Chesapeake Hospital,
September 28, 1864.
Dear Sister L.:—
I am getting some better, not much, but some, and I am going to the front soon now. I have stopped taking medicine and attribute my gain to that. The last prescription was soap pills. ( ?) Think of that! “Throw physic to the devil.” “Overhaul your catechism for that,” my dear, “and when found, make a note on.” I did, and my “promise to pay” relates to my hospital bill and my respects to our new colonel. I took only one of the “soap pills.” It started me.
Another motive to hasten my return is the prospect of a horse to ride. There have been several promotions lately among the “straps” “of ours,” including the quartermaster and adjutant to captains. Both the desks are vacant and my chance for one of them is good, better if I’m there to take it.
You will be glad to hear that I have a horse, when I do. So will I. I prefer the adjutant’s, but will not decline the quartermaster’s. The pay is $10 better, promotion from the line to the staff. Both are First Lieutenants.
I have just come back from a trip to Norfolk. I left at 9 o’clock yesterday on the Baltimore boat. Arrived at 10:30. I rambled round the town some till I got tired. The main street reminded me of Canal street, New York. Do you remember how that looks, crossing the others obliquely? It used to be quite a town. Intensely secesh, it shows the fruits of rebellion.
In the evening I attended the theater to see “Faust and Marguerite,” a German drama. Do you know the story? How the old philosopher, Faust, sold himself to the devil for a new lease of youth? Mephistopheles gave him youth, beauty and riches, and assisted him to win and ruin Marguerite, an orphan, and finally claimed him as his own. It was tolerably played. The devil was on hand in person pretty much of the time and played some queer tricks. At the finale, he seized Faust with a horrible leer and descended into the pit amidst lurid flames and smoke, while Marguerite was borne aloft on angels’ wings. I send you the picture— a black impression. The scenery was beautiful, but the angels traveled by jerks. The machinery was a little out of order, and instead of sailing grandly through the heavens, they went up like a barrel of flour into a storehouse.
Coming back I saw the captured rebel ram, Atlanta. She looks like a vast turtle on the water.
