Army letters of Oliver Willcox Norton (Eighty-third Pennsylvania Volunteers)

Near Yorktown, Va.,

Sunday, April 27, 1862.

Dear Sister L.:—

I have nothing more to do to-day, but it is not so with all the regiment. I can hear them calling the roll in some of the other companies, and one company just passed armed with “Irish spoons,” going out to work in the trenches. Six of our companies, including K, went out at daylight yesterday and worked all day in the rain. It was a very disagreeable day and we came back at night soaked through, cold and hungry, but as merry a lot of fellows as you ever saw. You won’t understand the thing very well unless I describe it particularly. I think I told you about there being a large field in front of the forts. A trench four feet deep and twelve feet wide and over a mile long is to be dug on this side of the field just in front of the woods. We followed a road up one of the ravines till we came to our pickets and then one by one crept cautiously up into the ditch. A ditch two or three feet deep and wide enough to walk in had been dug during the night and dirt thrown up in front so that by stooping down we were concealed. One thousand men filed in there the whole length of the ditch and then each one laying his gun on the bank within reach, commenced picking or shoveling the dirt up on to the bank. The rebel forts were in plain sight and their sharpshooters were within thirty rods of us, hidden in rifle pits, so that, if a fellow got his head above the bank, he might get a bullet in his cap. We soon got a bank high enough to stand up behind and then it would have done you good to see the dirt go out of that ditch. Many hands make light work, and I tell you our regiment and the Sixty-second handled a pile of dirt. We had two reliefs—I went in at 6 o’clock and worked till noon and then the other relief worked till night. Last night there were 10,000 men at work all night and as many more to-day, so you may guess there is something going on here. George says that when he gets ready, he will throw one hundred and thirty shells per minute into each of those forts. I think there will be lively dodging there if nobody is hurt. Oh, we are gaining on them slowly but surely.

When I was out on picket 1 cut a hickory stick that grew on Washington’s old breastwork. I picked up a sccesh bullet there too and brought them into camp. I thought I would make something out of them to remember Yorktown by, so I whittled out a tatting needle and made a rivet of the bullet and I send it to you. It is a poor thing I know, but the stick was green and I had nothing but a knife to make it with. After it gets seasoned you can get C. to smooth and polish it up, but I can’t get anything here to do it with.

There is not much firing lately and some deserters say that the rebels begin to think they will have to surrender at last. I guess they will think so when George gets ready to make them.

On picket, April 23, 1862. I felt so unwell that I could not finish my letter yesterday, and I have resumed it this morning. Our regiment came out at 3 o’clock this morning for picket duty, and as I wanted to see the fun I came along. Now I wish I could tell you just how everything looks here, or better still, that you could just look in and see us. In a deep wooded hollow you might see seven or eight hundred men, their arms stacked in a glistening line down the middle, knapsacks and haversacks lying round and the men lounging in groups smoking, joking or telling stories. Little brush houses are scattered here and there and the sun is just coming up and making everything look so bright and pleasant that it seems more like some holiday gathering than it does like a gathering of men armed to the teeth and ready to engage in deadly conflict at a moment’s notice. This is historical ground. As long ago as 1781 Yorktown was surrendered, and here is the very place it was done. Just back of me is a long bank of earth now overgrown with trees, a breastwork thrown up by Washington’s men, and, if you could creep with me so as to just look over the top of it, and be out of range of secesh bullets, we could see more. Away across a level field three-quarters of a mile off, just in the edge of a wood, you might see a yellow line of earth. That is a rebel fort. Farther to the right is another, and still farther another and a larger one. A few rods from me are two large siege guns, and a little way on the other side a battery of Parrott guns. Now for a little amusement—a heavy report at the rebel fort, a wreath of white smoke curls gracefully up from the yellow bank and a ten-inch shell comes hissing and screaming through the air directly toward our siege guns. The gunners jump aside and fall flat on the ground; the shell strikes a dozen rods behind them and harmlessly explodes. Up they spring, with “All right, boys.” “Give ’em two for that.” They step to their loaded guns, step back a pace, pull a string, and, Boom! Boom! two reports that make the earth tremble and two shells go screaming back in reply to the rebel missile. They have kept up this cannonading ever since we came here on the 5th, and there is scarcely ten minutes in the day when we do not hear the report of cannon. We are getting used to it so we pay no more attention than to the birds singing, unless the firing is unusually sharp. They have tried several times to drive in our pickets, but they have not succeeded yet. I almost forgot to tell you about the posted men. Nine men are put on a post. They stay twelve hours, for they cannot be relieved oftener for fear of revealing their position. They are posted behind a clump of bushes or in a rifle pit in the open field. Three watch while the others rest, taking turns, and they watch every rod of ground in sight. If a rebel shows himself in range, they blaze away at him.

