Our rations touch the starvation limit, and still "the song and the
jest goes round." Not a murmur, not a word of complaint. We simply
"gird up our loins" a little tighter. Our fare now is one-fourth
pound per man of a mixture made up of coarse black flour, bran and unbolted
corn meal; beef in proportion; not half as much as a man would eat, even of
that vile stuff, at one meal. Night before last our pickets were driven in and
sixteen of our boys captured. Last night an attack was made on Fort Saunders.
We had expected a night attack and were on the alert. About 9 o'clock our
pickets were driven in and the ball opened. It was "fast and furious"
while it lasted, but was soon over. The Rebels lost about one thousand in this
assault.
Dr. Crosby, our Regimental Surgeon, has been to General Ferrera [sic] and
got me detailed for hospital service, and has given me charge of a ward in the
City Hospital. The doctor says he has discovered in me the "sympathetic
touch," more soothing to irritated nerves than opiates. That is the way he
puts it.
Our doctor has the poetic temperament, although one would hardly suspect
it by his looks. But he is kind and tender to the sick and wounded, and
skillful in his profession.
It is rumored Grant is organizing a force to send to our relief. God
speed him on his way, for we are on the verge of starvation.
SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a
Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 129-30
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