A HISTORY OF POCKET KNIVES.

I have two pocket knives—one a white pearl handle, the other a black handle. I aim the white handle for you, the other for Irving. The white-handled one I found while at Leesburg, and could find no owner; the black, handled one I got as follows: I was walking over what I could of the battlefield, late in the evening, after the battle, and came across a Federal soldier shot through the bowels. The knife was laying close to him. I picked it up and offered it to him. His reply was, "Keep it, friend; I shall need it no more; I am mortally wounded and cannot live to see another sunrise." I gave him a drink of water from my canteen, which I had just filled, and told him that I had some of my friends to see after that evening. He then gave me a package of letters, requesting me to destroy them. I promised to do so and did so. He said that I had given him his last drink of water. Next morning 1 found him dead, with another letter lying on his breast. I opened and read it, and from the tone of it supposed it to be from his wife; it was at least some female, who advised him to meet her in Heaven, if they never met on earth again. They never met. I hope they may meet in Heaven. He told me that he was a regular from the State of Maine, but I cannot recollect his name. Could it be possible that my bullet hit him. I hope not, but I fought right in front of where he was. I left him for other scenes equally distressing, find destroyed his last and, I suppose, most cherished letter: This is some of the history of our cruel war. When will it ever end? Our advanced pickets are within five miles of Washington City, and are skirmishing every day with the pickets of the enemy. There is no telling what it may lead to. I at this moment hear cannon firing in that direction. O, dear me, I have a kind of dull headache. If I have to close this letter abruptly you may know where I am.

Evening, 5 O'clock.—

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

Note.—The knives that I spoke of I did send home. My wife kept hers for a great many years. My boy dropped his in the ocean, near Charleston, in 1863, and that was the end of the knife that I got from a dying Federal soldier.

Army of Occupation or Invasion, Germantown, Fairfax Co., Va., Sept. 11, 1861.

I have just received a letter from W. P. Brown, in which he informs me that you are well and doing well. I also got a letter from Silas Crow. He informs me that he saw you on the 31st of August. He also says that you are well. Everything; about us is as it was when I wrote last, all quiet; but it cannot remain so always, and the sooner it changes the better; for if I remain in this place inactive much longer, I will turn to a high land terrapin or an oyster. My idea is that the sooner we fight the better. There is bigger and perhaps lousier heads here than mine, but still I have head enough to form my own conclusions and my own ideas about things. I am glad cool weather is coming. The first thing we all know Christmas will be here, and then it will not be very long till the glorious 14th of April will be here.

As to my own part I am ready, willing and wanting to take another crack,or two at the Yankee Doodles and let them take a crack at me.

Just as I wrote the above we were called out to drill, and here is a list of those of my company present: Peter Brown, John Manning and J. W. Reid. Sergeant G. W. Belcher was our officer in command. Such as this is a little disheartening, even to a soldier, but I am well aware that the greater portion of the men are not dangerously sick. Quite the reverse. But those on guard yesterday and the guard of to-day were excusable, according to army regulations, from drilling; so that there were about ten in all that were able and willing to drill or do duty of any kind. I will be on guard to-morrow.

If you don't mind I will be as good a cook when I come home as you are. I am chief cook and bottle washer here now. I now have some pig, or mule—I don't know which— on cooking for dinner* I am going to stew it down, so that lean have some sop—vulgarly called gravy. I always want to use the best language that I can, and therefore I call it by its true grammatical name, sop.

Thursday Morning, 8 O'clock, September 12th.—

We did not go as anticipated, but are still here. Our advanced pickets and the advanced pickets of the enemy are in sight of each other and firing on each other almost continually, but no great damage has been done as yet, unless it has been done this morning.

Later.—We have this moment received orders again to cook up three days rations, and be ready to march, but I have been fooled so often that I shall not believe we are going till we get half way to Washington or Alexandria. It is the general opinion—whether it is the opinion of the General or not—that another big battle will come off soon. Well, let it come. Of one thing I am pretty certain, and that is, that if it don't come pretty soon it will not come at all before next Spring. I do wish it would come, for I am perfectly sick and tired of hearing it talked of so much and nothing done. The weather will be too cold here this Winter for active operations. Of this I am certain. There is no telling what may occur before this reaches you. As before stated, we have an advanced guard all the time. Several regiments go off at a time and remain several days, and then are relieved by other, regiments. Perhaps it is our time to go now. I will now stop and try to find out what is up.

