Chapter XXI

_Washington, May 18, 1864._ DEAREST MOTHER--I will only write you a hasty note this time, as I am pretty tired, and my head feels disagreeable from being in too much. I was up yesterday to Carver hospital and again saw the man of the 51st, Thos. McCowell, who told me of George, up to latter part of Thursday, 12th inst. I questioned him, and his story was very clear, so I felt perfectly satisfied. He is wounded in hand; will be transferred soon to New York and may call on you. He is a young Irishman, and seems to be a very good fellow indeed. I have written to George, day before yesterday. Did you send my last letter to Han? If not, send it yet. Mother, I see such awful things. I expect one of these days, if I live, I shall have awful thoughts and dreams--but it is such a great thing to be able to do some real good; assuage these horrible pains and wounds, and save life even--that's the only thing that keeps a fellow up.

Well, dear mother, I make such reckoning of yet coming on and seeing you. How I want to see Jeff, too--O, it is too bad I have not written to him so long--and Mat, too, and little California and all. I am going out now a little while. I remain first rate, as well as ever.

WALT.