Chattanooga, Sunday, May 21. A very pleasant day and I feel pretty well. Inspection at 9 A. M., Lieut. A. Sweet in charge. Much surprised to hear that Captain Hood has tendered his resignation, and it has been returned accepted. Expects to leave soon for home. Waited anxiously for the arrival of the mail this morning, but was sadly disappointed. Wrote two long letters notwithstanding, before dinner, one to brother John, my ever faithful weekly correspondent, the other to Sister Hannah at Albion. Have not received a word from her this month. I fear she has overtaxed herself again by arduous study.
After dinner Griff and I took a walk to the National Cemetery. Oh, lovely but sacred spot to him who loves the cause of freedom. It is an enclosure of about sixty acres, surrounded by a substantial stone fence in a circular form, it being a sloping hill. The ground is divided off into circular sections, walks macadamized, graves sodded over, and flowers and trees, cultivated, graves systematically arranged in rows. Here lie thousands of the brave defenders of their country’s flag, a few with neatly-carved marble slabs bearing name and regiment, but most of them were only identified by a rough, pine board fast decaying, and in a few more months nothing will be left to mark the place where the honored ashes lie. Could the people North who have friends lying here but know that the government is doing all in its power to make this beautiful and permanent would they not at once see that a marble slab would be placed over the earthly remains of those dear ones that are gone before? I believe so. Here were many of the Chickamauga heroes, and those who fell in the memorable battles of Mission Ridge and Chattanooga. Amongst them I noticed a large number of our brave comrades of the 3rd Division, 15th Army Corps, who fell in the fearful vortex of the battle on Tunnel Hill. Here also we found a neatly-printed board, marking the resting place of Robert Banks, who a few weeks ago was full of hilarity amongst us; and lately, I suppose, the last of poor Uncle Marden has been consigned to rest in the lovely spot, the most attractive cemetery I have seen under government [control.] But we could not find his name. Long we searched for the grave of my old schoolmate, Amandus Silsby, who died from wounds received at Kenesaw, but could not find it.
