Letter from a Yankee volunteer.
We are permitted, says the Louisville Telegraph, to copy the following extract of a letter of a volunteer stationed near Washington, to his wife, whom he left North of Mason and Dixon's line: Camp, June 20, 1861.
My Dear:
Two weeks of camp-life have served to extinguish all my military ardor, so your last wish is gratified, sooner, perhaps, than you imagined.
However, I suppose I must hold on till the expiration of my three months, and then. ‘ If ever I' list a soldier again, My Dear:
The devil may be my sergeant.
’ But I must tell you of our great exploits, our hair-breadth scapes by flood and field, no mention having been made of them by the Star or Republican. You must be sure and tell our neighbors. Let them know that the Washington Light Infantry is ‘"some"’ when they get their back up. Our gallant Colonel, fearful that we might become nasty, or perhaps foolishly presuming we were spoiling for a fight, planned an expedition into Dixie. We crossed the Chain Bridge about seven o'clock A. M., and marched full ten miles into the heart of the enemy's country. We found all the farm houses deserted; a few dogs and cats remained to guard the premises, but we issued writs of ejectment on them. Some of our boys captured a contraband setting hen and twenty-two eggs. They were brought into camp, a corporal's guard having been detailed for that purpose. The advantage of this manŒuvre is already manifest — a dozen little chickens are now scratching the dust under my nose. About twelve o'clock smoke was discovered coming from a chimney half a mile distant.--We instantly halted; a council of war was called, at which it was proposed to move in three detachments, which was rejected, lest we might be cut off in detail. We concluded to march in solid column to within musket range, throw out skirmishers, and send in a flag of truce; and who should be selected to bear the flag but your unworthy husband. I found the house occupied by an old widow woman, sick in bed, and two negroes. These latter, as well as a horse, we took as contraband, and left the old woman in quiet possession. Some of our boys attempted to burn the house, but our gallant Colonel, to whom too much credit cannot be given for his humanity on this occasion, would not suffer it. We left with our contrabands, and returned to camp shortly after night. Our horse is a fine animal, and if he is not injured by too much exercise, our whole battalion will be good riders before the war is over. Some of our boys ill-naturedly suggested that everything had been stolen up by the New York 69th, who had been in that neighborhood only two days previous.
