It is Sunday afternoon, middle of summer, hot and oppressive, and very
silent through the ward. I am taking care of a critical case, now lying
in a half lethargy. Near where I sit is a suffering rebel, from the
8th Louisiana; his name is Irving. He has been here a long time, badly
wounded, and lately had his leg amputated; it is not doing very well.
Right opposite me is a sick soldier-boy, laid down with his clothes on,
sleeping, looking much wasted, his pallid face on his arm. I see by the
yellow trimming on his jacket that he is a cavalry boy. I step softly
over and find by his card that he is named William Cone, of the 1st
Maine cavalry, and his folks live in Skowhegan.
_Ice Cream Treat_.--One hot day toward the middle of June, I gave the
inmates of Carver hospital a general ice cream treat, purchasing a large
quantity, and, under convoy of the doctor or head nurse, going
around personally through the wards to see to its distribution. _An
Incident_.--In one of the rights before Atlanta, a rebel soldier, of
large size, evidently a young man, was mortally wounded top of the head,
so that the brains partially exuded. He lived three days, lying on
his back on the spot where he first dropt. He dug with his heel in the
ground during that time a hole big enough to put in a couple of
ordinary knapsacks. He just lay there in the open air, and with little
intermission kept his heel going night and day. Some of our soldiers
then moved him to a house, but he died in a few minutes.
_Another_.--After the battles at Columbia, Tennessee, where we repuls'd
about a score of vehement rebel charges, they left a great many wounded
on the ground, mostly within our range. Whenever any of these wounded
attempted to move away by any means, generally by crawling off, our men
without exception brought them down by a bullet. They let none crawl
away, no matter what his condition.