South of Bowling Green, Va., May 15, 1865.
Crossed the Pamunky river this morning and the Mattapony this p.m. Beautiful country, but most desolate looking. Stopped at a house for the “cute and original” purpose of asking for a drink of water. While a servant went to the spring had a very interesting chat with the ladies, the first of the sex I have spoken to in Virginia. One of them was quite pleasant. She inquired if we Yankees were really all going to Mexico. Told her “such was the case,” when she remarked, “Well, all our men are killed off, and if all you Northerners go to Mexico, we women will have our rights sure.”
Heard of Davis’ capture. Did not excite an emotion.
