28th. Sunday. Reveille at 2 A. M. Breakfasted and were on the road at daylight. Our Brig. in advance. Passed through S. Rebels in retreat. Overtook the infantry on Jamestown road. Camped at C.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
August 28.—We have become a little settled, and think we shall like the place very well. I never had such a nice kitchen.
Dr. Wellford has been here. He was ordered away from Newnan, as the enemy were expected. He brought word that our patients were doing pretty well; a few of them had gone to their long homes. He has been sent back, as it was a false alarm, Mini thoro aro many wounded there yet.
Dr. Reesse has returned from the front. He is very sanguine of our success; says that the Yankee pickets exchange tobacco and newspapers with ours, and have told them that Sherman is nearly exhausted, and will have to give up soon.
I should like to believe this, but am afraid it is too good to be true. I see by the papers that we have had a great deal of fighting in Missouri and Kentucky.
Lieutenant Haskill of Garrety’s battery was killed on the 7th. He is much regretted.
We have quite a number of sick. The ladies of the place have called on us, and seem very anxious to assist us. I am very glad of this, as we have little or nothing of our own to give the patients. The paymaster has not been around lately; so Dr. H., like all here, is entirely out of funds.
This is said to be a very wealthy place; and were we to judge from the carriages and fine horses we see, I should think the impressing officer had not been down this way for some time.
Sunday, 28th—No news. All things quiet. Rome, Georgia.
Chesapeake Hospital,
Sunday, August 28, 1864.
My Dear Sister L.:—
I have passed the week mostly on my bed—been out of the house but once. That was yesterday, when I went down to the fort (in the cars) and that little exertion was almost too much for me. I am very comfortably sick— have no pain except an occasional headache, but spend most of my time quietly, feeling a great aversion to the least exertion.
My bed is a little iron cot with a mattress on it, my table a light stand. I draw it up beside the bed and write my letters and then lie back and read or sleep. Three times a day my tormentor comes with quinine and whisky disguised as “tonic solution,” and soon after come preparations for a meal from the “low diet kitchen.” This is managed in a way called in military parlance “by detail,” e. g., first installment for dinner (after the “tonic solution”) 10 a. m., nurse with cup and saucer. Then at intervals of half an hour the following articles—10:30, knife, fork and spoon; 11, milk, cup and mug, with one spoonful of sugar; 11:30, teapot and plate of corn starch (good); 12 m., plate with leathery toast, dab of butter, boiled beef and a slice of beet or dried sweet potato. Regularity and system are indispensable in hospitals, so this routine is never departed from, and it is just two hours every time from the arrival of the cup and saucer to “Ready. Sir,” the signal to fall to. I assure you there is no waste of food among the low diet patients. I always take all the sugar to make out. I do not seem to gain strength at all. In fact, I lose strength every day, but I hope to improve soon.
We have a new surgeon—came this morning. The one that left yesterday was a very nice man, and this one seems a good man too, as well as I could judge by ten minutes’ talk.
I used to say that if I ever got in a hospital I should want to get home. So I do now, and I expect—to want. No use in trying that here. But as soon as I am able to travel, I mean to apply to be sent to Annapolis on light duty and from there I think I can get home. I have lost twenty pounds of flesh and I do not intend to go to the field again till I regain that and my full strength. It would be useless and might result in a more serious fit of sickness.
E. had not got home when Father wrote, and I have not heard a word from him since he passed me on his way north. I am not uneasy about him though.
I had a letter from D. F. a day or two since. He said nothing about Etta, but Lizzie and the baby had gone to Maine, so I have strong doubts about your seeing anything of Etta this summer. I wrote to D. to send you “Very Hard Cash” as my birthday present. If you have read it, it will be rather mal apropos, won’t it? I do not think you have, as it has not been out long and novelties don’t find their way out there very fast. You will, if I am not mistaken, find it one of the most absorbing stories you ever read. It is made up almost wholly of impossibles. For instance, his heroine, Julia, is one never seen except in a novel, but she is only an exaggeration of many sweet and lovely women. His best character, I think, is David Dodd, the nearest approach to a possible. Dr. Sampson is well drawn and an original person. I could not succeed in appreciating the saintliness with which he finished Jane Hardie. Her brother’s comments on her diary seemed to me too just, and his motto for the diary might as well apply to her life; “Ego et Deus meus,” or I and my God.
