouting of the men on the lead, and the keeping of the mass in pretty good headway all the time. But there was one obstinate fellow that redeemed the mulish reputation. Some two or three minutes after the mass entire had passed along, followed two horsemen having a sullen, laggard skedaddler under their charge. He had evidently deserted a while before, and made them a good deal of trouble. It was quite fresh and nomadic, the way these two primal cavaliers, well mounted as they were on expert nags, turned short and halted, and veered and sped on, and turned again, and surrounded and cut off the persistent efforts of mules to get away. STILL MORE OF THE HOSPITALS. Washington, 1863 -- Summer. -- Great as the Army Hospitals already are, they are rapidly growing greater and greater. I have heard that the number of our army sick regularly under treatment now exceeds three hundred and fifty thousand. They ‘Tis But Ten Years Since -7- are spread everywhere. Here and in the cities of the Middle and Northeastern states, they are collected in establishments already assuming special character, with much that is novel and national. The newspaper reader off through the agricultural regions, East or West, sees frequent allusions to these hospitals, but has probably no clear idea of them. Here in Washington, where they are all filled (as they have been already several times), they contain a population more numerous in itself that the whole of the Washington of ten or fifteen years ago. Within sight of the Capitol, as I write, are some three score such army collections or camps of the sick and wounded; they have at times held from fifty to seventy thousand men. The buildings are peculiar. Looking from any eminence and studying the topography in my rambles, I use them as landmarks. Through the rich August verdure of the trees see that white group of buildings off yonder in the outskirts; then another cluster half a mile to the left of the first; then another mile to the right, and another mile beyond, and still another between us and the first. Indeed, we can hardly look in any direction but these grim clusters are dotting the beautiful landscape and environs. That little town, as you might suppose it, off there on the brow of a hill, is indeed a town, but of wounds, sickness, and death. It is Finley Hospital, northeast of the city, on Kendall Green, as 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE *8* it used to be called. That other is Campbell Hospital. Both are large establishments. I have known these two alone to have from two thousand to twenty-five hundred inmates. Then there is Carver Hospital, larger still, a walled and military city regularly laid out, and guarded by squads of sentries. Again, off east, Lincoln Hospital, a still larger one; and a half mile further Emory Hospital. Still sweeping the eye around down the river toward Alexandria, we see, to the right, the locality where the Convalescent Camp stands, with its five, eight, or sometimes ten thousand inmates. Even all these are but a portion. The Harewood, Mount Pleasant, Armory square, and Judiciary Hospitals, are some of the rest, already mentioned, and all of them large collections. I haven no means of getting at the number of hospitals, camps of sick, &c., holding our sick and wounded soldiers in the whole United States, but at a random guess I should put the number at five hundred. LONG ONE STORY WOODEN BARRACKS. In general terms a hospital in and around Washington is a cluster of long one-story wooden buildings for the sick wards, and lots of other edifices and large and small tents. There will be ten or twelve wards grouped together, named A,B,C, &c., or numerically 1, 2, 3, &c. One of these wards will be a hundred to a hundred and fifty feet long, 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -9- twenty-five or thirty feet wide, and eighteen or twenty feet high, and kept very clean. It will contain from sixty to a hundred cots, a row on each side, ans a space down the middle. In summer the cots often have musquito-curtains, and look airy and nice. Nearly all the wards are ornamented with evergreens, cheap pictures, &c. These places unfold a new world to a man. Everywhere I have found most powerful and pathetic, though curiously mute, calls for some form of contribution, or some good office. Each case has its peculiarities, and needs some new adaptation. I have learnt to thus conform - learnt a good deal of hospital wisdom. Some of the poor young men, away form home for the first time in their lives, hunger and thirst for magnetism, affection. This is sometimes the only thing that will reach their condition. (Many of the sick are mere boys.) I have already distributed quite a large amount of money, put in my hands for that purpose by benevolent friends. I provide myself quantity of bright new ten-cent and five-cent bills, and when I think it incumbent, I give 25 or 30 cents, or perhaps 50 cents, and occasionally a still larger sum to some particular case. Then I scatter around a variety of articles, literally too numerous to mention. I regularly carry a haversack with me, and my coat has two of the biggest kind of pockets. (To be Continued.) -- THE WEEKLY GRAPHIC: New York, Feb. 21, 1874 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE. By Walt Whitman FROM MEMORANDA MADE AT THE TIME IN NEW YORK CITY, OR