Harrison’s Landing, James River, Va.,
Friday, July 18, 1862.
Dear Cousin L.:—•
I never was much of a believer in signs and wonders, lucky and unlucky days and things of that kind, but you know what a bad reputation Friday has, and how many there are ready to believe all that is said of it. Well, just see what an unlucky day it has been for me. The first note of the reveille this morning started me to my feet (for I’m a bugler, you know, and have to give the regimental calls) feeling better than I have for a week before. The mail came after breakfast and three letters for me, yours, one from my comrade Bushnell’s mother, and one from Father. I had not heard from him since he got my first letter after the battle. I sat down to answer my letters and had just finished one to Father, when one of the boys came along saying—”Norton, you’re always in luck. I just brought up a box from the landing with something on the cover that looked like your name.” “Where is it?” “Major’s tent— came by express.” Well, it was not in the major’s tent long, and it would have made you laugh to hear the remarks made from the time I came into the street with it till we found what was in the bottom. I was as much astonished as any of them, for I never expected to see it, and now let no one after this say anything to me about unlucky Fridays. If they do, you know how I can stop them. Contrary to your expectation, everything in the box was in good condition. Your judgment was admirably shown in the selection of articles—just such as were of real utility and would not spoil by a little delay. With all respect for your husband and Aunt A.’s, I believe the ladies of the family had just as much to do about it as they had, though you labored so hard to make me think it was some “strangers” I had never seen. The pineapple cheese was the great curiosity though. Many of the boys brought up in a dairy country had never seen one. They are not made so extensively of late except in large dairies. “Don’t drop that percussion shell or you’ll blow your box and contents into the river,” said one fellow, and another was going to report me for “leaving fixed ammunition exposed.” I’m not sure but it is a good thing, or rather I am sure it is, that I did not get it while I was at Gaines’ Mill. If I had, I should have lost the most of it, but if the rebels get any share of it now, I shall miss my guess entirely. Please return my thanks to those who united with you in conferring so acceptable a present on me and my comrades (for you know I can’t sit down and eat a meal with the embellishments, as the boys say, and not share with them).
It seems strange how much the rest of our company has become united since the battles. They are almost like brothers in one family now. We used to have the “aristocratic tent” and “tent of the upper ten,” and so on, but there is nothing of that kind now. We have all lost dear friends and common sorrow makes us all equal.
Your account of the interest that is taken in reading my letters is beginning to scare me. Young ladies from Boston must see them, and others that I don’t know, beside the whole circle of relatives. Don’t you think I had better put at the top as the Herald does—”Daily circulation, …………….thousand?” You can fill up the blank. You know how many better than I do. Really, I am getting to be a celebrity. But I have about made up my mind that I shan’t risk my reputation by coming to New York after the war. Down on the Peninsula here I excite quite a sensation in Gotham just by writing letters, but one day’s personal acquaintance would dispel the illusion, and I would be nothing but a common “soger,” and a very rough specimen at that. If I only had shoulder straps, now, with an eagle or a star on, why, it might be worth while to be talked about, but do these young ladies know that all there is on the shoulders of my blouse is a threadbare spot where the musket rubs? But really, if anyone wants to read my letters, and you are willing to have it known that you have such a rattle-brained correspondent, I have no objections. I can understand how my own relatives should take an interest in me for my mother’s sake, but how strangers should want to see my next letter, I can’t see. How much longer do you think I could draw out a thread on that subject without breaking it? I think I’ll drop it before it gets any finer.
The stamps you sent were another most acceptable gift just at this time. I had been studying for some days to contrive some way to get along till pay day. But our boys are all in the same fix as myself—terribly short. I thought I should have to stop writing or send home for some money, and I did not want to do either, but “unlucky Friday” settles it. I find paper and envelopes in the box, and stamps in the letter. No one who has not been in the situation knows how relieved I felt.
Well, I must bring my letter to a close. I have got to go half a mile for water and by the time I get back it will be time for dress parade. “All is quiet on the James,” very quiet. Please write soon.
