Sunday, December 7, 1862, in hospital, Richmond.
It is time to leave. I have spent enough time being the object of curious interest to the practitioners of the medical arts. Let them find some other canvas. Sadly, there are so many more for them to practice on.
It was this Friday past that the surgeon in charge of this wing came to say that I could return to my regiment on Monday next. At that moment, I no longer minded the oatmeal gruel that I was eating. I am now looking forward to the salt pork and hard crackers that I will feast on once I return to camp. As the weather is turning colder, there will be little else to eat but I do not care. It will be worth it so long as I may see my pards again. I will even suffer Corporal Flynn gladly.
There is much to do before I take my leave of this place. I have made some friends here and I will have to say good-bye to them. It is not likely that I will see any of them again. Somewhere in this place is my uniform. It will probably require a great deal of tender nursing itself before I can wear it with any sense of respect as a soldier. I do not need to be concerned about my new rifled musket as it was left with the Ordnance officer before I left camp.
There are questions that I have. Will I be issued rations enough to sustain me until I rejoin the 12th? Will transportation be arranged for me or will I be left to my own devices? And where is Jackson?
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