CXLIII
THIS letter may be the last I will write you from the army, as there is a prospect of our being discharged on the 9th of May. Our “final statements” were made out yesterday and forwarded to headquarters. But they may decide at headquarters that our time is not up until June. In that event we will have a chance to march a piece in this “On to Richmond” movement. A big pier is being built on the James River, about three miles from here, indicating that we are to take boats there for some point—perhaps to go up the river as far as Fort Darling and attempt to take it as a preliminary to the capture of Richmond.
We are having nice weather now, but night before last we had a great thunder shower. It came up very suddenly, about sunset, and was the blackest, ugliest-looking sky I ever saw. The rebels have, for some time, been very busy planting torpedoes in the roads leading toward Richmond, and a few days ago a squad of four were scooped in while engaged in this laudable undertaking.
Day before yesterday two regiments of negro cavalry came up from Norfolk, and yesterday I rode up from Yorktown with a couple of the troopers. They kept me in a roar of laughter relating their experiences in the army, which were inexpressibly funny.