blew down the tents and upset the smoke stacks of the Sibley stoves, drenching rains which went through the tents as if they were paper, sounding, as the drops fell on the rubber blankets, like a tattoo on a snare drum, weather so cold that it froze the ears of men on guard, mud and the heaviest snow that had been known in that section for years, made the boys understand that campaigning was no pastime.
Sickness developed in the camp and blues were the order of the day.
In December, Wagoner Kiley, of Co. E, died of typhoid fever.
His body was sent home and buried with military honors.
Private Priggin went home about that time on account of sickness.
In February there were more ill than at any time during the term of enlistment.
The arrival of new tents, letters from home, which had been delayed, and certain news that they were to be mustered out, were good medicine for invalids.
March 3, 1899, one of the Light Guard wrote home, The fashion of dying has ceased to be, and all