Camp of the Penn. Mudturtles,
Hall’s Hill, Va., Feb. 27, 1862.
Dear Cousin L. :—
Your letter came last night and with it rain and marching orders. I had just read it and the rain had just commenced drumming on our cotton houses, when a drum of another sort called the orderlies to headquarters and they soon returned with orders to pack up every thing and be ready to march at a moment’s notice. This was welcome news, though the style the weather put on was not so welcome. We packed up everything and lay down on the bare poles to wait the moment’s notice. The rain continued through the night and we were not called out. This morning two days’ rations were issued and the orders repeated to be ready to move at any moment. I improve the time while we are waiting to answer your letter. You will excuse my writing with a pencil, as my portfolio and writing materials with your letter are in my knapsack under a pile that I dare not undertake to repack at a “moment’s notice.” I stepped out into the street this morning and one of the boys who stood there said to me: “Norton, there’s something on my back; brush it off.” I looked, and what do you think it was? “Couldn’t imagine.” He had his knapsack packed and on the outside two woolen blankets, one rubber ditto, one picket tent, pole and ropes, overcoat, pair of boots, haversack with two days’ provisions (Hardees and tiger), canteen with two quarts of coffee, cartridge box with forty rounds and a thirteen-pound rifle. I can only say I didn’t attempt to brush it off, but went back to my tent and found the same thing ready for my back with a bugle for a balance weight. All the regiments in the vicinity have the same orders, and last night the cook-fires on all the hills in sight were spluttering in the rain all night, cooking the rations.
There are many speculations as to where we are going. Some say a general advance is to be made on Centreville and Manassas, some that nothing more is contemplated than moving the camps a few miles further to better situations, others that the division is to go via Washington and Baltimore to Harper’s Ferry. My own opinion is different from all these. I think we are going to—stay here. Cotton has abdicated, corn never was much of an absolute monarch, but “King Mud” is king yet. We have had two days this week of drying weather. One, Monday, I think, we had a gale, a very severe one, that dried up the mud considerably. It was the strongest wind we’ve had in Virginia since I’ve been here. It blew down a great many tents in all the regiments. Ours are so large and well staked down that only six or eight blew down, but in the Michigan and the Ellsworth regiments some companies had not a tent left standing. I was over in the Forty-fourth New York when the gale commenced and tents began to fly about. I saw one whisked off the foundation and blown into the next street, carrying with it three guns, coats, caps, bottles, etc., and as it struck a watch bounded out and dropped in the mud. The jewelry had a perilous voyage, but wasn’t injured. In another tent the boys had dug a basement and fixed it up very nicely. They were busy at a game of cards when the wind unroofed their cave. Nothing disconcerted, they kept on, saying, “Let her go, we won’t stop for a little wind—it’s nothing to the lakes.”
I see L. must have told you of her expected marriage. I can tell you but little of her intended. He is a farmer, and, from what I have seen of him, I think him a fine young man and I think you would like him, at least in one respect, he don’t use tobacco. He tried a cigar with me once, smoked an inch of it, and, wise young man, his sensations requested a discontinuance of the operation. I’m sorry you feel so bad about my smoking. I think, after you had spent a night or two on picket and saw the comfort the soldiers draw from a pipe or cigar as they sit round the fire, you would say, “I forgive you—smoke, at least while you are in the army.”
I received the Atlantics you sent. I was very much interested in reading them. I like the character of that magazine better than any other I am acquainted with. My friends in the tent unite with me in thanking you, for everything of the kind has to go the rounds, you know. There hasn’t been an hour in the day since they came but some one has been reading them.
You inquire what delicacies I am most in need of and speak of sending me a box. I hardly know what to say. I have become so used to a soldier’s fare that I do not need any delicacies. We have a nuisance in every regiment called a sutler, who generally has a supply of knick-knacks ready for us for a consideration, and when we tire of hog, hominy and hardees, we get a little something of him to make our rations relish. A good many of our boys have received boxes from home, but they generally came from farmers and contained butter, cheese, dried fruits, pickles, etc., that cost them little and were very welcome in camp. In New York every such thing must be bought and at high prices, too. I have done very well so far without them, and I should not like to have you go to much trouble or expense on my account. If you do have a few things that you want to send, I suppose if sent by express to the same address as my letters, they would come to me all right, as boxes are brought up almost every day by our teams from that office.
2 P. M.—We haven’t marched yet, and are still expecting orders at a “moment’s notice.”
If there are any questions I have not answered please excuse me, as I have your letter packed up.
