<hi rend="bold">FORGET-ME-NOTS OF THE CIVIL WAR:</hi> Electronic Edition.

]> <hi rend="bold">FORGET-ME-NOTS OF THE CIVIL WAR:</hi> Electronic Edition. Lee, Laura Elizabeth (Battle, Laura Elizabeth Lee) Funding from the Library of Congress and Ameritech Corporation supported the electronic publication of this title. Text scanned (OCR) by Carlene Hempel Images scanned by Carlene Hempel Text encoded by Heather Bumbalough and Natalia Smith First edition, 1998 ca. 550K Academic Affairs Library, UNC-CH University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, 1998.

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Call number C970.78 B33f c.3 c1909 (North Carolina Collection, UNC-CH) Forget-Me-Nots of the Civil War Lee, Laura ElizabethSt. Louis, MO.A. R. Fleming Printing Co.1909

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Library of Congress Subject Headings, 19th edition, 1996 Latin LC Subject Headings: Battle, Laura Elizabeth Lee. Women -- North Carolina -- Biography. North Carolina -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Personal narratives. North Carolina -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Women. Confederate States of America. Army. North Carolina Infantry Regiment, 4th. Company F. United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Military life. United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Personal narratives, Confederate. 1998-10-19, Celine Noel and Wanda Gunther revised TEIHeader and created catalog record for the electronic edition. 1998-10-08, Natalia Smith, project manager, finished TEI-conformant encoding and final proofing. 1998-10-07, Heather Bumbalough finished TEI/SGML encoding 1998-09-22, Carlene Hempel finished scanning (OCR) and proofing.

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MRS. JESSE MERCER BATTLE(Laura Elizabeth Lee)[Frontispiece Image]

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FORGET - ME - NOTS OF THE CIVIL WAR A ROMANCE, CONTAINING REMINISCENCES AND ORIGINAL LETTERS OF TWO CONFEDERATE SOLDIERS. BY LAURA ELIZABETH LEE ILLUSTRATED BY BRYAN BURNES All rights reserved ST. LOUIS, MO. PRESS A. R. FLEMING PRINTING CO COPYRIGHT 1909 By MRS. JESSE MERCER BATTLE

TO JESSE, THE HUSBAND, WHO IS STILL MY BOY LOVER, TO HELEN, THE DUTIFUL DAUGHTER, WHO HAS BEEN THE LINK TO WELD MORE CLOSELY OUR LOVE, AND WHOSE LIVES I HAVE WANTED TO FILL WITH SUNSHINE, BUT WHERE THE SHADOWS HAVE OFTEN CREPT, THIS VOLUME IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED. MAY ITS PAGES BE ILLUMINATED BY THEIR LOVE AND INSPIRATION.

LAURA ELIZABETH LEE. CONTENTS CHAPTER I. My Arrival at “White Oaks” . . . . . 9 II. Some of the Things That Happened . . . . . 17 III. Our Removal to Clayton . . . . . 23 IV. The Attempt to “Tar and Feather” My Father . . . . . 29 V. The Year Eighteen Sixty-one . . . . . 33 VI. The Gallant Fourth N. C. Regiment, State Troops . . . . . 37 VII. Letters from George and Walter . . . . . 41 VIII. My First School Days . . . . . 135 IX. My Father's Death and Burial . . . . . 139 X. How the Sheriff Swindled My Mother . . . . . 147 XI. The Work We All Did During the War . . . . . 155 XII. Sherman's March to Raleigh, North Carolina . . . . . 159 XIII. The “Bummers” and “Red Strings” . . . . . 165 XIV. The “Ku Klux Klan” . . . . . 171 CHAPTER XV. How I First Met “Uncle Ned” . . . . . 177 XVI. The Beautiful Pink Frock . . . . . 191 XVII. My First Great Sacrifice . . . . . 199 XVIII. The State Tournament . . . . . 207 XIX. The Great Race . . . . . 217 XX. The Crowning of Nealie For Queen . . . . . 229 XXI. The Coronation Ball . . . . . 235 XXII. The Marriage of Ashley and Nealie . . . . . 241 XXIII. The Conquering Hero Comes . . . . . 247 XXIV. The Baptizing at Stallings Mill . . . . . 255 XXV. The Meeting at the Well . . . . . 261 XXVI. Jesse Falls in Love at First Sight . . . . . 265 XXVII. I Am Not Far Behind . . . . . 271 XXVIII. His Departure and My Grief . . . . . 275 XXIX. Hear Rumor of Engagement to Another Girl . . . . . 281 XXX. I Am Very Unhappy . . . . . 285 XXXI. Our Engagement . . . . . 291 XXXII. One Evening's Entertainment . . . . . 299 XXXIII. How My Mother Disposed of Us . . . . . 335 XXXIV. Jesse's Enforced Absence . . . . . 341 XXXV. My Mother Makes Us Happy at Last . . . . . 351 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Mrs. Jesse Mercer Battle (Laura Elizabeth Lee) Frontispiece “Aunt Pallas.” . . . . . 10 George . . . . . 42 Walter . . . . . 132a “General Sherman halted and asked in a kindly voice whether she had husband or sons in the war.” . . . . . 160 “Uncle Ned.” . . . . . 178 Nealie and the Pink Frock. . . . . . 192 “Uncle Ned's” Return. . . . . . 195 “Dropped the wreath at my sister's feet.” . . . . . 236 “Give the horses the reins, Henderson, and let them go the road they will.” . . . . . 248 “Until death do us part.” . . . . . 352 “The dainty architects of prose and rhyme Have their brief niches in the Hall of Time; But he is master of the deathless pen, Whose words are written in the lives of men.” - WILLIAM H. HAYNE. CHAPTER I. MY ARRIVAL AT “WHITE OAKS.”

On the twenty-sixth day of January, eighteen fifty-five, I first saw the light. The day was cold and raw, with snow flurries now and then filling the air.

It is not to be wondered at that my arrival was not more warmly welcomed, as it was the most unusual thing for snow to fall in that warm southern climate. Being the youngest of eleven children, also made the advent of another girl baby a source of indifference to the inmates of “White Oaks,” the name by which our place was known.

The children were assembled for their noonday meal on this eventful day in the dining room where they were discussing the new baby and attempting the difficult task of finding a name, one that was not already in the family Bible or had not been in use in the family generations before. After many names had been rejected and scorned as unfit, Nealie cried out “Oh, let's name the baby Bettie!” The boys not caring one way or the other acquiesced immediately, but Flora implored them “No, no, not Bettie, call her Laura.” While Rilia, then fourteen, and feeling quite motherly to all, declared they should compromise and call me “Laura Bettie,” which suggestion quite satisfied them all, both boys and girls. Rilia was then deputized to visit the nurse, Aunt Pallas, and beg that this name be submitted to my mother, as pleasing all the children. She soon returned with the glad tidings that “Laura Bettie” would be enrolled in the old family Bible, which was well nigh filled, as “Laura Elizabeth,” that being more suitable for me in later years, but she said “Lookee heah, chillun, you can call dat baby poah little ugly thing ‘Bettie’ or ‘Laura,’ but I'll do her laik I did ‘Pussie’ (her pet name for Cornelia), I'm a' gwine to call her Betsy.” So it was settled by them, and from then on I was called by each of those names as each member of the family or friend happened to think of first.

Aunt Pallas, whom you will meet throughout the pages of this book, was a typical African in color, though her head was larger than the average negro, with the kinky hair growing low on her forehead, her eyes were very small, but lighted up by intelligence. Her nose was large and flat, and most decidedly gave the appearance of a full-blooded native of Africa. Her mouth was large, with full lips even adding to her homeliness. Her shoulders were square, the body and hips with straight lines like a man's. Her limbs were muscular and her stature, though short, was as erect as a young Indian's. She claimed that she made herself so by carrying pails of water on her head when she was a child.

“I declare before goodness,” she used to say, “that Col. Johnnie Hinton bought my mammy from some niggah traders, dat told him mammy was a guinea niggah

“Aunt Pallas.”

and b'longed to de quality, an dats why she called me Pallas - dey shore did get my name out of the dicshummary.” Her homeliness was so marked that it really helped to make her attractive. Her age, like every other one of her race, was a problem we never could guess, except from bits of history that she would tell us. She remembered when George Washington died, and many incidents of the Revolutionary war.

Our large family lived on the farm called “White Oaks,” near a small town called Clayton. The land my father planted in grain at that time, and as the soil was later found suitable for cotton he and the boys had hard times “making both ends meet.” Two of the older boys had married, leaving the burden on him and the younger sons. He was well advanced in years at this time. My father was a typical Southern gentleman, with a courtly dignified bearing, and was well educated for the times. He was a descendant from that illustrious Virginia family whose lives have been recorded on the pages of American history since the Colony of Virginia first had a Secretary of State, and before his marriage had taught school in the town near his present home. It was there that he met and married the daughter of a wealthy planter and a large slave owner. Being an ardent abolitionist he refused the gift of a young negro man and his wife on his marriage to Candace Hinton. This refusal, coupled with his outspoken convictions never to own slaves, made him a target for the slave owners in that section. It is true that “Aunt Pallas” was a maid for his first wife, and was so devoted to her that she was no more a slave than the wife, and was permitted to do exactly as she pleased. When the rumor spread abroad that Charles Lee was a rank abolitionist there were already war clouds that bid fair to darken the whole fair South-land; his father-in-law, Col. John Hinton, forbade him ever “darkening his doors.” Whether the estrangement had anything to do with a decline in her health, the wife soon sickened and died, leaving behind her seven children, all except two greatly in need of a mother's love and tender care.

My father soon began casting about to find some one who would be a mother to his babies. He had known my mother as an acquaintance a few years, and his wife always spoke so kindly of her and her great beauty - that may have helped him to turn his footsteps toward her home. My mother, also named Candace Hawkins Turley, was a woman remarkably beautiful, but whose family was obscure, excepting her grandfather, Thomas Turley, who was a Revolutionary soldier when the war for American Independence began; he enlisted on the patriot side, and served from the beginning of the Revolution to the siege of Yorktown, at which place he was made an invalid for life by the bursting of a British bomb shell near his head. The story of his abduction when a baby, as handed down, made interesting family history; he was born in Ireland, and belonged to the Irish nobility. As was the custom in such families, the children were entrusted to white nurses, who became strongly attached to their charges. Thomas Turley's nurse having decided to emigrate to America, could not endure the separation, and he was stolen by this woman and reared by her in America.

This child never knew the secret of his life until divulged by his old nurse on her deathbed. It was said that he did not know his own name, as this woman so much feared that her guilt might be known and the child restored to his seeking parents.

