_Camp near Rappahannock River,
Culpeper County, Va.,
October 20, 1863._
This is the first chance I have had to write to you since we started on
our autumn campaign. We have succeeded in maneuvering Meade entirely
out of Virginia, as you must have already learned. The infantry did
not have much fighting to do at any time on the entire trip, but the
cavalry fought a large part of the time. Two North Carolina brigades
became engaged with the enemy late one afternoon near Bristow Station,
and our side got rather the worst of it. It was all due to the
miserable management of General Hill or General Heth, or possibly both
of them. The next morning the Yankees were gone, as they did not dare
give battle to General Lee.
We have had a pretty hard time of it for the last few days on account
of so much rain. It made the marching extremely disagreeable, but I
stood the trip well, and enjoyed the best of health. To-day the weather
has cleared and it is bright and pleasant.
We have destroyed the railroad between Manassas and this place, so
the Yankees cannot advance by that route again this winter, and I am
sure the Army of Virginia will do no more fighting this year. Some
part of it is sure to be sent somewhere soon, and our corps might go
to Tennessee after resting a few days, or it might possibly be sent to
General Bragg.
The part of Virginia through which we have marched has been totally
devastated. It is now nothing but one vast track of desolation, without
a fence or a planted field of any kind. I do not understand how the
people exist, yet they do actually continue to live there. They are
intensely hostile to the Yankees, and there is certainly no submission
in them. If the people at home, who know nothing of the war, but who
are always criticising the bad management of our general, could see
these lofty-minded Virginians, who have lost everything but their
proud spirit, they surely would hush and try to do something for their
country.
_Camp near Rappahannock River,
Culpeper County, Va.,
October 28, 1863._
There was a cavalry fight across the river yesterday, and I am told
that we whipped them and took three hundred prisoners. We have been
taking so many prisoners recently that we must be up with the Yankees
again, or we may even have more of them in prison than they have of our
men. We now have no prospect of a fight on a grand scale, and I suppose
we shall go into winter quarters before much longer.
Old Jim Beauschelle, our chaplain, is out of prison and is back with us
again. He was at Fort Delaware awhile, and was then sent to Johnson’s
Island in Lake Erie. He looks better than I ever saw him. He has a
new hat, new shoes, and everything new, and looks like a new man. He
speaks very highly of the Yankees and the way they treated him and
of the good fare they gave him. He seems perfectly delighted with
the North and the Yankees. I am sorry they did not handle him rather
roughly and cure him of his wonderfully good opinion of them.
Your brother tells me you look better than you did before you were
married. He says George is badly spoiled and that he will cry if you
crook your finger at him. I am sorry to hear that he has been sick. In
your letter you speak of his being pale and thin from teething.
I now feel quite sure that I shall be able to get home before much
longer, but don’t look for me until you see me walk in.