The guns are popping and cannon thundering away now, and I’ve got my foot on a six-inch shell that was thrown over here this morning and did not burst. I am glad there are no women here, for I am afraid they would make me nervous. Every time a shell exploded they would jump and think “there goes death and misery to some poor fellow,” but we have grown so careless and hardened that we don’t heed them. I have seen some fellows who had narrow escapes. One had his knapsack shot off his back by a solid shot and was not hurt. One had a ball through a cup that he was just about to drink from. One had a Minie ball pass through fifteen thicknesses of cloth (a knot in his cape) and lodge against a rib. Another had the tassel shot off his cap.

The boys have just captured something about a foot long that looks like an alligator.

Glad to hear of Daniel’s success in raising stock. Mine is improving. Woke up the other morning and found a snake and a lizard in my bed.

April 22.

Your letters of the 13th and 14th came last night as I expected. I passed about as uncomfortable a night as I have seen lately. It had been raining all day, but at night it commenced to pour down, and the water ran through our tent, round it, and under it, and we just had to lie in a puddle of it all night. There was no dodging it; scarcely a dry spot in the tent. To-day I don’t feel very keen, so, if my letter is not interesting, you will see my excuse. You certainly deserve credit for giving me a good long letter. I like to receive such, but, if I don’t mention that I noticed such and such items, charge it to want of space, for this is my second sheet and I can’t get in but three. One thing, however, you made a mistake in, and that was in giving me an inventory of your wardrobe. Haven’t you known me long enough to know that I never can remember what color the ribbon on a bonnet is long enough to get out of church to talk about it? And all those details about the black broadcloth dress trimmed with traveling goods, the para matta cloak, the black satin congress gaiters, the white bonnet with yellow crossbars and flowers and all those things— why, I can hardly remember them now long enough to write them. I have no doubt but you looked well in them though, for you always do.

Well, the Tribune said that Porter’s division made the attack. Did they, and we have been in a battle, have we? To be sure, we led the column, and our brigade the division, but there was not much infantry fighting. Our batteries opened on them at long range and we came up in line of battle to support them. They replied with spirit from their forts and their first shell killed two brave fellows in Follett’s battery, which was planted in the very spot where the rebels had been practicing at target. The firing was heavy on both sides till dark and we lost some eight or ten, and a good many horses. We all expected that Sunday would prove a bloody day, but it was very quiet and the great battle has not come off yet, though there is considerable firing every day and some skirmishes.

Camp near Yorktown, Va.,
Monday, April 21, 1862.

Dear Sister L.:—

Father writes encouragingly about the war; thinks it is progressing rapidly and hopes I will soon be on my way home. Home! What will that be to me, do you think Mr. P., now that you have taken away its greatest attraction? There was always a blank there when she was gone and now she has gone to return no more except as a transient visitor. Henceforth, it will be a home to me no more. If I survive this war, do you know, C, that I’ve almost determined to quit roving, adopt farming as a business, and work steadily and perseveringly till I have a comfortable home for myself and the best woman I can find who will marry a soldier. I’m almost afraid that when we get home and the girls see what rough, sunburned and disgusting fellows we are—I’m afraid soldiers will be at a discount. Yes, my dreams of the pleasures of an exciting life are passing away and I have almost come to believe that the plain honest farmer who surrounds his home with comforts is the happiest man. How I wish I could live near you and that we could grow up into substantial, prosperous farmers together! But why be building castles in the air, when, perhaps, the bullet is even now rammed home to lay me under the sod on the field of Yorktown? I would not, if I could, unveil the future and see my fate. Still it has always seemed to me that I should escape death on the field. A wound has seemed more than probable. Indeed, I would not shun it, but it has ever seemed to me that I would not be called to sacrifice my life, yet such may be my fate. If so, I am content. Farewell, sweet dreams of life and love! Traitors are striking at the citadel of our beloved country. My life may check their murderous course and it must be given.

