Camp of the 83rd P. V.,
Hall’s Hill, Va., Dec. 4, 1861.
Dear Sister L.:—
I have just returned from picket. Monday morning six companies of us started for the picket lines. Each carried his knapsack packed, with overcoat on top, haversack with two days’ provisions, canteen of water, cartridge box with forty rounds and the ever present gun, in all about fifty pounds. We set out at a pace of about four miles an hour, over hills, down through the woods, passing the charred ruins of Major Nutt’s residence (once a splendid establishment, but now burned to the ground), across the railroad, and we reached Falls Church. This is a small Virginia village. A few good looking houses, one church, and one store, a one-story building with the glass half broken out, and three apples, two cakes and one paper of tobacco on the window sill, seemed to be the stock in trade. A charcoal sign “STORE” over the door was all that would lead any one to suppose it was a mercantile establishment. We struck the Leesburg turnpike here, and followed it about two miles. We stopped at a secesh house. This is the first time I have been an actual picket, and as it may be interesting I will give you a short description of what we saw and did. The house I spoke of is owned, or was, by a man in the rebel army. The only occupant was an old negro slave. He was closely guarded by our men. I do not know why, but I suppose to prevent his master from getting any information from him. We were here divided into reliefs and placed on our posts. These are little huts made of rails and covered with brush and leaves. During the day we kept concealed as much as possible, keeping a sharp lookout for the enemy, and at night we patrolled our beats, challenging every one who approached and demanding the mystic word that none but a friend can have. Last night the countersign was “Palo Alto,” the night before “Lodi.” After staying on post two hours, another relief takes our place and we return to headquarters.
Mr. Secesh had a large pile of brick, evidently designed to build him a house. We wanted to keep warm, so we pitched into the pile and built a lot of furnaces. We put in considerable fence and made good fires, and then took possession of a stack of wheat and made us good beds and slept well. We dug secesh potatoes to roast and popped secesh corn and pulled secesh cabbage. We don’t care much for their phelinks when we get out of camp and into a rebel’s potato-field.
I went out yesterday to get something to eat. I stopped at a house near the railroad. A respectable colored woman with her family seemed to be the only occupants. She said she had some pies and cakes, and set out some for me. While eating I entered into conversation with her. She told me that she and her children (a bright looking group of five) were all slaves, and her master in the rebel army. Her husband was hired to the rebels as teamster and escaped at the battle of Bull Run and is now in the north. I asked her if she did not want to escape. She said she did and would have done so long ago, but for her children. One was a babe and the eldest only nine. She will be after him yet. I was much interested in her, so earnest and deep, she seemed intelligent and understood well the causes of the war. I need not say, she was not secesh.
I wrote to E. last Saturday and told him we had not got our uniforms yet. I am happy to say that part of them have arrived, and the rest are coming as fast as the teams can bring them. I have not seen any more than I can through the broken sides of the boxes. Everything is complete— two new suits, new tents with a stove and table in each one, new knapsacks, canteens, haversacks, two pairs shoes, mess pans and a complete outfit of everything we need. This was sent to our government by a firm in France, as a sample of what they would furnish. We are anxious to have the boxes opened, and probably will see their contents at inspection next Sunday. I can then tell more about them.
