Dr. McAllister was _everywhere_,
superintending the removal with the energy natural to him. In the
court-house all was confusion. Boxes were hastily filled with bedding,
clothing, etc., thrown in helter-skelter, hastily nailed up, and as
hastily carted down to the train. Sick and awfully wounded men were
hurriedly placed upon stretchers, and their bearers formed an endless
procession to the rough cars (some of them lately used to transport
cattle, and dreadfully filthy). Here they were placed upon straw
mattresses, or plain straw, as it happened. No provisions were to be
had except sides of rusty bacon and cold corn-bread. These were
shovelled into carts and transferred to the floor of the cars in the
same manner. There was no time to cook anything, and the chances were
whether we would get off at all or not. Procuring a large caldron, I
dumped into it remnants of the day's dinner,--a little soup, a few
vegetables, and some mule meat. The stoves had all been taken down,
but there was a little cold cornmeal coffee, some tea, and a small
quantity of milk. This I put into buckets; then, importuning the
surgeon in charge until he was glad to get rid of me by assigning me a
cart, I mounted into it with my provisions and jolted off to the cars,
where hundreds of tortured, groaning men wore lying.
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