The train halted, a man shot
a musket voice in at the car door. It was loaded with the many
syllables of 'Annapolis Junction'. We were pouring out of the train
shortly, to bivouac for breakfast in the depot yard. So I began the
life of a soldier, and how it ended with me many have read in
better books than this, but my story of it is here and only here.
We went into camp there on the lonely flats of east Maryland for a
day or two, as we supposed, but really for quite two weeks. In the
long delay that followed, my way traversed the dead levels of
routine. When Southern sympathy had ceased to wreak its wrath
upon the railroads about Baltimore we pushed on to Washington.
There I got letters from Uncle Eb and Elizabeth Brower. The
former I have now in my box of treasures - a torn and faded
remnant of that dark period.
DEAR SIR 'pen in hand to hat you know that we are all wel. also
that we was sorry you could not come horn. They took on terribul.
Hope she wrote a letter. Said she had not herd from you.
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