Thursday evening

                       

                                                                                    Grove Camp near New Berne

                                                                                                September 18.1863

 

            Dearest Ellen

                        I believe I promised in my last letter to write you again on the fifteenth of the month. By the date of this you will see that I have almost fulfilled my promise. One reason why I have delayed beyond the time is that I hoped to hear from you by the mail which arrived last night. If I were not a very patient, submissive individual I should feel strongly disposed to anger at the dilatory manner in which communication is kept up between civilization and North Carolina. I am not certain that I did not express myself on that point in my last, if so, please consider what was written as interpolated here.

 

Nothing could be more monstrous than/ the idle existence I have led, in common with the remainder of our officers for the past two months. We arise at Reveille’ or later, sit down, with no appetite, to our morning meals and then unless something of business of the most urgent description demands our attention we immediately lie down and try to exist until dinner time and so on throughout the day. Now and then we are roused for a moment from our dormant state by the arrival of news five or six days old. But even this amuses and interests but for a moment. I have almost arrived at the conclusion that the “Army of the Potomac” is a myth. I have a faint idea that an incredible amount of “villianuris saltpetre” is being consumed near a certain fabulous city called Charleston. Is there such a thing as the “Army of the SouthWest”? We can scarcely dignify our present mode of existence as living, it is merely stopping.

 

            What do you think awakened me from/ this deplorable state a short time since? You could never guess it? Well, I will relieve you from your anxious suspense. It was nothing less or more than a call from my newly discovered “sister.” Now dont elevate that pretty chin or allow that angelic temper to exhibit itself. My “poor relation” has actually favored me with a brief visit. In the midst of her charitable endeavors to educate the poor “contraband”, she remembered the benighted condition of her white “brother”, and made an unexpected descent upon his quarters one rainy afternoon last week, with her hands full of tracts and papers. she was accompanied by her excellent friend Miss Somebody I forget the name. (I say excellent for I believe the saying is that homely people are always good. This may account for your terrible displays of temper, your remembrance of injuries, your unforgiving spirit &c &c. Dont you wish you were plain looking?) I hospitably entertained the angels two or three hours and then politely handed them into their/ carriage (for carriage read ambulance) previously exacting from them a promise to call again. On examining the documents left by them I was much surprised at one thing viz: each tract was on the subject of temperance and each paper was nearly filled with sermons and letters by H. W. Beecher. Do explain the reason? Can “sister” consider me a confirmed inebriate? Does she not know that I utterly dislike H.W.B’s writings? I think I must intimate as much to her at her next visit.                      An important and well substantiated rumor has been in circulation in military circles to day which if true is well calculated to arouse us from the torpor into which we have fallen. The report is that the Rebel Gen^l Longstreet is now at “Swift Creek” distant from New Berne about seventeen miles. He is said to have a large force with him. We know from N.C. Papers that considerable bodies of troops have passed through Raleigh and Goldsboro’ within/ the past two weeks. It was supposed, however, that they were intended as a reinforcement to Gen^ls Bragg and Johnson. Although no instructions have been as yet received I am in momentary expectation of orders for our Cavalry to reconnoitre towards the above mentioned place. I hope so, for although I dislike fighting or the sound of bullets still any thing to relieve this terrible monotony would be acceptable. An order for march would soon restore to the Regt its former life and vigor and would in a moment put an end to the petty quarrels and wranglings incident to a long respite from the sternest duties of a soldier’s life. My two years and more in service has done much to banish that eager anxiety for a fight evinced on my first entry into it. Motives of duty and an earnest desire to handle my command well are now the incentives urging me on./

 

Amongst these motives and desires, you, Ellen, form the most important feature. To deserve well of you is my greatest wish. My career in the army previous to my return home was wrong, very wrong in many respects. Now, I have a definite end in view, something to live for. The thought that you would approve my action has been my reward in many a resolution I have made and, I trust, have kept. Many times since my return I have been utterly disgusted with the service and would have resigned but for you. To resign at the present crisis would be disgraceful and I dare not do it. I, however, look forward with pleasure to the time when, honorably discharged, I can return to that dear old city and see you again. I see by the papers that typhoid fever is making sad ravages in R. and vicinity. Your charitable and missionary labors, I know, lead you often among the suffering. Now would it not be better to rest for a while and not incur any risk of disease or/ contagion. Several friends of mine have been taken away by that terrible disease and I feel great anxiety for you. Now promise to be a good girl and mind for once.