It is not strange that my mother's family was obscure with such a bit of family history. My father must have had in mind, to avoid another estrangement if he should attempt to marry again, another slave owner's daughter. That my mother married him for love goes without saying. My father then being over sixty years old, had that to his disadvantage, though his genial, kind nature, together with his scholarly attainments and his descent from an old Virginia family, no doubt added to his other attractions, and caused my mother to hasten to be the wife of a widower, now growing old, whose sole wealth was a ready-made family, excepting, of course, the farm of “White Oaks.” It was even whispered then that he had consumption and would not live five years longer.

My mother was a woman so strikingly handsome that I shall not attempt more than a few words of description. She was an Irish type of beauty, above the medium height, with beautiful wavy brown hair, a broad low brow, a classical Grecian nose; her eyes of grey, were large and seemed unfathomable; her mouth a perfect cupid bow, and ruby lips through which shone pearl-like teeth, an oval face, with perfect chin and ears, moulded on a neck of alabaster whiteness; her pink cheeks glowed with health, her complexion was marvellously fair, and the blue veins showed their delicate tracery beneath a skin of polished smoothness. A Madonna like face was my mother's. There was nothing insipid in my mother's beauty; it was a beauty of strength of mind, that shone out on her noble mien, whether the tradition in regard to her descent from the Irish nobility were true or not, hers was a face of such uncommon beauty that obscure birth could not hide the breeding and noble race from which she sprang. Her very carriage bespoke grace and dignity, with a firmness of purpose that once she had taken hold of the plowshare, it would take nothing less than victory to cause her to drop it. Still there was nothing obstinate in her appearance, only a resolute face and figure that radiated a beautiful character in every suggestion.

For, lo! my love doth in herself contain All this world's riches that may be found; If sapphires, lo! her eyes be sapphires plain; If rubies, lo! her lips be rubies sound; If pearls, her teeth be pearls, both pure and round; If ivory, her forehead Ivory ween; If gold, her locks are finest gold on ground; But that which fairest is, but few behold, Her mind, adorned with virtues manifold. - EDMUND SPENSER. CHAPTER II. SOME OF THE THINGS THAT HAPPENED.

Well, somehow, widowers are more expeditious in such matters, and after a very short courtship they were married, and Candace Hawkins Turley went to be mother and mistress of “White Oaks.”

The time passed rapidly, filled with work and many cares, and in five years she was the mother of four children, three girls, one of whom died, and one boy.

They continued to live on the farm, though father had no turn for farming; the poor land and the large family made work enough for all, and a slave of my mother. The older children were sometimes required to look after me and their manner of amusing me was at times very peculiar. I was told that on one occasion when I was about ten months old father took mother to church, at “Old Liberty,” five miles distant, Rilia, my half sister, and Nealie, the oldest of my mother's children, took me out to the barn where a pile of raw cotton had been thrown, reaching up to the ceiling. These sisters of mine, wishing to stop my cries for my mother, began to toss me up on the pile of cotton and let me roll down to the floor where they were carefully stationed to catch me. It gave me great delight, and I set up such crowing and laughing that it gave such zest to the pastime that I began to laugh and crow louder. I suspect now that my brains were being well addled, but any way the more I laughed, the more I was kept tobogganing until in a careless way Rilia threw me up and I went clear over the top of the pile of cotton, rolled down and struck a beam on the other side. Immediately I set up such a scream that with great alarm they carried me back to the house where Aunt Pallas discovered a sprained wrist and a dislocated shoulder. It took hours in those days to drive five miles to church and return, so my cries well night drove my poor sisters wild, until my father returned and set the bones. My poor mother declared it happened just because she left me at home, and did not intend to ever do so again. Still she and father were good Baptists and could not resist the monthly meetings, at “Old Liberty” Church, and there were many other times when I was left behind.

On another occasion the older children had me in charge again, and decided upon another novel way of amusing me. We were all playing in a large room with a big high white bed in it, Nealie, after while, said: “Suppose we amuse Bettie by making pictures for her,” then turning to me, she asked: “Wouldn't you like for sisters to make some pretty pictures for baby to look at?” I smiled and cried “Yes,” whereupon the two held a whispered conversation and immediately they made a dash for the fire place, and placing their little white hands on the back of the fire place that was all covered in soot, ran to the bed and began laying their hands on the pretty white counterpane trying to draw pictures of dogs and people. I was the audience and had a seat in the rear of the room, but not wishing to sit there, while such works of art were being placed before me, I up and toddled over to the bed and began to investigate. Imagine my consternation on seeing my sisters begin to turn black before my eyes, so I thought I'd rub the black off them, when lo, I began to turn black too. Well, in a short time the whole bunch of us were black and weird-looking. I was so frightened I could hardly speak when the door opened and father and my mother came in, and I think the rod was not spared, on seeing the snow white counterpane, covered in grotesque pictures and little finger prints, even the walls were decorated to suit the taste of the embryonic artists.

My first recollections of going to church at “Old Liberty” were of being dressed up and riding with father and mother in the barouche till we came to a deserted looking house, standing by itself in a big grove of trees. Then my mother led me around to the side of this house where a great many ladies and children were sitting down on a bench. After a while the door was unlocked and we all went inside. The men all sat to themselves on one side and the women and children sat on the other side of the room. Then they all began to sing such a sleepy song, I dozed off, but dreamily heard a man talking, and once in a while he would shout so loud I'd awaken with a start, to drop off to sleep again, my head resting on my mother's lap. I awoke after a long time and saw a man handing a plate to everybody, to take something to eat, Oh! how glad I felt, but when my mother broke only one tiny bite and then ate that, without even looking at me, I was getting ready to weep, but when another man came up with a silver goblet and she took a drink and didn't look at me again, I gave one loud wail and begged for a drink too; not only denied that, but taken in her arms and toted out of the church, before everybody. Then the cookies were found and a nice gourd of cool water from the spring was given me, and we went back home. I was old enough to know why I was not permitted to partake of the Lord's Supper the next time I went to “Old Liberty.”

A little elbow leans upon your knee, Your tired knee that has so much to bear; A child's dear eyes are looking lovingly From underneath a thatch of tangled hair, Perhaps you do not heed the velvet touch, Of warm, moist fingers folding yours so tight, You do not prize this blessing over-much, You almost are too tired to pray tonight. - ANONYMOUS CHAPTER III. OUR REMOVAL TO CLAYTON.

One day when father had returned from the corn field my mother said to him, “Mr. Lee, I wish you would move to Clayton where we will be near enough to a school for the little children to go by themselves.” “Why, ‘old woman’ (calling her by his pet name for my mother), “what shall I do with the farm?” “Rent it,” said my mother, “start up the old saw mill in Clayton, build a home there for us to live in; I hear that a great many people are anxious to move there if they could only get the lumber to build with. We have plenty of seasoned lumber,” she continued, “to build a home for us. Since some of the older children are married it makes the work too hard on you. The small children ought to be in school every day, and here we have to send them and send after them and many times the weather is so bad they don't go at all. If we move to town there will be no excuse for staying at home. When you have set up the saw mill and supplied everybody with lumber for building, you can take your money, and with some I had before we were married, start some kind of a mercantile business in this thriving little town. The rent from the farm will put us in easy circumstances. This money I have had for so long I intended to buy with it a couple of young negroes to work this land and increase their progeny. Knowing your feelings I have nothing else to do but submit to your will, though it has been a long cherished dream of mine to use my money to buy slaves.”

“Now ‘old woman,’ I decline to discuss this slavery question again. I will never own another slave (if you call Pallas such), and only pray that this talk among the Northern statesmen may not end without good results. No I will never buy a human soul with money,” emphatically declared my father. “So talk no more about that, but your other proposition I believe is a good one, and I will go to Clayton tomorrow and see what I can do.” My mother who had lived in town before her marriage and was never pleased to live on the farm, was delighted at the prospect of a change to town.

Father went to Clayton the next day, bought a lot and built a home and moved his family there within the next year.

Clayton was beautifully situated. Nature had been most lavish in her gifts. The hills, upon which the town was built, gave a most picturesque look to the undulating country for miles around, if the view had not been obstructed by the tall pines and majestic oaks that stood like sentinels to guard the lovely spot. Flowers bloomed perpetually though there came nipping frosts now and then which made malaria and fever give it a “wide berth.” The atmosphere was always so dry that it gave one a feeling that it had just come from the hands of its maker, so pure and clean it appeared. The climate reached the happy medium in winter and summer alike, it was never enervating, for the ozone from the pine forests and the oxygen that the grand old oaks set free gave health and rosy cheeks to the children that roamed around the little town. The streets were not paved, but like the beach drives at the sea shore, were hard and white, as if made of crystalline powder - and for racing purposes gave the horses a firm footing though cushioned and yielding. The water was noted for its purity and health-giving qualities. Take it altogether Clayton seemed to be about the “garden spot” of the “Old North States,” so far as what nature had done for it. On one side of the town were the “sunny banks of the rippling Neuse,” inviting alike to fisherman and picnicker. The other side was bordered by “Little Creek,” a limped stream filled with silver perch. Added to these charms was the old Academy for boys and girls, with its two large play grounds which had more to do with our removal there than anything that nature might have offered.

When father moved to Clayton, the mill did such a good business that he was kept busy for five years. In the meantime he bought pieces of land here and there about town and with the money he made from milling he bought a stock of goods and groceries and established a mercantile business.

The war clouds were growing blacker and threatened to end in something more than “talk.”

He continued to talk against slavery, and the slave owners began to fear that he might be a disturbing element if let alone. One day father received an anonymous letter, saying if he did not stop this talk against slavery, that he would be “tarred and feathered and ridden out of town on a fence rail.”

He was then in very delicate health, and when he came home and told my mother about this note she was greatly agitated and said, “Why, Mr. Lee, what shall we do, move back to the farm or what in the world will you do?”

“ ‘Old woman’ I shall stay right here and do my work for I do not fear these men who are too cowardly to sign their names to the letter of threats.”

“Oh suppose they should try to carry out their diabolical plot. I don't think we ought to stay here, really ‘White Oaks’ is the only safe place. Come let us move tomorrow.”

“Never,” said my father, very calmly but very firmly too. “I am not a coward, for I inherit a love of my country from my ancestors who helped to establish independence in these colonies, but slavery and its evils I forsee will precipitate another war for the freedom of another race. I do not fear these threats for the writers of this anonymous letter dare not do what they no doubt would like to do, for such a thing would be heralded from Maine to Texas, and my life, though a forfeit, would help to free the slaves, even sooner than I now think will be.”

“Well, Mr. Lee, I can't help but fear all the same such underhand work. It is not the foe we meet face to face, but the enemy that slips upon us unawares,” persisted my poor mother. “I dare not permit myself to think of this horrible deed without being alarmed and fearing for your safety. I shall keep a close watch over you and not let you get far from me,” insisted mother.

“Well, ‘old woman,’ this cough means that my days are numbered. I want to make my will and arrange all my worldly affairs, so as to give you as little trouble as possible. I want to leave you with the business in good shape, knowing your fine executive ability, so that everything will continue to run smoothly. I am resigned to God's will, but hate to leave you, my faithful wife, with the five small children.” Here my mother began to cry, “Oh don't speak of leaving me and the children, I can't bear to hear you say it,” and thereupon she broke down again.