IN ARMY HOSPITALS, OR CAMP OR FIELD IN VIRGINIA. (Fifth Paper.) WASHINGTON HOSPITALS -- 1863-4. Dotting a ward here and there are always cases of poor fellows, long suffering under obstinate wounds, or weak and disheartened from typhoid fever, or the like; marked cases, needing special and sympathetic nurishment. There I sit down and either talk to, or silently cheer them up. They always like it hugely (and so do I). I distribute tobacco in small plugs, with clay pipes, and so on. I think smoking not only ought to be allowed, but rather encouraged, among the men in every ward. I myself never used a pinch of tobacco in any way, but I am clear that in soldiers' hospitals, in barracks, it would be good for the men and neutralize exhalations. Reading matter is always acceptable. I always carry some - the cheerful kind. A good deal of writing is done in every hospital. The men like to have a pencil and something to write in. I have given them cheap pocket-diaries, and almanacs for 1863, interleaved with blank paper. For reading I generally have some old pictorial magazines or story papers - they are always acceptable. Also the morning or evening papers of the day. The best books I do not give, but lend to read through, and then take them to others, and so on. They are very punctual about returning the books. 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -2- Sometimes I walk slowly through the ward with a couple of quires of note paper and a package of envelopes, and sing out whoever wants a little paper to signify it. Of course there are plenty of customers. WOUNDS FROM CHANCELLORSVILLE. May, '63. -- As I write this the wounded have begun to arrive from Hooker's command from bloody Chancellorsville. I was down among the first arrivals. The men in charge of them told me the bad cases were yet to come. If that is so I pity them, for these are bad enough. You ought to see the scene of the wounded arriving at the landing here foot of Sixth street at night. Two boat-loads came about half-past seven last night. A little after eight it rained a long and violent shower. The poor, pale, helpless soldiers had been debarked, and lay around on the wharf and neighborhood anywhere. The rain was, probably, grateful to them; at any rate they were exposed to it. The few torches light up the spectacle. All around -- on the wharf, on the ground, out on side places - the men are lying on blankets, old quilts, &c., with the bloody rags bound round heads, arms, and legs. The attendants are few, and at night few outsiders also -- only a few hard-worked transportation men and drivers. (The wounded are getting to be common, lie there, and patiently wait until their turn comes to be taken up. Near by the ambulance are now arriving in clusters, and one after another is called to back 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE - 3 - up and take its load. Extreme cases are sent off on stretchers. The men generally make little or no ado, whatever their sufferings. A few groans that cannot be suppressed, and occasionally a scream of pain as they lift a man into the ambulance. To-day, as I write, hundreds more are expected and to-morrow and the next day more, and so on for many days. A SECESH BRAVE. The brave, grand soldiers are not comprised in those of one side any more than the other. Here is a 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 to me 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 Southern boy of seventeen, untold in history, unsung in poems, altogether unnamed, full as strong as a spirit, and as sweet. as any in all time. A YANKEE SOLDIER. As I turned off this avenue one evening 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 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -4- 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 Charles 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, Ga., and one had been killed in battle in the West. He only was left. He was now going home, and, by the way he talked, I inferred that his time was nearly out. He made great calculations on being with his parents to comfort them the rest of their days. AMBULANCES. June 25 (Thursday, sundown).-- As I sit writing this paragraph I see a train of about thirty huge four-horse wagons, used as ambulances, filled with wounded, passing up Fourteenth street, on their way, probably, to Columbian, Carver, and Mount Pleasant Hospitals. This is the way the men come in now, seldom in small numbers, but almost always in these long, sad processions. Through the past winter, while our army lay opposite Fredericksburgh, the like strings of ambulances were of frequent occurrence along Seventh street, passing slowly up from the steamboat wharf, from Aquia Creek. BAD WOUNDS -- THE YOUNG. The soldiers are nearly all young men, and far more American than is generally supposed - I should say nine-tenths 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -5- are nation-born. Among the arrivals from Chancellorsville I find a large proportion of Ohio, Indiana,and Illinois men. As usual, there are all sorts of wounds. Some of the men are fearfully burnt from the explosions of artillery caissons. One war has a long row of officers, some with ugly hurts. Yesterday was perhaps worse than usual. Amputations are going on --the attendants are dressing wounds. As you pass by you must be on your guard