October 6th. 1864.
We have come to a standstill once more, and are making ourselves “comfortable.” We have a splendid position, and are fortifying. We moved past the low, swampy country, and are now on high, sandy ground about four miles southwest of Petersburg. We have fitted up a very nice and comfortable camp. We have learned, by experience, that it pays as a sanitary measure. Old soldiers never sleep on the ground if they can get as many as two poles to sleep on. This is one reason why we enjoy better health than recruits.
I have sad news from Arthur Mathis. The poor boy has not long to live, and must die among strangers. It seems needless cruelty to keep him here, so far from friends and relatives who would gladly minister to his wants and smooth his pathway to the tomb.
Payment was suspended by our late move, and, as our pay rolls are returned “Approved,” we come in with the rest.