Evening, 4 O'clock.—

September 17th.—

Note—Although what I am writing at this time may not interest the reader, still it is a time that will always be remembered by those who were present as one of the darkest times to us that we had during the war; more than a thousand miles from home, over half our men sick, and looking for an attack every day. Dark! Dark! Dark!

Fall's Church, Va., September 20th, 1861.

We are now in as pretty a town as we have ever seen. The inhabitants are all gone, being friendly to the Union; so we have full control here at present. I am now sitting on the big church, writing on a bench. We are but a few yards from the celebrated Falls Church, from which the town takes its name. This Falls Church was built long before the War of Independence, and is built of brick brought from England; so stated. Here is where Washington used to come to church, and some say his membership was here; others say it was at Fairfax Court House. This place reminds me a little of old Pickensville, only it is a much larger place. Would like to live here very well. Will now stop till to-morrow.

Saturday Evening, 5 O'clock, September 21st.—

I took long stitches, jerked on my breeches, jumped over ditches, went through the switches, and formed a line of march and made for camp. You may inquire what kind of a line I formed. Answer: A bee line.

There has been a good deal of firing along our picket line to-day. We had one man killed, a Virginian, and two of the enemy killed.

It is nearly dark now and raining. I must stop.

Sunday Evening, 2 O'clock.—

Germantown, Va., Early Monday Morning, September 23d.—

Thomas Burroughs is dead. He died last Wednesday. That makes eight of my company that I know of who have died. There may be others.

It is said that we will go back to Falls Church in about fifteen days. Hope we may, for I like the place better than any place I have seen in Virginia. Must now close.

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

Army of the Potomac, Germantown, Fairfax County, Va., September 29th, 1861.

Just after closing my last letter to you I found that I could get a wagon to go after some clothing that t had sent to Gainesville just after the battle. We had all sent clothing there. So I started, but was sorry for it; for riding in a wagon on a road paved with nigger head rocks is enough to jolt the ambition out of any soldier; it came very near jolting the ambition out of me. Gainesville is about fifteen miles distant from here, and we were gone two days—John Manning, myself and the driver. We camped as we came back at the old Stone Bridge battlefield. Next morning I and Manning walked over part of the battlefield which we had fought. It was an awful sight. What dirt had been thrown on many of them had washed off, and their bones were only held together by their clothing. There were hundreds in that condition. It was truly a ghastly sight to look upon. I never wish to see another such a sight; and, to make the matter more revolting, it was raining a little, and the dampness made the stench almost unendurable. We left the field of skulls early, and we got back to camp that evening, feeling very sad. We had succeeded in getting all our clothing. Irving, possum time is coming; catch all you can, and tell Bear to be a good dog and not bite any person but Yankees and free niggers. He can tell a free nigger by his walk and a Yankee by his talk.

A letter is handed me. Let me read it. The letter is from W. B. Brown. He informs me that you are well.

In speaking of the old battlefield I forgot to say that the trees about there are literally torn to pieces. Among the rest there is a walnut tree, about a foot through, that is torn in splinters. I send you a small splinter of it in this letter and some cedar leaves off a tree that I was under when a cannon ball tore it all to pieces, throwing brush and leaves all over me.

You say that it made you feel bad because a cannon ball went so close to me. I think you had better be glad that it went no nearer to me. There were hundreds of men that were hit by balls of one sort or another. A miss is as good as a mile. Tell Mrs. Land to be sure and let me know whether she is dead or not, as I can hear nothing from her; and if she is dead, to let me know how long she has been dead, and what it was that killed her, and all that she thinks I would like to know about it. There are a good many getting furloughs to go home, but I don't want one. When I come home t want to remain there.

Do the best you can, and I will do what they tell me to do.

