WeRead Powered by ReaderPub
A Minor War History Compiled from a Soldier Boy's Letters to "the Girl I Left Behind Me": 1861-1864 cover

A Minor War History Compiled from a Soldier Boy's Letters to "the Girl I Left Behind Me": 1861-1864

Chapter 106: CII
Open in WeRead

About This Book

A series of wartime letters written between 1861 and 1864 to a loved one presents an intimate account of camp routine, marches, garrison duty, and occasional skirmishes, emphasizing comradeship, small talk, humor, and the routine hardships of soldiers. The editor removed strictly personal matters and arranged the correspondence into sketches that preserve individual personalities and camp anecdotes, recording everyday details—meals, guard duty, uniforms, morale—rather than grand strategy, and offering a ground-level portrait of military life and memory.

CII

WE HAVE a mail at last, and I was fortunate enough to get four letters from you. Now that we are here, it looks as if I would not have much of anything to do except to write letters. We got here yesterday forenoon, and are now fairly well settled. We are camped close to the beach, on smooth, level ground. We have A-tents and a plenty of them, so we are not crowded for room. Dan. Desmond and I have a tent all to ourselves. Jess. Dewey is acting orderly-sergeant, so he has his own tent.

Afternoon.—I was called away rather suddenly this morning, to go on guard. Now, coming back to the guard headquarters from dinner, I have brought my writing materials along, so as to finish my letter today. Talking of comfort! I am sitting in the shade of big pine trees, within two rods of the shore of Chesapeake Bay, a delicious breeze blowing from the water and the waves rolling up on the beach. [This was at General Marston’s headquarters.] The first thing this morning, when reveille was blown, nearly every man in the regiment made a dash for the water, for a plunge and a swim. This was a fashionable summer resort before the war. The waters abound in crabs, and the boys have already got to catching them. When I was up to camp this noon one of the boys had a kettleful on boiling. We had a ration of “salt horse” [corned beef] today—the first we have had since leaving Washington for Falmouth. It seemed like an old friend.

On the steamer, coming down, I had a long chat with one of the batch of prisoners we were taking along. He was a native of Alexandria, and on the way down the river he pointed out the places where he had been for a good time before the war. We had been in the same fights, quite a number, and it was very interesting to compare notes. The day we left Washington I was on guard at the gate, and there was a flock of secesh women there to bid good bye to friends and give them things to eat or wear. Among the prisoners was an Irishman who formerly lived in Manchester. I recognized him as soon as I saw him. He was down south when the war broke out, and was forced into the army. He fell out on the march on purpose to be taken and is very anxious to take the oath of allegiance, as are many others, especially the foreigners.