Tuesday, January 21, 1862. — Colder, but still raining. What a flood this will cause if it’s general, as I think it is.
After being aroused by Thomas building a fire, I fell into a doze and dreamed. I thought Lucy had come and was in the room opposite to mine. I seemed to be partially asleep, and couldn’t awake. She came in and stood by the bedside, not very affectionate in manner. I tried to arouse and succeeded in telling her how much I loved her. She was kind but not “pronounced.” I thought, as I happened to see little Joe in her arms, that she was waiting to see me notice him and was hurt that I had not done so sooner. I spoke up cheerfully, held out my arms for him. I saw his face. He was a pretty child — like Webb, with sister Fanny’s eyes, a square forehead, but his face looked too old, bright, and serious for a boy of his age; looked as a child of two or three years who had lost flesh.
I also dreamed during the night of being at home — anxiously, so anxiously, looking at the newspapers for news from the Cairo expedition; feared it would be defeated; reflected on the advantages the enemy had in their fortifications over an attacking party, and began to feel that the news must be disastrous.
