Manassas, August 3,1861.
I reached here last night after spending a day in Staunton. When I reached there I found the militia of Rockbridge, and some of the officers insisted upon my remaining a day to aid them in raising the necessary number of volunteers (270) to have the others disbanded and sent home. I was very glad, indeed, that it was accomplished and the others permitted to return home and attend to their farms. I found, upon reaching Manassas, that our encampment had been removed eight miles from there, in the direction of Alexandria; and after a walk of some three hours I reached here about nine o’clock at night, somewhat fatigued. I do not know what our future operations are to be; but think it probable that we shall remain here for some time in idleness. I am free to confess that I don’t like the prospect; without any employment or amusement, the time will pass with me very unpleasantly, and such soldiering, if long continued, I fear, will make most of us very worthless and lazy; perhaps send us home at last idle loafers instead of useful and industrious citizens. Such a result I should regard as more disastrous than a dozen battles. In passing along the road from Manassas, the whole country seemed filled with our troops, and I understand that our encampment extends as far as eight miles this side of Alexandria. I think we have troops enough to defend the country against any force which may he brought against us.
Since this much of my letter was written, Lewis has handed me your note of 25th ult. You say you are almost tempted, from my short and far between letters, to think that I do not love you as well as I ought. You are a mean sinner to think so. Just think how hard I fought at Manassas to make you the widow of a dead man or the wife of a live one, and this is all the return my darling wife makes for it. If I was near enough I would hug you to death for such meanness. In truth, Love, I may say that I never closed one of my short notes until my eyes began to smart. Sometimes I did not wish to write. When we were for some time on the eve of a battle I did not wish to write lest you might be alarmed for my safety. Until the last month, when danger seemed so threatening, I think I have written once a week. But, Love, when you doubt my affection, you must look to the past, and if the doubt is not dispelled, I can’t satisfy you, and you must continue in the delusion that the truest and steadiest feeling my heart has ever known—my love for you—has passed away.
I know, Love, you think I exposed myself too much in the battle. But for such conduct on the part of thousands, the day would have been lost, and our State would now have been in the possession of our enemies. When I think of the result, and the terrible doom from which we are saved, I feel that I could have cheerfully yielded up my life, and have left my wife and little ones draped in mourning to have achieved it. Our future course must be the same, if we expect a like result.
