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". . . For the last few days I have been too unwell to write,—
with my complaint of long standing. To-day I am better. . . .
Randolph insists I must get a leave of three or four weeks or I
will not get well. I begin to think so myself, but must wait a
little longer. A good deal to be done that I wish to accomplish
before leaving the army, and then it will depend upon the prospect
before us and how I feel whether I shall consider myself at
liberty to take a brief respite.

"The army has been resting here some days, and is now entering,
I suppose, upon active work again. But what that work
is to be I at present have no idea, my indisposition having kept
me quietly in my camp for these several days. We are about to
move towards Winchester." . . .

". . . I have another opportunity of writing a few lines. This
holy day has been too busy for a Sabbath, yet mentally to me a
sacred day. I am resting for an hour or two. The enemy seems
concentrating at Harper's Ferry, so that this army must move to
head them off. This active movement, with the likelihood of battle,
prevents my thinking just now of the furlough I had contemplated.
Indeed, Randolph had given me a certificate that it was essential
for me to leave camp for thirty days, but there is a good deal to do
in my department which no one else can do as well, under the circumstances,
and I would not go when a great conflict may be near.

"My disease has been for the past few days very enfeebling.
I am, as you request, extremely careful as to diet. But camp is
a hard place to be nice in that as in other respects. By calling at
houses near by and getting a soft-boiled egg and a little boiled
milk now and then, I hope to get along,—even if 'faint, yet
pursuing.' I know you would not have me leave my post at a
critical time if I can possibly hold out.

"The country around here is doubly desolate. Army after
army has passed over it, and a cloud of locusts were hardly less
destructive; and now a drought almost unparalleled has parched
it crisp. Winchester I have not yet seen, but it is said to be
greatly injured. I sent you yesterday a check. It will, I hope,
come safely and meet all your wants. Make sure of flour, wood,
and bacon for the winter."

". . . I have only time this morning for a line to tell you how
much better I am. I was very sick and beginning to despair of
getting well in camp, but got one of the boys to bring me a piece
of pickle from a nice house near by, and extracting and swallowing
the juice helped me at once. I am now taking nitro-muriatic
acid, and have been living mainly on acid food. It has all helped
me wonderfully, and I am really beginning to feel like myself.
You may, therefore, rest easy on my account thus far."

". . . It grieves me that you were all so disappointed about my
not going home, but it was better for me to stay. I hope to get
home later if there is not much active campaigning. I am really
well, with a fine appetite, and full of vigor. It is dreadfully dry.
I never saw so much dust.

"All quiet still. When a move will be made, or what, I do not
imagine. At present we are improving in health and gaining
strength daily. Oh, how I long to be with you and the rest!
Rose, Nan, and Lel I have not seen for more than a year. Am
letting the beard grow all over my face. Pretty grizzly,—but a
great saving of work."

". . . Here we are still, you see. Under General Lee's direction,
I have had the routes over the mountains explored, and the
capacity of Fauquier, Loudoun, etc., for maintaining an army
ascertained and reported to him. . . . My great work of reorganizing
the artillery has been accomplished, and if there is to be
no more active campaigning I can be better spared from camp
now than at most other times.

". . . Mr. Barnwell has just returned from Richmond—whither
I had sent him—with two twenty-pound Parrott rifle guns. I
some time ago assigned two to Poague and two to a battery in
Colonel S. D. Lee's battalion. They were captured at Harper's
Ferry. The two just brought up I keep in this corps under
Captain Lane of Cutts's battalion. These guns, and two English
Whitworths that fire five miles, make our artillery armament for
the field much more formidable than it has ever been before.
The Yankees will not again have their way with us at long
range any more than at close quarters. . . . You will be pained
to hear that I am not so well. Severely troubled for the last
few days with my old complaint. I reckon I shall have to leave
camp to get sound again, if for nothing else. Besides, I have
had a bronchial cold, and now, in addition, have a painful boil
under my right arm. Altogether, some experience of bodily
ills. Yet, on the whole, I am comfortable. . . . My condition
requires the greatest possible care as to diet: a boiled egg, a
little chicken-soup, and rice with toast constitute my subsistence.
I am greatly favored in being able to get them."