The papers are full of prophecies of the Waterloo that is to be fought here, the greatest battle of the war, and of course, a great Union victory. They don’t tell the date of the coming battle, however. Now, if you ask what I think of it, I should answer, “It isn’t coming off till after Richmond is taken.” And then it will not be the great affair the New York papers are making out. I will give my reasons for thinking so. I judge from the present state of things and from McClellan’s acknowledged skill in planning. He is a careful, cautious man and will not sacrifice lives in a fierce battle when time and skill will accomplish the same purpose. “Look at the situation,” as the papers say. McClellan lands 150,000 men at Fortress Monroe and sets out for Richmond. At Yorktown the rebels have fortifications extending across the Peninsula to the James. Here is the only place they can hope to hold against our forces. Here then they rally. All their forces are few enough to check such an army, and so they are all brought here. Manassas is deserted and now not 5,000 men are left between that and Richmond. All their army that lay along the Rappahannock was transferred to Yorktown, and they had scarcely gone when McDowell appeared at Fredericksburg with 40,000 men and Banks was following them down the Shenandoah valley with 70,000. An army of 100,000 is thus marching on Richmond, while we keep the rebel army here. It is, no doubt, repugnant to their feelings to see things go in this way, but what can they do? If they fall back to Richmond they will have a quarter of a million to fight without fortifications, for we shall certainly follow them up. If they grow desperate enough to come out from their forts and attack us, we outnumber them and they admit our courage, so they would inevitably be whipped at that. If they lie still awaiting an attack, they will lose Richmond, and wake some fine morning to find an army of 100,000 in their rear and McClellan at last ready to crush the rebellion.

Camp near Yorktown, Va.,
Monday, April 14, 1862.

Dear Cousin L.:—

I scalded one of my feet yesterday and was not able to go with the company which went out this morning to work on a road. I was sitting by the fire with several others making coffee. Each of us has a small tin kettle holding three pints or so, fitted with a tight cover. We call them muckets for want of a better name. By the way, I believe almost any of us would throw away a blanket before he would his mucket, they are so indispensable. The cover of one was crowded down so tight that there was no room for the steam to escape. It swallowed the indignity with commendable patience for a time, but finally it lost all self-control and exploded, throwing hot coffee in all directions, but particularly in the direction of my left foot. It was not very badly scalded, and I hope will be well in a few days.

I believe with you that our idle days are about over, at least we have been tolerably busy since we arrived at Fortress Monroe. We landed the 24th of March. You have much better opportunities of learning what is done in the army than we, for we depend for news on the New York papers and they are two days old before we get them. All that I can write then is to tell what falls under my immediate observation.

You have undoubtedly learned that the main body of the Potomac army is in the vicinity of Yorktown; that the rebels are concentrating all the troops they can to oppose us, and that they seem determined to make a desperate stand here, to keep us back from Richmond. By the time we are ready to attack them they will probably have 100,000 men very strongly intrenched with which to meet us. We have a still larger force and are working night and day to get our guns in position and leave nothing undone that will lead to a sure and decisive victory. We have McClellan to lead us and the prestige of victory on our side, which is a great help. What the French call the Esprit de corps, is excellent. The army seems to feel that a well fought battle here will crush the rebellion and send them home all the more speedily. They hear of the victories in the west and the determination seems universal that the honor of crushing the rebellion shall not rest wholly with the army of the Mississippi. We shall go into the fight with “Remember Fort Donelson and Pittsburg” on our lips and in our hearts. The traitors have no such thoughts to inspire them with confidence. If they know any thing at all of what transpires, it will only fill them with forebodings of their own fate. They may fight, and undoubtedly will, but it will be like the desperate fighting of cornered rats. They must fight or give up everything. It will be the greatest battle ever fought in America. It will be worth a year’s soldiering to have been in it or to have fallen there under the Stars and Stripes.

