Peebles House, Va., Nor. 15th. 1864.
All is quiet in front of Petersburg. The sharp crack of the rifle is superseded by the clatter of axes. When we came here, some six weeks ago, this whole country was almost an unbroken wilderness. Now hundreds of acres are completely stripped of tree and shrub. The officers have built good, substantial log houses, with brick chimneys. The Seventeenth is now building stockades for the General’s horses.
I have had but little work since election, most of my work coming on during the last half of each month. A short period of rest was never more grateful, or more needed—I have not been sick; only worn out, as sometimes happens when teaching school “Teaching school;” how the phrase calls up old memories of the shadowy past Thank God, they are pleasant memories. I wonder, will I ever more follow that, to me, delightful occupation? I think not; the “old man,” after three years of “service,” can hardly expect to be “up to date.”
We are looking again with our accustomed eagerness, for the “Greenback Man.” We expect, too. General Burnside will be here, in a day or two, to take command of his old corps again. The event will be hailed by us with joy. Let others think of him as they may, he possesses the confidence of the Ninth Corps to an unlimited extent. The reverse is true of our present commander, General Parke.