“Well, ‘old woman,’ this is a matter of business; that you should know we are doing well in the store and the farm is paying better than I ever hoped for. Raising cotton has been more profitable, with the Jones tenants, than my poor efforts at raising grain ever were, besides bringing much higher prices.”

However the days and nights were spent in horror to my mother, though she tried to hide it from father; the fear of those men doing that dastardly deed, and the knowledge that father was daily growing worse, made poor mother old before her time. I remember going day after day with her to the store where she sat and sewed, always near the door, and scanning every one as they came in, her face wearing a set look and a determined one, and I now think after more than forty years have passed that it was her presence, always near my father, that helped to hinder those fanatics from perpetrating that black crime.

We live in deed, not years; in thoughts, not breath; In feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by heart throbs where they beat For God, for man, for duty; He most lives Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best; Life is but a means unto an end, that end Beginning, mean and end to all things, God. - P. J. BAILEY. CHAPTER IV. THE ATTEMPT TO “TAR AND FEATHER” MY FATHER.

My two half brothers, Walter and George, were as rank secessionists as my father was abolitionist. Though only fifteen and seventeen years of age, these boys had inherited from Col. John Hinton, their maternal grandfather, a desire to own slaves, and always declared when they were old enough that they would have negroes to work for them. Still the main reason for their being secessionists was that all their companions were drilling and talking of war all the time. Aunt Pallas having heard my mother tell of the note to my father, in which he was to be “tarred and feathered and ridden on a rail out of town,” was so distressed that she told Walter and George to get out the old guns and put them in good condition, that they didn't need to go off to shoot Yankees on account of the trifling niggers. “I'll tell ye what we will do, when anybody comes round heah looking for Marse Charles we will take our guns and load up with powder and go out and fire 'em off, he! he! I'll be seized by cats, but dey nevah will try to ride any other gentleman on a rail.”

The boys were so angry at the bare mention of such treatment for their good father that it was all Aunt Pallas could do to keep Walter and George from putting in bullets to kill somebody. At last she persuaded them not to do it, still they “kept their powder dry” and waited.

One beautiful moonlight night some one came to our front door and knocked. One of the boys went to open it and found waiting outside a negro boy, owned by one of our near neighbors, who said “my master sent me to ax your daddy to come out to de store and let me have a bottle of castor ile, for brudder Reuben, he got de colok.” Aunt Pallas had posted Walter and George that when they heard her singing “My head got wet wid de midnight dew, honah de lam, good Lawd honah de lam,” they might know that the posse were out after father. Before Walter had time to go to father with the message Aunt Pallas began to sing “Honah de lam” and both boys darted out to the place where the guns were hidden, and with Aunt Pallas leading the little army they made a rush for the big oaks, and standing back of them they began to discharge the old guns. At the first shot such consternation seized these villains that the whole posse stampeded and such running as they did has never been seen before or since in that dignified old town of Clayton. Of course Aunt Pallas and the boys ran after them and continued to explode their powder, but so effectually did the explosions work that no more attempts were ever made on my father's life.

In war not crafty, but in battle bold, No wealth I value, and I shun all gold. Be steel the only metal shall decree The fate of empire, or to you or me. The generous conquest be by courage tried, And all the captives on the Roman side, I swear by all the gods of open war, As fate their lives, their freedom I will spare. - PYRRHUS. CHAPTER V. THE YEAR EIGHTEEN SIXTY-ONE.

The year eighteen sixty-one was ushered in with loud mutterings of war, and among my earliest recollections were those of seeing a body of men drilling in front of our home. These militia companies were being formed in every county, and the women and girls were meeting in halls or school houses for the purpose of sewing on flags and uniforms for the men and boys, that later became soldiers. Everywhere was heard the talk of war, even the small boys were hoping for the time to come when they might be allowed to shoulder a gun and go off to shoot “Yankees.” One day on our way home from school, some one told us that Fort Sumter had been fired on, that was even unintelligible to me, but greatly pleased my brother George, for he threw up his cap and howled, “Hurrah for South Carolina, I am going to be a soldier now.”

My father was so feeble that when Walter and George declared their intention of volunteering he could not show them by his arguments that they were wrong, and knowing, too, that his days were numbered, felt that only a short time and they would be at liberty to go to the war. From morning till night was heard fife and drum, or the talk of the citizens that preparations were being made all over the South for a contest which would soon end in favor of States' rights. Shortly trains loaded with men going to enlist, and soldiers, kept the young people running to the depot to see the different regiments. Everyone had a flag which was waved as the trains passed our town. Sometimes they made no stop at the station, but the girls had notes of encouragement written and placed between split sticks, and as the cars went by the girls would throw their missives of faith and hope to these strangers. When the ladies were sewing on the uniforms the girls would write notes and put them in the pockets of the soldiers' jackets. In these they would write and beg the wearer to be true to his colors and his country, and never despair until the last Yankee had been whipped. Like “bread cast upon the waters” the soldier boys read and were inspired with courage to go on, and very many correspondences begun like that, ripened in later years into love and marriage.

And far from over the distance The faltering echoes come - Of the flying blast of the trumpet, And the rattling roll of drum; Then the Grandsire speaks in a whisper, “The end no man can see: But we give him to his country, And we give our prayers to Thee.” - WILLIAM WINTER. CHAPTER VI. THE GALLANT FOURTH NORTH CAROLINA REGIMENT STATE TROOPS.

The day that the gallant “Fourth North Carolina Regiment” passed our town my half brothers, Walter and George, bade us all goodbye amid tears and hurrahs, bands playing and the crowd singing, “Shout the joyous notes of freedom” and off to the war they went. They had spent some little time at Fort Macon, but now they were on their way to Richmond and death. Some of their letters have been preserved up to this time; they were written on scraps of writing paper and sometimes cheapest wrapping paper. It may be interesting to publish them for future generations, to know exactly what two young Southern boys thought of war in the beginning, and how one, at least, throughout those terrible battles at Spottsylvania Court House, etc., lasted to give us such a vivid description of them, and I have written them verbatim from the original letters, and know nothing was exaggerated from their view point. This extract from the letter of a friend shows how fine looking and soldierly in bearing these brave men and boys of the Fourth North Carolina were considered by a friend who saw them in Richmond soon after their arrival.

““The Fourth North Carolina Regiment” is the recipient of unmeasured praise for their deportment while on leave and their soldierly bearing in the ranks. In fact not a regiment has come from our state that has not elicited unstinted commendation for their fine appearance. It does me good to stand in a crowd as I did on Sunday when the “Fourth” passed through the streets and hear the hearty words of satisfaction expressed as to the material, the “Old North State” was sending into the field. Such expressions as “Did you ever see such determined looking fellows, steady, cool and resolute looking?” “What should we fear while such as these are between Richmond and the enemy?” I assure you I felt like giving one uproarious shout for the “Old North State” forever. I enclose you a rare curiosity, being the Federal version of the glorious battle at Manassas. It is a curiosity, inasmuch as no instance is known where a Lincolnite has put so many words together with so few monstrous discrepancies spicing the whole, and I have marked them, under the influence of the panic which such news created. A greater proportion of truth bubbled forth than usually characterizes their accounts of such disasters to their arms.”

Richmond, July 23, 1861. ROBERTSON. “Be of good cheer; your cause belongs To Him who can avenge your wrongs; Leave it to Him, our Lord. Though hidden from our longing eyes, He sees the Gideon who shall rise To save us, and His Word.” - MICHAEL ALTENBURG. CHAPTER VII. LETTERS FROM GEORGE AND WALTER. FORT MACON, N. C., April 19, 1861. Dear Mother:

Our company arrived here this morning at 8 o'clock. We had to stay at Beaufort last night, the water being too rough to carry us over last night. I intended to have written last night while at Beaufort, but we were so completely worn out with hollowing, etc., that all of us got to bed as soon as possible, which was about 12 o'clock. We have been employed a little while this morning carrying barrels, etc. It was raining the whole time. They make no difference here for rain or anything else.

There is only about two or three hundred men here as yet. There are more men expected daily. Our company is the largest, the best looking (so said by the men here), that there is in the Fort.

George and Tom Stith are down on the beach shooting porpoises. I had to borrow this piece of paper to write to you, George having the paper in his valise.

The company has this evening to look around. Tomorrow we have to commence drilling. George has just come in. He says he had lots of fun, and told me to tell you that he would write to you tomorrow. He found a good many curious looking shells, which he has put in his valise, to carry home. Blake asked me to say to Mr. Rhodes that he was very well satisfied, indeed. The whole company is enjoying themselves very much. I will write to you again as soon as I hear from you. Please write to me often. Direct to Fort Macon, care of Capt. Jesse Barnes.

Your affectionate son, till death, WALTER. FORT MACON, N. C., April 28, '61. Dear Mother:

As there is a man going by Clayton tomorrow I thought I would write you a few lines, to let you know how we are getting along. We are enjoying ourselves as well as can be expected. We had prayers and singing this morning by Mr. Cobb. He spoke of the injuries of the South in an eloquent manner.

For the last day or two we have been living on the victuals that the people sent down here. The first few days we had bread, butter, etc., but as they have given out we live on bread, fat meat and coffee. If Blake does not tell you, I wish you would please send Walter and me a cooked ham and some biscuits, with a few of those small round cakes, for the cakes that are sent down here for the company are usually taken care of by the officers and are hardly seen by the privates. Walter is upon his bunk enjoying himself finely and sends his love to you. I am going to try to get a furlough to go home before long, for I long to be home

George.

with you all. * * * I forgot to tell you that we did not have to drill or work either this Sunday like we did the last. You spoke of sending a mattress down to us, but you need not for we are getting along very well. We are ordered to stay down here three months without lief to go home in the meantime, so Col. Tew says. Believe me as ever

Your loving son, GEORGE. CAMP HILL, N. C., July 9, 1861. Dear Mother:

We arrived here about night, the day we left Wilson, and having raised our tents prepared to get supper, which we got about 9 o'clock. We are encamped in an old pine field, which is very hot, but the other companies that were here before have a very pleasant oak grove on a hill. The Second regiment, under Col. Tew, are on the opposite side of the road. Our Col. Anderson is a fine looking man, about six feet high, large and muscular, but not corpulent; a high, broad and intellectual forehead, bold face, and whiskers (shaped like Walter's), about a foot long.

It is different with us here to what it was in Fort Macon and Newbern, as we are now the same as regulars. We have to come under the general regulations of war. I do not think that we will leave here for some time yet, as the whole regiment has to be uniformed with state dress. We have not received anything, and have only drilled this morning. Capt. Hall, of the Irish Company of Wilmington, in Tew's regiment, had one of his men hung over a pole by the thumbs, but Col. Tew had him taken down. In Tew's regiment there are 200 men sick, and a great many have died already, but in ours there are only two in the hospital. Walter sends his love. When you write, direct Camp Hill, Company F., Fourth Regiment, infantry.

