Memphis,

Friday May the 22, 1863

Dear Annie--

I thought I would commence a letter to you this morning and then finish it tomorrow in time to send it out in the mail tomorrow evening. I don’t feel now any first rate well this morning for I have had my old complaint now for a day or two and it makes me feel so weak and all of a tremble…and it makes me feel like I would just like to fall over into My Dear’s Ida’s arms this morning, and I wouldn’t but care then whether school kept or not. I tell you my Darling, I should just lay there till you throwed me down to get dinner and you needn’t get any on my account for I had rather have one good kiss from Ida, than all the pork and beans that I ever saw and a box of hard crackers throwed into the bargain for I could just use the first but the rest would be of no use to me….

I have went to bed now for two or three nights running without my supper to see if I wouldn’t feel like eating some breakfast, but ‘tis all no use. I can do better to eat nothing only about half the time and not but a little then, for the food here doesn’t agree with me at all. I haven’t went to the table and eaten a full meal for over two weeks. What I eat--I generally get myself such as a little milk or some baked apples and once in a while a roasted potato--almost everything bloats me up so, especially coffee, but I have quit using it. I haven’t drank 4 cups in a month. This morning I went into the kitchen and got a good strong cup of tea. I can get tea whenever I like, but I don’t care much for that now. If Ida could only make me a good cup, it might taste better.

Well if I hadn’t went on with a terrible complaint, you will think that I am nearly killt [sic] but that ain’t so for I have been a great deal worse since I have been in the army than I am now, for I am not obliged to do much and I needn’t hardly go out of the house unless I am of a mind to. But I have a mind to stay in the house, just as little as possible, for I had rather be out in the free open air. O’ how I would like one good stroll and romp in the open country free from the bustle of the crowded city.

O yes, if I could have my way, I would gladly say to [the] crowded city and the busy throngs, I would say farewell. But why should I complain? I suppose this is because I can’t help it, for I don’t know as I am any better than thousands of them, and some of them a great deal worse off than me, too. So I will try and be patient and try and get along as well as I can.

I have an easy place now. I have been drummer for about two weeks. I just have to beat the different calls--first at 5 o’clock in the morning is Revelee [sic], and then at 6:30 minutes or half past six is breakfast call. Then at 2 is the surgeons’ call. Then at 12 is dinner call and at 6 is supper call. Then at a quarter past seven is meeting call for Evening prayers. Then at half past 8 is roll call and at nine o’clock, the Tapps [sic]. Then all is to be quiet and all the lights turned down to as only give what light is necessary in the building.

Well, the war news is neither favorable nor interesting at present. There seems but little energy or life in any movements of our vast army for we have an immense army and navy that ought to be able to defy the whole world almost and still take it as easy and as quiet, as though there was nothing to do, and that is one reason why I get discouraged, for I always want everything to just gitt [sic] that I have anything to do with.

I believe this Rebellion could be put down in three months, just as effectual, as it will be in three years, but I don’t expect that the next three months will find our army in any better position as it is now. I wish to God for the sake of our bleeding country that it might be—but where is the hope? I can’t see it. Others, perhaps may, but I can’t.

Well, the war must go on for we don’t want peace until we can have it in the right way and that is to have these southern traitors thoroughly and effectually whipped and the infernal treacherous copperheaded traitors at the North, who are the actual murders of thousands of our brave soldiers. For the South [who] look to them for help, have been punished as they justly deserve. But just let us get out of the scrape here and if there isn’t less copperheads in the north in less than six months, then I am no prophet, and they had better hunt their holes. Whenever Uncle Sam says that the Boys may go out, for I tell you that the boys have been kept in school so long that they just ache to get out and have a snake hunt and whether you believe it or not, we have lots of men in the army that would just as soon place a revolver at the head of some of the Sesch in the north and blow their brains out as they would eat a good meal instead.



Well, I suppose every dog must have his day, as the old saying is. So we must try and get along and let them bark because we can’t help it. But the time will come when they will go howling back through the fence with their tails between their legs—[it’s] half past 12 o’clock.

Well, Ida, I left my letter this morning and I worked pretty well for me. I feel a great deal better than I did this morning and I went to the table today noon and ate quite a dinner which consisted of a boiled tater and a cup of soup. Bit twasn’t such soup as my own Dear Annie would make for dinner, but for well and hearty folks twill do very well. After I got through scrubing, I went to the office to see if there wasn’t a letter for me from Ida, but there was not. However, there was one from Brother George. It was wrote yesterday and he is well, but I will send his letter to you and you can read it for yourself, for he sends his respects to you and the children. He don’t take much pains with this writing, but I guess you can read it. I haven’t heard a word from Benny nor Bill since they were here. Only I saw an account of the Marine Brigade having a fight upon the Tennessee River and the Autocrat, the boat Will was in got hit several times, but no one badly hurt.

Well my Dear Sweetheart, I will have this for the present and with a letter to George.

Good by.