Diary of Horatio Nelson Taft.

Dec.14^th 1864 (Washington)

The City seems to be overflowing with people, rents are constantly rising and prices of everything raise in proportion. A person cannot find common Board now (meals only) for less than $25 pr month, and from that to $50 and $60. The Hotels here are now charging from $4.00 to $5.00 pr day. I had occasion to buy a few yards of factory cotton cloth one yard wide about the first of this month, paid $.75 pr yard – used to buy it for ten cents. Cotton is worth (or at least sells for) much more than wool, flour is $18 pr B^ll, Butter 65 cts pr lb, fresh Beef (best) 35 cts, Ham 30, Cheese 30, Oak wood $12 pr cord, Coal $15.00 pr ton, Milk 20 cts pr quart. Books have just about doubled in price. News papers sold by news boys 5 cts, some of the NY papers sell for 10. The “Independent” does. Penn Avenue is the great Artery of the City as “Broad Way” is in NY. It is the great River into which all the little streams enter. Everything can be seen there in the shape of humanity, from the Millionaire to the beggar. “Shoulder Straps” are not as plenty as they used to be, but there is a good sprinkling of them seen yet. One cannot pass a few squares on the “Av^e” now without seeing nearly all the grades of rank indicated, from the two Stars of the Maj Gen^l to the Chevrons of the Sergeant, and privates without number. Soldiers are constantly either going or coming through the City, either on their way Home or to the Army, “The Front.” Many are in Hospital convalesent and get their “leave” for a few hours and perambulate the City. Here are couple of rather pale looking fellows from Hospital on crutches. One meets many such, and many empty sleeves. One cannot pass them without a feeling of sadness altho they generaly seem happy and in good spirits. One always meets certain well know[n] characters or persons, who like all the rest of the world, prominade in the afternoon. Beau Hickman is one of the standard characters of the City. He is always seen shuffling along, for “Beau” has been lame for a long time. He has had the gout or something of that sort for his toes are sadly distorted. He probably lived too high when he succeeded so well in former days as a professional “Sponge” when wine and rich viands were matters of everyday use with him. Poor “Beau,” his stories, his jokes, his duns, his “Taxes,” all are Stale now. He does not “take” any men. “Beau” is now considered a decided Bore. “Johny,” who sells matches and Blacking, is another well known personage who always seems to be everywhere. He is very much deformed and very lame and hobbles along with the greatest difficulty, but he is a quiet inoffensive fellow with a cast off high crowned hat on his head with a cockade on it and sometimes a small Union flag flying from it, for “Johny” is a Staunch Union Man. He took the “Av^e” by surprise a year or two ago by promenading with a female arm in arm minus the symbols of his trade & his patriotism, and dressed in a new suit of clothes. “Johny” was short and very crooked and the female was tall and very strait. He knew everybody and bowed to everybody and everybody to him with a smothered laugh. Johny confessed that he had Married a wife and got six hundred dollars with her, when “pumped” a day or two after. There are other characters no less well known and quite as little respected. There is a “pink” of “fashion.” His coat is buttoned up to the chin, his collar and cravat are faultless (he may have a shirt on, and may not), his hat is well worn and smo[o]th with much brushing, his boots are well polished, and his pants straped down tight. He is always drawing on his teids or taking them off with his rattan under his arm. He is now picking his teeth on the Piazza at the “National” with the most careless air or twirling his moustache while looking over the “arrivals” at the office. Does he board there? not a bit of it. Nobody knows where he lives or what he does. He is always seen, is one of a Class who may be seen do[d]ging out of a dirty alley sometimes in the morning from ten cent lodgings and getting, occasionaly, money from home. But these characters have diverted our attention from the great moveing throng on the “Av^e.” Here comes the Patrol guard, a dozen or so of well dressed soldiers with white gloves and polished shoes, and bright muskets. A Lieut is a little a head and stops the guard before a Hotel while he enters and addresses himself to all “shoulder straps,” who must show their “passes.” The same with all soldiers on the street. Here comes another squad of soldiers mixed up with a motly crowd of ragged and hard looking men. They too are a guard. They are taking some prisoners to the old Capitol Prison. Those hard looking long haired men are rebel Prisoner “Guerrillas” perhaps captured somewhere over in V.a. Such a crowd is usualy followed by the usual number of ragged boys, Negroes and other idlers. We frequently see old men among such prisoners, and almost every day such crowds pass. There is a troop of Cavalry just coming in covered with dust or mud (one or the other always prevails in Washington). The horses look jaded and tired. The troopers look grim and dirty. They have bags of provender, and blankets straped to their saddles. Their carbines swung over their shoulders with the muzzle pointing to the ground. Their canteens also suspended from the shoulder. The steel scabbard sword and revolvers hung to the Belts. They walk their horses through the street. People look at them and think they have been on a “raid.” There is usualy some led horses with accoutrements all on. You gaze at the empty Saddle with a thrill, for it is fearfully suggestive of a life struggle of wounds and death. Perhaps the dry red blood is still on the saddle. Where is the rider? “Alas nor wife nor children more shall he behold nor friends nor sacred home.” Here is the carriage of Mrs Lincoln before a dry goods Store, her footman has gone into the Store. The Clerk is just going out to the carriage (where Mrs L is waiting) with some pieces of goods for her to choose from. I should rather think that she would have a better chance at the goods if she was to go into the Store but then she might get jostled and gazed at and that too would be doing just as the common people do. The footman holds the carriage door open. The driver sits on the box and hold[s] the horses. Mrs L. thumbs the goods and asks a great many questions. People turn round and look at the carriage after they pass, it is the Presidents Carriage. The carriage, horses, and all make a very modest appearance. Many a Farmer in the country can show a better “turnout.” Nothing is noticeable except that it is Mrs Lincoln, and the driver and the footman have gold bands & cockades on their hats. There comes down the Avenue a Battery of Artillery. It is astonishing how a Battery of six guns (“twelve pounders”) will stretch out, and what a rattling it will make over the pavement. Every gun has six horses and a Caisson with six more horses with nine or ten men to a gun. Every gun an[d] Caisson has a spare wheel securely lashed on behind. Then there follows the Amunition wagons and the Forge, and the Baggage. Altogether not less than a quarter of a mile is occupied, perhaps more. Sometimes they go through the Street on a gallop and then such a rumbling and rattling of the carriages and clattering of hoofs of the horses, such a jolting and bounding of the men was never heard or seen. No human voice could be heard but at the Bugle call halt, all is still in an instant. The horses and men are like statues, still, and motionless. H N Chapman is from Rockford Ill. He is a Clerk in the Gen^l Land office and occupies a room adjoining to mine. He is a great talker, full of argument, full of self conceit and very dogmatic in his opinions besides being very nervous altho he is quite large and given somewhat to Obesity. He boards on Capitol Hill and while he prides himself upon his disregard for little things, “little things” are a source of the greatest anoyance to him. Directly over his lodging a Russian and his wife have taken up their abode. She is an Artist. He is a refugee, a sort of broken down grandee. He tramps the floor at night over Chapmans head. Chapman expostulates, the Russian possits. The Russian is otherwise anoying, and Chapman is in great tribulation. He says if he should be found dead in that house some morning He wants the Coronor^s verdict to be “Died of a Russian Bear.”