Eliza Woolsey Howland to her sister, Georgeanna.
Fishkill, July 13.
Except for seeing how much good the rest and the home scenes are doing Joe, I would much rather be at Harrison’s Point. He is improving nicely. His wound is not healed yet, but the inflammation has all gone and it looks better every day, . . . and but for a good deal of debility and shakiness of leg and hand, he would be quite himself. . . . Did they tell you of the demonstration the village people had prepared, and how we had to change our time of coming and telegraph secretly to Mr. Masters at Newburgh in order to escape it? They had actually arranged to take the horses out of the carriage and drag Joe home themselves. Fancy the struggle we should have had, to maintain an expression of mingled gratification and humility all through the three miles!
Joe received the other day the company reports of the 16th’s part in Friday’s battle, and their simple story is exceedingly touching—all of them speaking particularly of the coolness and cheerfulness of the men. Lieutenant Corbin, who wrote the little poem, makes out the report of Company C, which in its quaintness and simplicity reminds one of the old days of knight errantry. “Four of my men,” he says, “fell dead fighting bravely and pleasantly.” Company C, you know, is the color company, and of them he says, “The colors, which my company had the honor to guard, were safely kept, though they bear many an evidence of the hot fire in which they stood.” The reports are nearly all equally simple, and one captain says, speaking of the order to cross and reinforce Porter, “This seemed highly pleasing to the boys, and with elastic step we took up our march for Gaines’ Mill.” Joe says they came out of the fight, too, with equal bravery and cheerfulness, and he got a smile from every man he looked at that day. They all seem to want him back again, and his great anxiety is to be with them.
