Skirmishing, as
usual. Quite a number of officers were sitting together just before dark eating
their supper of coffee and hard tack, when the bugler of the regiment, who was
sitting near, was shot through the heart and killed instantly. No one could tell
where the shot came from. He was just raising his spoon to his mouth, when he
fell over, dead. We buried him that night, performing a soldier's burial, but a
number of the officers and men had service over the dead, and we all sang a
hymn. Who knows who may be living tomorrow night.
SOURCE: Joseph
Stockton, War Diary (1862-5) of Brevet Brigadier General Joseph
Stockton, p. 16
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