An Artilleryman’s Diary–Jenkin Lloyd Jones

Huntsville, Monday, March 7. A cloudy, dismal morning. Felt gloomy and sad in spirits. After dinner in hopes of driving such feelings away, I took my pen to write to Thomas. While thus engaged, I was interrupted by a loud talking and cheering in front of the tent, which called me out. There I found that the recruits had arrived from Camp Randall, thirty stout and hearty looking men with mouths wide open, gazing at their “to be” comrades. Anyone could see that they were raw recruits, but nearly everyone had friends to receive and congratulate, but I knew no one, but was cheered by the handing of a package to me by a stranger. It was from home. Hardly waiting to go to my tent, I tore it open, found a pair of socks knit by the hands of my mother; she who so often in times gone by has contributed to my comfort and happiness, had again remembered me in her labors, while suffering severely under the ruthless hand of disease. Oh how precious she is to me, and how fondly I will cherish her humble gift. Also a number of the Phrenological Journals bound in with the calico strip as of old—my favorite paper, loaded with valuable reading matter; also a gift from Brother John, a diary such as I need. The whole so impressed me with the scenes of home and its endearments that I could hardly refrain the tears. When the mail arrived I received four letters—nearly enough for one day.