Wednesday, June 8th.
Discovered to my consternation that I was actually lousy. Lieut. Edmonston, whom I call “the Sheriff,” he having been a deputy sheriff of Ontario County, one of the neatest men I ever knew, indignantly repelled the insinuation as to himself when inquired of, and I turned the company over to him and went to the rear two or three miles to the hospital, and procured some camphor gum to hang in little bags about my neck and shoulders, and some mercurial ointment with which to “police” the seams of my clothing. On my return I saw that the gopher-hole tent which he and I occupied was closed, and creeping up quietly to the back of it, and peeping through the opening where the ridge-pole protruded, I saw “the Sheriff” sitting on the ground, naked as the day he was born, going up and down the seams of his trousers and diligently crushing the inhabitants and their eggs with the backs of his thumb nails. I could not but laugh heartily, but he saw no fun in the situation and kept on with his work until I divided my “hospital stores” with him. It had been quiet all day, but about 7 o’clock P. M. artillery fire was opened very briskly. Later Edmonston, with a detail from the company, was sent out to clear a way to the rear for the withdrawal of the artillery.
