HEADQUARTERS 54TH REGT.
O. V. INF.,
CAMP CHEWALLA, MISS., June
9, 1862.
We are now encamped near a small town called Chewalla, about
fifteen miles south of Corinth and near the State line that divides Tennessee
from Missouri. But I have just received marching orders for five o'clock
to-morrow morning, and as yet do not know our destination. Memphis and Fort
Pillow are taken; their army must be scattered; we know it was a good deal
demoralized; where they will make a stand is the merest matter of conjecture.
The heat begins to make itself felt, though the nights
continue cool. I have had tolerably good health, nothing to worry about. I
believe I stand the campaign better than the average of the men and officers.
There is no use, however, to attempt to disguise the fact
that a summer campaign in the South must be terribly fatal to our troops. Not
that the Northern men are not just as capable as the Southerners, indeed more
so, to endure the vicissitudes, but no troops can stand it. We must use
fortitude, and do the best we can, — I leave the result with God, in whom I
have firm reliance. I am always sustained by thoughts of you and of your
prayers in my behalf. I long, oh! how ardently, to see you, but I must not
think of it. God only knows what is in the future for us. I could not leave my
post; I would not be permitted to do so however strong my desire. I must press
on to the bitter end.
You want to know something about me, but I hardly know what
to write about. I am sitting in a tent in the midst of dense woods, but near
the side of a dusty road, over which regiments are marching, and all towards
the South. My soldiers are all about cooking rations, and making other
preparations for the march to-morrow. To-morrow night I may probably sleep on
the ground, with a saddle blanket, because our transportation train will not be
with the regiment, and there is no other way to carry my tent or cot. This will
be no inconvenience to me, for I have very often done so, and that in the rain,
with nothing but an India-rubber cape over me. I sleep sound with the bridle of
my horse in my hand, and am refreshed at daylight. We carry canteens of water
and food in haversacks, hard crackers, and salt pork.
We are always on the lookout for the enemy, flankers and
skirmishers, and advance guards. Men are prevented from straggling. We march on
steadily, halting for a few moments every hour. When we camp, pickets and
sentinels are posted, and they who are not on guard sleep sound. Men sleep the
soundest in the presence of danger. I have known them to go to sleep on the
battlefield. Indeed, I have never known sweeter sleep or more delightful dreams
than I have had behind the breastworks of fortifications which we momentarily
expected would be stormed, and amid the incessant booming of cannon, bursting
of shells, and rattling of musketry.
SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of
Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 212-3
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