Was awakened this
morning at one o'clock, by a soldier in search of a surgeon. One of our pickets
had been wounded. The post was on the river bank. The sentinel saw a man
approaching on the opposite side of the river, challenged, and saw him level
his gun. Both fired. The sentinel was wounded in the leg by a small squirrel
bullet. The other man was evidently wounded, for after it became light enough
he was traced half a mile by blood on the ground, weeds, and leaves. The
surgeon is of the opinion that the ball struck his left arm. From information
obtained this morning, it is believed this man is secreted not many miles away.
A party of ten has been sent to look for him.
This is by far the
pleasantest camp we have ever had. The river runs its whole length. The
hospital and surgeons' tents are located on a very pretty little island, a
quiet, retired spot, festooned with vines, in the shadow of great trees, and
carpeted with moss soft and velvety as the best of Brussels.
SOURCE: John
Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 56-7
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