September 26

Tonight finds me in the hotel at Harper's Ferry waiting for my leave of absence which I expect tomorrow; arrived last night at 10 o'clock tired and lame, but not discouraged although my mouth was sore and painful. The swelling has largely gone, and I can eat a little quite comfortably if the food is soft, but I couldn't if I wasn't nearly famished. MajorGoddard—our paymaster—paid me today. I expected to have to go to Washington.

September Twenty-Sixth

Summer is dead, ay me! Sweet summer's dead!
The sunset clouds have built his funeral pyre,
Through which, e'en now, runs subterranean fire:
While from the East, as from a garden-bed,
Mist-vined, the Dusk lifts her broad moon—like some
Great golden melon—saying, “Fall has come.”
Madison Cawein

 

 

September 26, 1862

Friday. Camp Millington again. A sort of trial called a court-martial has been held and the boys who celebrated yesterday, are meditating upon it in the guard-house, which by the way is a mule-stable on the end of the sutler's shop. Our old tents were taken down and our new ones are up. Each one is trying to outdo the other in making them look homelike. Boards are in great demand for flooring, and already complaints are coming in from the natives, that every loose board or one that could be loosened from their fences or outbuildings is missing, and they have reason to think they came this way. We are delighted with our new tents. Each holds four men. Walter Loucks, George and Jim Story and myself make up our family. We have to lay straight, and at that there is no room to spare. But we are protected from rain, and the heavy dews that are almost as bad, and best of all, we can shut up tight and keep out the mosquitoes. Those that do get in we can smoke out in short order.

A rumor is afloat that another regiment has been raised in Dutchess County and is to come here. We think ourselves soldiers now and are planning how we will entertain the greenhorns when they come.