It will be a year on the 26th since I enlisted. We have as yet seen but little fighting, though I think we shall see as much as any of the rest do here. Our division has been the advance so far. We frightened the rebels of Great Bethel and Union Mills, but I’m afraid Butterfield’s brigade would hardly prove strong enough to drive them out of Yorktown. We arrived here a week ago yesterday. You may wonder why we have done so little apparently in all this time. I think we have done as much as could be done under the circumstances. Last week it rained four days and nights. This materially interfered with our operations. It is twenty-four miles to Fortress Monroe, our nearest shipping station. The latter part of the road is through swamps that were almost impassable even for troops. The provisions for 150,000 men, in fact every thing had to come this way. It was found necessary to select some point nearer where provisions and artillery could be landed. Two or three wharves have been built, as near as I can learn somewhere near the mouth of the York river, and roads are being made as rapidly as possible to different parts of the camps. These forts cannot be taken with light artillery, and siege guns have to be brought and put in position. Our regiment and the Avengers have made nearly six miles of corduroy road beside doing picket duty every four days, reconnoitering, etc. I assure you the work is being pushed forward with all the speed that is possible.

It has been impossible to supply the army with full rations a considerable part of the time since we have been here, and we have had to live on short allowance. I have not heard a word of grumbling, however. Men who have marched over the road from here to Fortress Monroe know why provisions cannot be got through fast enough. Our boys didn’t come here to starve, however, because Uncle Samuel got out of hard tack. There were numbers of white rabbits in the vicinity when we arrived here. They are very large with short ears and their flesh tastes strangely like mutton. I have a faint recollection of using my bowie in the woods in preparing one for eating that took two of us to carry to camp. Large, ain’t they?

Our company spent a night last week down near the river. We went down to be ready to work on the road next day. We had no tents and it was pretty cold, so half a dozen of us started out about midnight to look round a little. We finally came out near a house and barn. I snatched a turkey off the fence and one of the others a rooster, and made back into the woods. We stopped to secure them when the others came up, saying they had found a pig, but did not dare to kill him for fear of his making a noise and waking up the wrong passenger. Bowen, who is not afraid of trifles, however, finally opened the door and went in. He knocked him, but the inconsiderate rascal squealed terribly. He seized him, however, and made off, the pig still squealing. Just as was expected, he woke up the rebels and we had just got into the woods when a ball came whistling over our heads. Nobody was hurt. I suppose the man shot at the squeal, for that was immediately stopped, and we heard no more guns. Just about daylight, before there was much stir, we came to the camp with the pig all dressed, turkey and rooster ditto. The colonel, who is always astir early, came riding down, and stopping suddenly, said, “Bowen, where did you get that pig?” Bowen, who stammers a little, was nonplussed. At last he blurted out. “Well, c-c-confound it, Colonel, I c-c-c-confiscated him.” “Haven’t you heard the orders about that?” “Well, Colonel, I haven’t had a mouthful to eat except five crackers since yesterday, and I can’t build corduroy on that.” I need not say that Bowen was forgiven, and Colonel said yesterday he wished I could get him another turkey. The pig was pretty well disposed of during the day, but how do you think we cooked our chicken? We had used up every grain of salt on the pig. Our supply is very limited and we have had to lose some meat on account of having no salt. I went down to the bay and got a mucket of sea water and we boiled a piece in that to try it. It relished so well that the chicken was boiled in sea water, and, if it was not as well cooked as some have been, I assure you there was no meat left on the bones. I hardly know what you will think of this work. You may call it stealing to go prowling round nights snatching poultry and pigs, but my conscience is seared. I don’t feel the least compunction. I am well satisfied that a man who has a farm and stock here where the rebels have had undisputed possession for months, is nothing else than a secesh, and when Uncle Sam can’t furnish food, I see nothing wrong in acquiring it of our enemies. That is the general sentiment of the soldiers, and, if you think it is wrong you need not feel any delicacy in telling me so.

I suppose L. is married, though I have not heard from home since the wedding. I am looking anxiously for a letter. Our mails were very much interrupted for a while after our coming here, but now they are pretty regular.

I don’t think you have anything to fear from the Merrimac. The Monitor is watching her as a cat does a mouse, and, if she should succeed in getting out, she would probably run up the York river to take part in the coming fight. She evidently fears the Monitor. We heard heavy firing near the fort yesterday and considerable excitement was caused in camp by the report that the Merrimac had taken the Monitor into Norfolk, but it was all a hoax. While I am writing this I hear the roar of cannon. Some of our gunboats are throwing shell from the river at the rebel batteries. Perhaps it is the commencement of the battle, and before this reaches you it may be fought and decided.

