Martinsburg, July 17 (Sunday), 1864.
Dearest: — A week ago, about this time, we were enjoying our pleasant ride like young lovers on the Kingston Pike. Now we are widely separated.
I am semi-sick — that is the boil I told you I was threatened with on my hip is actively at work. The worst is over with it. I am lying on my blankets in the barroom of a German drinking saloon that was gutted by the Rebels. The man is a refugee but his excellent frau is here ready to do anything in the world for a bluecoat. She wants me to go [to] a chamber and a clean bed, but I like the more public room better.
Half my brigade went this morning to General Crook, thirty miles east. We go in a day or two. The combinations to catch the Rebels seem to me good, but I expect them to escape. Raiding parties always do escape. Morgan was foolhardy and Streight lacked enterprise. They are the only exceptions.
You will probably see some correspondence about your flag gift in the papers. Don’t blush, it’s all right. — “S’much.” Love to all.
Ever, darling, your
R.
Mrs. Hayes.
