Saturday, 6th—It is warm and pleasant again. This is general scrub-day for all the hospitals; the floors are scrubbed, clean sheets and pillow slips put on the cots, and clean underclothes are dealt out for the sick.
Diary of Alexander G. Downing; Company E, Eleventh Iowa Infantry
Friday, 5th—It rained nearly all day. The troops here are receiving their pay today, some for one and others for two months. Since May 1st the Government has been paying the privates $16.00 per month, which is an increase of $3.00. But money here in Rome is of no particular benefit to a soldier, for there is nothing in town to buy, the only business men being the sutlers who are attached to the regiments in the front. All is quiet at this place.
Thursday, 4th—It is warm and sultry. There is no news from the front. I am still serving the medicine to the sick.
Wednesday, 3d—Everything is quiet here in Rome, Georgia. There is no news from General Grant’s army.
Tuesday, 2d—We had a refreshing rain last night. Governor Stone of Iowa arrived at the hospital this morning, having come from the front, with an order from General Sherman granting a thirty-day furlough to the sick and wounded from the Iowa regiments here in the hospital. Those able for duty are to be sent to the front. News came from the front that the Iowa Brigade was badly cut to pieces in the battle of the 22d of July. Many of them were taken prisoners, including almost all of the Sixteenth Regiment. Among the killed are the major of the Thirteenth and the lieutenant colonel of the Fifteenth.[1] There is no news from General Grant’s army.
[1] Later I learned that while the brigade’s loss was great, yet Company E’s loss was light. By a flank movement the brigade advanced a short distance upon Atlanta.—A. G. D.
Monday, 1st—Quite warm and sultry. There isn’t any news from the front. There is a force of about two thousand here under command of General Vandever, with an equal number of convalescents. The courthouse, located on the highest point of ground in Rome, is our citadel, strongly fortified with guns facing in all directions. The place is soon to be garrisoned with two regiments of negro troops, and the few remaining citizens are greatly agitated over the thought of being stopped on the streets by negro guards and required to show their passes.
Sunday, 31st—Quite warm. It rained very hard this afternoon. There is no news of any importance. Everything appears so dull and the time passes so slowly. I am considered a convalescent now by the doctor and he has put me to work dealing out the medicine to the sick. Our chaplains here in the hospital hold preaching services in the churches of the town on Sundays. The convalescent soldiers make up the audience, as most of the citizens are gone, having given up their houses for hospital purposes.
Saturday, 30th—It is quite warm and sultry. We have a man in our ward who is very homesick; he sits on his cot and cries) like a child. He has been promised a furlough, and I believe that if he could not get it he would die. All the wounded here able to take care of themselves on the way, are going home on thirty-day furloughs. Three from our company, Thomas R. McConnoll, John Zitler and John Hilton, are going. John Esher is not going until his wound gets better. A great many of the wounded men are dying, for the weather is so hot the wounds quickly mortify. No news from the front.
Friday, 29th—It is quite sultry today. Six deaths occurred today in the three wards of our building. One of the sick men, William Gibson of the Thirty-second Ohio Cavalry, died last night. He had been very sick, but was getting better, and just before he lay down for the night, told me that he felt better than for several days; but a few hours later he was dead, dying very suddenly. He left a small family. Life is indeed very uncertain. We should be prepared to meet death any moment, for we know not when the brittle thread of life will be broken, and we have to go to meet our Lord, prepared or unprepared.
Thursday, 28th—No news. All is quiet. I am still gaining strength slowly. We get very poor board here for a sick man to gain strength on, but we must make the best of it at present. The room we occupy, called a ward, is about one hundred feet long north and south, and fifty feet wide. There is a row of cots on each side. My cot is on the west side, and in the afternoons it is so hot that we can hardly stand it. There are windows in front and along the west side.