In the Woods before Great Bethel,

Saturday, March 29, 1862.

Dear Sister L.:—

I had to stop right there and report to the general with my bugle, to teach me new calls. We have received no mail since we left Alexandria and none has been sent further than the Fortress. I don’t know when you will get this, but I will write and perhaps they will send it some time or other. My last stamp got wet and spoiled, but D. gave me a stamped envelope, one of the last he had, so I am all right yet. He is just one of the best fellows that ever lived.

On Thursday General Porter’s division made a reconnoissance two miles beyond Great Bethel. Our brigade with a battery took the lead. It is ten miles from here to the fortifications. The road is perfectly level and sandy all the way. The two regiments of Berdan’s sharpshooters are in our division now and a company of them went with us as skirmishers. A spy had reported the rebels two thousand strong at the forts. These are a line of earthworks in the edge of a pine woods. In front of these is a large level field or two or three hundred acres, and in front of the field an extensive swamp full of wet holes, thickets, briars and vines. The road leads through the middle of this swamp to the field. Here was the place where so many of our brave boys fell last spring. We halted as we came up to the swamp. The colonel came along and told us to watch the colors and stick to them, that Great Bethel would be ours before night. We then commenced to move. The artillery took the road, the Seventeenth and Twelfth New York the swamp on the right, and the Forty-fourth and Eighty-third the left. We had just entered and were forcing our way through when we heard the crack of rifles in the woods ahead. The word was passed along to hurry up. I thought the ball had opened at last. You ought to have seen us go through those thickets then. Pell-mell we went, over bogs and through vines and places I never would have thought a man could get through under ordinary circumstances. As we came out to the field the firing ceased. We formed in line of battle instantly and moved toward the works. I expected to see a line of fire run along their breastworks, but not a sound came from them and not a man could we see. We came up to the front and our color guard leaped the ditch and planted the flag of the Eighty-third on the fortifications so long disgraced by the rebel rag. Great Bethel was ours and not a man hurt. They had pickets there who exchanged shots with our skirmishers as they came in sight and then retreated. We then turned to the left and went about two miles to another fortification. They had a dam here to fill a ditch in front of the works, and below the dam a bridge. As our skirmishers came out of the woods they saw three men tearing up the planks on this bridge. They fired and shot two of them. Some others ran out of the woods and carried them off, so we don’t know whether they were killed or not. The main body of rebels had left in the morning. They have gone to Yorktown. We have orders to have three days’ cooked rations on hand, so I think we shall be after them soon. When we came back we burned all the log barracks and brush houses at the forts. All the houses here are burned and the whole country is a desert. It is one of the most beautiful sections, naturally, I have ever seen. The soil is very rich and the surface perfectly level. The corn fields have only one stalk in a place, showing that it must grow very large.

We have been resting since Thursday night. We don’t drill as much as we did at Hall’s Hill.

Hampton, Va., March 26, 1862.

Dear Sister L.:—

I received your letter of the 16th at Alexandria, but there has been no opportunity to send letters till now.

We have had so much of the checkered experience of life in the field that I cannot write the tenth part of what I could tell you if I could have a talk with you, but, as it is, I don’t know as I could do better than to write a few extracts from my diary: “Friday, March 21st. Porter’s division embarked at Alexandria on board a fleet of thirty steamers and transports. Saturday, 22nd, got under way at 12 m. and steamed down the Potomac. Passed Mount Vernon at 1 p. m.; had a good view of all the rebel batteries on the Virginia side; slept on deck under our little tents; woke in the morning in a puddle of water that ran down the deck. Sunday, 23rd: Had a splendid ride down Chesapeake Bay, and arrived at Fortress Monroe at 4 p. m.; anchored in Hampton Roads alongside the Monitor and opposite the country residence of ex-President Tyler. A French man-of-war lay near by and our band entertained the messieurs with the “Marseillaise,” and afterward with schottisches, polkas, cotillions, etc., the marines dancing to the music on their quarter-deck.

Monday, 24th: Undertook to land, but the Columbia ran aground and the Nantasket took off four companies. We then got off at Hampton landing, marched through the ruined village of Hampton and bivouacked in the fields southwest of the town. I saw the walls of the old stone church in which Washington used to worship. It was burned with the town, by Magruder. Hampton was a beautiful old town built almost wholly of brick and stone, but it looks now like the pictures of ancient ruins.