Goodbye.

Your affectionate son, GEORGE. RICHMOND, VA., July 22, 1861. Dear Mother:

We arrived here yesterday, and had to walk about four miles to our camps, with our knapsacks on our backs, and everything necessary to soldiers. Before we left Camp Hill, we got our state uniform, blankets and all the accouterments. We were nearly worn out after having walked four miles to our encampment, the knapsack straps hurt our shoulders, besides the weight. We expect to leave here for Manassas to-day, but I do not think we will, as it is raining.

We are enjoying ourselves finely. I have not had anything to eat since yesterday morning, except some cake and apples. We slept on the ground last night, and I felt sorter chilly this morning, but we will soon get used to that. I must close now. Give my love to all.

Goodbye.

Your affectionate son, GEORGE. RICHMOND, VA., July 22, 1861. My Dear Mother:

As George wrote two or three times since I have, I told him I would write when we got to Richmond. The first thing I knew this morning was that he was writing home, so I told him to leave some room for me and I would write some in his letter.

There is not much to write, as we are about four miles from the center of the city. We don't hear any news, though we heard yesterday that they were fighting at Manassas Gap all day. We heard none of the particulars. Captain rather expects to leave to-day, but I do not think we will. Col. Anderson came along with us. We left half of the regiment at Camp Hill (five companies). My opinion is that we will stay here until the other five companies come, and all of us leave together.

David Carter and little lawyer Marsh are both Captains in our regiment. George got the bundle you sent him yesterday. We are enjoying camp life now to perfection. Heretofore we have had a plank floor, but now we pitch our tents, spread our blankets on the ground and sleep as sound as you please. I never slept better in my life than I did last night. If it stops raining this morning I expect to go up town shopping, and if I have time I want to have myself and George's likeness taken together and send it home, as you may never see either of us again.

I can't tell you anything about Richmond yet, as we have not seen any part of it but one street, that was about four miles long, and led out of town to our camp. We are much obliged for the bed quilts. They do us a great deal of good. We do not trouble ourselves to carry them, but roll them up in our tents. We got blankets before we left our camps. Some of them were the finest I ever saw. I was detailed to give the blankets and knapsacks out, so I kept the best out for all the boys in our tent. They are so fine and nice I hate to spread them on the ground.

Fitzgerald, Henry Warren, Billy Barnes, Tom Stith, George and myself compose the inhabitants of our tent. We have a very respectable crowd. I like it much better than being in a room with the whole company. As we are we have just as nice and quiet a time of it as if we were in a private room.

Give my love to sisters, and believe me, as ever, your sincere and affectionate son, WALTER. P. S. I don't know where to tell you to direct your letters in future, as it is uncertain how long we stay here. COMPANY F., FOURTH REGIMENT, N. C. STATE TROOPS. NEAR MANASSAS JUNCTION, VA., July 31, 1861. Dear Mother:

This is the first opportunity I have had of writing to you since I've been here. We do not live as well here as we have, but we make out very well. We have to walk about a mile for our water; as the ground is too rocky to dig a well we get it out of a spring. You can't imagine how much I wish to see you all, I long to be free to go where I please. But alas, there is no telling where I may be, for when we first came here we did not expect to stay here this long without having a fight. I went over to the battle field last Sunday, and there met a most horrible sight, for it had been over a week after the fight, and the bodies of the men had been blackened by the burning sun and the horses had a most disagreeable smell.

On our going on the field the first object that met our gaze was a grave in which fifteen North Carolinans were buried. We next came to a Yankee who had only a little dust thrown over him. One of his hands was out, which looked very black, the skin peeling off, and you could see the inscission in it. The next which I noticed particularly had his face out and his white teeth looked horrible. The worms were eating the skin off his face. It made me shudder to think that perhaps I may be buried that way.

There are wounded prisoners all through the country in every house. I hope that peace will soon be declared, that we may enjoy the happiness with which we were once blest. I wish you all would write to me for I long to hear from you.

I suppose you heard about Frank T. running from the enemy; it is true, the officers told it. The General gave him his choice to have a Court Martial or be discharged through cowardice, and he took the latter.

We have our little bantams with us yet, and we intend that they shall crow in Washington City, which is only thirty-three miles off, if we live. I must close.

Goodbye,

Your affectionate son, GEORGE. MANASSAS JUNCTION, August 23, 1861. My Dear Mother:

We received your letter this morning when John Clark came. George wrote a day or two ago, which you had hardly received when you last wrote. There is no news of any kind worth writing. George and myself are both well at present. It has been raining here for nearly a week, and it is tolerably cool. This morning was very cool and chilly. It begins to feel like winter is fast approaching. You spoke of sending us some winter clothing. We would be very glad to have a good supply, as we shall suffer if not well clothed in this cold country. I can almost imagine now how cold it will be on top of these high hills when the winter winds come whistling around them. The following list of clothes will be as many as we shall need and can take care of conveniently. Two pairs of thick woolen shirts each, such as can be worn either next to the skin or over other shirts; two pairs of red flannel drawers each, and some woolen socks, that is everything that we shall need for the present. You can send them by express, and we shall get them. You need not attempt to come to see us, for it will be impossible for you to get here. Men are not even allowed to come after their sons to carry them home when they die with sickness in the service. I tell you this to save you the trouble and expense of coming so far and then having to go back without seeing us. It is a great deal harder to get back after you get here than it is to come.

Ed Harris is now here with us, he came day before yesterday. He will leave in the morning, and I shall send this letter by him. He got here through the influence of some members of Congress of his acquaintance in Richmond.

Give my love to all. Tell them to write often and let us hear all the news.

Good bye.

Your devoted son, WALTER. P. S. Please name my dog Nero and try to make him of some account. What is sister's address? Dear Mother:

As Walter has told you everything, I shall be at a loss what to say, but I cannot help writing when an opportunity presents itself. Our fare is bread and butter and occasionally a little honey. The two latter articles we buy. The nights have been rather cool of late, but we have not suffered any yet.

I wish some of you would write every day, for I do love to hear from home so much. I do not know what else to say, I only thought I would write to let you know that I was still in the land of the living. Write soon, some of you. Tell Dr. Harrell that I shall endeavor to write to him soon. If you have an opportunity, I wish you would send some paper and envelopes, as every letter we send costs about ten cents, and that is too exorbitant a price. Give my love to all. Goodbye.

Your loving son, GEORGE. MANASSAS JUNCTION, October 11, 1861 Dear Mother:

I would have written as soon as I received your letter if the box had come with it, but as the captain could not bring them with him, he had to get them transported on freight, which did not arrive until yesterday. You never saw such a mess in your life, cakes molded, meat spoiled, etc. Everything was safe and sound in our box, which we rejoiced at very much, for we have not been faring the best for the last week or two. Tom Stith got a box which was full of cake and nearly every bit of it was spoiled.

I am thankful for the boots, which are a trifle too large but I reckon by the time that I put on two or three pairs of stockings, they will nearly fit me. We were all very glad to see the captain and we were also pleased to see the things he brought with him, which added so much to our comfort. Times are all very quiet about here. We hear firing on the Potomac nearly every day, though I heard some of the boys say that Mr. Christman was collecting goods to bring to the soldiers. If such be the case I wish you would send me an old quilt or something as somebody has stolen my shawl and I think I shall need one this winter, but you need not send anything unless some one can bring it, for it will cost too much to get anything here. We are all well and if we had been sick our boxes would have cured us. Concerning what Jeff Davis says, I don't think I shall take any notice of it at all, for there are already too many healthy young men skulking around home and I could not bear the disgrace of leaving the army because I was not eighteen years old, but shall stay in the service until the war is over. I must close now, give my love to all and tell them to write.

Goodbye.

Your loving son, GEORGE. MANASSAS JUNCTION, VA., October 24, 1861. Dear Mother:

I received your letter this morning and was very glad to hear from you all, but was very sorry to hear that sister was sick. There were 544 prisoners brought in here yesterday morning from Leesburg, an account of which you have seen in the paper ere now. They were sent off last night to Richmond. Blake and Jack Robinson was detailed from our company to go as guard. Leesburg has since been taken by the enemy. Our forces retreated seven miles. The enemy are about to flank us and I think that we shall have to fight soon for I guess it is very galling to them to have so many of their men taken prisoners. We have had frost for several nights and it is already beginning to turn very cold, but we have not suffered any yet. I wear two pair of socks in my boots and they do very well, for it keeps the cold wind off my legs.

You were speaking of your hogs being fat. You ought to see these up here, they are so fat that they can hardly get along. The beeves that we have here are the fattest and prettiest I ever saw. They are generally large young cows, nearly twice as large as ours at home. I have often wished that you could have such at home. We have got thick overcoats from the government, with capes reaching below our elbows. They are of great service to us in standing guard. If we had a good dog and was allowed to shoot, we could live on rabbits, for I never saw so many in my life, the woods are full of them. If I only had Leo here now, I could get along very well. I don't want him to be an unruly dog, for he comes of such good breed that I would not like to hear of his being killed.

I should like to be at home in hog killing time, and wish I could see Tasso now, for I know he is a fine looking dog. I hope Walter's puppy will not turn out. I should like to be at home with you on Christmas, but the way affairs are going on now I do not think there is any likelihood of it, as for winter quarters, I do not expect that we will go into any at all, for the enemy pride themselves on standing the cold weather and I expect they will attack us in the dead of winter. We learned from the prisoners that the enemy intended to attack us in two or three days, but let them come when they will. I will insure them a very warm reception. Before this reaches you will have heard of L. Barnes' death and also of Bowden's discharge from the army on account of being a minor, etc. Lafayette's death has cast a deep gloom over the company, for he was a very much beloved member. I will be very glad to get those blankets but I would wait and send them by some one, as they might get lost by themselves. All send their love to you.

Give my love to all. Goodbye.

