Dear Diary,
	
Well, I'm finally back home in Milford, Ohio.  
Nothing like being with the homefolks and some 
good home cooking to help a fellow get his 
strength back.  I'm still on crutches, but 
with a little luck and work on my part, I hope 
to be as good as new.  Got me a medical 
discharge from the General Hospital in 
Cincinnati, but decided to turn it down in 
favor of a furlough at home - so I'm still in 
the Army.  But, I'm getting ahead of myself.
	
After Shiloh, most of us wounded that could be 
transported were loaded on steamers at 
Pittsburg Landing, and transported back upriver 
to Cairo for treatment.  Since I was flat on my 
back the entire trip, I can't describe much of 
the scenery, but then there really wasn't much 
to describe - just boatload after boatload 
coming upriver to discharge its cargo of human 
wreckage at the Cairo wharf.
	
I guess I should go into some description of a 
general hospital, but who can describe horrors 
like that on this side of the fiery pit?  All I 
can really say, is that I'm glad I didn't stay 
in Cairo very long.  The number of wounded from 
the battle only made a bad situation worse.  

I knew there was a lot of sickness in the army 
before Shiloh - even in the 40th Ohio we had 
about 20 boys die of everything from dysentery 
to measles to camp fever even before the battle.  
The rumor was that they had run out of wood for 
coffins, and had to bury a lot of the dead 
without - and that was BEFORE the battle.  You 
can guess what happenedwith the 2,000 some odd 
killed on our side in those two days, let alone 
what happened to the Johnnies.  Had to bury 
them all in a mass grave, with only the pretense 
of a burial service.  Imagine all the families 
that'll never know what happened to their loved 
ones. 
	
Anyway, at Cairo, the wounded were separated from 
the sick, in the hope that this would help us to 
recover.  It didn't really make much difference - 
many of the wounded, already weak, caught just 
about whatever you can imagine, and died anyway.  
Those with really serious wounds, such as those 
gutshot or with an amputated arm or a leg, had 
to deal with infection and gangrene.  If 
gangrene sets in, there usually isn't much in 
the way of hope - just a matter of time until 
Nature takes its course.  The doctors, such as 
they are, try to do their best, but we seem to 
be short of them just like everything else - from 
food to medicine to bandages.  Just too many for 
the system, I guess.  You'd think an army would 
be prepared for this, but I can guarantee you it 
isn't the case.  Soon every coffin maker and 
undertaker in Cairo had more business than they 
ever dreamed of!
	
I was lucky - I managed to get out of Cairo 
after only two weeks, being evacuated along 
with some of the other healthier wounded back 
to Cincinnati.  Since my wound was healing 
well, and I could get around using my crutches, 
I spent much of my time helping my buddies who 
were worse off.  Not really too much I could do, 
really, just try to keep them comfortable, get 
water and food when necessary, call the doctors 
and nurses over or, more often, the chaplain.  
It's really amazing how grown men, who maybe 
led the wickedest of lives (gambling and the 
like) when healthy, really find comfort with the 
chaplain when facing the Great Unknown.  Nurses 
are also in great demand to comfort the men - so 
much so that they are terribly overworked.  
There's just not enough of anything, or anybody!
	
Early this month, a doctor examined my wound, 
and said I was unfit for further service.  I felt 
like he was examining an old plow horse that 
needed to be put out to pasture, or put down!  
Normally, this would mean a medical discharge and 
home, but for some reason I wanted nothing of the 
sort.  This work isn't finished.  The Rebs are 
still out of the Union, and it seems that they 
mean to stay out until we can convince them 
otherwise.  Since I signed up in the beginning, I 
aim to see this thing through, one way or 'tother.  
At any rate, I turned down the discharge and did 
some pretty fast talking.  I told the doctor that 
I lived in the area, and that if I could get word 
to my folks they would fetch me home - with a 
little luck and home nursing, I reckon I could be 
as could as new, and able to rejoin my outfit.  
The doctor told me I was "tetched in the head" for 
turning down a good thing (that' been noted 
before), but signed my furlough papers anyway.
	
So now I'm home, and getting stronger every day.  
With luck, I should be off of these sticks by the 
end of the month, and maybe able to rejoin the 
40th sometime in the fall.  I figure if I can get 
to the point that I can walk normal, I'll just 
have to rebuild the strength in the leg. It'll 
take time, especially since in the 40th it was 
nothing to march 15 or 20 miles a day, and right 
now it's all I can do to stand.
	
In an odd sort of way, I miss my buddies and 
all the misery of Army life - I guess it kind 
of grows on you after awhile.  I surely don't 
relish seeing another battle like Shiloh - but 
like I said, this is unfinished business!  All 
for the Union!