6th Pennsylvania Cavalry & 17th Pennsylvania Infantry

Item LTR-6500

Description

Original Civil War soldier's letter. 8 pages written in period ink.

Fort Monroe
Wednesday, December 17, 1862

My Darling Ella,

I am writing to you once more from Voorhees’ hospitable counting room and cannot help recalling that first letter, when all that I could say seemed so cold. So inadequate to convey what I felt. The feelings and thoughts which were warm then, dearest, have grown warmer and more mature. But I know now that you understand and believe in them. And do not dread that my poor language will allow you room for doubt.

I can hardly tell you how dear the recollection of the happy evenings spent with you at home was to me as I sat dreaming them over last night in the cabin. Trying to fancy you still by me. With the pressure of your arm still around my neck and that soft little velvet cheek so close to mine. But my dreams all lacked the charm of reality and made me sigh to think how long they must compensate me for my loss. A loss far greater did I not have ever with me the remembrance of your love. Never to be taken away by any absence or by any time.

I have not said much about this to you, darling. Perhaps not as much as I should have said while I was with you. But it is not because I have not felt it. It is my one great comfort. The thought of which consoles me always. That I shall some day not very far off I hope, return to the presence of that loss. That I trust so much, God grant when that day comes, that it may find you well and strong again and free from those wretched headaches and attacks of weakness. Do take good care of yourself my darling. And remember my many inquisitions. I always dread when I am away. Lest, by some imprudence, you will bring back that weakness which gives me so much anxiety. Do not forget to send me a true bulletin of your health and let me trust you in this as I do in all else.

It is always my luck in travelling to stumble over something amusing. Or to meet some old acquaintance, either of the “good old times of yore,” or of those latter days, and so on. This journey, I did both. I had no sooner secured my seat in the cars, then the next one was occupied by a very original “native’ from Vermont. A counterpart of the American cousin, who shortly opened the conversation by asking me about a dozen questions concerning matters generally esteemed rather personal. And then giving me a detailed account of himself and family and of the business which took him to Baltimore. His delight at meeting some acquaintances among the pickets guarding the road at Havre de Grace and Perryville. His rushing out to embrace them and his amusement at the way in which the people “in these parts” from and came for their orchards, were delightful and he and “Orley Farm” carried me through to Baltimore without the usual service of that most stupid journey. I forgot to say that just behind me sat Mr. Raymond, the editor of the New York Times, whom I met first at Williamsburg and afterwards saw frequently at Seven Pines.

After securing my stateroom on the boat, (the right one, bye the bye), I found the Mr. Kent who was engaged to Miss Mary Cash on board. Going down with a detachment of heavy artillery for Fort Monroe and afterwards in the cabin, a very pretty little face which discovered belonged to Mrs. Pease, the wife of one of the quartermasters at Yorktown. Her husband presented me (she was considerably more interesting than he) and she told me she was going to dare the hardships of a soldier’s quarters in camp. So I shall see her again. Not quite in our theatrical sense, however of the phrase.

Of my journey, I have nothing more to tell except of the sound sleep which precluded even a dream. But I begin to suspect, from what I hear, that the General has not yet returned to Yorktown. I may be mistaken and find him there when I land this afternoon. But I can’t learn any certain news of him, as all events, however disagreeable it may be. I shall have the consolation of having done my duty, and feel that it is better I should be here now. Although inclusion would have kept me as you well know by your side. When will this duty to which I have found myself permits me to enjoy the fulfillness of my (may I say our) hope, soften wonder but cannot yet see clearly when I can, you darling, shall be the first to know of it.

Give my love to Mother and all at home and tell the Cadwalladers and Mrs. Camac that I was summoned away so hurriedly that I had not time to see them.

And may I trouble you with a commission. I forgot to get one of those pocket combs for the moustache like the one you sent me from Newport. Will you send me one when you write. Which I need not say I hope may be very soon.

With regards to Richard.

I am always,

Yours only,

Ossie