May 13, 1863.
We are just passing Schuyler and it is only 7 ½ o'clock, so
we shall be at the Jersey dock before nine, — that I call very good luck. I
wonder whether Berold looks at it in that light; I think he’11 be glad to leave
the steamboat, at all events; he is wedged in tight between Ruksh and Nig,
wanting to kick both, but unable to raise a foot, without human sympathy (lumps
of sugar), for even Robbins has not been able to get near him since he came on
board. However, he was well fed and watered on the dock last evening, — the
government horses, poor things, going to bed supperless. We had a tedious time of
it packing 440 horses where not over 200 ought to go, and running to and fro in
the dark with miscellaneous baggage enough “for an army,” none of which seemed
to belong to anybody. We finally cast loose at half past twelve and rested,
feeling that no more men could slip off for eight hours; at roll-call
this A. M. only one deserter is reported and he is supposed to be on board. The
men (and officers too) after their good night's work and poor night's sleep
look — well, I think it would take a very long typhoid fever to make them look
interesting even to you; from a glimpse I have had of the horses, I think they
will look very interesting.
SOURCE: Edward Waldo Emerson, Life and Letters of
Charles Russell Lowell, p. 236-7
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