August 24th, 1863.
We have nearly the same regulations here as at Newport News, everything being regulated by bugle call. Of course, we drill; it would be hard to imagine a military camp without drill; but it would make a horse laugh to see us do it. We fall in line, march to the parade ground and halt under the shade of a big tree. A Sergeant puts us through the manual of arms about five minutes; then stack arms and rest. The remainder of the time is spent in lounging on the grass until the bugle sounds recall.
We are under marching orders again; that is, we are ordered to be ready, an order altogether superfluous, for we are always ready. The general impression among the officers is, this division is to be broken up and scattered over the State, a regiment in a place. Our old brigade commander. General Poe, is here. He is now Chief Engineer in the regular service. He is working, I am told, to get our brigade attached to the engineer corps. I hope he will not succeed, as I do not fancy that branch of the service. If he does succeed, I think I will resign. There has been much talk of mounting this brigade and sending us to fight guerillas. That would suit me to a fraction. Give me a “bounding steed” and a “God speed you” from my “lady love,” and never did “armed knight” grasp spear and shield with greater enthusiasm and devotion than I would experience as I hastened to the field of bloody strife. But I do not believe Burnside will send us from the State at present. He has already sent away most of the troops in this vicinity, and is sending the rest fast as he can mount them, and probably we will take their places.
