No doubt the prayer was continually being offered by friends they had left at home, that God would shield them and cover their heads in the day of battle, little dreaming that the grim monster, Death, lurked by the way side. Leaving the cars, we hurry to the landing and take boat to Washington. Sad, pale faces and stricken hearts meet us at every turn. Captain Mason, of the Eighty-first Pennsylvania, is among the passengers. He is on his way to his home in Philadelphia, to attend the funeral of his wife, having received a telegram the day before announcing her death. * * * * * I had scarcely reached home when I received a call from Hon. Mr. Upton and wife, of Michigan, Dr. Alvord (our Secretary) and wife, and Mrs. Baldwin of Pontiac--all anxious to hear from the front. Five large boxes and two barrels of goods, which arrived during my absence, must be unpacked and receipted for, and a mail of thirteen letters promptly answered. Hammer, chisel and pen are called in requisition, and keep me company until a late hour. Dr. Alvord had succeeded, after repeated and most persistent efforts, in getting an ambulance detailed for me, which greatly facilitated my work. I could accomplish much more, with far greater ease, than when I had to trudge on foot, “toting” a loaded basket. To one unacquainted with hospital work and experience, it might seem an easy task to ride to a hospital some fine morning with a well-filled ambulance, distribute its contents, and return, load up and repeat the same again, and even again. Were this all, it would have been comparatively easy and pleasant; but it was this carried out into detail, the minutiæ, that made the work laborious. In a former chapter I referred to the many errands there were to be done, not only for those among whom I was expected more especially to labor, but for others, for any and all, who appealed for aid. I could not turn a deaf ear to a soldier’s wants.