where you look. I saw the other day a gentleman, a visitor apparently from curiosity, in one of the wards stop and turn a moment to look at an awful wound they were probing, &c. He turned pale, and in a moment more he had fainted away and fallen on the floor. WOMEN IN THE WAR. There are many women in one position or another, mostly as nurses, here in Washington, and all around among the military stations, most of them are young ladies acting as volunteers. they are a great help in certain ways, and deserve to be mentioned with praise and respect. Then it remains to be distinctly said that few or no young ladies, under the irresistible conventions of society, answer the real practical requirements of nurses for these collections of soldiers. Middle-aged or healthy and good-conditioned, elderly women, mothers of children, are always best. Many of the wounded must be handled. A hundred things which cannot be gainsaid, must occur and must be done. The presence of a good middle-aged, or elderly woman, the magnetic touch of hands, the expressive features of the mother, the silent soothing of her presence, her words, her knowledge, and privilege arrived at 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE - 6 - only through having had children, are previous and final qualifications. It is a natural faculty that is required; it is not merely having a genteel young woman at a 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. Here is an incident that has just occurred in one of the hospitals. A lady named Miss or Mrs. Billings, who has long been a practical friend of soldiers and nurse in the army, and had become attached to it in a way that no one can realize but him or her who has had experience, was taken sick early this winter, lingered some time, and finally died in the hospital. It was her request that she should be buried among the soldiers, and after the military method. This request was fully carried out. Her coffin was carried to the grave by soldiers, with the usual escort, buried and a salute fired over the grave. This was at Annapolis a few days since. ABRAHAM LINCOLN AGAIN. Monday, June 29.-- To-day, about half-past six P.M., I saw the President going by in his two-horse barouche toward his nightly retreat, the Soldiers' Home. He was guarded by about twenty-give cavalry. The barouche goes on the lead under a slow trot, driven by one man on the box and no servant or footman beside, the cavalry all follow closely two and two with a lieutenant at their head, riding at the side of the carriage. I had a good view of the President. He looks more 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE - 7 - careworn even than usual, his face with deep lines and his complexion a kind of gray through his dark brown swarthy skin. I said to a lady who was looking with me, "Who can see that man without losing all disposition to be sharp upon him personally? He has certainly a good soul." The lady assented, although she condemns the course of the President as not pronounced enough. The equipage is far from showy; indeed rather shabby; the horses second-rate. The President dresses in plain black clothes, wears what is called the dress hat (the cylinder with a rim). He first drove over to the house of Secretary of War Mr. Stanton, on K street, where, in a couple of minutes, Mr. S. came out, and the two had a talk of several minutes, when the Presidential equipage drove off. A NEW YORK SOLDIER. This afternoon, July 22, 1863, I spent a long time with a young man I have been with considerable, named Oscar F. Wilber, Company G, One Hundred and Fifty-fourth New York, low with chronic diarrhoea, and a bad wound also. He asked me to read him a chapter in the New Testament. I complied, and asked him what I should read. He said: "Make your own choice." I opened at the close of one of the first books of the Evangelists, and read the chapters describing the latter hours of Christ and the scenes at the crucifixion. The poor, wasted young man asked me t o read the following chapter also, how Christ rose again. I read very slowly, 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE - 8 - for Oscar was feeble. It pleased him very much, yet the tears were in his eyes. He asked me if I enjoyed religion. I said: "Perhaps not, my dear, in the way you mean, and yet, maybe, it is the same thing." He said: "It is my chief reliance." He talked of death, and said he did not fear it. I said: "Why, Oscar, don't you think you will get well?" He said : "I may, but it is not probable." He spoke calmly of his condition. The wound was very bad; it discharged much. Then the diarrhoea had prostrated him, and I felt that he was even then the same as dying. He behaved very manly and affectionate. The kiss I gave him as I was about leaving he returned fourfold. He gave me his mother's address, Mrs. Sally D. Wilber, Alleghany Post-office, Cattaraugus County, N. Y. I had several such interviews with him. He died a few days after the one just described. SOLDIERS EVERYWHERE - THE PATROL.-- Feb. '64. 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 Paymaster's offices; and there are characteristic groups around the doors of the same, often waiting long and wearily in the cold. 