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Updated: May 20, 2025
And laid his body at the South Gate, beside some scores of others that were awaiting the arrival of the six-mule wagon that hauled them to the Potter's Field, which was to be their last resting-place. John Emerson and John Stiggall, of my company, were two Norwegian boys, and fine specimens of their race intelligent, faithful, and always ready for duty.
When Stiggall died we thought Emerson would certainly follow him in a day or two, but, to our surprise, he lingered along until August before dying. The gradually lengthening Summer days were insufferably long and wearisome. Each was hotter, longer and more tedious than its predecessors. In my company was a none-too-bright fellow, named Dawson.
When Stiggall died we thought Emerson would certainly follow him in a day or two, but, to our surprise, he lingered along until August before dying. The gradually lengthening Summer days were insufferably long and wearisome. Each was hotter, longer and more tedious than its predecessors. In my company was a none-too-bright fellow, named Dawson.
"No; much obliged, M " he wheezed out; "my pardner wants a cool drink, and I guess I'd better get it for him." Stiggall died in June. He was one of the first victims of scurvy, which, in the succeeding few weeks, carried off so many. All of us who had read sea-stories had read much of this disease and its horrors, but we had little conception of the dreadful reality.
I saw in one instance two brothers-both of whom died the next day of scurvy and who were so helpless as to be unable to rise, pull themselves up on their knees by clenching the poles of their tents in order to strike each other with clubs, and they kept striking until the bystanders interfered and took their weapons away from them. But Stiggall and Emerson never quarreled with each other.
I saw in one instance two brothers-both of whom died the next day of scurvy and who were so helpless as to be unable to rise, pull themselves up on their knees by clenching the poles of their tents in order to strike each other with clubs, and they kept striking until the bystanders interfered and took their weapons away from them. But Stiggall and Emerson never quarreled with each other.
"No; much obliged, M " he wheezed out; "my pardner wants a cool drink, and I guess I'd better get it for him." Stiggall died in June. He was one of the first victims of scurvy, which, in the succeeding few weeks, carried off so many. All of us who had read sea-stories had read much of this disease and its horrors, but we had little conception of the dreadful reality.
And laid his body at the South Gate, beside some scores of others that were awaiting the arrival of the six-mule wagon that hauled them to the Potter's Field, which was to be their last resting-place. John Emerson and John Stiggall, of my company, were two Norwegian boys, and fine specimens of their race intelligent, faithful, and always ready for duty.
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