But the lesson of the story is a good one, and the consummate skill with which it is wrought out makes one jealous of the author for being an Englishman. Why have we no one on this side the water to write an American story like that? In one thing he fails. In impossibles he is better than Dickens, but when he caricatures Yankees and negroes, he shows an ignorance of the originals. Vespasian is his poorest impossible, and Fullalove is not much better. But enough of this. When you have read it, tell me how you like it and how you like my comments.
From the front the news is always encouraging. Lee has been making desperate efforts to regain the Weldon railroad and so far without success, and every day lessens his prospects of success. He is reported to have said he must have it if it took every rebel soldier. He is welcome to it at that price. Sherman is waiting for Farragut to take Mobile or draw off a part of Hood’s force to defend it, and things seem to be almost at a deadlock all round.
Etowah Bridge, Sunday, Aug. 28. Health very good. Usual inspection at 7 A. M. On guard, third relief. Very hot in the middle of the day. Sergeant Dixon with a squad of ten men went out on pass. Returned 4 P. M. with a sack of ripe grapes from the vineyard, and a lot of butter, for which we traded our coffee rations. Drink cold water altogether. Came off guard at 9 P. M. to find two long letters from home which did me much good to read, but was surprised to find them in great alarm over my reported illness in Spring Green. All humbug. Why will they not rely upon my own letters? Sister Hannah off to Albion again. Ellen teaching, Jenn with the boys going to school. How different are my duties from those of Thomas.
Sunday, August 28. — Captain Williams (afterwards lost on the Oneida) left prison to-day and went to the hotel, under charge of a son of Commander Ingraham, Confederate Navy, who is ordered to take him to Charleston. He is then to be released on parole for 45 days, to effect an exchange of all navy officers. He came down to see us in the evening before leaving.
Aug. 28th. Worked on Muster rolls. Did not know that it was Sunday.
August 28th. Left Halltown and the earthworks very early this morning, following on after the rebel hordes who are under the command of General Jubal Early. We are pleased to be under the command of the Gallant Phil Sheridan. There will come a time when he will grab Early by the neck, we believe. Came to a halt at Charlestown. Again on the march, going southward through woodland and across fields. Judging by the roar of the field guns and musketry firing in the direction of Winchester, our boys have overtaken the enemy. We came to a halt in the woods. Ordered to remain here for the night. Weather fine. Our marching record for today about eight miles.
by John Beauchamp Jones
AUGUST 28TH.—A bright, pleasant day.
No news. Walked, as usual, to the department to see if any important letters had come, and then hastened back that the family might go to church in time.
Oh what a lovely day in such an unlovely time! The recent rains have washed the dust from the still dark-green leaves of the trees and vegetation in my little yard and garden, and they rustle in a genial sunlight that startles a memory of a similar scene, forty or more years ago! It is a holy Sabbath day upon the earth,—but how unholy the men who inhabit the earth! Even the tall garish sun-flowers, cherished for very memories of childhood’s days by my wife, and for amusement by my little daughter, have a gladdening influence on my spirits, until some object of scanty food or tattered garment forces upon the mind a realization of the reign of discord and destruction without. God grant there may be a speedy end of the war! And the words Armistice and Peace are found in the Northern papers and upon every one’s tongue here.
My tomato vines are looking well and are bearing well, now. My turnips are coming up everywhere. The egg-plants I nurtured so carefully have borne no fruit yet, but are going to blossom. The okras have recovered under the influence of recent showers, and have new blossoms.
Our agent inNorth Carolina has been delayed by illness, and has bought us no flour yet, but we still have hope. We trust that the enemy will not cut our communications with the South, since he has met with so many heavy mishaps in attempting it. Grant has attempted everything in his power to getRichmond, and was foiled in all. I hope he will withdraw soon. Why stay, with no prospect of success? A few days more may solve his purposes and plans, or Lee may have more enterprises against him.
It is a cloudless, silent, solemn Sabbath day, and I thank God for it!