Your loving son, GEORGE. CAMP PICKINS, MANASSAS, VA., NOV. 2, 1861. MR. CHAS. W. LEE. Dear Sir:

Yours of the 29th ult. was received to-day, contents duly noted, and I hasten to reply. I must confess to a feeling of surprise that you desire the discharge of your son, Mr. G. B. Lee, from service, as I was of the opinion that you had fully and determinedly given your consent to his serving in the army of the C. S. during the war. Yet, however much I should regret to see George leave us, as he has been with us so long and has been, though young, a strong, athletic and good soldier, you have my free consent to have him discharged. You will be the proper person to apply to the Government through the War Dept., for the same, where I doubt not, should you still desire him to leave, you can, by presenting the facts, after a while obtain his discharge. It is not in my power to do more than give my consent, which you now have. George expressed some surprise on receiving your letter, and says he don't want to leave. I, of course, do not deem it proper to give him any advice, but simply told him to write you whatever he might think proper, as of course you were the person to advise him, when you could. He has just handed me a letter to enclose to you with this. Whatever course you may pursue I shall willingly acquiesce in. If he is still left in my charge, I shall, as heretofore, advise and correct him and use every effort in my power to secure his happiness and welfare. Hoping to hear from you again and that my answer may be satisfactory, I remain,

Yours most respectfully, J. S. BARNES. MANASSAS JUNCTION, VA., November 2, 1861. Dear Father:

I received your letter this morning through Captain Barnes and I never was more surprised in my life, to hear that you had applied for my dismissal for, although I should like very much to go home, I do not like the idea of being discharged from the army on account of my age, for in size and strength I consider myself able to stand the campaign, and should I go home, I do not think that it would be entirely right for me to stay there when our coast is in such imminent peril. I compare this war to that of the revolutionary, when our ancestors fought for their liberty, that whoever remained neutral were considered Tories, and I think that when this war is over and peace is declared, those who had no hand in it will be considered in the same light as the Tories of old, and I have too much pride in me to allow others to gain the rights which I will possess, besides it would take two or three months before a discharge could be obtained. It took Mr. Bowden that long to get his son discharged. Captain Barnes is going to write and he will tell you all about it.

I am very well satisfied here. I am treated well, and am permitted every indulgence which the army regulations will permit. All the boys wish me to stay. I am a minor in age, as you say, but I am a man in size and everything else, and fully able to be a soldier. Nothing would afford me greater pleasure than to be of service to you, but the confederacy also needs my services. But if you still insist upon my coming home, you can write again. I expect Bowden pictured to you the darkest side of a soldier's life, but there is enough enjoyment blended with it to make a soldier's life very pleasant. I must close now, so goodbye,

Your loving son, GEORGE. MANASSAS JUNCTION, VA., December 9, 1861. Dear Mother:

I received your letter some days since and was very glad to hear from you and would have answered immediately but Walter has gone to Richmond and I thought I would wait until he came back. He went with a detail of men to carry prisoners who were taken by the N. C. Cavalry. He came back day before yesterday and brought us several books to read. Among the prisoners was a deserter from the Federal camp. He was a Baron in Russia and being of an adventurous disposition, he came over to participate in a battle or two and accepted a Lieutenant's commission in the Federal army, but finding, as he said, that there was not a gentleman in the whole army, he deserted, took a horse and came into our camp and has been sent to Richmond for trial. Formerly he had a commission in the Russian army, which he showed to the people.

We are expecting a battle daily. Yesterday we were presented with a battle flag from General Beauregard, consisting of white cloth crossed with blue. This is for us to fight under and also every other regiment has one. The enemy knows our national flag and had already tried to deceive us by hoisting it at their head. Now I guess we will deceive them next time.

Our company has been detached from the regiment for the purpose of taking charge of two batteries which another company has left. We are now relieved of a great deal of duty, for we only have to guard the batteries which take six men a day and that brings us on about once a week, and we drill occasionally. With that exception we have nothing to do, but if the regiment leaves to go into a fight our company goes also, and if the battle rages at this point we will give them a few grapes to eat and also a few shells to hide themselves in and then we will play ball with them for a while.

Walter is still at his old, or rather, new post, and has a great deal to do as the chief clerk is very sick. I hope we shall get a chance to come and see you before the winter is gone, but I have given up the idea of seeing you this Christmas, altogether, but after the fight I reckon we can get a chance to go home. Give my love to all and tell them to write soon.

Goodbye. I remain as ever,

Your loving son, GEORGE. MANASSAS JUNCTION, VA., January 16, 1862. Dear Sister:

I received your letter some days since and was very much rejoiced to hear from you, but I thought that you were a very long time in answering my last. It came at last and eagerly did I devour the contents and with what pleasure I lingered on every sentence, no tongue can tell. The description you gave of your tableaux interested me very much, and I regret very much, not being able to have been there, as all such scenes always interest me so much, besides the desire of seeing you act. I think, myself, that you should have had your face painted, and that would have set off the piece a great deal. It is a pretty hard piece. Didn't you feel pretty scared? What does Dick act? Who was that sweetheart of yours that has been home four times? I should like to know him.

We have a hard time of it here now. The ground is covered with snow and then a sleet over that, and it is nearly as cold as the frozen regions, the winds come directly from mountains and blow around us like a regular hurricane. But we have now moved into our winter quarters, huge log hut, and we keep very comfortable, but it is nothing like home, home with its sweet recollections. As I sit and write I cannot refrain from gliding back into the past and enjoying the blessed memories of yore. But enough of indulging the imagination, for this is a sad reality and it will not do for my imagination to assume too large a sway. Tell Miss Myra that when I visit Washington I will call on her parents. I expect to go there soon, either as a visitor or captive, but I hope as the former. We will have a tableau before long, I expect, but I expect the scene will be played in a larger place than a hall. It will encompass several miles and will take several hours to perform it, but when it does come off it will end in a sad havoc. I am very thankful to you for those socks you knit for me, and when I wear them I shall think of you. All around me are asleep and the huge logs have sunk into large livid coals ever and anon emitting large brilliant sparks, that cast a ghastly hue around the whole room, and I now think it time to close, so goodbye.

Your loving brother, GEORGE. MANASSAS JUNCTION, February 22, 1862. Dear Mother:

I did not intend to write before the Captain came back, but as one of our men is going home on a sick furlough I though I would write a few lines to let you know how we are. I expect the Captain is at Richmond at the Inauguration of the President (Jeff Davis), if so he will be here by tomorrow night, and we are all anxiously waiting for his return, each one looking for a letter and a box of good things.

The weather is still very bad and there is an incessant rain since morning, the roads are so sloppy and rough that the wagons can hardly get along over them and very frequently we have our wood to carry on our shoulders to keep our fires burning, but nevertheless we are getting along nicely and not much incommoded from the inclemency of the weather.

To-day you will remember is my birthday, seventeen years old. In size I have been a man for sometime, and now I am nearly one in age. I do not feel as boyish as I did when I left home, for here we have to act the man whether we are or not, and it has been quite natural for me to do so. In the service is a splendid place to study human nature, you can very early find out what a man is. This war will be a benefit to me and an injury to others. Some seem to lose all pride for self, and like a brute are governed entirely by their animal passions. Such persons may be found kneeling at the shrine of Bacchus, to such persons it is decidedly injurious. As for myself, I think it will be very beneficial, for I learn to take care of myself, think and act for myself. I now see how much education is needed, and I regret exceedingly not having applied myself more closely when I had the opportunity. If this war closes within the next year I intend to go to school again, and at the shrine of Minerva seek that which I have never obtained.

One Company of the North Carolina Cavalry were taken prisoners the other day. I do not know which company. Was never in better health. Give love to all.

Your loving son, GEORGE. You must excuse such a disconnected letter for my mind is very much confused. Love to all, Miss Mollie and everybody. MANASSAS JUNCTION, VA., March 5, 1862. Dear Mother:

As I have nothing to do to-day, I thought I would let you all know how we are getting along. The weather is still very bad, ground muddy and miry as it can be. We all have had orders to have our heavy baggage ready to send off at a moment's notice, and also to be ready for the field. The enemy is continually marching upon us, and I expect that we will be in a fight soon, but the enemy cannot do so much damage for they cannot bring their artillery along with them. I was vaccinated last week and my arm is now very sore. I am excused from duty on account of it. I wish you would please get a pair of bootlegs and have them footed for me, a thick double soled pair, that will stand anything, and well put up so that there will be no ripping, and send them by Pat Simms. Ask him to take them along with him or Virgil, and also send what they cost, for I don't reckon that you have the ready cash, and will send the money. Let the boots be No. 8, made so that they will fit him, for I guess our feet are pretty near the same size. If you cannot get a pair made, get a pair out of the store, for I am just almost out and there is none about here.

Tell my sisters I think they could answer my letters. I must close now. Give my love to all.

Your loving son, GEORGE. Don't get the boots if they cost exceeding $10.00. March 14, 1862. Dear Mother:

We are all well as can be expected from the situation that we are now in. We have retreated from Manassas on account of not being able to hold our position. We are now 25 miles from Manassas, across the Rappahannock, and camped upon a high hill that commands a splendid view of that part of the river, which the enemy is compelled to cross.

We left Manassas on Sunday night and traveled until about 1 o'clock. When we camped for the night, everything that we could not carry on our backs was burned up, and I can tell you that you cannot imagine how much we suffered on the march, which consisted of three days' traveling, loaded down with our baggage and equipment, sleeping on the hard, cold ground, feet sore, half fed on hard dry crackers and meat. Our lot was not to be envied, and it is amazing how we bore up under the circumstances. We have been at this place for a day or two, for what purpose I know not, unless it be for us to recruit up for another march. We have no tents here to sleep in, but we have made ourselves shelters out of cedar bushes. We all seem to flourish, nevertheless.

The night we left Manassas it was burnt down and I expect there was a million of goods consumed on that night, all the soldiers' clothes they could not carry with them and everything that could have been expected to be at such a place where everything was sent to this division of the army, all was burnt.

I do not know where to tell you to send your letters, for I do not know how long we will stay here, so I reckon you had better not write at all. When I get to a place where it is likely we will stay, I will write again at a better opportunity.

Give my love to all. Goodbye.

Your loving son, GEORGE. HDQTS. SPECIAL BRIGADE, NEAR RAPIDAN STATION, VA., March 23rd, 1862. My Dear Mother:

We received your letter last night dated the 6th of March. 'Tis the first time any of us have heard from home within the last two weeks. We have had considerable excitement since you last heard from us. To-day, two weeks ago, we evacuated Manassas and have been moving to the rear ever since. We are now on the South side of the Rapidan River, where I think we will make a stand. But nothing is known for certain, I don't believe the Generals themselves know. The night we left Manassas (about sunset) we marched ten miles that night, stopped about two o'clock and slept on the ground with the sky for a covering. We haven't had a tent in two weeks. We are playing the soldier now in good earnest. The last three days we marched it rained every night just as soon as we would stop for the night. After walking all day, carrying your ALL on your back, then having to start a fire out doors without wood (we have no light wood) and cook your next day's ration, is pretty hard soldiering, I can assure you. Though the boys all seem to be cheerful. We have very little sickness and for the last ten days (a circumstance not known before since we have been in Virginia) we haven't had a man to die in the Regiment. Pat Simms and his recruits have not yet arrived, they were stopped at Gordonsville some time ago, while we were making our retreat from Manassas. We expect them daily.

The Yankees have been some distance this side of Manassas. Our troupes had a little skirmish with them a day or two after we left, some of the Cavalry came in sight of our pickets. They fired on them and they disappeared, 'tis reported that they have gone back to Centerville, perfectly non-plussed at our movement. The country we are now occupying is the prettiest and the most beautiful scenery you ever saw. We can see the mountains in the distance covered with snow, and when the sun shines it is sublime. We are on what is called the “Clark Mountain.” There is a mountain or rather hill, on a mountain, about a quarter of a mile off that commands a view of the country for miles around, some of the men are up there all the time. I intend to send this letter to Richmond to be mailed. I do not know that there is any communication between here and Richmond. We only got the old mail that was stopped at Gordonville. MacWilliams, one of our company, is going to Richmond tomorrow on business. I will get him to mail it for me.

