Tuesday, January 7, 1862.
Dearest L—: — The enclosed letter to Dr. Joe did not get off yesterday and thinking it likely he may be off, I enclose it with this to you.
Since writing yesterday a deep snow has fallen postponing indefinitely all extensive movements southward. We shall have a thaw after the snow, then floods, bad roads for nobody knows how long, and so forth, which will keep us in our comfortable quarters here for the present at least. Write me one more letter if you can before I come home. I shall not leave for home in less than three weeks. I trust my absence will not continue much longer than that time. Take care of yourself and you will be able to be up with me and about long before I leave. I must visit Columbus, Delaware, and Fremont (unless Uncle happens to be at Cincinnati) while at home, besides doing a great many chores of all sorts. I don’t expect you to be able to go with me, but I hope you will be well enough to be with me a good deal while we are in Cincinnati.
I just ran out in the snow to detail four men to run down a suspicious character who is reported as hanging around the hospital and lower part of the village. A queer business this is.
I sent Laura some letters written by lovers, wives, and sisters to Rebels in Floyd’s army. The captured mails on either side afford curious reading. They are much like other folks — those Rebel sweethearts, wives, and sisters.
I trust we shall crush out the Rebellion rapidly. The masses South have been greatly imposed on by people who were well informed. I often wish I could see the people of this village when they return to their homes. On the left of me is a pleasant cottage. The soldiers, to increase their quarters, have built on three sides of it the awkardest possible shanty extensions — one side having a prodigious stone and mud chimney, big enough for great logs ten feet in length. On three of the prominent hills of the village considerable earthworks have been built. There are no fences in sight except around the three buildings occupied by leading officers. Such is war. One young lady writing to her lover speaks of a Federal officer she had met, and laments that so nice a gentleman should be in the Union army.
. . . . You must be ever so careful for a good while yet. Good night, dearest. Much love to all and, as about forty affectionate Rebels say, a large portion for yourself.
Affectionately,
R.
Mrs. Hayes.
