Fort Gillem, Saturday, Dec. 17. Rained terribly last night. The torrents filled our ditches and swept through the tent, under—or rather over—our bed, making it decidedly wet. Got up, ate hard-tack, and then laid down and slept, and took ” wet sheet pack” bath at once. Griff on guard last night in the fort. Induced the infantry guard to let him carry off lumber enough for bunk under cover of the night, so we need not fear of wet bed any more. All is quiet this morning. The storm is over and the papers tell us of the glorious whipping which Hood received. Fifteen thousand prisoners and 30 cannon the work of yesterday. To-day he is flying demoralized. No excitement manifested over the news because it is only as everyone expected.
All the men that could be spared this morning marched under Captain Hood near Camp Barry and set to work digging post-holes for stables. David Evans and I were given axes and we “butted” poles all the forenoon. Chopped hard, and I was tired by dinner time. Did not go back after dinner. It is mud! muddier! muddiest!