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -9- 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 departments 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 the 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 there. (To be Continued.) **THE WEEKLY GRAPHIC: New York, Feb. 28, 1874 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE. BY WALT WHITMAN FROM MEMORANDA MADE AT THE TIME IN NEW YORK CITY, OR IN ARMY HOSPITALS, OR CAMP OR FIELD IN VIRGINIA. (Sixth Paper.) Here is another characteristic scene of the dark and bloody year 1863, from notes of my visit to Armory Square Hospital, one hot but pleasant summer day. In Ward H we approach the cot of a young Lieutenant of one of the Wisconsin regiments. Tread the bare board floor lightly here, for the pain and panting of death are in this cot! I saw the Lieutenant when he was first brought here from Chancellorsville, and have been with him occasionally from day to day, and night to night. He has been getting along pretty well, till night before last, when a sudden hemorrhage that could not be stopped came upon him, and to-day is still continues at intervals. Notice that water-pail by the side of the bed, with a quantity of blood and bloody pieces of muslin - nearly full; that tells the story. The poor young man in lying panting, struggling painfully for breath, his great dark eyes with a glaze already upon them, and the choking faint but audible in his throat. An attendant sits by him and will not leave him till the last; yet little or nothing can be done. The young man will die here in an hour or two without the presence of kith or kin. Meantime the ordinary chat and business of the ward a little way off goes on indifferently. Some of the inmates are laughing and joking, others are playing checkers or cards, others are reading, &c. 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE - 2 - I have noticed through most of the hospitals that as long as there is any chance for a man, no matter how bad he may be, the surgeon and nurses work hard, sometimes with curious tenacity, for his life, doing everything and keeping somebody by him to execute the doctor's orders and minister to him every minute night and day. See that screen there, As you advance through the dusk of early-candle light a nurse will step forth on tiptoe, and silently but imperiously forbid you to make any noise, or perhaps to come near at all. Some soldier's life is flickering there, suspended between recovery and death. Perhaps at this moment the exhausted frame has just fallen into a light sleep that a step might shake. You must retire. The neighboring patients must move in their stocking feet. I have been several times struck with such marked efforts -- everything bent to save a life from the very grip of the destroyer. But when that grip is once firmly fixed, leaving no hope or chance at all, the surgeon abandons the patient. If it is a care where stimulus is any relief, the nurse gives milk-punch or brandy, or whatever is wanted, ad libitum. There is no fuss made. Not a bit of sentimentalism or whining have I seen about a single death-bed in hospital or on the field, but generally impassive indifference. All is over, as far as any efforts can avail; it is useless to expend emotions or labors. While there is a prospect they strive hard -- at least most surgeons do; but death certain and evident they yield the field. 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE - 3 - LOVING MAGNETISM AS MEDICINE. To many of the wounded and sick, especially the youngsters, there is something in the magnetism of sympathy and friendship, that does, in its way, more good than all the medicine in the world. I have spoken of my regular gifts of delicacies, money, tobacco, special articles of food, knick-knacks, &c., &c. But I steadily found more and more that I could turn the balance in favor of cure, by the means here alluded to, in a curiously large proportion of cases. The average American soldier is full not only of pride but of affection, and the yearning for affection. And it comes wonderfully grateful to him to have this yearning gratified when he is laid up with painful wounds or illness, far away from home, among strangers. Many will think this imaginary, but I know it is the most solid of facts. Even the moving around among the men, or through the hospital ward, of a hearty, healthy, clean, strong, generous-souled person, man or woman, full of humanity and love, sending out invisible constant currents thereof, does immense good to the sick and wounded. EACH EMERGENCY ANSWERED - 1864-5. In these hospitals, or in the field, as I thus continue to go round, I have come to adapt myself to each emergency, after its kind or call, however trivial, however solemn -- every one justified and made real under its circumstances. Reading passages from the Bible, expounding them, prayer at the bedside, explanations of doctrine, have been several times among my serious duties. (I think I see my friends 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE - 4 - smiling at this confession, but I was never more in earnest in my life.) R E A D I N G S. For three years, in these scenes, in Washington, in camp, and everywhere, I was in the habit of reading to the men. They were very fond of it, and liked declamatory poetical pieces. Scotch or Irish ballads, Macaulay's poetry, one or two of Longfellow's pieces, translations from Schiller, and Miles O'Reilley's pieces were great favorites. I have