Tuesday, 25th; Broke camp at 8 a. m. and took the road to Great Bethel. After marching about four miles, our advance skirmishers reported that the rebels were posted two miles ahead in force that it would not be prudent for us to meet. We then turned into the pine woods west of the road and pitched our bivouacs—the whole division. This was done so that if the rebel scouts discovered us they could not estimate our numbers. Our pickets are half a mile ahead. They captured fifteen rebels just after sundown. H. is out with them and forty-five men from our company. The news was brought from the Fortress that our mortar-fleet had taken New Orleans with all the shipping and $10,000,000 worth of cotton. Also that the rebels were evacuating Norfolk and burning the town.

This takes me up to to-day, and my diary isn’t made out any further.

Last night was cold. We had a little frost. T. and the Rabbi froze out at midnight and got up and made a big fire and snoozed by that the rest of the night. The weather is very changeable. Grass begins to grow here and peach trees are in blossom. The country here is very low and swampy. We are bivouacked in a pine swamp. The woods are full of vines and trees that I have never seen before, and the pine is a kind that I never heard of. The leaves are many of them nearly a foot long and as shaggy as they can be. They make splendid beds.

My health continues excellent. I march easier every day, and the last march I scarcely felt my knapsack.

We have not had a letter or paper since we left Alexandria, so we don’t know anything about what is going on. I guess my letter-writing is about “played out.” for my last stamp pays this postage and I haven’t had a cent of money this fortnight.

Alexandria, Va., March 17, 1862.

Dear Cousin L.:—

The “grand army” has at last moved. Our brigade left Hall’s Hill at daylight last Monday morning and marched to Fairfax Court House. The whole army advanced the same day. On arriving at Fairfax we heard that our cavalry had been to Manassas Junction and found it evacuated and the barracks of the rebel army a mass of smoking ruins. The three terrible forts at Centreville were mounted with pine cannon and sheet iron mortars, so the great Manassas humbug is exploded. “Now what is to be done?” was the question we asked as soon as it was satisfactorily ascertained that these reports were true.

We rested at Fairfax, waiting for another rainy day, which did not come till Saturday. Then we marched to Alexandria. Our regiment has never moved yet without marching in the rain. It commenced raining just as we marched out of camp on Monday and rained till we halted at Fairfax. We had a hard march. After we had gone some three or four miles the men began to throw off blankets, coats and knapsacks, and towards night the road was strewed with them. I saw men fall down who could not rise without help. The rain soaked everything woolen full of water and made our loads almost mule loads. As for myself, I stood it well, at least as well as any, but I never was so tired before. I am acting as regimental bugler, but I could not blow a note when we stopped at night. We pitched our picket tents which we carry with us on the ground lately occupied by a secesh regiment. We built fires, boiled our coffee and roasted our bacon and then lay down on the ground to sleep. Oh, how we slept! The reveille at sunrise woke us, stiff and lame, but the sun came up warm and clear and a couple of days rest made us all right. Then on Saturday we were ordered to Alexandria. We marched eighteen miles, every step in the rain, but we had a good road and the men stood it much better than they did the other march. We halted at the camp of the Irish brigade under command of General T F. Meagher. They had gone to Centreville and we took possession of their camp and made ourselves as comfortable as possible. I was fortunate enough to get into a line officer’s tent. There were ten of us in a tent designed for one, but we built a fire, made coffee, swept off the floor and “coiled up” for the night. Oh, how we did steam! It was better than any sweat ever advocated by hydropaths. This morning we had to leave, as the Sixty-ninth was coming back to camp. We moved over on a hillside near Fort Ellsworth, and about half a mile from the river and the same from Alexandria.

General McDowell’s corps, comprising his own and Generals McCall’s, Smith’s and Porter’s divisions, in all about sixty thousand men, are here waiting for transports to take us off on another expedition. The destination is of course unknown to us, but we shall in all probability be sent against what remains of the rebel army between here and Richmond. There were one hundred and fifty vessels here yesterday, and troops embarking all the time. I think our time will not come for two or three days at least.

