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[84] Ball's Bluff, in which, however, his regiment was not engaged. The Twentieth, with which his brother Henry was connected, suffered severely in this engagement; and the following letter from Edward to his father, written in the most hurried manner and with great drops and splashes of ink, rendering it in places almost illegible, exhibits in a striking manner the warmth of his brotherly love and his intense eagerness for the battle.

Washington, October 24, 1861.

We arrived here last night, just twenty-four hours after leaving Boston. I hope to be able to get transportation by canal, so as to join my regiment to-morrow night. The men behaved excellently throughout the entire journey, and gave me but slight trouble. . . . . I am fearfully worried about Henry and the Twentieth. The papers said to-night that the wounded would be brought in by the canal-boat, and for the last half-hour I have been riding in a hack vainly endeavoring to find whether they have come or not. All think that Colonel Lee has been taken prisoner, and not killed; and I think it is so. But I am so nervous! What if anything should have happened to Henry! The thought drives me almost crazy. He may be here in this city and I not looking after him. I could never forgive myself if he were. He ought not to have gone to the war. If he did go, he should have gone with me. What is the matter with me? I never felt so nervous before in my life. It is too bad for me to worry you about it, but then I can't help it. If anything has happened, I promise you you shall hear of it before you get this letter; but nothing can have happened, I believe. I never knew how much I loved Henry until to-night. Please don't show this letter to mamma and Carrie, because it will worry them too much. I ought not to write to you, but I can't help it. Give my love to mamma and Carrie and the rest, and tell them I was terribly out of sorts when I went away, because I was afraid our regiment had been fighting and I was not there. I ask them to excuse it.

Another letter of Abbott's to a friend written May 8, 1862, exhibits also his intense longing for battle.

O, we have hard luck! We shall never see a fight. But we have travelled miles upon miles, bivouacked, passed night after night sleepless, been cold, hungry, thirsty, and wet; and yet we are

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