Cold Harbor, Powhite Swamp,Va..
Friday, May 23, 1862.
Dear Sister L.:—
I think I have not written to you since we left Yorktown. Doubtless you have plenty of papers and have heard all about that long ago. We went on board a steamer there and landed at West Point, the head of York river, the day after the battle and camped three days on the battlefield. We then followed the “river road” up the Pamunkey to Kent Court House, Cumberland and White House landing, Tunstall’s, Hanover, etc., on the road to Richmond. We are now within ten miles of the rebel capital. What lies beyond I do not know, but suspect that the enemy is in considerable force not far off. General Butterfield sent me an order this morning not to give the reveille with the bugle, and the bugles and drums are as silent to-day as they were before Yorktown. We have had all the varied experiences of the soldier in the field since leaving Yorktown, marching through rain and shine, mud and dust, wading through creeks and drawing artillery and baggage wagons out of the sloughs. We make slow but sure progress.
The country is as beautiful a section as I ever saw. Lovely scenery, glorious landscapes, everything is beautiful and “only man is vile.” Great clover fields in full bloom spreading away over gentle swells of ground and broad fields of wheat all headed out abound. We stopped three days at the “White House” on the Custis estate. This is a large plantation, seven thousand acres of very productive land on the Pamunkey river, late the property of the rebel General Lee. It is the old homestead of the Custis family and occupied by them in the days of Washington. Here Washington first met Martha Custis, and here, on the very spot where Lee’s White House now stands, they were married. There are several hundreds of slaves on the estate and we had the opportunities we wanted to talk with them. Oh, they were a happy set of darkies when they learned that they were free. They were most of them born on the place. I saw one old Uncle Tom, over sixty years old, who had never been five miles from the place in all his life. He had worn his life away on these fields. Contrabands are pouring in on us every day. Almost every officer has one or two along now. They hardly know what to do with themselves on learning that they will never be returned to their masters.
The white inhabitants of the country are a miserable set. Every house exhibits the white flag as our troops pass. They are mean enough to take advantage of such protection and refuse a drink of water to our troops almost suffocated with heat. We have had some days when we could scarcely march half a mile without resting. Some of the boys went to fill their canteens at a well near the road. The woman of the house came out and stood by the well and told them they might go to the river to drink. She wasn’t going to have the d—d Yankees drink out of her well. It was well for her she was a woman. Our boys would have knocked a man endways who would insult them in that way and perhaps put a bayonet through him. The men are just as mean as the women, but a little more discreet. I went to one of the white flag houses and said to the man who stood in the yard, “Where do you get water?” “No water here, sir, I have to tote all I use right smart o’ two miles.” “I couldn’t see” any such yarn as that, so I made a reconnoissance and found a splendid spring not a dozen rods behind the house. I filled my canteen, and. when I went up showed it to him, with, “What do you call that but water?” “Oh,” says he, “we don’t never use that.” Says I, “What kind of a flag do you call that?” “Flag— flag—Oh, that’s a white flag.” “What is that a sign of?” “It’s a sign of truth.” “Don’t you think it would look better for a little more coloring?” “Well, I don’t know but it would, but I hadn’t anything handy to color it with.” “Well, I think you better get it down as soon as possible and fix it over as near like that one as you can” ( pointing to our regimental colors). “Well, I guess I will if I can find anything about the house to color it with.” (Mem. I guess he won’t.) I bought a secesh bill of him, and, thinking possibly you haven’t seen any, I’ll send it to you. It is a specimen of Confederate States art, beautiful to see but “not worth a red” to spend. Save it as a memento of the war.
