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nd Broad Streets.
The office at the corner of Ninth and Broad Streets was a filthy one; it was inhabited — for they slept there-by his rowdy clerks.
And when I stepped to the hydrant for a glass of water, the tumbler repulsed me by the smell of whisky.
There was no towel to wipe my hands with, and in the long basement room underneath, were a thousand garments of dead soldiers, taken from the hospitals and the battle-field, and exhaling a most disagreeable, if not deleterious, odor.
Nevertheless, I am (temporarily) signing my name to the passports, yet issued by the authority of the Secretary of War.
They are filled up and issued by three or four of the Provost Marshal's clerks, who are governed mainly by my directions, as neither Col. Porter nor the clerks, nor Gen. Winder himself, have the slightest idea of the geography of the country occupied by the enemy.
The clerks are all Marylanders, as well as the detectives, and the latter intend to remain here to my gre