May 28.—AS I sat by the beside of a sick Michigan soldier in hospital to-day, a convalescent from the adjoining bed rose and came to me, and presently we began talking, He was a middle-aged man, belonged to the 2d Virginia regiment, but lived in Racine, Ohio, and had a family there. He spoke of President Lincoln, and said: “The war is over, and many are lost. And now we have lost the best, the fairest, the truest man in America. Take him altogether, he was the best man this country ever produced. It was quite a while I thought very different; but some time before the murder, that’s the way I have seen it.” There was deep earnestness in the soldier. (I found upon further talk he had known Mr. Lincoln personally, and quite closely, years before.) He was a veteran; was now in the fifth year of his service; was a cavalry man, and had been in a good deal of hard fighting.

Lincoln would often issue praise for specific regiments and armies, and this helps account to the warm feelings many felt toward him. Here are a few examples:

—December 22, 1862 printed leaflet distributed to the Army:
To the Army of the Potomac: I have just read your Commanding General’s preliminary report of the battle of Fredericksburg. Although you were not successful, the attempt was not an error, nor the failure other than an accident. The courage with which you, in an open field, maintained the contest against an entrenched foe, and the consummate skill and success with which you crossed and re-crossed the river, in face of the enemy, show that you possess all the qualities of a great army, which will yet give victory to the cause of the country and of popular government. Condoling with the mourners for the dead, and sympathizing with the severely wounded, I congratuate you that the number of both is comparatively so small.
I tender to you, officers and soldiers, the thanks of the nation.

—July 4, 1863 announcement from War Department following news from Gettysburg:
The President announces to the country that news from the Army of the Potomac, up to 10 P.M. of the 3rd. is such as to cover that Army with the highest honor, to promise a great success to the cause of the Union, and to claim the condolence of all for the many gallant fallen. And that for this, he especially desires that on this day, He whose will, not ours, should ever be done, be everywhere remembered and reverenced with profoundest gratitude.

—October 24, 1864 speech to 189th New York Volunteers
Soldiers: I am exceedingly obliged to you for this mark of respect. It is said that we have the best Government the world ever knew, and I am glad to meet you, the supporters of that Government. To you who render the hardest work in its support should be given the greatest credit. Others who are connected with it, and who occupy high positions, their duties can be dispensed with, but we cannot get along without your aid. While others differ with the Administration, and, perhaps, honestly, the soldiers generally have sustained it; they have not only fought right, but, as far as could be judged from their actions, they have voted right, and I for one thank you for it. I know you are en route for the front, and therefore do not expect me to detain you long, and will therefore bid you good morning.

Grand review of the Union army in Washington, D.C., May 1865; photograph by Mathew Brady

FOR two days now the broad spaces of Pennsylvania avenue along to Treasury hill, and so by detour around to the President’s house, and so up to Georgetown, and across the aqueduct bridge, have been alive with a magnificent sight, the returning armies. In their wide ranks stretching clear across the Avenue, I watch them march or ride along, at a brisk pace, through two whole days—infantry, cavalry, artillery—some 200,000 men. Some days afterwards one or two other corps; and then, still afterwards, a good part of Sherman’s immense army, brought up from Charleston, Savannah, &c.

The Grand Review was a two day victory parade ordered by President Andrew Johnson. On the first day, General Meade led the Army of the Potomac, 80,000 men spread 12 abreast. Reports the Civil War Encyclopedia, “George Armstrong Custer gained the most attention that day-either by design or because his horse was spooked when he temporarily lost control of his mount, causing much excitement as he rode by the reviewing stand twice.” The next day General Sherman led the 65,000-man Army of Georgia. He called it “the happiest and most satisfactory moment of my life.”