I do not see a word about this move in the papers, so I must think the Government is withholding it from them, to prevent the Yankees from obtaining information. Johnnie Dunham is still A. A. Genl. of the Brigade and I am writing for him, though I do not have one third to do that I did at Manassas, as that was a regular military post. We had inspection to-day, to see how the guns, etc., were getting on after the hard usage and bad weather they have gone through lately.

Write soon. We may get all of your letters, though you might not get all of ours, unless mailed beyond Gordonsville. Give my love to all the family, Aunt and Claudia, etc. etc. I remain,

Your sincere and devoted son, WALTER. March 23rd, 1862. Dear Mother:

As Walter did not mention me in his letter, I thought I would let you know that I am well. Walter has told you nearly everything that transpired on our tramp, so I have not anything to tell except the burning of the property at Manassas the same day that we left. We had been told to go to the Junction and get what things out of our boxes as we could carry on our backs, for the boxes would not be carried on the train. After we left, the town was set on fire, and I expect that a million dollars' worth of property was consumed. We had to leave our little Bantam chickens, as we had no way to carry them. The first night of our march, I never suffered so much from fatigue in my life. When we did halt we fell on the ground and slept soundly until next morning. I do not expect you can hardly read this, as it is done by a log fire on my cartridge box. Must close. Good bye.

Your loving son, GEORGE. YORKTOWN, VA., April 13, 1862. Dear Mother:

I commenced a letter to you the other day but was unable to finish it, being called off to participate in a slight skirmish with the Yankees. We arrived at this place last Thursday evening and having sent out our portion of the picket, of which I was one, we ate our hard bread and meat and laid on the hard, cold ground for the night, with the blankets we brought on our backs for a covering. On Friday we were ordered out, for the Yankees were about to attack us, our skirmishers went out towards the enemy for the purpose of drawing them within range of our batteries, the enemy came in sight with a long line of artillery and drew up in battle array about half a mile from our batteries, by that time there was some right hard fighting on the part of the skirmishers. About two o'clock p.m., our batteries opened upon them and they were returned with the greatest alacrity; bombs, shells and balls flew about promiscuously, but happily they did no damage on our side, nearly all of them going over our heads. We threw some shells that seemed to do damage with the Yankees, the way they scattered when the shell fell among them. One shell which came over us bursted and fell all around, one piece fell right between two of our boys, but no injury done. The firing continued until dark, in the time the skirmishers set fire to a large dwelling house, near the enemy's infantry and under the cover of the smoke they broke in on them and routed them, but they had soon to retreat for the Yanks turned their batteries upon them, after which hostilities ceased for the night. We lay in the entrenchments all night. Next morning, Saturday, the enemy was not to be seen. This morning we are expecting an attack again, and have been ordered into the entrenchments, but they have not made an attack yet.

Gen. Magruder says that if they do not attack us to-day, that he will them to-morrow. We are exactly on the battle ground of Washington and Cornwallis, but all that remains to be seen are the old breastworks of the British, which lie immediately behind ours. The Yankees hold the same position that Washington did. There is also the place where Cornwallis surrendered his sword to Washington. Yorktown is the oldest place I ever saw. I do not believe that there is a single house that has been built in fifty years. As I was walking through the town, I chanced to come upon an old grave yard, that had gone into entire ruin. There could be seen the tombstone of the Revolutionary soldier, citizen and foreigner. The oldest one was dated 1727, that was the tombstone of an old lady sixty years old, and another of a president of his majesty's council in Virginia. He died in 1753, and all the rest of nearly the same date. It was a perfect pleasure to me to look over the old place, such a contrast to the clay hills of Manassas. I feel nearer home, but still I am a long ways off. I am wanted now, as they are continually detailing men for something or other. I will send the letter I wrote the other day. When the battle closes I will write again.

Give my love to all.

Your loving son, GEORGE. P. S. I have not heard from Walter yet, except from a man that came from the hospital, he says that his hand is nearly well. RICHMOND, VA., June 15, 1862. Dear Mother:

I hope you are not uneasy about me because I have not written before. I knew if I wrote it would take a week for you to get it, so I put it off till I could send it by Mr. Albert Farmer, who will go tomorrow. The Surgeon of the hospital has given me a passport to stay wherever I please in the city and report to him every week. I believe I should go crazy if I had to stay out in the hospital where everything is so dull and disheartening. In fact I don't believe I am the same being I was two weeks ago, at least I don't think as I used to and things don't seem as they did. I don't believe I will ever get over the death of George. The more I think of him the more it affects me, and unless I am in some battle and excitement I am eternally thinking of the last moments of his life. How he must have suffered, if he was conscious of it. I shall never forget it. I think a long letter from some of you would make me feel so much better. I shall send by Mr. Farmer my watch, sleeve buttons, also the shirt I wore off. Everything I ought to have left at home I brought away and a great many things I ought to have brought I left behind. I only brought one flannel shirt, and by the way I'll send this one back and try this summer without them, as they are very heavy for summer wear. The war news you read every day in the papers, but Capt. Billy Brown came down from Gordonville with some of Jackson's prisoners. He says he was in Lynchburg. Twenty-two hundred were sent in and that thirteen hundred were on the way. The Yankees that are near Richmond, we don't hear anything of, everything is quiet. Please some of you write me soon.

Your loving son, WALTER. HEAD QUARTERS, ANDERSON BRIGADE, RIPLEY DIVISION, August 11, 1862. My Dear Mother:

I am sorry I have kept you waiting so long before writing to you, but I thought I would wait until I could have a talk with General Anderson to find out what I was to do before writing. I sent word by John Hines, also Dr. Barham, that I was well and for them to tell you all the news. When I arrived at the Camp of our Regiment it was gone to Malvern Hill to have a fight with the Yankees. They did not return in a day or two. General Anderson went to Richmond immediately on business, so I did not have an opportunity of speaking with him until this morning. He was perfectly willing for me to come back into the office, so I commenced duty this morning. We have a very pleasant place for our quarters, a large two story house with plenty of shade, in an open field, where we have the breezes from every direction.

I don't know yet, but I may come up here to mess and sleep, though I thought I would wait a while. I haven't slept in a tent since I've been in camp, but once. That was last night. It rained yesterday morning, and the ground was wet, and the air rather cold, so I thought I would go in the tent, as it was convenient. I shall go in bathing tonight to cool off, and sleep out doors. We have an excellent place for that purpose, that is bathing. It's been awfully hot here today. I believe it is warmer here than at home.

General G. W. Smith was to-day assigned to the command of our Division. I understand he is an excellent officer. Some of our regiments in this brigade have received their conscripts. They are a very good looking set of men seen drilling in a field, as they were this morning. It looks right funny to see men so green, but I suppose all of us were so at first, and we ought not to make fun of them. Dossey's Regiment is only about half mile from here. He has been to see me twice since I have been here. I went over to see him last Saturday. He was very well. I went up to see Dunham when I passed through Richmond, but he had gone home the week before, so I was disappointed. Give my best respects to all friends, and my love to all the family, some of you write often and tell me everything that happens about town.

Goodbye, as ever,

Your loving son, WALTER. P. S. I've got to endorse this letter for the want of stamps. I haven't written any in so long a time that my hand is as stiff as if I had been mauling rails, you can readily see the difference now and some time ago. I hope it will soon get better. I forgot to tell you that our whole brigade was throwing up breastworks every day, about two miles from here, that is the only duty they do now, no guard duty. HEAD QUARTERS, ANDERSON BRIGADE, August 15, 1862. My Dear Mother:

As Mr. Parker will leave in the morning for home, I thought I would avail myself of the opportunity to let you hear from me. There is nothing new to write in the way of “War News.” You hear everything that we do, and that's in the papers. Everything on our lines is quiet. We were put under marching orders a day or two ago, with the expectation of making another march to “Malvern Hill,” but the Yankees left and it saved us the trouble of running them away. Eight hundred of the Brigade are still working on the breastworks, some two miles below here. I am in hopes the Yankees will never get near enough to Richmond for us to have to fight behind them. The other regiment in the Brigade has received their conscripts, ours is the smallest one and we haven't received a single one, and I hope we won't.

General Anderson was making a calculation this morning and he says that we have lost 226 men, killed and died from their wounds, since the day before we went into the fight at “Seven Pines.” The Regiment is now under command of Pat Simms. All of our company are in very good health. I don't believe that we have a single man on the sick list, and I believe it is owing in a great degree to the good water we get. It is the best we have had since we've been in Virginia. I am getting along very well indeed, enjoying excellent health, and have a very pleasant time.

We have very little writing to do, not half as much as we had at Manassas. General Anderson has no Adj. General yet. I would not be surprised if he was not waiting for Dunham to get well. I believe he likes Dunham better as an officer than any man in the Brigade. He has one of his brothers (Walker) as one of his Aides. I wish you would please look in my trunk and send me that brown veil that you will find. I want it to put over my face when I take a nap in the morning, to keep off the flies. You never saw any flies yet, you can measure them by the bushel here. The mosquitoes are terrible here, too. I shall put it over my face when I sleep out of doors, and that's every night that it don't rain. I've just learned from Mr. Parker that little Leon was dead. Poor little fellow, I never thought that when I left home it would be the last time I should see him.

Give my love to all the family, my respects to all my friends. Write soon, tell me all the news.

Your affectionate son, WALTER. P. S. Please send the veil by the first one coming to our camp. Give my respects to all the boys that you see. HEAD QUARTERS, ANDERSON BRIGADE, 30 MILES FROM RICHMOND ON MANAPAS RAILROAD, August 23rd, 1862. My Dear Mother:

This is the first opportunity that I have had to write to you since we left our camp near Richmond. Mr. Christman left us, or rather parted from us, in Richmond as we passed through on our march. Blake and myself did not get the barrel that was sent by Mr. Christman, though we had just as much fruit and Irish potatoes (that the company received) as we could eat. We left the very next morning after the night Mr. Christman arrived. The first day we marched about 14 miles and camped in an open field, the next day we march all day until dark. We stopped, ate our supper, spread our blankets and was just going to sleep, nearly every man exhausted, when the drum sounded and the order given for every man to be under arms. In ten minutes the brigade marched off and we continued the march until nearly day. The next morning, that is those that kept up, (the road for ten miles was strewn with men who had fallen out of ranks from exhaustion). We are now encamped at the place we arrived at that night. We have been here three days and it is impossible to tell when we will leave. This is a very important position for the Aides of General Jackson. The Yankees are about twelve miles from us and it was supposed that they would make an attack at this point, is the reason we were in such a hurry to get here that night. We would have made a very poor stand if they had. I don't suppose we had more than one third of the men when we arrived here that night, when we came through Richmond. I had a very good opportunity of judging as our company was detailed that day as a war guard of the Brigade, to prevent straggling, and I marched behind with them for company. It's no use trying to make a broken down man get up and march. We didn't know but what the Yankees were near or advancing on us, but the men would lie right down side of the road and swear they could not go one foot farther, Yankees or no Yankees. They are still coming in though it has been three days ago.

