Sept. 20.—Too cool for me. The priest said he would come and see me often. Good man. My left hand got bruised in some way and rebel done it up. He is afraid gangrene will get in sore. Mike Hoare is quite sick.
Sept. 21.—Don’t feel as well as I did some days ago. Can’t eat; still can use my limbs and arms more.
Sept. 22.—Good many sick brought here. Everybody is kind, rebels and all. Am now differently sick than at any other time. Take lots of medicine, eat nothing but gruel. Surgeons are very attentive. Man died in my tent. Oh, if I was away by myself, I would get well. Don’t want to see a sick man. That makes me sick.
Sept. 23.—Shall write any way; have to watch nurses and rebels or will lose my diary. Vinegar reduced I drink and it is good; crave after acids and salt. Mouth appears to be actually sorer than ever before, but whether it is worse or not can’t say. Sergt. Winn says the Doctor says that I must be very careful if I want to get well. How in the old Harry can I be careful? They are the ones that had better be careful and give me the right medicine and food. Gruel made out of a dish cloth to eat.
Sept 24.—Arrowroot soup or whatever you may call it; don’t like it; makes me sick. Priest spoke to me. Cross and peevish and they say that is a sure sign will get well. Ain’t sure but shall be a Catholic yet. Every little while get out the old diary from under the blanket and write a sentence. Never was made to be sick—too uneasy. This will do for to-day.
HOSPITAL LIFE.
A GRADUAL IMPROVEMENT IN HEALTH—GOOD TREATMENT WHICH IS OPPORTUNE—PARTING WITH RELICS TO BUY LUXURIES—DALY, THE TEAMSTER AT ANDERSONVILLE, KILLED—A VISIT FROM BATTESE THE INDIAN, ETC., ETC.
Sept. 25—Can eat better—or drink rather; some rebel general dead and buried with honors outside. Had another wash and general clean up; ocean breezes severe for invalids. Am visited twice a day by the rebel surgeon who instructs nurses about treatment. Food principally arrow root; have a little whisky. Sleep great deal of the time. Land, my acquaintance and mess-mate, is lame from scurvy, but is not weak and sick as I am. When I think of anything, say: “Land, put her down,” and he writes what I tell him. Everything clean here, but then any place is clean after summering in Andersonville. Don’t improve much and sometimes not at all; get blue sometimes; nature of the beast suppose; other sick in the tent worry and make me nervous.