Frank H. Irwin, company E, 93d Pennsylvania—died May I, ’65—My letter to his mother.—DEAR MADAM: No doubt you and Frank’s friends have heard the sad fact of his death in hospital here, through his uncle, or the lady from Baltimore, who took his things. (I have not seen them, only heard of them visiting Frank.) I will write you a few lines—as a casual friend that sat by his death-bed. Your son, corporal Frank H. Irwin, was wounded near fort Fisher, Virginia, March 25th, 1865—the wound was in the left knee, pretty bad. He was sent up to Washington, was receiv’d in ward C, Armory-square hospital, March 28th—the wound became worse, and on the 4th of April the leg was amputated a little above the knee—the operation was perform’d by Dr. Bliss, one of the best surgeons in the army—he did the whole operation himself—there was a good deal of bad matter gather’d—the bullet was found in the knee. For a couple of weeks afterwards he was doing pretty well. I visited and sat by him frequently, as he was fond of having me. The last ten or twelve days of April I saw that his case was critical. He previously had some fever, with cold spells. The last week in April he was much of the time flighty—but always mild and gentle. He died first of May. The actual cause of death was pyæmia, (the absorption of the matter in the system instead of its discharge.) Frank, as far as I saw, had everything requisite in surgical treatment, nursing, &c. He had watches much of the time. He was so good and well-behaved and affectionate, I myself liked him very much. I was in the habit of coming in afternoons and sitting by him, and soothing him, and he liked to have me—liked to put his arm out and lay his hand on my knee—would keep it so a long while. Toward the last he was more restless and flighty at night—often fancied himself with his regiment—by his talk sometimes seem’d as if his feelings were hurt by being blamed by his officers for something he was entirely innocent of—said, “I never in my life was thought capable of such a thing, and never was.” At other times he would fancy himself talking as it seem’d to children or such like, his relatives I suppose, and giving them good advice; would talk to them a long while. All the time he was out of his head not one single bad word or idea escaped him. It was remark’d that many a man’s conversation in his senses was not half as good as Frank’s delirium. He seem’d quite willing to die—he had become very weak and had suffer’d a good deal, and was perfectly resign’d, poor boy. I do not know his past life, but I feel as if it must have been good. At any rate what I saw of him here, under the most trying circumstances, with a painful wound, and among strangers, I can say that he behaved so brave, so composed, and so sweet and affectionate, it could not be surpass’d. And now like many other noble and good men, after serving his country as a soldier, he has yielded up his young life at the very outset in her service. Such things are gloomy—yet there is a text, “God doeth all things well”—the meaning of which, after due time, appears to the soul. 1

I thought perhaps a few words, though from a stranger, about your son, from one who was with him at the last, might be worth while—for I loved the young man, though I but saw him immediately to lose him. I am merely a friend visiting the hospitals occasionally to cheer the wounded and sick.

W. W.

The government was ill-equipped to provide the hospital services we take for granted today, and civilians like Whitman had to fill the gap in matters personal and medical. As Martin G. Murray writes,

Although Whitman’s attention to the wounded was extraordinary—he estimated that over the course of the war, he had made ‘over 600 visits or tours, and went . . . among from some 80,000 to 100,000 of the wounded and sick, as sustainer of spirit and body in some degree, in time of need’—Whitman was hardly the only person in Washington who visited the wounded. A report in the Daily Morning Chronicle for November 6, 1862, for example, noted that 25 soldiers’ relief associations had been formed recently in the city, of which 16 were sponsored by as many individual states. Julia S. Wheelock Freeman wrote of her experiences as a hospital agent for the Michigan Relief Association, recalling that she “seldom went empty-handed, taking cooked tomatoes or stewed fruit, chicken broth, pickles, butter, cheese, jelly, hot tea, oranges, lemons, fruit, clothing, reading matter.” National organizations, such as the U.S. Sanitary Commission and the U.S. Christian Commission, sent delegates into the hospitals to dispense food, clothing, money, and religious materials. Whitman was officially sponsored by the latter organization, although he depended primarily upon his own resources and gifts from family, friends, and anonymous donors who supported his work after reading about it in his newspaper accounts.

Many Washingtonians visited the hospitals regularly as members of fraternal organizations such as Odd Fellows and Freemasons, or religious congregations, or merely as private individuals. During holidays, citizens sponsored festive dinners at each of the hospitals and competed with one another to provide the most abundant spread. Some gave concerts for the soldiers; Vinnie Ream, a talented mezzo soprano who later gained fame as Lincoln’s sculptor, performed at Lincoln Hospital in April 1864. Added to all these were the relatives of the sick and wounded soldiers who, like Whitman, traveled to Washington hoping to nurse their family members back to health. Visiting the hospital one day, Whitman observed two such visitors: “In one case, the wife sat by the side of her husband, his sickness, typhoid fever, pretty bad. In another, by the side of her son—a mother—she told me she had seven children, and this was the youngest.” Whitman described her as “a fine, kind, healthy, gentle mother, good-looking, not very old, with a cap on her head, and dress’d like home—what a charm it gave to the whole Ward.” There were so many visitors coming and going, in fact, that the hospital staffs posted notices in the newspapers pleading with the well-meaning to heed visiting hours.