Slept on my gridiron of rails till late this morning, not
feeling well. Three hours of a cool northern breeze, and a good dinner at home
or at Parker's, would make me all right. What must it be here in July! We are
likely to find out, I guess. When we came away from Baton Rouge I left my
little leather-covered pocket flask on my bed. It was dark and no one saw it,
to bring it along. I would not have lost it for anything, I have had it so
long. Some nigger picked it up after we had gone, probably. While we were lying
in the shade this afternoon, trying to keep cool, I began to make up some
verses on the subject of the present expedition. It reminded me, our marching
up to Port Hudson and then turning about and marching back again without
fighting, of the
"King of France with twenty
thousand men
Marched up the hill and then
marched down again."
Perhaps I will send them to you, if you won't show them. We
tried to make them absurd. You can't understand all the “hits.”
SOURCE: Francis Winthrop Palfrey, Memoir of William
Francis Bartlett, p. 79
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