LXXVII
Camp at Wolf Run Shoals, on Occoquan Creek, Va.,November 23, 1862.
Camp at Wolf Run Shoals, on Occoquan Creek, Va.,November 23, 1862.
Camp at Wolf Run Shoals, on Occoquan Creek, Va.,November 23, 1862.
Camp at Wolf Run Shoals, on Occoquan Creek, Va.,
November 23, 1862.
I HAVEjust finished reading letters from you and Addie that came in this morning. My fingers are so cold I can hardly clutch the pen, and the wind fairly howls as it comes tearing up the gorge. We left our Centreville camp Tuesday and arrived here the next day. Up to yesterday noon it rained without cessation, and as we trudged along through the mud and rain, or shivered in our wet beds with no protection but our little pieces of shelter-tent, you may be sure we thought of the happy homes we had left at Centreville. This is one of the wildest places I have seen in Virginia, the Occoquan rushing down through gloomy gorges clothed in a dense vegetation. The river here is about as wide as Elm street, and only to be crossed at fords, and at this season of the year wading rivers has its disagreeable features. On the crest commanding this ford the rebels had two forts, and along the hillside, between the forts and river, a line of rifle pits. Our regiment is camped on the hillside, between the forts and pits, and the declivity above us is so steep as to be almost a precipice.
Our entire division is now assembled in this immediate vicinity. The wind blows bitter cold today, and there is a good fire going in front of every tent. Bill is sitting on a half-barrel, outside the tent, writing letters, and I am on my blankets at the portal. Every few minutes we have to stop and thaw out at the fire.
Bill and I have really been living pretty high on this expedition. We lugged soft bread enough in our haversacks and knapsacks so that we still have a good supply left. The day we got here I waded back across the creek and went on an exploring expedition. Away back in the woods I came upon a little clearing. In it was an abandonedcabin, and it was a picture of desolation. I imagine there was a tragedy here. There were the ruins of a garden patch which evidently had been raided and plundered by vagabonds like myself. But they had not made a clean harvesting, and ploughing around with a sharp stick I managed to turn up quite a quantity of excellent potatoes. I also found some turnips and onions, and some fairly good apples, and came back to camp loaded with truck. We had fried chicken yesterday morning. Bill borrowed my revolver, went off on a scout, and came back with the bird. I asked him if he shot it or bought it; I suspect the latter. There are quantities of walnuts, butternuts and persimmons about here. These last are a wild plum, growing on a tree looking much like an apple tree. They are awfully puckery when green, and sickish sweet when dead ripe.
Two days before we left Centreville Johnny Ogden’s wife came out to see him. It is no place for a woman, and my opinion is she had better have stayed at home. She has had a chance to see some of the rough side of campaigning. All that could be done has been done for her convenience and comfort. She has a fully inclosed tent here, thickly bedded with hay—the best quarters in camp.
I have some hopes now that this awful war will be over before many months. We all have confidence in Burnside and are hoping he will lead us to victory. “Officers’ Call” has just sounded, and I am afraid it means orders to march.
P. S.—It was an inspection, and we are now ordered to carry an extra pair of shoes in our knapsacks. That looks like some traveling. One pair of my size will be about all I will care to tote.