Thursday, 18th—We have had strong wind and thunder for three days now, but no rain. I was on duty today for the first time in two and a half months, for while I was cook I had no other duty. Skirmishing and cannonading are still going on. News came that our army is in the rear of Port Hudson and that fighting is going on there, I wrote a letter today for John Ford, of my company. Ford had shot off his right thumb by an accidental discharge of his rifle, and when it came time for him to write to his sweetheart, he called upon me to do it for him.[1]
[1] I undertook the job for Ford, but did some perspiring before I finished the letter, and I would never undertake it again. The letter went through and he received a nice one in reply.—A. G. D.
