November 20

Went to church this forenoon. Lester Hanson read a sermon, Mr. Bliss being in Woodstock, Vt.; went to Henry Burnham's funeral, a victim of the Civil War, in the afternoon at Williamstown; am at Uncle Howe's tonight; have called on Aunt Sarah Simons; weather threatening.

Friday, November 20th, 10 a.m.Boulogne.—Deep snow.

November Twentieth

Fleet on the tempest blown,
Far from the mountain dell,
Rose in their cloudy cone,
Elfin and Spell;
Woo'd by the spirit tone,
Trembling and chill,
Wandered a maiden lone,
On the bleak hill:
Trembling and chill.
Joseph Salyards



November 20, 1863

Friday. Last night, after I was abed and asleep, I was pulled out by the heels and told I had company to entertain. It was Matt, with a couple of his old railroad cronies, all on their way to the front. One of them was an Irishman chockfull of fun and stories. The other was a lieutenant in the Second Engineers. After getting them something to eat we sat and smoked, and Matt got his Irish friend telling stories. The consequence was we all went to sleep with a grin on our faces. Matt had got the transportation business fixed up, and at 1 p. m. I left Brashear City with everything belonging to the Ninetieth U. S. C. I. The train was crowded, some riding on top of the cars. One man, a soldier in the Ninety-first New York, had a chill that seemed as if it would shake his bones apart, and when that passed off had a fever that almost burned him up. Poor fellow, I pitied him, and that was all I could do. I hardly dare write it down, but I have never had a touch of that complaint that seems so universal in this country. We got to Algiers at 8 p. m. I left a man with the colonel's horse and took the rest to the ferry and was soon in New Orleans, looking for the "Louisiana Steam Cotton Press," where Matt told me was now headquarters. I found the place, but it was so far from where I expected that I thought I would never get there. It was late, and after a handshake all around, I turned in with Sol and was soon asleep.