Nothing worth
writing for a few days. To-day those we left at quarantine came up looking hale
and hearty. Most of them have had smallpox or varioloid. The weather is warm
and the boys who have been out of camp report alligators are plenty in the
swamp back of us, and snakes of many kinds also. I am rambling about camp
nowadays, but am not discharged from the hospital yet. General Neal Dow found a
place next door to camp to-day where liquor is sold. He took every bottle he
could find and smashed them across the porch rail after first locking up the
landlord. Camp is being cleared and every precaution taken to keep away yellow
fever. There is none of it yet, but it is expected this summer on account of so
many soldiers that are new to the climate. Lew Holmes has been worse for some
days and we fear we shall lose him yet.
Midnight. I am sitting up to let a tired out nurse get a nap. Holmes died a few
minutes ago. He tried to tell me something, but his tongue was so swelled I
could not understand what he said. He pulled me clear down to his face and his
breath was awful. I pretended to understand, and he settled back as if
satisfied and only breathed a few times more. His troubles are over, and
those of his old father and mother and his wife and child will begin when the
news reaches them. I am glad they did not see the end.
SOURCE:
Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, pp. 94-5