 

            I have made a great discovery. I have at last ferreted out the terrible fellow who, you say, so cruelly injured you. Your description of him was sadly at fault. By it I was led astray for a long time. I never gave the female sex credit for exactitude in details and you confirm me in my opinion. I find the terrible one to be a young man of a most modest manner, mild temper, forgiving disposition and of very many excellent qualities. My wrath is turned to pity that he should have been so terribly maligned. He most humbly begs pardon for all injuries intentional or otherwise and merely asks that his character may be cleared from the obloquy resting upon it. He wonders that one so fair, seemingly so mild, so forgiving should ever allow the remembrance injuries to gain so firm a hold upon her. Will you not permit me to inform him/ that for once you were wrong; that you had been mistaken in your estimate and that you beg him to forgive you for the unintentional wrong. By the way, How does the poor wounded arm progress? I hope soon to hear of its perfect recovery for I then know that no future injury can by any possibility be attributed to me.

 

If there were room in the envelope I should feel tempted to send you a sample of North Carolina sand and by comparison with a certain soil about which you once endeavored to create a controversy you would most certainly acknowledge yourself in the wrong.

 

The Operatic season has finished. The talented performers have been dropping off one by one, until we are now compelled to be satisfied with the solo performances of the famous “Fireside Bard” the Cricket. An attempt was made to supply the places of the old troupe by introducing a Full Chorus of For Hounds assisted by what home talent we could produce in the way of dogs, small and large, belonging/ our camp. But it was a failure. The audience left or rather compelled the performers to leave the stage in a style more precipitate than graceful. I think, considering the present dearth of musical talent, I could now listen with moderate pleasure to the simple music of a piano. I would applaud anything but “Remember me” and the warblings of the “cherubs, next door.”

 

            What terrible weather we have had here for the past week! Rain, rain, rain until the moisture penetrates every corner of our quarters. Dismal fogs with ague and fever almost written in their shadowy folds settle down on us each night. As I now write the chilly wind sighs and mutters through the tops of the pines and the rain drops dash against the window in a manner decidedly repelling to comfort. And in addition my shanty leaks fearfully. I have selected almost the only dry spot and will endeavor to finish this unless drowned out. Do you not envy/ the duty I must perform shortly? Being “Officer of the Day” I must at 2 A.M. make the “Grand Rounds” visiting the different posts of the camp and make up my report for the Commandant. It will be terrible marching for some time to come, not on account of the mud for the sand here absorbs the water as fast as it falls, but the streams and swamps will be full to overflowing and bridges are an institution scarcely ever heard of in this region.

 

I see by the Herald of the 13^th (our latest date) that our relations with France on the Mexican question are assuming a menacing attitude. What is your father’s idea concerning the probability of an immediate war with France? We can not get the details of affairs occuring away from us for we do not procure the regular files, so we have to be content with general outlines. We have decided that France wants a whipping and are inclined to believe that she will get it. If we close up this rebellion within a year (which we must do or not at all)/ I should then like to see the pride of Napoleon III suffer a severe fall. England too for her treacherous neutrality needs a lesson. I believe she knows that her supplies of swift sailing ships of war to the Southern Confederacy have conjured up a spirit that would utterly sweep from the seas her boasted marine and her numberless merchant ships in case of a war with this country. She also feels alarmed for the Canadas. The United States with her lately acquired knowledge of Arms and her immense resources are destined to be the ruling nature of the globe. I for one hope to live to see that day.                Since last writing you I have done but little in the line of reading. I carefully perused the various essays on temperance given me and have tried several times to finish one of Beecher’s sermons The only book I have read is the “Decameron” of “Boccaccio.” Some portions of it are good but on the whole I do not like it. The “Slave Power” has not yet arrived from the North. I promise myself much pleasure in its perusal./

 

I shall soon send you (if acceptable) a photograph of “Grove Camp”. It is not well taken but shows the position very well. A young man in one of the companies promises me a sketch of my own quarters which are not shown in the photograph. What is Libbie doing? Does she retire to the “Retreat” (I believe that’s the name) and there devour the musty pages of ancient lore? I do not ask for your own occupation for I can nearly guess it. You of course read, write practise &c &c.

 

E.D.C. has at last condescended to address me. He gives a glowing account of his doings, sayings & actings during vacation. But it is strange that I do not hear from Arthur. I have written him and although six weeks have passed he does not answer. I heard some time since from my cousin and learn that he is well. My own health is gradually improving. I very foolishly wrote my mother that I was unwell and in return have received a letter fraught with anxiety. I shall never do the like again. In looking over this letter I see I have written little else than military news thereby offending the law of etiquette “keep your trade out of the parlor.” But you must pardon me. There are no “refining influences” here. Give my respects to your mother, Libbie and Hattie. Tell Raleigh to remember that he likes me better you. And now Ellen good bye. Although repetition may give satiety let me again assure you of my unchanging feelings and permit me to subscribe myself

 

                                                                                    Yours truly & affectionately  Sam.

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