Fayetteville, Virginia, Camp Union. Wednesday, December 18. — Another fine day. Sergeant John McKinley, Company G, left for Mount Vernon this morning; took a letter to Lucy and a watch to be repaired. He is a character, an erect, neat, prompt old soldier. English of Lancaster, or rather Irish of England, he talks the most profuse flattery, but it does win, fulsome as it is. He does his whole duty. As he left me he said “I want to see that ‘Lieutenant’ from before your name. Every good man should go up.”
Drilled as usual. Weather very warm at evening. “Jeff Davis,” a boy who came into Camp Chase with Company A and who drilled like an old sergeant, though aged but thirteen, returned yesterday from Cleveland.
Camp Union, Tuesday, December 17, 1861. — Our thirteenth fine day. The frost still coming out of the ground; freezes hard nights, thaws all day in the sun. Mud deeper in many places than it was a week ago; on the hills and ridges getting dry. . . . Drilled as usual at night. Men improving in drill. Lieutenant Durkee returned yesterday or day before — health restored; weighs one hundred and eighty [pounds], looks well; left Camp Ewing over the river in October, apparently a doomed man. Captain Moore returned today, apparently in good health. Talks gloomily of the regiment; thinks Captain Drake, Lieutenant Avery, etc., will not return; that he and most of the officers will resign. Chief difficulty is the governor appointed Major Comly in my place as major. It [the appointment] ought to have been made from our own regiment. Captain Drake was recommended and would have been satisfactory to a majority. But Major Comly has shown himself so diligent, gentlemanly, and reasonably [reasonable], withal so well acquainted with tactics and the duties of a soldier, that those who have been here the last six weeks are reconciled to his appointment and think it is well for the regiment. Captain Moore also reports an impression he got that I was to be a colonel soon and leave the regiment. I don’t believe it.
Camp Union, Tuesday,
December 17, A. M., 1861.
Dearest : — I can’t let another chance slip without a letter to show you I am thinking of you.
Still lovely weather. Rode to the scene of the naval expedition on this side of New River, a romantic place.
I send this by Lieutenant Kennedy’s father. He brought from Bellefontaine gloves, socks, blankets, and shirts — enough and to spare all around — for Captain Canby’s company. I get something every time anything comes.
We are in glorious trim now. Some of the companies still lack comforts, but we drill with life. The paymaster is here and it is white days with us.
The Rebels are getting sick of it. Nobody but Jenkins holds out in all this country. Rebel soldiers come and give up their arms, etc.
Dearest, good-night. Love to all the boys and Grandma. . . . I do hope you will get along well. You shall keep Dr. Joe till the trouble is over.
Affectionately,
R. B. Hayes.
Mrs. Hayes.
Camp Union, Monday, December 16, 1861. — A beautiful day. Rode with Colonel Scammon to Townsend’s Ferry. That is we rode to the top of the cliffs on New River; thence with six men of Company B we scrambled down by the path to the river, perhaps by the path three-quarters of a mile. A steep rocky gorge, a rushing river, the high precipices, all together make a romantic scene.
It was here we intended to cross with General Schenck’s brigade to cut off Floyd’s retreat. Boats were prepared, four skiffs brought from Cincinnati, but the river rose, just as we were about to cross, making it impossible. It has always been a question since whether the enemy were aware of our purpose and would have opposed our crossing. I supposed that so much work preparing could not have escaped their notice, and that they were ready for us. Opposition on such a path would have been fatal. From all I saw at the ferry, I am inclined to think they knew nothing of our purpose. There are no signs of pickets or ambuscades to be found on this side. The distance from the river to this village is only two miles and we could probably have taken it and held it.
The bold enterprises are the successful ones. Take counsel of hopes rather than of fears to win in this business.
Fayetteville, Virginia, December 16, 1861.
Dearest:— … I think of you constantly now. Keep up good courage. Let me know all about you all the time. I will send you a dispatch from here as soon as our operator is at work just to show you that we are not far apart.
We are very healthy and contented here. The sick are less and less daily.
I see somebody knits woollen gloves for soldiers. That’s sensible. A few stockings, gloves, woolen shirts, and the like are always wanted at this season.
I write this by Captain Howard. He is probably to resign on account chiefly of ill health.
Kisses for all the boys and “love you much.”
Affectionately,
R.
Did you get the gold pieces, etc?
Mrs. Hayes.
Camp Union, Fayetteville, Virginia,
December 15, 1861.
Dear Uncle: — I have often wished since I have been in Virginia that you were well enough to come and spend a few weeks with me. I have never wished it more than now. I am quartered alone in a pleasant cottage house, with plenty to run and do whatever I want done. The weather is lovely. We are drilling our men, building forts, etc., etc., and are undisturbed by the world. The people hereabouts, many of them fresh from the Rebel armies, come in, take the oath, and really behave as if they were sick of it, and wanted to stop. Nothing but ill luck, or a great lack of energy, will prevent our wiping out the Rebellion, The common people of this region want to get back to coffee and salt and sugar, etc., etc., none of which articles can now be got through whole extensive districts of country.
If nothing occurs to prevent, I shall come home in January for thirty days. Will visit you at Fremont, if you do not happen to be in Cincinnati or Columbus….
Good-bye,
R. B. Hayes.
S. Birchard.
Camp Union, Fayetteville, Virginia. Sunday, December 15. — Another fine day. Had a review this morning — fine spectacle. Received a letter from Dr. Joe, dated 10th, last night. All well at home. Lucy looking for her troubles to be over soon. Dear Lute! I hope she will get on well. Some fleecy clouds in the sky; the good weather must end soon.
December 14, Saturday. — A fine day, warm and bright,— the tenth! Western Virginia is redeeming itself. Our men think there is something wrong. The nights are clear, frosty, and moonlit.
Thursday, December 12. — A bright, pretty, cold winter morning; our eighth fine day!! Ground froze in the morning; dry and warm all day after sun got one-third up. In [the] morning walked with Lieutenant-Colonel Eckley around southern part of town, in the woods, visiting pickets and noticing the lay of the land. He agrees with me that the chief danger of an attack is a hasty assault to burn the town; that for this purpose a stockade or log entrenchment should be thrown up at the lower end of town. Drilled P. M. — No letters or news.
Wednesday, January [December] 11.— A cold morning, threatening rain; rained a little last night. Turned off bright, clear, and cold in the afternoon. Had a headache in morning, drank a little bad wine last night; all right after dinner. Living so cozily in my new quarters. Oh, if Lucy was here, wouldn’t it be fine! How she would enjoy it! Darling! I think of her constantly these days. A drill; formed squad in four ranks; marched, closed in mass.
