Beaufort, S.C., February 28, 1862
My life here is very charming and pleasant, but is growing monotonous. I dread the idea of being here much longer, though any change is almost certain to be for the worse and the sameness of stable-duty, drill and camp life is telling on all of us. A prettier place than Beaufort would be hard to find, and a finer climate I do not want to see; but nothing marks the days as they pass, and few know less of the progress of the war than we, in the heart of South Carolina and in sight of the enemy’s pickets. How long this will last we can’t tell, but I fear for a good while; for there are no signs of real activity here, and now we all feel a desire to soon leave this Capua for the free, changing life of Tennessee, Missouri or even Texas. Nothing, I fear, but foreign intervention will get us out of this, however, and I imagine our destiny is either to fight at home against England and France or to march into Charleston.
Meanwhile I am very well and very comfortable, save in some respects of position with which I will not trouble you and which will cure themselves. To us it is now more of a picnic than war, and I live in as much luxury almost in my tent as I ever did at home. We are all very well and as brown and dirty as nuts, and I have never enjoyed life more than in the army. In fact, my college days seem to have come back to me, but bereft of most of their cares. I have been doing a good deal of detailed duty and have pretty thoroughly explored this island and last week they made me Judge Advocate to a Court of Inquiry, and these give quite a variety to life and took me away effectually from certain annoyances of my camp life; but they’ve found me out now and I’m steadily kept here, while my pleasant rides and expectations have come to an end. Socially also things are extremely agreeable here. Colonel Sargent is in immediate command and recent experiences have made me feel as if walled in with friends. My tentmate, Davis, is the very man I need and it is generally supposed in camp that he is a sort of nurse and guardian for me and that without his fostering care I should be a tentless wanderer. In fact my family will be pleased to know that my announcement that at home I had always been considered rather an old Betty was received with shouts of derision, and in camp here, in all matters of comfort, I enjoy the reputation of being the most careless, shiftless and slipshod devil in the whole battalion. Still I get on well enough, but I do not grow here, or, rather, should not long. The life and experience will have its uses for me and they will be great, but it is not the life for me for a permanency. The mind is perfectly fallow. . . .
