May 7.—A beautiful day. The troops are marching in the direction of Rienzi; it is supposed that the enemy are trying to flank our army, but I do not fear while we have such vigilant generals as Beauregard and Bragg to watch them.
I had a slight quarrel with our ward-master. One of the men, lately wounded, was in a room where were some who had occupied it since the battle of Shiloh. One of them—a mere boy—was wasted to a skeleton; his back was covered with bed-sores. Poor child! he was very fretful. I observed that it annoyed the new patient, and requested Dr. Allen, who is very kind to the soldiers, to allow me to have him removed to a room by himself. He kindly gave his consent. While doing it, the ward-master objected; but as I had obtained leave, I had him removed, and he commenced to improve immediately.
I have been through the ward to see if the men are in want of any thing; but all are sound asleep under the influence of morphine. Much of that is administered; more than for their good, and must injure them. I expressed this opinion to one of the doctors; he smiled, and said it was not as bad as to let them suffer.
The moon is shining brightly; the view from my window is really beautiful. A band of music is playing in the distance, which carries my mind back to more peaceful days, and I fervently send up a prayer to Him who sitteth in the heavens, to turn the hearts of our enemies, so they may let us go in peace. I think how many of our brave men, who are now quietly resting, by to-morrow’s setting sun may be sleeping their last sleep; and I think of the lonely sentinel, walking his weary rounds, his thoughts on his home and loved ones, and pray that God may lift his thoughts from this weary world, to that paradise on high, where I trust some day will be his home. O, God, be with them all, so that, whether living or dying, they may be thine!
