I have quite a useful little present made me by Ed Smith of the One Hundred and Ninth Regiment. It is a mortar, and I oftentimes find occasion to use such an article.
It is now ten o'clock—the cannonading is very heavy yet. I will go to bed again, and if I do not sleep, I shall rest, and I will need all my strength in the work preparing for us at the front.
It is raining again very hard, and I can go out but little, for I am sick myself. I slept but little, and that in snatches, which seemed so little refreshing; the cannonading was very heavy nearly all night. The result is not yet known. I have been driven out to go over to the Second Corps, to find a place for some one to sleep, and returned about dark.
My brother and Joe Allen were in my tent for a short time, and the remainder of the evening I passed alone.
It rained all night, and is still pouring, but I slept well, and have been out all day, for I could not endure the silence of my tent. The wounded are doing well, and it makes my heart feel lighter to see them so.
I have just witnessed a sight which made my blood boil, and my hands clench convulsively, as if they were at the throat of the cruel, cruel man. A poor soldier, who the doctor thought was playing off,
