Camp Ewing, November 5, 1861. Tuesday morning.
Dearest Lucy: — … We are having stirring times again. The enemy on the other side of New River are trying to shell such of our camps as lie near the river bank. We are just out of reach of their shot. McCook, in sight of us below, is camped in easy range, and they are peppering at him. I hear their guns every two or three minutes as I write. He doesn’t like to move, and probably will not until they do him some serious harm. They fired all day yesterday without doing any other mischief than breaking one tent pole. A ball or shell would hardly light before his men would run with picks to dig it up as a trophy. It is probable that we shall cross the river to attempt to drive them off in a day or two. You will know the result long before this letter reaches you.
I had a note from Jim yesterday, saying he had reached the steamboat landing below here. We look for him today. I hope he will get up so as to be here to help take care of things here while we cross the river.
I have nearly one thousand dollars, seven hundred or eight hundred dollars of which I will send you the first good chance. Two months’ more salary is due me besides about eighty-five dollars as judge-advocate. So we shall have funds plenty for this winter.
I thought of you all yesterday, and wished I could look in on you at Birch’s birthday dinner. You were thinking of the absent father and uncles.[1] So it is. We love each other so much that on all sad or joyous occasions we shall always have each other in mind. . . . Good-bye. Love to all.
Lovingly,
Rutherford.
Mrs. Hayes.
[1] Mrs. Hayes, writing November 4, said: “All we lacked of happiness was your presence. Not much time passes that you are not thought of, talked of, and sometimes cried over, but that is always done decently and in order, so I think I pass for one of the most cheerful, happy women imaginable. I do not dare to let Birchie see me downcast for he has so much sympathy that it is very touching to see him, and I do not want to cloud his young life with sorrow. Today is his birthday. He is very happy. Uncle George brought him an air-pistol, and he started to school, all of which, makes him really happy. The book which I get for him from you will complete his joy. … I felt finely this morning. Every thing right. . . . But this afternoon, felt almost down. Ruddy’s chill is one cause, Birchie’s absence another and Fremont the last and greatest. I cannot give him up, yet it looks dark and forbidding. It will be the last moment that I give up his honor, patriotism, and power to successfully command an army.”
