August 7th, 1864.
It is the Sabbath, and is so strangely quiet I am strongly reminded of home, where I have spent so many happy Sabbaths, in years gone by. With the army there is no Sabbath. Each day is like the preceding one, except on Sunday there is a little more cleaning of brasses, brightening of arms, polishing of equipments, etc., than during the week. Here, at the Commission, the Sabbath is observed as a day of rest; a day of worship. We have divine service at 10 a. m. and at 2 p. m., in the chapel, a tent large enough to seat one hundred persons. Besides this, the colored people hold prayer meetings in the afternoon and evening. I love to attend these meetings. The simple, earnest piety of these poor unfortunates is truly affecting. There is a large camp of them just outside the hospital grounds, who came in with Wilson, from the southwest of Petersburg, when he returned from his “great raid.”
The Rebels have blown up the “decoy” fort left them by Wilcox. They tried the experiment night before last—the 5th inst. A little after sundown a huge pile of dirt, with sixteen “Quaker guns,” and other rubbish, was lifted high in air. The smoke had not cleared away ere the Rebels charged, with yells demoniac, across an open field. Our artillery was massed a little in the rear, and to the right and left of the exploded mine, loaded to the muzzle with grape and canister, ready to welcome them to the feast of death. They were allowed to approach to within short musket range before a shot was fired. Suddenly they were met by a storm of iron hail that swept their ranks as with the “besom of destruction.” Mortals could not endure it. At the first discharge they wavered; the third sent them to cover. Our loss, none; the Rebels, “much greater.”
The quiet calmness of this Sabbath eve invites retrospection. Almost two years have passed since I enlisted to serve my country—two years where days have lengthened into weeks, weeks into months, months to an endless period of time. Two years of toil, compared with which all former labors have been pastime. Two years of suffering and exposure, burned by the consuming rays of a torrid sun, where thirst and hunger have striven for mastery. Worse than all this, yes, infinitely harder to be borne, two years of separation from my loved ones. Another year remains. Oh, may it quickly pass! During all this time my hope has never wholly failed. I never, even for one moment doubted that I would see their dear faces again; that the object for which I have sacrificed so much will be accomplished; that this Nation will, in due time, emerge from the darkness which now envelops it, “purified as by fire.”