had many happy evenings with the men. We would gather in a large group by ourselves, after supper, and spend the time in such readings, or in talking, and occasionally by an amusing game called the game of Twenty Questions. CONVALESCENT CAMP. Through Fourteenth street to the river, and then over the Long Bridge, and some three miles beyond, is the huge collection called the Convalescent Camp. It is a respectable sized army in itself, tents, sheds, &c., at times contains from five to ten thousand men. Of course there are continual changes. Large squads are sent off to their regiments or elsewhere, and new men received. Sometimes I found large numbers of paroled returned prisoners here. WOUNDS AND DISEASES. A large majority of the wounds are in the arms and legs. But there is every kind of wound in every part of the body. I should say of the sick, from my observation, that the pre- 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE - 5 - vailing maladies are typhoid fever and the camp fevers generally, diarrhoea, catarrhal affections and bronchitis, rheumatism and pneumonia. These forms of sickness lead; all the rest follow. There are twice as many sick as there are wounded. The deaths average from 6 to 10 per cent. of those under treatment. GIFTS - MONEY - DISCRIMINATION. As a very large proportion of the wounded came up from the front without a cent of money in their pockets, I soon discovered that about the best thing I could do to raise their spirits, and show them that somebody cared for them and practically felt a fatherly or brotherly interest in them, to give them small sums, in such cases, using tact and discretion about it. I am regularly supplied with funds for this purpose by good women and men in Boston, Salem, Providence, Brooklyn, and New York. As I have recurred to this subject several times in the present notes, I may take this opportunity to ventilate and sum up the financial question. My supplies, altogether voluntary, mostly confidential, often seeming quite Providential, were numerous and varied. For instance, there were two distant and wealthy ladies, sisters, who sent regularly, for two years, quite heavy sums, enjoining that their names should be kept secret. The same delicacy was indeed a frequent condition. From several I had carte blanche. Many were entire strangers. From these sources, during from two to three years, in the manner described, in the hospi- 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE - 6 - tals, I bestowed over $50,000 in money - and considerably more than that in other forms. I learned one thing conclusively - that beneath all the ostensible greed and heartlessness of our times there is no end to the generous benevolence of men and women in the United States, when once sure of their object. Another thing became clear to me - while cash is not amis to bring up the rear, tact and magnetic sympathy and unction are, and ever will be, sovereign still. He who goes among the soldiers with gifts, &c., must yet beware how he proceeds. It is much more of an art than one would imagine. They are not charity patients, but American young men, of pride and independence. The spirit in which you treat them, and bestow your donations, is just as important as the gifts themselves; sometimes more so. Then there is continual hygienic tact and discrimination necessary. Besides, each case requires some peculiar adaptation to itself. It is very important to slight nobody - not a single case. Some hospital visitors, especially the women, pick out the handsomest looking soldiers, or have a few for their pets. Of course some will attract you more than others, and some will need more attention than others, but be careful not to ignore any patient. A word, a friendly turn of the eye, or touch of the hand in passing, if nothing more. A GLIMPSE FROM MY NOTES. It is Sunday afternoon (middle of summer, 1864), hot and oppresive, and very silent through the ward. I am taking 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE - 7 - care of a critical case, now lying in a half lethargy. Near where I sit is a suffering rebel, from the Eighth Louisiana; his name is Irving. He has been here a long time, badly wounded, and lately had his leg amputated. It is not doing very well. Right opposite me is a sick soldier-boy, laid down with his clothes on, sleeping, looking much wasted, his pallid face on his arm. I see by the yellow trimming on his jacket that he is a cavalry boy. He looks so handsome as he sleeps, one must needs go nearer to him. I step softly over and find his card that he is named William Cone, of the First Maine Cavalry, and his folks live in Skowhegan. ICE CREAM TREAT. One hot day toward the middle of June, 1864, I gave the inmates of Carver Hospital a general ice-cream treat, purchasing a large quantity, and under convoy of the doctor or head nurse of each ward, going around personally through the wards to see to its distribution. CALHOUN'S REAL MONUMENT. May 12, 1865, -- In one of the hospital tents for special cases, as I sat to-day tending a new amputation, I heard a couple of neighboring soldiers talking to each other from their cots. One down with fever, but improving, had come up from Charleston not long before. The other was what we now call an "old veteran" (i. e., he was a Connecticut youth, probably of less than the age of twenty-five