Walt Whitman in Fredericksburg

In Folsom and Price’s biography of Whitman, they describe his visit to Fredericksburg during the Civil War. Initially jolted by the sight of his brother’s name in the casualty roster for the Battle of Fredericksburg, Whitman traveled from Brooklyn to Fredericksburg. Fortunately, his brother was alive and only had a slight facial wound; however, “Whitman’s relief turned to horror as he encountered a sight he would never forget: outside of a mansion converted into a field hospital, he came upon ‘a heap of amputated feet, legs, arms, hands, &c., a full load for a one-horse cart.’ They were, he wrote in his journal, ‘human fragments, cut, bloody, black and blue, swelled and sickening.’ Nearby were ‘several dead bodies . . . each cover’d with its brown woolen blanket.'” (Folsom and Price).

The mansion that Folsom and Price are referring to is Chatham Manor. The horrifying scene he witness at the house launched his volunteer work as a nurse during the Civil War. Whitman stayed in Fredericksburg for a month to care for injured soldiers. According to the National Park Service, “Whitman carefully recorded his thoughts and experiences on scraps of bloodstained paper that he folded over and stuck together with pins” during his visit (“Walt Whitman at Chatham”).

Despite the sad circumstances for his visit, I thought it was really cool that Fredericksburg had such a large impact on Whitman’s personal life and career. I had no idea that he lived and worked here for a time. It’s hard to imagine such a horrifying scene at Chatham, which is where I sometimes go to relax and enjoy a nice view of downtown!

Here is more of Whitman’s experience at Chatham, from his book The Wound Dresser:

“Began my visits (December 21, 1862) among the camp hospitals in the Army of the Potomac, under General Burnside. Spent a good part of the day in a large brick mansion [Chatham] on the banks of the Rappahannock, immediately opposite Fredericksburg. It is used as a hospital since the battle, and seems to have received only the worst cases. Outdoors, at the foot of a tree, within ten yards of the front of the house [probably the still standing Catalpa tree], I noticed a heap of amputated feet, legs, arms, hands, etc. — about a load for a one-horse cart. Several dead bodies lie near, each covered with its brown woolen blanket. In the dooryard, toward the river, are fresh graves, mostly of officers, their names on pieces of barrel staves or broken board, stuck in the dirt.

The house is quite crowded, 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 officers, prisoners. One, a Mississippian–a captain– hit badly in the leg, I talked with him some time; he asked for papers, which I gave him. (I saw him three months afterward in Washington, with 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 night, but wrote a few letters to folks home, mothers, etc. Also talked to three or four who seemed most susceptible to it, and needing it.”

Another interesting note: the catalpa tree that Whitman describes still stands! The NPS believes that the two catalpa trees in front of the house are about 180 years old. They have worked hard to maintain the dying trees.

https://www.nps.gov/frsp/learn/historyculture/chathamcatalpas.htm

https://www.nps.gov/frsp/learn/historyculture/whitman.htm