LETTER VI.
Darling Mother,—I am on board the boat opposite
the city of Memphis. Night before last we stopped
all night on account of the fog, so had the advantage
of passing the most interesting places in daylight. The
Mississippi is perfectly magnificent. You cannot imagine
such a river unless you have been on it; it is so
grand and mighty, and such a mysterious river it is,
winding in the most unforeseen manner in and out,
now rushing through a channel not wider than the
Charles River, then suddenly widening to two miles
and more. Yesterday we stopped at Columbus; the
fortifications make one shiver to look at them and
think of our brave fellows scaling them as they did.
I was shown the places where they went up and were
driven back into the river, before they could, after
repeated attempts, gain the victory. We passed many
places that will always be memorable in our history.
Late in the afternoon we reached Island No. 10. I
little thought, when I read the accounts last winter,
that I should ever see it. There is a garrison upon it
under the care of Colonel Asboth. The other night,
four thousand guerillas made an attack upon it, but
were driven back; so you see the garrison is a necessity.
You cannot think how different being in the
midst of the war is to hearing of it at a distance.
We steam under the yellow flag, and they do not
usually fire upon that, so you need not be frightened
about me; at any rate I am in the army, and like it.
To-day we reached Memphis, where we stop till we
receive our orders to proceed; if it is a clear night we
shall probably go on, it is not safe in the fog; the river
is a difficult one to navigate. We are four hundred
miles from St. Louis. We have just heard that instead
of going to Vicksburg we have received orders to go to
Helena, and there load up with sick; how true this will
prove we do not know, the order may be countermanded
when we reach Helena. Do you remember the accounts
we read of the fight before Memphis between
our gunboats and those of the enemy? We are on the
spot, and right before us are the bluffs where the people
assembled to watch the fight.
I think of you often, but am not as homesick, quite,
as I was. To-day is Sunday, and I am trying to think
what you are about. Some of the ladies went on
shore, but I must not leave my charge. We have some
sickness on board among the men: one has diphtheria,
but will probably recover, another has erysipelas, and
there are other cases. The cabin is being put in
readiness for the sick, rows of hospital beds all along,
all made up ready, and the ship being put in order
gradually. I have just received one of our new laundresses,
a contraband, with one pretty little boy; she
wants to go to St. Louis, where she can get employment.
When the doctor saw her he did not at first think of
taking the boy; but, when he understood, he said to
me, "The boy may come too." I wish you could have
seen the poor woman's face. She says she has lost
her husband: her boy is her all. She looked as if she
would like to go down at the doctor's feet. There are
many contrabands here.
I think I shall finish this to Carrie.
