February 24th, 1864.
Another of our boys has drawn a prize, and leaves for home tomorrow on twenty days’ furlough. A batch of names goes in tonight that will take all the wounded from my ward. There is great excitement here today. The enemy has disappeared from our front, our troops are again at Strawberry Plains. Where they have gone, even rumor saith not. All we know of him is, he has disappeared. Our Provost Marshal’s office is literally besieged by citizens who want passes to their homes.
Perhaps the Ninth Corps can be spared now. The general impression is they will start in two or three days. The Washington papers say we are to be at Newport News by the first of May; a little over two months, which will give us at least six weeks in Michigan, should we be so lucky as to get there. But time is precious. My mind is so fixed on going home —if only for a few days—I can think of little else.
