“What’s in the letter from Hilton Head?”
Tim looked at the irregular, unfamiliar writing. “Don’t know,” he said. He unfolded the letter and read the first line. “Here, Red, it’s from Greene. Did you know Greene?”
“Hardly at all.”
“Well read it, anyway.”
They read:
Hilton Head, S. C.
November 14, 1863
Dear Lieutenant,
Did you think that bayonet had done me in? Well, thanks to you it didn’t. That Rebel maniac took me to the hospital and the surgeon there was a fine gentleman and took care of me as a father would.
The thing that frightened me was getting well. I could see into the jailyard from the hospital. I pray to God your jail is not like that. A gallows stands in the middle of the yard and there were puddles all around and people lived out there in ragged tents, whether by choice or order I couldn’t say. There were many colored soldiers of the 54th Massachusetts who were captured in the second assault on the fort where you were wounded by a private in the seat of the pants. They were brave fellows, as perhaps you have heard.
Before they had a chance to throw me in that jail I was lucky enough to be exchanged. When will you suffer that happy fate? I hope it will be soon so I can follow you into Charleston and twist that Rebel corporal’s nose.