Navy-Yard, Sunday, April 28, 10 1/2 A. M.
At half-past 3 o’clock yesterday afternoon we were ordered to the Navy-Yard. It is considered here a post of honor, and it is said Gen. Scott sent us here because he considered us a very hardy regiment. Our company is now quartered on a steamboat lying off the yard, till our barracks are cleaned and fixed; we shall probably get into them to-morrow.
On all our march from Annapolis we saw only forty or fifty houses, and those most miserable. We met with one Secessionist, who we asked for a pail of water for the thirsting soldiers; he replied, “I won’t give you any water, if I die for it.” We saw no more of that kind; all others whom we saw on that route seemed to be very friendly, waved their handkerchiefs, and did what they could for us; they were all destitute of provisions, the Seventh Regiment having preceded us the day before.
I have just received the most interesting intelligence—we are to have roast beef for dinner.
If my letter is perfectly wandering and disconnected, excuse it, as I am writing in a very inconvenient place, in the midst of such a noise that I can scarcely hear myself speak; small darkies crying out “Shine your boots for half a dime with the Union polish;” and soon others, “Here’s the latest news from New York—New York Herald, twenty-five cents.”
But we are all well, notwithstanding our sufferings, and we are sustained by the conviction that we are actuated by the spirit of a pure and a holy patriotism, and that our course is approved by all the good on earth, and by our Father in Heaven.
C. P. Kirkland, Jr.
