Fort Barnard, Va., July 17, 1862.
Dear Mother, Sister and Brothers:
It is quite a long time since I last wrote. Have had a spell of sickness. I had a fever, then the shakes, which are very comfortable(!) to have on one. I had to take Quinine for the first time and the taste of it was in my mouth two days after; it loosened every tooth in my head. War news not very exciting. A string of over two hundred teams passed up by here day before yesterday; they are going to help move Pope’s army, but it will take some time to find it.
It has been hot; sweat runs off in streams. George Frye is well. Here I will close and give the Capt. room to write.
Yours,
L. B., Jr.
