grand bombardment of poor Petersburg. He, strange to say, was unusually quiet, and contented himself during the day with throwing some shells into the city, which did not do much damage beyond smashing some furniture in two empty houses and killing two mules. Along the enemy's breastworks there was a good deal of noise and cheering caused by whiskey and buncombe, which was very freely dispensed by their grog-shop Generals.* At night their festivities were wound up by a grand feu d'artifice of mortar bombs, none of which did us any harm. It is a very fine sight to see one of these huge balls of fire describing graceful parabolas in the heavens; but between ourselves, although Uncle Sam's little entertainment was very good of the kind, I prefer the fireworks of the fifteenth of August.† If this letter is more than usually badly written and stupid, you must blame the Yankees for it; they persist in keeping up a constant rattle of musketry, interspersed now and then with the booming of huge "Dahlgrens". Now this noise is rather apt to flutter a raw recruit, so be indulgent, to the emotion attending a first appearance. I am on duty now, and therefore this missive must be brought to a full stop.

My Dear Mother:

FIELD'S HEADQUARTERS, RAGLAN'S FARM,
LONGSTREET'S CORPS,

JULY 8TH, 1864.

In my last I told you that the great, the mighty the irresistible Ulysses had not come in time on the festive day consecrated by Yankeedom to brag and buncombe. Since then he has been tolerably quiet, consequently allowing us to take ease with dignity under the shade of the wide-spreading trees which do picket duty under the General's quarters against the ruthless rays of this relentless Virginian sun. Even in this comparatively cool spot the mercury

* When in the trenches I could distinctly hear their bands playing that abominably vulgar air "Yankee Doodle". †The celebration in Paris of the fall of the Bastile.

stands at 98, but when my duties take me down to the trenches I generally come to the conclusion that this is a mild temperature, and that I ought to consider myself lucky at not having to endure their heat, rendered still more disagreeable by the total stagnation of the air behind our breastworks. To the left of Field's division our lines are so close to the Yankees that we not only hear their band plainly, but at times the voices of their officers, the nasal twang of which is very audible. Their sharpshooters-the best branch, by-the-by, of the Federal service are always wide-awake and always ready to pick off the rash secesh who ventures to raise his "knowledge-box" above the parapets; a gulp of fresh air being only attainable at the expense of a broken skull. The men, with characteristic cheerfulness, allow themselves to be basted by the inexorable sun, not however without expressing the hope that "Massa Bob" will soon give them permission to charge the "bluebellies," as they disdainfully designate their more abdominal adversaries.

Anything, in the opinion of our boys, is better than this detestable trench life which they have led for two months. They don't want to burrow much longer like moles in the sand, for this mode of warfare is to them very humiliating. But General Lee, by persisting in fighting behind dirt, has again given evidence of his wisdom and sagacity, for from the first battle of this campaign up to the present moment, our losses have only been about eighteen thousand, out of which a large proportion are prisoners and wounded men, a great many of whom have already returned to their respective commands. Now the Yanks themselves admit to have lost since the fight began no less than eighty thousand men. Strange to say, although our men are unable to take any exercise or to inhale fresh air, yet the sanitary condition of the army leaves nothing to be desired. This shows the immense superiority of veteran and seasoned troops over green ones, as in the case of Grant's army, which owing to the terrific slaughter in it, is now made up of

hundred days' men, and raw Paddies freshly decoyed from the Emerald Isle. Deserters are constantly coming in from the enemy's lines; they tell us that General Ulysses Grant really intended a grand assault of our lines on the Fourth of July, and for that purpose oceans of whiskey, the Yankee pluck-infusing specific, were administered to the soldiers. Orations of an intensely blood-andthunder order were delivered by patriotic contractors and shoddy politicians who had come down to have some fun, and to enjoy at a safe distance the spectacle of a “right big fight”. But alas-they were disappointed in their humane expectations, for all these stimulants failed to screw the courage of their mercenaries up to the sticking point. If I am not much mistaken the Yanks have had their fill of rebel earthworks and rebel bayonets. To pass the time the enemy's artillery had a little brush with ours last night; at one time their mortar shells came down so thick around our headquarters that we were obliged to retreat hastily but strategically to the farmhouse. When the fire slackened we emerged from our subterranean place of refuge, and again resumed our slumbers sub tegmine fagi, notwithstanding our explosive visitors. Such is habit. I am more and more struck with the traits which Man has in common with that most philosophical reptile, the cat. I am sorry I have applied the epithet "reptile" to those favorites of dear Isabella; she will never forgive me, I know. The soldiers have a strong aversion to those "mortal" shells, as they are called in the Confederate ranks. The fact is that at night they are very ugly customers, and pounce upon a poor body like a hawk upon a chicken. A burly Texan private told me that he had never been able to surmount his dislike of them. "I can stand Minie bullets and cannon balls" said he, "but them tarnal mortals air mighty unpleasant; they'd annoy a fellow if he were at the bottom of a well." My saddle, that masterpiece of English saddlery, and my boots, those masterpieces of French cordwainers, are the objects of never-ending admiration on the part of the officers of this army; but the men, who must be excused for not being so appreciative (poor souls) are