". . . I am, as usual, hurried. Have ridden to see General Lee
to-day about various matters; took occasion to hint about recruiting
my strength. He says I mustn't want recruiting; he can't
spare me. I suppose it will not do for me to think of leaving till
winter puts a veto on active movements. I wish we had known
a month ago the army would be here so long, I would have had
you and Rose here at 'Mountain View.'"

". . . On Thursday, 30th of October, I received notice to
march Saturday, 1st of November, and at one P.M. of that day
set the column in motion, the road not being clear till then.
That evening, crossing the two branches of the Shenandoah, we
reached and encamped near Front Royal. Tuesday, soon after
mid-day, we arrived here,—are encamped about a mile from the
village, where streams furnish water for our horses and woods
shelter them and ourselves," . . .

". . . Yesterday I was again permitted to preach acceptably
to a large and attractive congregation in Rev. Mr. Cole's church.

There were a great many officers and soldiers. General Lee and
staff among others. They tell me the army seems in motion. I
have for a day or two anticipated the breaking up of our camp here.

"George, of Oakland, who waits upon us, is very complaining.
He says he is 'broke down' and can't stand being here in this
'wide ocean.' We have, with one and another, quite a small
army of servants about my head-quarters. It is a life they like
vastly. So little to do."

". . . After a rough march during four or five days of the
past week we arrived here to-day about twelve. Since then have
been busy fixing camps, seeing General Lee, etc. It has been
very little like God's holy day. I have tried to have my own
mind exercised in harmony with the day. I was struck this
evening by a reply made to John by old George. The latter
had been away for an hour or two, no one knew where. On
being reproved, he said he had just learned it was Sunday and
had gone into the bushes to pray.

"What is to turn up here cannot yet be told. The enemy in
very strong force the other side of the river, and two days ago
they summoned the town to surrender. General Longstreet replied,
it would not be surrendered. That our troops would
not enter the place, and General Burnside's should not. They
threatened to shell the place, and accordingly most of the people
have left."

". . . At present the burden of defence here falls necessarily
on the artillery, and hence I have to be very active and busy. No
gun yet fired, but the Yankees on the other side in full force, and
working like beavers planting batteries. We are, of course, energetic
in the same way getting guns in position to keep them
back. To do this systematically requires exact care on my part
to have all the batteries, guns, etc., classified, so that every man
may know his place, and every gun be rendered fully available at
the right point and at the requisite moment. All day Monday I
was out reconnoitring, riding some thirty miles, and yesterday
the same. The Yankees in full view, and we get not only within
cannon-range, but within musket-shot. Just across from Fredericksburg
they have guns planted to rake the streets. If the
enemy makes a serious effort to cross, it will be a hot time. The
artillery fire will be tremendous on both sides. Burnside has a
serious task before him; and, as General Lee said to me pleasantly
this morning, he hopes Burnside will eat his turkey and
plum-pudding elsewhere than in Richmond. I am perfectly well,
although in the woods, and sometimes with only one meal a day.
. . . When I contemplate my own part in the struggle here my

feelings are solemn, yet trustful and hopeful. He who notes the
fall of every sparrow holds in His hands my life on the battlefield
as everywhere else. And I desire, harder though it then be,
to realize this when the shells crash and the bullets whiz within a
hair's-breadth as when all is quiet and peace around me. It is a
strange position for a servant of the Prince of Peace and a minister
of the Gospel of Peace. But as I do not delight in war, and
would not hurt the hair of the head of any human being save under
conviction of public duty; as by prayer, pleadings, and expostulation
I have earnestly tried for peace, so I trust the blessing of the
peace-maker will not be denied me, though as a soldier of the
Cross I follow the example of old Abraham in endeavoring to defend
my kindred against cruel outrage. As with that instance of
generous indignation and just courage conspicuously in view, the
pattern patriarch is—in the New Testament as well as in the Old
—honored as the father of the faithful and the friend of God, so,
even under the pacific dispensation of the Gospel, the Lord's
faithful servants and children, though they may not individually
avenge themselves, may, with His approval and by His sanction,
wield the sword of society against public wrong-doers seeking to
subvert social right by iniquitous force. He knows how truly I
mourn over the wrongs which have compelled the best people of
the South to resolve on resistance unto death, and how painful to
me the alternative of seeing all that I most value on earth desolated,
or of taking myself an humble part in the endeavor, at whatever
cost, to resist oppression. He sees that I desire in all sincerity
to be a faithful soldier of the Cross, while trying also to be a useful
soldier of a much-wronged country. And He graciously accepts,
I trust, my unworthy services, whatever error, whatever sin be
chargeable against me in this as in other portions of my life. The
blood of Christ cleanseth from all sin. All this, my daughter, not
for you only I write, but for all at home, and as an expression of
my mind when perhaps such utterance may be of value."

