Camp of the 83rd Regiment, Penn. Volunteers,
Hall’s Hill, Va., Nov. 13, 1861.
Dear Sister L.:—
I have been sorry many times since that I wrote in the strain I did in my last letter, because I see by yours that it caused you pain. I ought not to have written so, I know, but that morning I sat down and wrote just as I felt. I could not help it. The fact is, most of the boys, when they write home, write in as cheerful a strain as possible, knowing that their friends will magnify all their news that is at all unfavorable and dwell on their hardships, when it can do no good. I did not think that you had forgotten me and have not at any time, but I wanted to have you write.
You will see by my letter to Mother that we have been busy lately. We have drilled a great deal, and when I come in from drill I feel so tired it seems as though I could not think clearly enough to sit down and write. We have achieved a great victory in a peaceful way, and I expect the consequence will be that we will be ordered south. If the southern expedition is successful it will probably be followed by sending an army south to follow up its success by ours, and a good many of the troops here will be sent off there, and we among the number. I shall be glad of that. I would rather go further south than to winter here. It has not been very cold here yet. To-day is uncomfortably warm. We are having some beautiful weather, Indian summer days, and clear, moonlight nights.
Our last Sunday on guard we had a good time. One of the guards down by the woods heard a noise like some one coming through the bushes. He challenged, “Halt! Who goes there?” No answer. “Halt!” again. He did not stop, and after challenging again, he raised his gun and fired at the noise. The report rang all over camp, and there was a crowd there soon. An awful squeal greeted his ears immediately after his fire and the guards soon found the secesh to be a great hog that was wandering round in the woods. He was not killed, but his countenance was awfully disfigured. He squealed his best till another load through his head stopped his noise.
Three of us rigged ourselves out in our most horrible shape the other night when we got the countersign, and went over to the Michigan regiment. We approached the sentinel, when he halted us and demanded, “Who goes there?” I replied in a theatrical voice, “The devil with the countersign.” The poor fellow was some dashed, but he finally recovered and replied, “Advance, one devil, and give the countersign. The countersign’s correct. Pass devils.” To the next challenge I replied, “A flock of sheep.” The guard was up to time then and immediately replied, “Advance, old buck, and give the countersign.” We made quite a round and had a lot of fun and came back with something to laugh over. One poor fellow shot off his middle finger the other night. 11c will have a sore time of it.
