City Point, July 11th, 1864.
Two days have passed since I made the last entry in this journal, an unusual occurrence of late. The reason is, I have changed my employment, and my time has been occupied in learning the details of my new business. I am now with the Christian Commission. All the sick and wounded, except forty convalescents, have been removed from my ward.
I accompanied the last detachment to Alexandria. There are now here about one hundred delegates to the Christian Commission. Mr. Collier has been cooking for them since the hospital was established at this place. In his department all went smoothly, he being a good cook and a man of energy. Not so in the dining room. There, three wild young soldiers and two “colored people” rioted uncontrolled. The table was never set in time, and seldom washed. Spreads are not in use. Dishes, knives and forks are not properly cleaned; in fact, disorder reigns. A head was wanted; Mr. Collier naturally thought of his old tent mate and friend; he recommended me to the agent as “reliable;” agent desired an interview; it was granted; he looked me over, talked with me, “sized me up,” and here I am, running an eating house, with full powers to have my own way in everything. What will my little wife think—for I can call her little in comparison, as I weigh 190 pounds—at this strange business for such as me? I can only judge of my success by what I hear, for I have had no previous experience. Delegates mark the change with evident pleasure. The agent, an aristocratic member from New York City, compliments me on the change I have wrought. Today he expressed himself as “very pleased” with my arrangements.
“Act well your part,” is my adopted motto. I have already formed some agreeable acquaintances with delegates—have often been mistaken for one, myself. I am not ashamed to correct the mistake and acknowledge myself a private soldier. In a sense I am one of them, for I have worked in the same cause, the last two years, with all the strength that God has given me, and done a soldier’s duty, too.