disposed to be a little sarcastic at my expense. When they are marching by they will sometimes say jocularly "Come out of them boots, I say, Mister; I see your head a-peeping out", or else "Get a corkscrew for the gentleman, he wants to get out of his boots". In the Confederate army officers of all ranks, whose faces are not known by the men, are equally exposed to a volley of chaff, for the Southern soldier is an inveterate joker-he even chaffed his idol, Stonewall Jackson, for his ungainly seat on horseback. And yet if you speak to them civilly they will always give you an intelligent and ready reply, Provided you are not arrogant or overbearing they will invariably try to oblige you with alacrity. As I was riding along the lines with the chief engineer of the army, General Smith, a very smart and stylish fellow, rather rigid in his attitude and carriage, we came to a Mississippi regiment, and I distinctly heard one of the privates remark to a comrade: "I say, Bill, look at that there officer; he's rather stiff and stuck up, ain't he?" "Yes," answered the other, with that drawl peculiar to some Southerners, "I reckon he had ramrod tea for breakfast". We are lost here in a maze of conjecture as to what will be the next move on the great Virginian chess-board. There are indications on the enemy's left of a movement towards or perhaps across the James river, for there is great bustling going on in that direction; but come what may we are prepared for his wiliest strategy. It is thought by some officers that Grant is about to pull up stakes and sneak off to Washington, which is said to be in jeopardy on account of Early's presence in Maryland. That general commands universal confidence, and is thought one of the best leaders of the Stonewall stripe in the army; he is at the head of thirty thousand men belonging to Jackson's old corps. If I am not mistaken he will give the North a big scare. In the meantime poor Petersburg is being ruthlessly shelled by the Vandals, who seem bent upon destroying it piecemeal out of their wantonness and malice, for it has no importance to us in a military point of view. I walked about the city this morning, and perceived that the exodus was now complete. All

the shops are closed and all the inhabitants who have nowhere else to go to, live in the cellars of their houses; it is melancholy to see nothing but battered walls and charred ruins. The hiss and explosion of the Yankee shells is followed by a few minutes of the most oppressing stillness, which is again broken by the bursting of another of these hideous projectiles. Soldiers, like naughty school boys, are sadly addicted to mischief; this is to a certain extent the case with our men, but their offences are very venial on the whole. The worst case which has come under my notice is that of a party of Alabamians, who killed a calf on the sly, but were caught by the provost guard in the act of butchering him. The men in their defence said that the poor beast had been severely wounded by the enemy while browsing in the neighbouring field. One of them with a wink remarked that they had solely been actuated by motives of humanity in killing him to save his life. The general confiscated the animal, and ever since we have fared capitally, thanks to the Alabamians. As the enemy manifests no inclination for the present of butting his head against our lines, I have obtained a twelve hours' leave of absence to go to Richmond. My principal object in going thither is to enquire whether anything has been received for me from you or from any of my dear correspondents. Oh how I long to revel on a fat batch of letters from sweet home. Tell father, Bella, Bessie and their worser halves that they must write often and not allow themselves to be discouraged by the risks to which their delightful communications are exposed. My love to Mister Bob, the same to my dear little namesake. Ask him whether he thinks that a gray tunic with buff facings and light gray trousers make a pretty uniform. I am very anxious to have the opinion of so experienced a judge of military dress on that point. I am afraid he will say that the chasseurs are much more chics, for if I am not very much mistaken they wear yellow jackets tucked up with pea-green, and sky-blue-scarlet pants. Adieu, dearest of mothers.