"I have taken a few rides out into the neighboring country, and find it tolerably well settled, but the soil is very poor, the people likewise and very ignorant. Since we have been in this camp we have managed to get for our mess fresh milk, young chicken, eggs, green peas, onions, and lettuce, which are great luxuries with us, who had had nothing but Government supplies and what we could get from the settlers.
"We find very little bitter feeling or hostility exhibited toward us by the country people, and all willing and longing for peace. But the men are almost all gone, either in the army or afraid to trust us. They who did not volunteer have been forced into the rebel service by the conscription system, until there are hardly enough left to gather the wheat, which is now ready for harvesting. The farmhouses were full of women and children. They have no money but Confederate scrip and 'shin-plasters.' How it makes their eyes sparkle to see our soldiers' silver and gold. But what is more desired by them than silver and gold is coffee. It very often happens that we are utterly unable to get their consent to sell one of the few remaining chickens on the farm with silver at high prices, but a pound of coffee will get the last old hen on the place.
"We don't certainly know what is to be our future destination, but it is semi-officially stated in camp that W. T. Sherman's and Hurlbut's divisions are to constitute the branch of the army which is to move on Memphis. We are anxious to go to that place, but our wish has nothing to do with it, as we are Government soldiers to be disposed of as our generals think best. There you see I have filled up the sheet with a matter-of-fact business-like letter, without assuring you how much I long to be with you and at home. But I don't allow myself to think too much of these things or I would get homesick. I long with you for the war to end, that I may lay aside my emblems of the army, and return to my dear wife and child, and the comforts and enjoyments of civil life, but I must be patient."
Some days later an undated letter says:—
"I had thought of writing you a good long letter this morning, but all human hopes are vain. This morning we have marching orders for the west, and there is no time for letter-writing. We are not informed as to our destination, but the general impression among the officers is that we are bound for Memphis. Will you come down to see me there, or shall I jump on a boat and come up the Mississippi and Ohio and see you?"
My next letter was written from Grand Junction, a station on the Memphis and Charleston Railroad, midway from Corinth to Memphis. The marching orders mentioned in the preceding letter were for Memphis, but on reaching this station our regiment was diverted from its course, as will be seen from the letter of June 20:—
"We arrived here five days ago, but our brigade was sent on an expedition down to Holly Springs, thirty miles south in Mississippi, to destroy the Mississippi Central Railroad, which took us till last night: the rest of the army remaining here to support us in case of danger. We came back all safe. The march was a very rapid, but pleasant one, through a beautiful country and to one of the prettiest towns in the South. We hope to leave for Memphis to-morrow."
This was the last letter written by me from the Twenty-fifth Indiana. On my arrival at Grand Junction I learned that Alexander McFerson, my wife's brother, was ill at Lagrange, a station on the railroad a short distance from Grand Junction. I at once hastened to his bedside, and found him suffering from a severe attack of typhoid fever, which was prevalent in the camps. Notwithstanding he received the most skillful medical attendance, the virulence of the disease soon placed him beyond human aid, and he died on June 27.
I secured a furlough to take his body home. The regiment continued on its march to Memphis, and I went on my sad journey to Evansville, bringing the body of the young soldier to his bereaved mother and sister. The sequel shows that I never returned to the Twenty-fifth Indiana, with which I had passed through so many dangers and privations, and with whose men I had formed the deep attachment of soldier comradeship.
The following editorial in the "Evansville Journal" of July 2, 1862, reflects the sentiments of all who knew him:—