Baltimore, May 8, 1862.
Thursday.
When this note may reach you, or where, I have no idea, but
I will “draw a bow at a venture,” knowing you will be very glad to hear of the
progress of my patient. Several days have passed since I wrote, and he has been
improving in general health and strength, and looking more like himself than I
supposed he would in so short a time. The main cause of his troubles gives him
almost constant twinges of pain, and he suffers much, although he tries to make
very light of it.
Your last favor was written May 1st, but you have since been
on the move, and Frank misses your cheerful, kindly missives. I had written
thus far when the postman left your note of the 3d, and I have just finished
reading it, and will let the one to whom it is addressed dictate his own
response.
My
Dear Frank, — I have just heard read your short note of the 3d, and am
glad for your sake that you have the little Colonel and Major back again. I am
very sorry that I did not see them when they passed through here. I expected
them every time the door bell rang for three or four days. They probably had to
go right through. Give my love to the Colonel; tell him I shall hope to see him
before long. Remember me to the Major too. What do they do for horses? I should
like to know where you are this morning. I hope your foot did not trouble you
when the advance was made. Were you not taken by surprise?
Your “Fourth of July cocktail” at
Pitcher's looks more practicable every day. I shall get to Boston before you,
though. I will have the house got ready and the table spread against the time
you come. I shall be round on crutches (doubtful) in a week, at least that is
my plan. I am going to have a man here to measure me for them to-day. Like
being measured for a coffin, is it not? Mother writes that last under protest.
My leg has given me a good deal of pain
since yesterday, owing to its being too tightly bandaged. The last ligature is
away, and it ought to heal rapidly now. The foot that is gone pains me most. It
would seem that somebody made it their amusement playing “stick-knife” on it a
greater part of the time. I am much better able to bear it now than when I was
weak. I smoked my first cigarette day before yesterday, winning thereby a box
of cigars from my cousin, who foolishly wagered that amount that I would not
smoke for three weeks. Do you know it is just two weeks to-day since I “stopped”
so neatly that pretty little bullet at just about this hour? I think I am very well advanced. I wrote
Little yesterday, and gave him a short lecture about his signature. How does
the boy Arthur get along? You must take him under your special protection now
that I am away. I guess I will resign in favor of Mother. I must get my foot
into better discipline. I cannot have it going on this way. Give a great deal
of love to all the fellows, and what you please for yourself, from your Frank.
The above was jerked out between spasms of dreadful pain.
The surgeon has been here since, and relieved him somewhat, and assures me it
is doing remarkably well.
SOURCE: Francis Winthrop Palfrey, Memoir of William
Francis Bartlett, p. 44-6
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