City Point, June 26th, 1864.
The day before yesterday I came from the front with a train of sick and wounded, two hundred in number, all from the Third Division. Were I to say the weather is excessively hot, my words would convey but a faint idea of the terrible, burning, consuming heat to which we have been subjected the last three days. Surely the “sky is brass, the sun a ball of fire.” I think of the hottest days, in harvest time, away north, in Michigan, and oh, how cool, compared with these. Sunstroke is an every-day occurrence, so common as to not excite remark. Typhoid fever prevails to an alarming extent; of the two hundred men from our division, one hundred five were sick, and over half of these were typhoid cases. Help to care for them is very scarce. Details have been made from the regiment and still more help is needed. I am giving my attention mostly to the sick. It may seem strange to an outsider, but there is a distinction made between wounded and sick men that is not only unjust, but cruel. A sick man gets little sympathy, and less of care, during an active campaign. The wounded must be cared for first, no matter how slight the wound, in one case, or how dangerous the illness in the other. All will be cared for here.
Dr. Bonine has given me charge of three wards, containing about one hundred patients, mostly sick. Mail comes regularly every day, and I shall count the minutes until I hear from home.
