Yesterday I was taken prisoner and today I find myself in jail. It
seems I will be here for a spell.
Surely through no fault of yours, I have had no word from home
since May. It might be worth a try to write me at the old address
at Hilton Head, hoping that when the Colonel learns our whereabouts
our mail will be forwarded here. I have heard of mail being taken to
prisons by way of Port Royal Ferry. The Rebels are often kind in such
matters, as we have some of their boys too.
My health is good and I am cheered by the presence of my friend
Lieutenant Kelly. I have mentioned him in other letters. Of course I
am hoping we may be exchanged, but we have no word of the chances for
that.
If you can send a box, I know that books will be a special want, and
paper and pencils and a change of underclothes. I have some money but
more would be useful, if it can be spared. I don’t know if a sutler
comes to this jail, but I imagine that things can be bought somehow.
I long to see your faces more than ever now. Love to the twins,
and when you see Kate in church ask her to send that long-awaited
photograph.
Your loving son,
TIMOTHY BRADFORD
_Lieut. 7th Ct._
He folded the letter and put it, with the billfold and remaining sheet
of writing paper, back into his pocket. He measured the pencil stub
between his thumb and forefinger, and shook his head. He slipped it
into his pocket.
He got up from the floor and looked out the window again, this time
with unseeing eyes. He turned from the window and paced along the wall
and back again. Now that the letter was finished he was tortured by a
feeling of suffocation. He wanted to send it on its way right now, or
better still, deliver it himself.