". . . This bright, frosty morning, just after our camp breakfast
of fried middling and corn-bread and water, with the addition
of a little butter, the first for ten days, I seat myself to write.
By the way, bacon of any kind in our fare is a great rarity.

The army is fed by beef, beef, beef, all the time. It is so easy to
get along. A great thing for the eatables of an army to transport
themselves.

"This lovely day all is quiet here, as ever. By and by I shall
ride to the front and take an observation of our amiable friends
across the river. . . . It would grieve you to pass through the
streets of poor old Fredericksburg. All desolate and deserted.
Only here and there do you see anybody. Not a house open;
nothing but desertion and silence. The poor, homeless people
are wanderers on the face of the earth. The Yankees having
threatened to bombard the town, of course all the timid and
helpless moved out as quickly as possible, and hundreds had to
shelter themselves in the woods some miles off as well as they
could. Most have now found refuge with kind friends elsewhere,
but the discomfort of all must be great. Still, they are bravely
patient, even cheerful. Day before yesterday, when I visited the
front, works were going up most busily on both sides. I laid out
some for large guns on our front,—guns just brought up from
Richmond,—thirty-pounder Parrotts, like 'Long Tom,' captured
at Manassas First. . . . We are all pretty hideous now, like so
many wild beasts unshorn. I have not had a razor near my face
for two months. Best friends hardly know me. They stop and
stare when I speak to them, at a loss to determine who it is.
There is no other officer with so much gray beard all over his
face, except General Lee; and though he is grayer, the mistake
is frequently made of taking me for him. We are not far from
the same size and age. He rather older, I rather taller."

". . . To-day has been pretty wintry all day, forming ice, I believe,
in the shade every hour, and to-night it is still more pinching;
yet in my tent we are pretty comfortable, thin as are cotton
walls. Very different is it, however, with many of the poor fellows
in camp. There are still a few unprovided with shoes, more with
inadequate clothing, and all without tents. They manage to eke
out some kind of a shelter, either with oil-cloths or a blanket over
poles, or brushwood covered with leaves. Nor is the exposure
in such weather all. Camp-fare in our fix is an item of life not
without significance. Our breakfast this morning was a piece of

cold boiled fat middling and corn-bread, washed down with cold
water. It went astonishingly well, tired as we are of interminable
beef. For dinner I preferred a little 'hard bread' and water.
To-night we had the treat of a cup of coffee and some fat cornbread.

. . At this season one of our sorest privations is the impracticability
of any kind of public worship. Had it been at all
possible, I should certainly have officiated to some part of my
command. As it was, 1 could only stay by the fire in my tent.
Bible and Prayer-Book are my only Christian reading. These, of
course, are inestimable, but I feel very much the want of some
others. And to-day I have not been able to enjoy these as much
as I desired, because, mine being the most comfortable tent, most
of my staff spend a good deal of time in it.

"As I am now writing on my knee, with candle propped up
on my bed, old George, having taken refuge from the cold winds
beneath our shelter, lies outstretched near the fire and your uncle
John is in his cot soundly sleeping. Nor is there a single sound
but of the simmering fire before me. You would never imagine
so many thousand men and horses of war were congregated so
near.

"But what of the enemy, you will all wish to know. Just as
they have been for the two weeks we have been here. No doubt
Burnside is sorely puzzled what to do. To attempt crossing the
river in spite of us is a hazard he had better not try. To go elsewhere
'On to Richmond' is a task at this season to try his patience
as well as his nerves, and to stay where he is will probably cost
him as dearly as a lost battle. He had some reason to weep when
McClellan left him in command. Our own term of endurance
here must depend on his movements."