years, the four last of which he had spent in active service in the war in all parts of the country). The two were chatting of one thing 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE - 8 - and another. The fever soldier spoke of John C. Calhoun's monument, which he had seen, and was describing it. The veteran said: "I have seen Calhoun's monument. That you saw is not the real monument. But I have seen it. It is the desolated, ruined, South; nearly the whole generation of young men between seventeen and fifty destroyed or maimed; all the old families used up - the rich impoverished, the plantations covered with weeds, the slaves unloosed and become the masters, and the name of Southerner blacken'd with every shame -- all that is Calhoun's real monument." WESTERN SOLDIERS. May 26-9, 1865.-- The streets, the public buildings and grounds of Washington swarm all day long with soldiers from Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Missouri, Iowa, and all the Western states, temporarily camped here in Sherman's returning armies. I am continually meeting and talking with them. They often speak to me first, and always show great sociability, and glad to have a good interchange of chat. These Western soldiers are more slow in their movements andin rheir intellectual quality also; have no extreme alertness. They are larger in size, have a more serious physiognomy, are continually looking at you as they pass in the street. They are largely animal, and handsomely so. During the war I have been at times with the Fourteenth, Fifteenth, Seventeenth, and Twentieth Corps. I always feel drawn toward the men, and like their personal contact when we are crowded 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE - 9 - close together, as frequently these days in the street-cars. They all think the world of General Sherman; call him "Old Bill," or sometimes "Uncle Billy." THE THREE YEARS. With these lines - though I have only broached or suggested the exhaustless stores of romance, daring, pathos, &c . , of the war - I must conclude my sketches. During my three years in the army hospitals, and in the field, ending in 1865, I made over 600 visits, and went, as I estimate, anong from 80,000 to 100,000 of the wounded and sick, as sustainer of spirit and body in some degree, in time of need. Thess visits varied from an hour or two, to all day or night; for with dear or critical cases I watched all night. Sometimes I took up my quarters in the hospital, and slept or watched there several nights in succession. Those three years I consider the greatest privilege and satisfaction (with all their feverish excitement and physical deprivations and lamentable sights), and, of course, the most profound lesson and reminiscence, of my life. I can say that in my ministering I comprehended all and slighted none. (Perhaps I am a little vain about it.) It afforded me, too,the perusal of those infinite, subtlest, rarest volumes on Humanity laid bare in its inmost recesses, and of actual life and death, better than the finest, most labored shams in the libraries. It aroused and brought out and decided undreamed-of depths of emotion. It has given me my plainest and most fervent views of the true ensemble and extent of the States. While 'TIS BUT TEN YEARS SINCE -10- I have been with wounded and sick in thousands of cases from the New England States, and from New York, New Jersey, and Pennyslvania, and from Michigan, Wisconsin, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, and the Western States, I have been with more or less from all the States North and South, without exception. I have been with many from the Border States, especially from Maryland and Virginia, and found, during those lurid years 1862-65, far more Union Southerners, especially Tenneseans, than is supposed. I have been with many rebel officers and men among our wounded, and given them always what I had, and tried to cheer them the same as any. I have been among the army teamsters considerably, and, indeed always find myself drawn to them. Among the black soldiers, wounded or sick, and in the contraband camps, I also took my way whenever in their neighborhood, and did what I could for them. _______ THE WEEKLY GRAPHIC : NEW YORK Saturday, March 7, 1874 EDITORIAL NOTE -- NEW YORK WEEKLY GRAPHIC PAGE 2 January 24, 1874 Walt Whitman's sketch entitled " 'Tis Ten Years Since" will attract general attention. The writer's reputation is largely due to the strong individuality which is found in his prose as well as in his poetry. In his contribution to THE WEEKLY GRAPHIC it should be remembered that he is speaking for Walt Whitman in his usual earnest and untrammeled way, and that the opinions which he expresses are to be accepted not as those of any school or party, or as those of THE WEEKLY GRAPHIC, but solely as those of the author of "Leaves of Grass." EDITORIAL NOTE -- NEW YORK WEEKLY GRAPHIC PAGE 10 February 7, 1874. Walt Whitman's characteristic personal reminiscences fulfill the stirring promise of his first graphic paper, and bring the famous writer to the beginning of the war-hospital experiences in which his broad, unpartisan humanity and fervent poetic nature assured to him a wonderful range of vivid sights and sensations. Transcribed and reviewed by contributors participating in the By The People project at crowd.loc.gov.