seemed strange not to see pier sand docks, nor even piles to tie
to. Anchors were taken ashore and the boat secured in that
manner: there being no trees of sufficient size to make fast to.

The soldiers went into camp on shore. The heat down in that low,
flat place was intense. Another man died that night.

What was our chagrin, the next morning, to learn that we must go
back to the "Newbern," to carry some freight from up-river. There
was nothing to do but stay on board and tow that dreary barge,
filled with hot, red, baked-looking ore, out to the ship, unload,
and go back up the slue. Jack's diary records: "Aug. 23rd. Heat
awful. Pringle died to-day." He was the third soldier to succumb.
It seemed to me their fate was a hard one. To die, down in that
wretched place, to be rolled in a blanket and buried on those
desert shores, with nothing but a heap of stones to mark their
graves.

The adjutant of the battalion read the burial service, and the
trumpeters stepped to the edge of the graves and sounded "Taps,"
which echoed sad and melancholy far over those parched and arid
lands. My eyes filled with tears, for one of the soldiers was
from our own company, and had been kind to me.

Jack said: "You mustn't cry, Mattie; it's a soldier's life, and
when a man enlists he must take his chances."

"Yes, but," I said, "somewhere there must be a mother or sister,
or some one who cares for these poor men, and it's all so sad to
think of."