Saturday Morning
Captain Simpson came back from shore duty late last night. He is so kind and solicitous for our comfort, that I only hope we are not too greatly interfering with his. He has had his men lodged in a theater, commandeered for the purpose. He went to some barracks first, but fortunately learned in time that there had been meningitis there, and decamped even quicker than he went in. Captain Niblack has taken his place.
The Minnesota, on which Admiral Fletcher was when he went into Vera Cruz, is a ship not belonging to any division down here, and is only temporarily in harbor. So she is used for all sorts of disjointed, but important work—distributing of supplies, communications of all kinds. She is more than busy—a sort of clearing-house—during what they call here “the hesitation war, one step forward, one step back, hesitate, and then—side-step.”
The rescue-train goes out through our lines every day under Lieutenant Fletcher, to meet any train possibly arriving from the interior. And, oh, the odds and ends of exasperated and ruined American humanity it brings in!