Four miles southeast of Van Wirt, Ga.,
May 24, 1864.
Short march to-day—because it is a full day’s march from here to water. At Van Wirt we turned east on the Atlanta road. Will pass through Dallas to-morrow. My company was rear guard to-day for the brigade. One of my men spilled a kettle of boiling coffee last night, filling his shoe. All the skin on the top of his foot that did not come off with the socks is in horrible blisters. The surgeon said he would have to march, and he has, all day, don’t that seem rather hard? You remember how I used to detest fat meat? If I didn’t eat a pound of raw pickled pork to-day for dinner, shoot me. Things don’t go nearly as well as on the march from Memphis. ‘Tis much harder, though we don’t make as many miles per day. One reason is the weather is much warmer, and another thing, each division then marched independently, and now all three of them camp together every night. Dorrance is nearly sick to-night. I thought I heard some artillery firing this morning, but guess I was mistaken. The cavalry report they have not found any force of Rebels yesterday or to-day. Small-pox has broken out in the 6th Iowa—some 20 cases.