This is naturally a beautiful country, but either the war has made sad havoc here or the few inhabitants are greatly deficient in enterprise, for it looks almost like a desert now. There are a few splendid buildings here, but the majority are miserable huts. I called yesterday at the house of a northern man who had married a southern wife and adopted southern institutions. He had a good farm and excellent buildings all under the protection of the government. He has proved a loyal citizen, although a slaveholder, but his wife and daughter are rabid secesch. The daughter is a fine looking young woman, about twenty, I should think, and quite sociable. She commenced conversation by inquiring if I thought it was right to try to force the South to remain in the Union against their will. Of course I did, you know, and I was obliged to say so. She waxed quite warm in the defense of the rebels, but finally stopped by remarking abruptly that we had better change the subject, as we were friends now but would not be if we continued to talk about the war. She was in the Mansion House where Ellsworth was shot at the time of his death, and said, “He ought to have been shot, for he had no business to meddle with a flag that a man put on his own dwelling.” It amused me to see a woman so gritty, but, if she does nothing but talk, I suppose she must be allowed to do that. She was very different from one I met when I was on picket duty in January. She was born in New York, but had lived here so long it seemed like her home. She, too, was very sociable and seemed to think there might be soldiers who were not ruffians. I believe you asked in a former letter if the government furnished postage or stationery. It does not. We furnish our own, and it is often hard to get. We’re not much troubled with peddlers now, for we have not received any pay since December 31st, and money is too scarce to offer inducements to that gentry.

Hall’s Hill, Va., March 6, 1862.

Dear E.:—

As far as advice is concerned about what you are to do in the future I do not know as I can give any. Mother’s idea of your learning a trade depends upon just what you intend to do through life. A blacksmith’s trade is a very good one if well followed, and, if you ever intend to be a blacksmith, now is the best time for you to commence. By the time you are of age you will have a good capital to begin with, for I consider almost any business well mastered a capital. You can earn a good living and make property, too, always provided your heart is in it and you like the business. If you ever intend to learn any trade, now is just the time for you to begin. Your education is sufficiently advanced for the purpose, and it need not entirely stop on account of your having steady employment. On the other hand, if you have determined to adopt one of the professions and feel that you can succeed, and have made up your mind just what you will do and how you will do it, I say go ahead and do it. My advice is—determine now what you will follow through life and then shape your conduct accordingly. You doubtless have the idea that a good education is of great advantage to a man in any business. This is true, but you and I have to depend upon ourselves without help from relatives and commence life immediately on coming of age. We must look this fact squarely in the face and act accordingly. Now, if you mean by getting an education, completing a college course, how are you to do it? You can get along by working on a farm part of the time and fit yourself to enter college. Then you must have five or six hundred dollars to take you through and graduate. Then you are ready to commence the practice of your profession. You have years of patient industry after you begin, before you attain a profitable business. Now after you are fitted for college you have the means to earn to take you through. Look at that and meet it squarely. If you have health, patience, perseverance and firm self-reliance, you may accomplish it and obtain a good profession. On the other hand, if you learn a trade, you may be settled comfortably in life in a few years. But, if you adopt a business against your will, ten chances to one you will be unsuccessful. So if you decide on a trade pitch into it heart and soul and you may succeed. You say Father does not favor your learning a trade. Well, what does he advise? To get an education? Yes, but for what? What kind of an education, for that’s the question? At the best he can assist you but a year or two longer, and he can scarcely do that. Now my opinion is that the best assistance he can give you is to help you fix your choice on some calling and then take the proper steps to secure success in that calling. You have the material in you for a first-class man, and I hope you will prove yourself to be one. Prove yourself to have one of the first qualities of such a man—decision of character—by marking out your path and then steadily following it. It is just the turning point of life with you, and I know just about how you feel. You look away down into the dim future of coming years and imagine yourself a man, a prosperous business in your hands, a splendid home, a good wife, and yourself rich and respected. Such is your ideal. It lies within your reach, but it will never come by your wishing for it. You must grow into it. You cannot begin too soon to select your road to it. There are many roads, but you can travel but one, and the sooner you set out the sooner you will reach the goal. I cannot advise you which to take, but only say take some one and act the man in your choice, show that you have judgment like a man and look at all sides of the question. Perhaps I have now written more than enough on this subject, but I see it is occupying your thoughts, and, as you asked my advice, you have it for what it is worth.