7th.—This has been a cold, blustry day, and the Regiment has been out skirmishing. They found no enemy ; bought a little corn, and came home.
All is conjecture here as to the intention of our leaders. My conjecture is that outside pressure will compel us to do something within the next fifteen days, or lose still more confidence. But what can we do? Nothing, here. The roads are impracticable for artillery—the weather too bad to fight. If we do anything we must go south. I am getting very tired of this, and wish I could feel that it would be proper for me to resign.