You may say what you please about marching twenty or thirty miles a day in warm weather, but I don't believe in it. The last day we marched twenty-six miles, we started at daylight and didn't stop until nearly day break the next morning, with about one third of the men, when we got to the end of our route, we had when we started and they were good for nothing, with their feet all blistered and sore. Mine have just got so I can walk without limping. You may direct your next letter to Richmond as heretofore, putting on the back “Smith's Division,” and I reckon it will be forwarded. We have a very pleasant place to camp. I wouldn't care if we were to stay here for a month. General Anderson and his Staff are in tents at present, no house being near. Col. Grimes arrived this morning. The men are all very glad to see him return. They all love him since the fights that he has led them in. Give my love to all the family. Tell sister to write. I have writen, I believe, three letters home and haven't received but one.

Your affectionate son, WALTER. HEAD QUARTERS, ANDERSON'S BRIGADE, SOUTH SIDE OF POTOMAC, OPPOSITE BERLIN, LOUDON CO., Sept. 5, l862. My Dear Mother:

I guess you are all very anxious about me, that is to know my whereabouts. Since I last wrote you I have been through the most hardships that I ever have before. Today makes eleven successive days that we have been on the march, without resting a day since we left Anderson's station, the place from which I last wrote you. We are now on the side south of the Potomac, opposite a place called Berlin, where there is some Yankees, don't know how many. We have our brigade and a tolerable good force of Artillery at this point. What we intend to do or where we are going, it's impossible to say. The men are all very anxious to drop over into Maryland and I don't know but what that will be our next move. We have just stopped for the night, after a march of about twenty miles. I'm in a hurry to finish before dark, as we have no candles or lightwood. Mr. Ed Marsh will leave for North Carolina in the morning, he will carry our mail. We haven't had a chance to send off our mail before, since we waded the Rapidan River. Day before yesterday we marched over the battle ground that Jackson had his last fight on. All of our men had been buried, but the Yankees lay just as they were killed. I never saw such a scene before. I saw just from the road, as I did not go out of my way to see any more. It must have been nearly a thousand. Our wagon actually ran over the dead bodies in the road before they would throw them out, or go around them. The trees were literally shot all to pieces. The wounded Yankees were all over the woods, in squads of a dozen or more, under some shady tree without any quard of any kind to guard them. I recollect one squad on the side of the road with their bush shelter in ten steps of a dead Yankee, that had not been buried and was horribly mangled. I don't suppose the dead Yankees of that fight will ever be buried. It will be an awful job to those who do it, if it is ever done. There is some five or six of our company that have not come up yet. Blake is among the number. They are not sick, merely broken down. The Second N. C. Regiment haven't more than half of the men with them now, that they had when they left Richmond. It has been an awfully hard march. Two men died in one day from sun stroke. The weather is not so warm now as some days ago. It takes two or three blankets to keep us warm at night, it is so cool. The days are very warm. I hope to gracious that we will stay here tomorrow and rest a while, it's a beautiful place on the side of the Blue Ridge. The sun will not strike the ground where our headquarters are during the whole day. I don't know where to tell you to direct your next letter. Richmond, though, I reckon. Give my love to all the family. Goodbye. I'll now cook my supper. I'll have an excellent one tonight, chicken, and sugar and coffee and biscuit.

Yours, etc., WALTER. I bought sugar at 12 1/2c per pound and coffee at 25c pound this morning in a store on our way. HEAD QUARTER'S ANDERSON'S BRIGADE, MAR. BUNKER'S HILL, VA., Sept. 29, 1862. My Dear Mother:

It has been some time since I last wrote you. I hope you have not been uneasy about me, for I have never been in better health in my life. During the past two months we have been on the march almost constantly, sometimes resting one or two days, but never longer.

On Sunday, the 14th of September, we left our camp at 4 o'clock in the morning and marched some six miles to the top of the Blue Ridge and drew up in line of battle. We were not long waiting for the Yankees, they came in very large columns and we fought until after dark. That night our troops fell back through Boonsboro some few miles and drew up in line of battle little after sunrise, very little fighting was done on that day, only some cannonading. We continued in our position until the 17th inst., when we had almost a general engagement. The line of battle of our Brigade was some two hundred yards in front of a house in which General D. H. Hill and General Anderson had their Head Quarters. The fight commenced in the morning before I awoke (long before sunrise), soon after light the wounded from the Artillery commenced coming in, pretty soon the wounded infantry came in by the dozens. There wasn't a surgeon on the battle field from our Brigade, but Gus Stith. He stayed there to the last. He, his two assistants and myself dressed the wounds until the Yankees got in 30 yards of the house. General Anderson was anxious to get off before the Yankees got nearer. He did not want to be taken prisoner by them. He would prefer being shot through the head, so Capt. Gales, his A. A. General, myself and two other men of the Ambulance Corps carried him through a field that looked like it was impossible for man to walk ten steps without being killed, though we got out safe. A piece of shell struck me on the knee, which occasioned some little inconvenience for a few days, but nothing else. The house in which we were was the hottest part of the battle field, we were exposed to a cross fire of two Yankee Batteries and from the front by musket balls. The house, kitchen, trees and everything else was torn and shot all to pieces. We had a large pot full of chicken on the stove, cooking for dinner, when a bomb took off one-half of the kitchen and turned the stove bottom upwards. That stopped the splendid dinner we had in preparation. You must get Gus Stith to tell you all about our campaign, adventures, etc. He can do it better than I can write it. Every day's march through Maryland I could write a long letter, but when it is all past and forgotten I can't think of one thing that I wished to write. If I ever live to get home I can think of one thing at a time, and tell you a great many little incidents of interest. The Northern part of Virginia and some parts of Maryland is the most beautiful country that I ever saw. I don't know how it is in the winter, but from the looks of the soil, it's as muddy as Manassas, I reckon. We (our company) lost several in the two battles, none killed, but some badly wounded, others taken prisoners or have not come up yet, may be wounded and left on the battlefield and had to be left in the hands of the Yankees when we fell back this side of the Potomac. We are now encamped on the Turnpike from Martinsburg to Winchester, some ten miles from the latter place.

I don't know where to tell you to direct your next letter, Richmond, though, I reckon. Our mail for this Brigade is at Winchester, we will get that to-day. I hope to get some letters from home when it comes. I must close this so as to have it ready when Gus Stith starts, he can't tell when, so I must have it ready. I may get something in the mail before this gets off.

Your loving son, WALTER. NEAR BUNKER HILL, VA., October 1st, 1862. Dear Mother:

I have just received a letter from you, dated Sept. 2nd. It is the first word I have heard from home since I left Richmond (I forgot I did receive one letter down at Anderson's station, 30 miles from Richmond). It appears that you have not received the letter I wrote from the Potomac, opposite Berlin, though you must have gotten it before now. I heard that Pat Simms will be in Wilson for a short time as detail for our winter clothing. He can tell you all about that trip. It has been so long that I have forgotten almost all about it. I shall send this by Dr. Stith, as he starts in the morning. You can get him to tell you a good deal of news if you choose. Dr. Stith and Pat Wooten came up this morning. I haven't been up to see them yet. I must sleep and stay at head quarters nearly all the time, as it is more convenient and I get plenty of something to eat, and often something extra. If Pat Simms goes home, as I think he will, you may send me my two flannel shirts and my drawers, also two pair of woolen socks. I reckon I will have to make out with shoes this winter, though if you can have me a good pair of winter sewed boots made (large 6s) you may send them also, and the price. If I can't wear them myself I can sell them for any price I may choose to ask. See if Pat is willing to bring them first and if he is certain that he can get them here without being lost. Write often by some of the boys that are coming.

Your affectionate son, WALTER. HEAD QUARTERS, ANDERSON'S BRIGADE, November 14, 1862. My Dear Mother:

As I have another good opportunity of sending a letter the other side of Richmond to be mailed, I thought I would avail myself of it. One of our surgeons will leave in the morning for North Carolina, so that I can have my letter mailed very near home, it will stand less chance of being lost. I have neglected to write to you longer than I wished, waiting for an opportunity of sending it by some one. This is the first chance that has occurred. The letters that are mailed here for North Carolina, not one half of them ever get there, so I made up my mind not to write except when I knew you would receive it. We have been through a good many hardships since I last wrote to you, tho' we haven't had any fighting, that is, our Brigade has not, tho' we have lain in line of battle several days and nights at the time, waiting for the advance of the enemy. The strongest position I think our Division ever occupied was on the mountains behind rock fences, near Paris. We stayed there one day and night, but the Yankees didn't come. We left there and marched to Fort Royal, there we laid in line of battle two days and one night. Little after dark the second day we got orders to cross the Shenandoah River and take up camp some mile or two off for the night. The men were cold and hungry and somewhat expecting the Yankees that night, when the word was given they started at a double quick for the river, some half mile off, and in they went, half waist deep, the water was freezing cold and the wind almost cutting you in two. I guess you know something about the mountain winds in the winter. For the next few days we had some rest, but we don't lie idle in camp long at a time. Night before last we marched seven miles, tore up and burned railroads all night, and marched back ten miles the next day. To-day is a beautiful sunshiny one, and I hope we will remain quiet for the men's sake. We have had one snow some two or three inches deep, though it melted very soon, there are thousands of barefooted men in Virginia and I do hope we will have pleasant weather until they can get shoes. We have a good many in our Brigade stark barefooted, and have not had a shoe on since we left Richmond some months ago. John Burton, poor fellow, was paroled and came up with us some week or two back, looking dreadfully. He has gone home on a furlough. He was barefooted and almost clothesless. My feet can just be said to be off the ground and that is all. They are no protection from wet weather. I hope Pat Simms will come soon and have my boots with him. I am glad you sent me a pair of pants, as these are entirely worn out. I have been patching them up for some time. There is two big patches on the knees as large as your two hands, put on with blue cloth, you recollect the pants are brown. I never thought to mention any clothes in my letter. I hope you thought of them. I need a pair. I also need an overcoat, but I will have to wait until the Regiment get their clothes before I can get one. I hope before one month more passes we will be on the railroad somewhere, so I can get something good to eat once more. I think I will know how to appreciate something good after living on beef and bread for so long. I want some oysters and sweet potatoes and other winter delicacies so much. I hope, if we ever do get where I can change my diet, I will be able to stop the diarrhœa which has been reducing me for some time. I've fallen off considerable since we left Richmond. With that exception I have nothing to complain of. In a great many respects I fare a great deal better than the officers of the regiment do. I have better fare and not half the duty to do. The other night, when all the men were at work on the railroad, I was with our wagon and had as comfortable a night's sleep as I ever do. I very often get a chance to ride on the march, too, for the last several marches I have ridden Col. Grimes' extra horse. Since we left Richmond we have crossed twenty streams waist deep and very often in the night, and I have never waded one yet. I always get a ride across, some way or another.

