July 13, 1864.
We passed through Marietta this morning at 9; rested in a cool, nice, woody place from 11 to 2, and made this place in the cool of the evening. We marched about 14 miles today. I would rather be in a fight than endure such a day’s march, and I think fighting lacks very much as deserving to rank as amusement.
I saw a number of cases of congestion of the brain, and a few had real sun stroke. Saw one poor fellow in a graveyard between two little picketed graves, who I made sure was gasping his last. Some heartless fellow made a remark as we passed about his luck in getting sun struck so near good burying facilities. After one heat of only three miles the regiment had all fallen out but about 50 men, and we had more than any other in the brigade. If we had been given one hour more in rests, we would not have lost a man.
