Cairo, July 1, 1861.
Writing letters is getting to be harder work than drilling, and is more dreaded by the boys. Lots of people are visiting the camp now, many of them ladies, but I tell you that they use their fans more than their spy-glasses after a very few looks.
I was up to Mound City yesterday with nine others of our company on a United States boat that has three cannons on her. Mound City is a beautiful little place, and takes it name from a mound about 30 feet in diameter and 10 feet high, on which grow a dozen spindling locusts. I have been about 12 miles up each river from the point here. At that distance the river banks are, say 25 feet high, and slope down to the point, and run into a broad wide sandbar that ends Illinois.
Fishing is a principal amusement or time-killer now. I have fished about four days and caught nary a “minner.”
There is no outside influence used to induce a man to re-enlist. Officers tell every man to use his own judgment, and each fellow does his own thinking and—another long dash or words to that effect.
July 1.—A rumour of a skirmish, in which the Messrs. Ashby were engaged, and that Richard Ashby was severely wounded. I trust it may not be true.
JULY 1st.—My family are gone. We have moved the department to Mechanics’ Hall, which will be known hereafter as the War Department. In an evil hour, I selected a room to write my letters in, quite remote from the Secretary’s office. I thought Mr. Walker resented this. He had likewise been piqued at the effect produced by an article I had written on the subject of the difficulty of getting arms from Georgia with the volunteers from that State. One of the spunky Governor’s organs had replied with acerbity, not only defending the Governor, but striking at the Secretary himself, to whom the authorship was ascribed. My article had been read and approved by the Secretary before its insertion; nevertheless he now regretted it had been written—not that there was anything improper in it, but that it should have been couched in words that suggested the idea to the Southern editor that the Secretary might be its author. I resolved to meddle with edged tools no more; for I remembered that Gil Blas had done the same thing for the Duke of Lerma. Hereafter I shall study Gil Blas for the express purpose of being his antithesis. But I shall never rise until the day of doom brings us all to our feet again.
