Sunday, April 3rd.
The snow storm abated somewhat this morning, and I took the opportunity to have my “headquarters” pitched. These consist of two “A” tents fastened together end to end, the rear one occupied by a bed for Lieut. Edmonston and myself and the front one by a bed for Lieut. Gleason. These beds are very primitive structures, composed of small boughs of pine covered with leaves and blankets, and are kept in position, and the occupants prevented from falling out of bed, by sticks or boards staked up about them like the sides of a box. Having dug a trench around the outside of the tents, and built a mud fire place in the corner of the front room, we flattered ourselves that we were secure against the elements, but a rain storm coming on, we find that “all is vanity,” for the water comes through the canvas like a sieve and puts out our fire, so we go to bed, and, drawing our rubber blankets over our heads, take a quiet nap. Most of the company having returned to camp and put up their tents, they crawl into them and shiver through it.
