Off Yorktown, May 11.
Up at five o’clock to give the last finishing touches to the wards. At seven called to breakfast, and found Mr. Olmsted and Mr. Knapp on board; McClellan nine miles beyond West Point. We are to get sick men on board this afternoon, and sail to-morrow, — unless Mr. Olmsted wants us to go elsewhere; Mrs. Griffin and I have volunteered to do so.
Last evening, as we entered the Chesapeake, we saw the crimson glow of a great fire in the direction of Fortress Monroe or Norfolk; and this morning early we heard the dull, heavy sound of an explosion or brief cannonading in the same direction. We are now going ashore to look at Yorktown, for the wards are all in perfect order, and the men can’t be shipped till evening. The press of work here is overwhelming, they say. I am writing with everybody about me. Surgeons are coming off to us in tugs and row-boats, clamorous for brandy, beef-stock, lemons, and all stimulating and supporting things.
Good-bye! This is life. It is by mere luck that I am here, for Mrs. Griffin never received my letter, and only heard by chance that I had written it.
