Marietta, Ga., Aug. 29^th, 1864.

 

My Dear Sister:

                        Your letter of Aug. 18^th came to hand three or four days since, but as I was nearly out of stamps I did not answer it immediately lest I should run myself completely ashore before I could receive a new supply. I am still gaining slowly in strength. A slow fever which I had when I first came here has been broken up, and I now require no medicine save rest and strengthening food. Within the past few days our Corps has moved from its old position, and gone to the extreme right. They are thus removed several miles farther from us than they were. An absurd rumor prevailed here that our Brigade was captured while on a reconnoissance. I give not the least credit to the report.

 

            Yesterday morning we had / preaching in our Hospital by the Chaplain of the 64^th Illinois. His discourse was an excellent one; one eminently practical, and well suited to his audience. One remark particularly impressed me. It was this: That although we were incapacitated for a season for active service in the field, yet we must not think that we had now no duties to perform; that That we were now afforded greater leisure and better opportunities for moral culture, and that we ought to improve our opportunities. I could not but recognize the truth of his remark. I was thinking the other day whilst attending the daily prayer meeting at the Christian Commission Rooms, that in the superior religious privileges which I enjoyed here, my sickness was really a blessing to me.

 

            The other day I walked out to the cemetery. There are buried here some 400 or 500 rebels who died in hospital / here whilst the rebels held the place. Most of them have neat white headboards at their grave, specifying their name and regiment. There are men buried there from every Southern state. Right by the side of the rebels we are continuing the grave yard. How strange will be the scene in the resurrection morn, when face to face will come forth those who died striving to take each others life, all enmity then forgotten in the momentous scenes of that hour.

 

            The death of Frank Cram (or she who was formerly such) was a surprise to me. I always held her in higher esteem than any of the family, and I am sorry to hear of her sad death. Joseph Clark's death too will be a sad loss to his widowed mother, and she is certainly deserving of sincere sympathy.

 

            For once officers are overreached as well as men, which fact causes no little satisfaction amongst us, especially as most / of our own officers contemplated "playing off" upon us, as we expressively term it. When we reenlisted, the officers were very active in their efforts to induce us to do so, promising to stay with us. They did not have to reenlist and if they could induce us to do so, they could thus get a 30 day's furlough gratis. Time rolled around, our furlough was spent, and we were engaged in a wearisome, active campaign. Under these circumstances, very many of the officers expressed their intention to go home when the time of the Regiment expired. On this determination they formed many bright visions no doubt. Unfortunately for their anticipations however, there steps in a little order from the War Department to this effect: Officers will be held three years from the date of their last muster. That is to say: If I was promoted one grade 6 months ago, I have yet two years and six months to serve. Now all our officers have either been promoted from the ranks, or to some higher grade since the Regiment was organized. Consequently none of them can now be discharged. In fact most of the officers have received new commissions within the last few months. The chagrin of these officers can easier be imagined than described.

 

            Tell mother to send me a fine comb. I am ashamed to ask her for money, but if she could get 50 cents or $1.00 I should like it much. Has she received any money from Hiram lately? Tell her not to hesitate to draw on my money at any time and to any amount she may need.

 

            But I must close. Direct your letters as usual.

                                               

Your Brother,

George.

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