dear ones,—We've struck daylight at last, and a mail goes in half an hour; pleasant words to greet our ears after two months isolation from the world.
Well, we've just walked through and into the little
State of South Carolina, and I don't think she will ever pass another ordinance of secession.
But my time is short, and I must n't waste it in crowing.
First of all, everybody that I know of is well and hearty, and best and heartiest of all am I.
Second, we got here last night, making a burst of twenty-five miles to do it. It was n't until just now, though, that we heard that a gunboat had come up, and that communications were opened.
We had heard from deserters that
Schofield had come up from
Wilmington, and were a little disappointed at not finding him here.
Our bummers captured the town, driving the Johnnies across the river.
This was yesterday morning; and as I understand it, the gunboat did not arrive till to-day.
This campaign has been harder in every respect than the last.
We have marched farther, had many more swamps and rivers to cross,—many of the latter very large, —had much more trouble with regard to subsistence, and, above all, the weather has been much more unfavorable.
We have had fourteen wet days, and at one time it rained steadily for nearly a week.
Of course at such times we could advance no faster than we could lay corduroy, making sometimes two, sometimes ten miles a day. But old
Tecumseh has come to time at last.
The four corps of our army were concentrated here all on the same day, without jostling or delay.
This army is a cheap thing for the government: it boards itself.
We have n't had five days rations since we started.
