There are no tents near the river but there are thousands a short distance back. The outskirts of Carrolton come close up on the down-river side, while the up-river side has a high bank reaching from the river back as far as I can see. Beyond that is an unexplored country (to me), and away in the distance appears to be just such a forest as was in sight back of Camp Chalmette. A good-looking dwelling house and a few small buildings are near by and the ground is tramped bare of all vegetation, as if soldiers had just moved away. We came down the Levee and put up our tents and crawled in, for it was night by that time. We have had some rain and some sunshine, but the weather is warm and altogether I like our present place of abode the best of any we have yet had since we left Camp Millington. Another case of smallpox has developed, but he was hustled to a tent way back of camp and I suppose our arms will have to be p.r.i.c.ked again. Mine looks as if a setting hen had picked it now. Miss Kate Dougla.s.s, from Amenia Union, came to camp yesterday and Captain Bostwick and several officers have gone to the city with her. Report says the captain and she are to be married to-night. Six months in the service and I have so far been only an expense to Uncle Sam. But I have seen something of the big farm the Rebs hope to rob him of and I hope I may yet do something to put him in full possession of it again. Letters from home, also one from Walter Loucks, who is in the hospital at New Orleans.

_February 16, 1863._

In the hospital after all. Dr. Andrus came last night to our tent and ordered me into the house I spoke of. I had a warm, dry bed and a good night's rest and feel much better to-day. The doctor has his office downstairs and the upstairs part is crammed full of sick men. A big tent is being put up and cot beds put in to put the fever patients in.

Captain Bostwick was married last night, so it is said. Corporal Knox died in a fit this afternoon. It tires me to write so I must stop.

Good-night.

_February 20, 1863._

Captain Bostwick came to see me to-day. Two men died last night, one in the hospital and the other in his tent. I don't feel as well to-day.

_February 21, 1863._

Think I am really better to-day. If I keep on I'll soon be out of this and with the boys again. But they all come in to see the sick as often as they can and so we keep track of each other.

_March 4, 1863._

_Wednesday._ I have been very sick. This is the first time I have felt able to make a mark with a pencil. I was taken in the night, after the day I thought myself so much better. Was taken out in the tent, from which I judge I have had fever.

_March 5, 1863._

Am very weak yet. A little tires me out. A letter from Herman just a month old. c.o.o.n died last night, but we none of us knew it till we saw him carried out.

_March 6, 1863._

Getting better fast, but can't write much yet.

_March 7, 1863._

Was carried back into the house to-day and put among the convalescents.

I must be getting well, but it is slow. Most all the time I was worst off Dr. Andrus let me have anything I wanted to eat, but then I couldn't eat it. Now I can eat, he has cut me down to nothing. What he allows me only makes me crazy for more.

_March 8, 1863._

Had a wash and a shave and am tired out. The regiment has marching orders. Wish I was out of this to go with them.

_March 9, 1863._

Gunboats are said to be going up the river every day. I wonder what's up.

_March 10, 1863._

Don't feel quite so smart as I did. This getting well is slow business.

_March 11, 1863._

The boys say they are ready to march, but don't get any further orders.

Letters from home. Have written to father--wish I could see him.

_March 14, 1863._

Not feeling so good these last few days.

_March 15, 1863._

_Sunday._ Have my pants on and have made up my bed. If this keeps on I'll soon be able to hunt for something to eat.

_March 16, 1863._

Ben Crowther is awful sick. He is a fine fellow and we hate to lose him.

He is of better stuff than the average of us. I wish I could kill his nurse, for he has him tied down to the bed and stands laughing at his efforts to get loose. But it is the only way to keep him in one place, for he is out of his head. Talks to his wife as if she was right by his side.

_March 17, 1863._

Last night I got a little box from home. That I may never forget a single thing in it I'll put them right down now. On top was a New York Sun, next a dear little letter from Jane. A little package of tea, a bottle of Arnold's Balsam, a pipe, a comb (wish it had been a fine tooth comb), a little hand looking-gla.s.s, a spool of thread, a lot of b.u.t.tons, a good lead pencil, a pair of scissors, a ball of soap, half a paper of pins, a darning needle and a small needle, a steel pen and way down in the bottom a little gold locket which made the tears come. G.o.d bless the dear ones at home. How thoughtful and how kind of them to think of so many things, and all useful, too.

_March 18, 1863._

Too much excitement yesterday and I feel like two weeks ago. The doctor says I will have these setbacks though and it is only a part of the process of getting well. A man named Kipp died to-day. I don't know how many die out in the tent.

_March 19, 1863._

Poor Crowthers died very peacefully about noon to-day. His cot is next mine and he seemed like one of the family to me. The company has undertaken to raise money to send his body home.

_March 20, 1863._

Orderly Holmes is very sick. His discharge is under his pillow (or knapsack). He lies in a room next to this and I can hear him talk, giving orders to the company as if he were well.

_March 21, 1863._