Jan 26^th 1863

                                                                                    Camp Opposite Fredericksburg, Va.

           

                        Dear Cousin Frank

                                                            The letter which you set afloat, reached me here some time ago & I will now try to answer it & let you know where I am & how I am & something of what I have been about for some time past. We left our Camp at Fairfax Sem^y where we were nicely quartered, about the 1^st of Dec’ & started on a long weary march to reinforce Burnside in front of the reb’s at Fredericksburg. I could fill a volume in describing to you the various incidents of the march. But I will not attempt anything of the kind, only saying/that I suppose it was like all other marches, toiling along the road by day with our heavy knapsacks on our backs & by night bivouacking in the woods or in the open country as the case might be. You should have seen us frying our pork & making our coffee in tin cups over the camp fires. You should have seen the rail fences disappearing as by magic, for fire wood, in the hands of four or five thousand men & wo to the luckless chicken or pig or anything that could be rendered eatable which might chance to stray into the hands of those hungry men; This you can imagine much better than I can tell it to you. I will let it pass without farther comment/

 

In due time we arrived at Aquia Creek, where we rested for a couple of days, then took up the line of march for the banks of the Rhapahannock. Here we arrived distant from the river about one mile & a half. We encamped on the ground we now occupy, for the night, & in the morning were awakened by our artillery which opened fire on the town, to cover the laying of the pontoon bridges. And such a shelling as they gave it: Neither inhabitants nor soldiers remained within the city long I assure you, but out of it they skedaddled to their fortifications on the heights beyond. & before night the bridges were completed & a large number of troops across. We however did not cross until/towards night the next day. All of which day before we crossed, we lay on the bank of the river, where the rebs paid us their compliments in the shape of two or three shells which wounded three of our men, one so that he died. But I must hasten over the events that followed, to detail them all would take too much time & space. We crossed the river that night. In the fight that occurred the next day, being held in reserve we took no active part, but lay partly sheltered from the shells of the enemy by the bank of the river, but from the shells of own guns on the other side of the river, which were intended to go over us we had no protection, & one rascally gun burst nearly every shell fired from it directly over our heads. I don’t know but you might/consider it very pleasant to have pieces of iron about the size of one’s fist flying about your head, but for my part I had rather stand from under. But the fact that in our whole brigade which lay there together not more than four or five were injured surprised me. Once quite an intimate companion of mine was just counseling me to move a little to one side so as to be more out of the range of that gun. I replied that the pieces were as likely to scatter in one direction as another, & for my part I was very comfortably situated & was going to lie still & take it easy; he concluded to move his quarters a little. He had not gone more than ten feet/when spang went the old gun (we could always tell that gun by the infernal noise it made) whiz came the iron hail dropping in the water & on the bank like walnuts from a tree. I looked around & the first person that met my eye, was my friend tumbling over, as you would imagine any one would, hit on the side of the head with a piece of iron weighing three or four pounds. However it did not strike in such a way as to injure him very seriously, for which of course we were all very much rejoiced. But I cannot stop to tell any more stories, so I will merely say, what you well know, that it was not fated, nor was it possible for us to drive the enemy from their intrenchments/that day. However brave men may be impossibilities cannot be accomplished & some other plan must be tried to root those rebs out of that place, & sooner or later I have no doubt but that it will be done. On the night of the withdrawal of our troops back to this side of the river, our company with another was detailed to cover the bridge with earth, so as to render the crossing less audible, so we did not reach our camp till the following morning. Here we have been lying ever since, continually expecting to move, but without moving. You have doubtless heard ere this of the late attempted movement, how the elements interfered & the rain/desended & the army got stuck in the mud, & we shall probably remain here some time yet. Well, so be it, but I was in hopes that this time we should have given those reb’s a good driving. Our situation here is not very pleasant—a regular mud hole. But never mind I am in good health, tough, hearty, & jolly. Remember, “Let the wide world jog as it will, I’ll be gay & happy still” To all the friends I wish to be remembered, & I must close hoping that at some future time when peace & prosperity shall be restored to our country, I may be permitted to see you all again. Write as soon as you can, Direct to Washington & the letter will be at once forwarded

 

                                    Your cousin

                                                Kirt

SOURCES