s much. Three of our
companions through so many vicissitudes, we never saw again--three of
the worthiest--Captains Griffin, Mullins, and Wardour died shortly
afterward.

On the 26th of June, we were put on board of a steamer, and puffed away
down the Delaware river. It was confidently affirmed that we were going
to be placed on Morris Island, where the Charleston batteries would have
fair play at us, so that our friends (blissfully unconscious of how
disagreeable they were making themselves) might speedily finish us. The
prospect was not absolutely inviting, but after the matter was talked
over, and General Gardner, especially, consulted (as he had most
experience in heavy artillery), we felt more easy. General Thompson, who
had fought that way a good deal, said that "a man's chance to be struck
by lightning was better than to be hit by a siege gun." This consoled me
very little, for I had all my life been nervously afraid of lightning.
However, we at last settled it unanimously that, while we would perhaps
be badly frightened by the large bombs, there was little likelihood of
many being hurt, and, at any rate, the risk was very slight compared
with the brilliant hope of its resulting in exchange.

After we got fairly to sea, very little thought was wasted on other
matters. The captain of the vessel, said that there was "no sea on," or
some such gibberish, and talked as if we were becalmed, at the very time
that his tipsy old boat was bobbing about like a green rider on a
trotting horse. It is a matter of indifference, what sort of metal
encased the hearts of those who first tempted the fury of the seas, but
they must have had stomachs lined with mahogany. It is difficult to
believe men, when they unblushingly declare that they go to sea for
pleasure. There has been a great deal of pretentious declamation about
the poetry and beauty of the ocean.

Some people go off into raptures about a "vast expanse" of dirty salt
water, which must, in the nature of things, be associated in every one's
mind with sick stomachs and lost dinners. The same people get so tired
of their interminable view of _poetry_, that they will nearly crowd each
other overboard, to get sight of a stray flying fish, or porpoise, or
the back fin of a shark sticking out of the water. This trip to Hilton
Head came near taking the poetry out of General Thompson.

Ten of us were lodged in a cabin on the upper deck, where we did very
well, except that for