September 28th, 1864.
About two miles from the hospital, two large mortars are planted—one thirteen-inch, the other fifteen-inch bore. From them to Petersburg is two and onehalf miles. One evening—it was very dark—I happened to be looking in that direction, when I saw a thread of fire leap from the woods where the mortars lay concealed, describe a half circle against the darkened sky, ending in a lurid light far away over the city. After this came the rushing, roaring, screaming sound flying through the air in swift pursuit. If any harm was done it was all over with before the report reached me. Even so it was with my daughter’s dangerous illness. Before I heard the report, the worst was over. Then imagination did its worst and filled my mind with dread foreboding. Days passed: long, endless days; and sleepless nights, ere another message reached me. Thank God, she lives! My child is better.
It is 10 p. m., and the order is, “Pack up and be ready to march immediately.”
