...I have not seen one farm or plantation that I could covet. One thing we have marched through a very mountainous and rocky part of the state, and the ground on which we are now posted is so stony that a sheep could hardly nose his grass out. It may be better out in the valley, but I doubt it. The fences are mostly burned by the Army on the march for fire wood. I am now sitting by a rail fence fire at which some of my men are cooking. Of the people I have many things to say. They are generally very uncommunicative, yes, sullen. The men generally skedaddled when we approached the houses, leaving the women to attend to our inquiries. The latter are invariably Secesh and do not hesitate to tell you so. If you do not offer any injury, the men return and converse. Some will talk quite pleasantly, others very loath to answer any questions and if they can mislead you they will. One thing is certain, they will never be suborned until thoroughly and completely conquered. If that can be done, they will give up. Many of us begin to wonder how, when and where this war will end. Some / think, very shortly, some, never, others think an intervention will end it. I hardly know what to think. One thing is certain, we have lost a splendid autumn for a campaign, and have accomplished nothing. The few Secesh men I have spoken, think that the South lost much by the raid into Pennsylvania, that they gained nothing by it, but caused a bitter feeling against them among their friends North. Some even go so far as to say that the whole Southern cause was imperiled when their Army crossed the Potomac. What our immense Army is going to do this winter I cannot even guess at. Various reports circulate, the most plausible of which is, that we will go to Alexandria for quarters. I hope we will go further south. I do not object to marching such weather, but when the rain commences, it will be awful. Then marching will be hard. 

 

I do wish I could get a letter from you. I have not heard now for 3 weeks. No mail has reached the Regiment and the Officers are exceedingly anxious about their families. An enormous mail must be waiting for us somewhere. The fact is dear, we consider ourselves badly used. Other Regiments get their mails. Other Regiments are paid off. Ours is not. I am almost wild to receive my pay. The promises I made must all go for naught, and all my endeavors to do right frustrated. I am out of money, and what I am to do God only knows. It is hard dear, to stand it without complaining. I cannot send you any money. I know you need it. I cannot write to my friends who have depended upon receiving it from me, for what can I do but make more promises, which depend entirely upon the Government redeeming its promises? / I am despondent, half-starved and dirty and begrimed with smoke we soldiers are but a sorry looking set at best. It is the last resource in the world for a man who enlists as a private. You may judge of the effects upon some men, when I tell you that 2 of our Captains and 3 of our Lieutenants are home sick, and we never expect to see them again. The fact is that but few men can stand it unless educated first. Many of the Officers are not fit for their posts, nor will they take the trouble & acquaint themselves with their duties by study. God only knows what we are all coming to. To add to my discomforts, I burned my boots the other day, and there are no shoes in the camp to draw a pair. I shall soon be barefooted. The extra clothing our Company had, including my own and the Lieutenants', was all left at Berlin, and I hear the Rebels have made a raid and have got it all. Well there will be a reckoning some day. But I am truly wretched about my pay. I will be subject to all sorts of charges and reproaches and I can say nothing. How can you get along dear? I think and think over and over again about you and the little ones, until I feel completely lost. How when and where shall we meet? I was in hopes of having you in Washington the greater / part of the winter, but Gen M^cClellan killed that hope. I would not come to the city again unless I could take some money with me. But I am afraid you will think me disheartened and utterly cast down. I am not dear about my duties. I can do them all cheerfully, but do not like to continue these disappointments. If I could only have a letter from you I should feel so much better. Maybe there will come a mail to day. Kiss the little darlings over and over again for me. I can hardly ask you to write often, for I may not receive the letters yet do not omit it. Give my love to all at home. I think some letters are owing to me from your household. Hoping to hear from my dear wife soon I remain as ever

 

Yours devotedly

Andy

 

No 14/62                                             

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