Pocotaligo, S.C., Jan. 19, 1865.

 

My Dear Sister:

                        Don't you think I am a good boy? This makes the fourth letter I have written since receiving one from home. I don't know what it means. I suppose, however, it is due to imperfect mail arrangements, as I hear all the boys complaining of not receiving letters. We seem to be shut out from the outside world here. We can rarely get hold of a paper, and seldom receive any mail. Rebel papers are much more frequently seen than our own. I spoke in my last letter to mother concerning the desperate denunciation of Jeff. Davis and the rebel Government by the Charleston papers. Since that I have seen yet other copies, and it is really amusing to see the frantic ravings they indulge in, cursing the army for inefficiency and demoralization; calling upon the citizens to rally for the defence of Charleston; confessing that even in Charleston there are "some who would greet the enemy with cheers", saying "we must have reform, reorganization, or we might as well close / the books, the end is near"; shrieking concerning numerous deserters and plunderers from their own army, "shoot", "cashier". I send you an extract from a Virginia paper, as a specimen of their ravings. I have cut it from a copy of the Charleston Mercury. (I send the dirty paper instead.)

 

            Now for the record of the march again:

 

            Wednesday, Dec. 7^th we were rear guard. Our progress during the day was slow. About sundown we stopped for supper. Then we knew that there was a night march ahead of us. There was three miles of swamp to be passed over. Darkness set in. For a while we plodded along behind the train, stopping every few rods for some mired team to be extricated from the mud. For a while, by dodging here and there we managed to keep dry feet, but it soon became so bad that this was impossible. The darkness was intense. On we plunged, through mud and water, sometimes knee deep, all the while shouting hilariously. Judging by the noise one would have thought that it was a crowd returning from some merry making. But all things have an end, and so did the / swamp at last. About 12 o'clock we reached camp. Huge fires were soon blazing, and after drying ourselves a little we lay down for a brief rest.

 

            Thursday, Dec. 8^th we made 12 miles. We crossed the railroad at Marlow Station, and marching about five miles beyond camped for the night. At night we could hear the booming of heavy guns somewhere; probably at Charleston.

 

            Friday, Dec. 9^th, our Division was in advance, but our Regiment was guarding train. The enemy were soon found, in some force, but after considerable skirmishing and cannonading, they were driven. They had a line of works on one side of a long, bad swamp, the road through which was straight as an arrow, and commanded by a fort. Our boys waded the swamp and drove them from their works. Being train guard we were not engaged. The rebels put torpedos in the road in one place. One exploded, wounding an officer. The rest were discovered in time. We avoided danger by making a circuit through the fields with the train. Every building, outhouse and fence in the neighborhood was immediately burned to the ground. We marched 13 miles, and camped for the night 9 miles from Savannah. /

 

            Saturday, Dec. 10^th, we moved up to within 4½ miles of Savannah, where we found the enemy in their main works. The day was spent in skirmishing and taking up position. Our Brigade acted as a reserve for the rest of our Division. The other Brigades crossed the Ogechee Canal in line of battle. The water was about waist deep. They took off their cartridge boxes and held them over their heads. Bridges were soon thrown across, and we crossed on those. A small line of works was thrown up. As soon as it was dark we were moved forward and a new line of works built. The ground was light and sandy, and strong works were soon built.

 

            Sunday, Dec. 11^th began damp and chilly. Fires soon blazed up everywhere, and groups of shivering soldiers gathered around them. I never witnessed such careless audacity before. No enemy could have wished a better mark for a shell than one of our fires. We never would have dared act thus in part of Kennesaw or Atlanta. But see, the rebels are no less audacious than we, as is attested by that line of fires just in front of us. Morning breaks. Are not those white things tents? No, something more dangerous! That is a line of works, and that white mass is the sand of two large forts; not over musket shot off, too. And yet we move around carelessly, and not a shot is fired. Is this war? Very strange, it seems indeed. Finally a rebel mounts the works and fires his musket. The ball whistles over us. A few musket balls are exchanged, and still not a cannon shot. Finally our battery opens. See, it has struck the rebel works. How the sand flies! Into the ditches now, men! the ball is opened. An artillery duel is kept up at intervals. Musket balls fly back and forth. The men grow careless again. Near me sits a group of four or five. Suddenly, unexpectedly, comes a shell. Look! it burst right there not over ten feet distant. How we scramble into the ditches. Alas, there lies one poor fellow, who will never march more. That shell has been a messenger of death to him. How sudden! Such is the frail tenure of a soldier's life.—At night we are relieved from our works by the 14^th Corps. Marching four miles to the rear we camp for the night.

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