June 3. [Okolona, Mississippi]—I have been visiting some wounded men who are in the houses of citizens. Dr. Slaughter was wounded at the battle of Shiloh; has not yet recovered from his wounds. His father is attending him.
I sat up all night with a very sick child belonging to a lady by the name of Murdoch. The poor little thing suffers a great deal; the mute appeals for aid, which you have no power to extend, are truly touching; and I think I felt as bad, if not worse, at the sight of this child’s sufferings, as I ever did at the sight of any of the sick or wounded whom I saw at Corinth. I suppose, ere this, the poor child has breathed its last. Truly, death is no respecter of persons. The sacred hearth and the field of strife—all places are alike to him.
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“Thou art where friend meets friend
Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest;
Thou art where foe meets foo, and trumpets rend
The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest.”