We will have a general change at Headquarters in a few days. General Ramseur is assigned to this Brigade and I expect he will bring his own Staff with him. I'll stand as good a chance of remaining as any of them and I think I will be very apt to remain, at least I shall try to do so. I hope he will be as clever as the other commanders have been. I like Col. Grimes very much and I think he is more entitled to the promotion of Brigadier than Ramseur, who was only a Captain of Artillery, though they say he is a West Pointer, and a very good officer. I hope he will prove himself to be as good as General Anderson was, though that is hardly possible. I don't think he had his equal in the Confederate Army. I hope Dr. Harrell will pass his examination and get in the army as surgeon. It is the easiest and most comfortable position there is in the Army.

Tell Mr. Rhodes if I was in his place I would try and get in a new company, one that has not been in long. Dr. Bullock's Company would suit him better than any other. He thinks that we've got a good one and a picket company, but it is not what it was, and he would be out of place all the time if he would try to keep up with men who had been playing the old soldier for nearly two years. I would rather be dead than in the place of some of the Conscripts sent to our Regiment, they look like they wanted to die, they felt so bad. Please let me know in your next whether you ever received my watch or not. I've asked in every letter and you've never told me yet. Write soon to your

Affectionate son, WALTER. Give my love to all the family, tell some of them to write. I haven't sent a letter home yet with a stamp on it, it is because we can't possibly get them and I know it makes no difference with you. HEADQUARTERS FOURTH BRIGADE. November 27, 1862. My Dear Mother:

I received your letter yesterday, and also one from brother by Mr. Gorman. I was very glad to hear from you, as I had not received any news from home in some time. He handed me the gloves also, which you sent by him. Nothing ever came in better time in the world. I had been trying my best to get a pair of some kind ever since cold weather set in, but could not, gloves such as you sent me sell for $3.00 in this country, and everything else in proportion. The last letter that I wrote home, sent to Richmond by Capt. John Grimes to be mailed, was from our Camp near Strasburg, Va. We left there on Friday, the 21st, and arrived here on Tuesday evening, the 25th, making a march of over one hundred miles in four days. It is the best marching that we have ever done, it's because we are going towards home, I reckon, that the men did so well. There are hundreds of them barefooted and ice on the ground all day. General Hill issued an order yesterday requiring all the barefooted men to make sandals of raw hides with the hair on the inside. It answers the purpose very well. It's a wonder the idea had not been thought of sooner, before the men suffered so much. Gorman says that Pat Simms will be here to-day with the things for the Regiment. I hope he will be, for I need my boots very badly, also my pants. I shall draw a pair of pants from the Regimental clothing, also a pair of shoes. I bought me a Yankee overcoat, a very comfortable one, for $12.50, a better coat than our men draw at more money. We are now on our way to Hanover Junction, some fifty miles off. We have stopped here to transport our sick on the cars ahead of us, though we have been here going on two days, a longer time than would be required for that purpose. We have no idea how long we will stay here. From what you write about your exchanging farms, I think you made a very good bargain. I wish I could be with you to help you fix it up. The boys are all well as could be expected. Virgil Stevens looks thin from diarrhœa. Tom Stith looks as fat as a pig. Buck Hansill is the same old “Buck,” though Marshbourns, that is Sam, is well and tough, Jim I don't recollect having seen for some time. I really don't know whether he is in the company or not. I did write to you and intended to send it by Ed Gordon, but he left just before I carried my letters up to the Company to give him. The next time any one leaves Wilson for the Company, please send me some kind of tonic bitters. I need something of the kind.

Give my love to all, and believe me as ever,

Your affectionate son, WALTER. HEAD QUARTERS FOURTH BRIGADE, HILL'S DIV., NEAR GUNNEY DEPOT, 12 MILES FROM FREDERICKSBURG, December 2nd., 1862. My Dear Mother:

Once more settled in camp for a little while, long enough to write, at least, I thought I would let you know where we are and what we are doing. We are on the railroad between Richmond and Fredericksburg, some twelve miles from the latter place. What we are doing, one hasn't the remotest idea. We can't tell whether we are going to fight here or not, or how long we shall stay here. I think the most of our army is in this vicinity and some part of it is constantly in motion. Ewell's Division is now passing our encampment. I'm in hopes we will stay here until our men get their clothing. Ed Gordon has just returned, though he does not bring any news from home. He says that Pat Simms will start back to-day. He certainly has appointed enough times for starting to have been here long before now, if he is not able to bring the things, why doesn't he let some one else come with them. The men have been kept out of their clothing long enough. May Warren, I understand, is willing to bring them. If you should receive this before any of them leaves, please send my watch and chain by him, I need the use of it very much and I don't think there is any danger of my losing it or being killed this winter or fall, campaign is about over. If both of them have left, please send it by the first reliable person coming to our company. Please have a key fitted to it and send that also, also a piece of buckskin in my trunk. Wrap them all up together and enjoin the one that brings it to be very careful with it, and not to lose it. I have not time to write much more, as Major Miller, who is going to take my letter to Richmond to be mailed, is in a hurry to go to the depot, for fear of being left. I received the things which you sent by Buck Hansill, also the gloves you sent by John Gorman, all I need now are the things which you are going to send by Pat Simms. Give my love to all the family and believe me, as ever, your

Affectionate son, WALTER. P. S. Write often and tell me all the news about home. Wrap my watch up very securely and direct it to me. Don't forget to send me a key for it, as I have none. WILLIAMSPORT, MD., July 8, 1863. My Dear Mother:

As I think there will be an opportunity of sending off a letter in a day or two, I believe I will drop you a few lines to let you know of some of my adventures since I last wrote you (Winchester). We have had rain every day since we left Winchester. I've been marching about ten to twenty miles a day. After the first two days our squad of two hundred dwindled down to about fifteen men, most of whom were officers. A Lieutenant from Texas commanded us. We were bound to form squads of some strength to prevent “bushwhackers” and the enraged citizens from attacking us on the road. Last summer was nothing at all to this one in Pennsylvania. Although I did not have the pleasure of going into Yankeeland with them, I was following them in the rear and could see the havoc they did. The squad that I was in, the first night we got into Pennsylvania, killed a hog near a man's house and then sent two men to him to borrow cooking utensils to cook it in, most of them would make the expression, “I reckon you got your rations out of the field.”

The Fourth of July we got in eight miles of the battlefield, all that day the citizens tried their best to prevent our going any farther. Told us we were certainly gone chickens if we went any farther, that the Yankees were on picket some little distance off in large force. We didn't put any confidence in their chat but kept on. The last day of the three days' big fight, we got within a few miles of the battlefield, when we met General Imboden's Cavalry, the advance guard of our whole wagon train, who turned us back by orders from General Lee, ordering us at the same time to keep with the train, which did not stop until we arrived at this place, we (the wagon train) intended to ford the river here and again set foot on Virginia soil, but it has rained so much we have been waiting four days for the river to fall low enough to ford it. The Yankees attacked us here day before yesterday with the intention of capturing us, but they were driven off. I can't form the most distant idea what the army is going to do, whether they intend to stay this side of the river or go back into Virginia. There is not a day passes but you hear of fighting going on. You don't feel right unless you hear cannonading going on. The stillness doesn't seem natural. There are five or six thousand Yankees here waiting for the river to fall to cross.

When I have more time I will write again. Captain Thompson was wounded slightly and has crossed the river, I don't know with what intention. Buck Nolly was killed in our company.

Write to me as soon as you get this and let me hear from you all, direct to Richmond and I will get it. This letter is No. 3.

WALTER. CAMP NEAR ORANGE C. H., August 2nd, 1863. My Dear Mother:

I received your letter day before yesterday, just as we received orders to march. We marched about fifteen miles yesterday through the hottest sun that I ever felt. The men were constantly dropping out from overheat, and one or two died from the effects. We are in camp to-day, but have orders to hold ourselves in readiness to move at a moment's notice. The report is the Yankees are advancing on Culpepper. I guess we will leave here tonight or before day in the morning. This army is seeing a very hard time at present. Nothing to eat but beef and flour and the hardest marching that this army has ever done. At the time we crossed the mountains at Fort Royal, we marched from 4 o'clock one morning until day break next morning. We were drawn up in line of battle twice during the time, once we had a very sharp fight between our sharpshooters and the Yankees. Our Brigade was in line on an edge of a mountain overlooking the whole scene. I don't think it will be long before we shall have a fight, from our present movements. I thought I told you in the letter I wrote from near Hargerstown, while in line, that I was with the Regiment. You must have missed getting that letter. This makes the fifth I have written since I left home. When I got with the regiment everything had so much changed at headquarters, new men detailed, and my not knowing any of them, I concluded to go back with the company. I have been doing duty with the Company ever since I got back and I believe I feel better satisfied. Jim Gay got back to the regiment this morning, left Wilson last Wednesday. He has told us all about the Yankee raid.

I have been suffering some little from pain in the feet, caused by hard marching. The doctor told me yesterday that I might put my things in the ambulance. At night when I went after them, some one had stolen my knapsack with all my clothes, except what I have on, and my shawl. I'll try and make out with what I have until cold weather comes on. You may send me two pair cotton and two pair woolen socks the first opportunity you have. That will be the first thing that I will need. Dossey came over to see me this morning and read a letter to me that he got from Cousin Claudia yesterday.

There is some little talk sometimes of our Brigade being ordered to North Carolina. I wish to gracious we could be. I'll bet the Yankees wouldn't cut up there like they have been. To-day is Sunday and one of the hottest that I ever felt. We are in a piece of woods where there isn't one breath of air stirring. If we do have to march to-day, half of the men will give out from overheat. I would much rather march two nights than one day. You may send me that homespun shirt in my trunk, at the same time you do the socks - that checked one. I hope the authorities will send some troops home to prevent the Yankees from making a raid through there. Write whenever there is anything to tell me about home and you all.

Your affectionate son, WALTER. CAMP ON RAPIDAN RIVER, SIX MILES NORTH OF RAPIDAN STATION, Sept. 22, 1863. My Dear Mother:

I had intended to write you the very day we left Orange Court House, but the movement prevented me. We left there yesterday week, marched towards Rapidan, camped near the river for two days, hearing the cannonading between our forces and the Yankees the whole time, neither crossing in any force. Our cavalry made a dash across the river, taking some thirty prisoners. The Second North Carolina Cavalry are on the other side of the river now and is thought to be cut off. We are now eighteen miles from Orange Court House on the Rapidan river. I can't