Yours as ever,J. W. Reid.

Note.—When I wrote the above letter I was quite unwell, but remained in camp. If I had went to the hospital, as they wanted me to, I might have died.

Army of the Potomac, Germantown, Va., October 6th, 1861.

Yours as ever,J. W. Reid.

Note.—E. J. Earle had written to me for mischief that he wanted me to come home and edit a paper. He was aware that I was writing a great many letters for the boys (he lives at Evergreen). In the above letter I wrote a good deal about our condition as to health at the time that I don't here repeat We had a great deal of sickness at this time and a good many deaths. My letters will be more interesting to the reader when I come to the Spring and Summer of '62.

I have got entirely well, and as cool weather has come I hope the health of our army will be better. No news of importance. All quiet.

Our regiment is again on picket guard. I will now try to explain to you how our different guards are arranged so that you can understand it. In the first place we have what we call a regimental guard (every regiment has one). So many men are detailed every morning from each company, and are posted around the regiment to watch for the enemy and to see that everything is going on right. This guard is divided into three reliefs, one relief on post at a time, being relieved every two hours, so that each relief is on post just one-third of the time. We also have what we call a brigade guard. Men are detailed from the regiments constituting a brigade, and a portion of them are placed on all the roads and highways leading toward our camps, divided into reliefs, as the regimental guard. This constitutes a brigade guard. A picket guard is when one, two, three or more regiments are sent as near the enemy's lines as practicable to watch the movements of the enemy. They are also divided into reliefs like the other guards; and when any one is on post he is called a vidette, or is on vidette guard. So hereafter if I inform you of our pickets, or those of the enemy, being driven in, you may know what I mean, and that is, that the other party has commenced an advance and that hard times are coming.

The reason that I am not on picket with my regiment is that I was on brigade guard when the regiment went off. The regimental guard has to go with the regiment, but the brigade guard does not. That is why I am now here. So much for the guard. I should have stated above that there is never more than one regiment taken from a brigade at a time. There are four regiments to a brigade; so myself and one more of my company, named Hadley Elrod, is all that is left here of my company. I am now off of brigade guard and am commander-in-chief of my own self until the regiment gets back. If my regiment should go to fighting I will trot down there on a double-quick (poke) march. I drew some coffee for my company this morning and sent it to them. Don't laugh at me when I tell you what I sent it in. I took the legs of an old pair of drawers of mine (perfectly clean), and put the coffee in one leg and the sugar in the other. Bather a queer kind of a saddle bag, was it not? I also sent the boys potatoes, in bags, as black as the ace of spades, or clubs either; but we have got so that we don't want anything better than a gourd or a turtle shell to eat out of. Please send me a turtle shell or two, as I am needing a tray very bad. If you can do so I will take it as a great favor of you. Captain Thomas Dean has resigned his commission and gone home, and A. T. Broyles has taken his place as captain.

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

Note.—On the 13th of October I wrote again to my wife, but there is nothing worth repeating in it. I only said to my wife that the only reason we did not fight was that the enemy was afraid of us and we of them, and that was all that kept us apart

Camp Near Bull Run,Prince William Co., Va., October 19th, 1861. 

I am sorry to say that we are still drawing no money. I have drawn none in three months. It is hard to draw blood out of a turnip. Our camp is called McLane's Ford. Direct to Manassas Junction, Va.

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

Army of Northern Virginia, McLane's Ford, Prince William Co., Va., Nov. 3, 1861.

"Company C, Fourth Reg. S. C. Vols.

"To all whom it may concern:

"I send you all that I could draw, So eat it up and hold your jaw; For this is all that I could get, I don't know what you will say to it."

It is clear this morning, but I fear it will not remain so long. If we have to keep up this picket guard all Winter— and I guess we will—it will no doubt be the death of some of us at least.

Six O'clock P. M., Same Day.—Smooth and cloudy again. Told you so this morning. Now, you see, what a philosopher I am. You can tell Mr. Earle that I shall have to back out from editing a paper, as my other duties will not allow me time. My other duties will be making almanacs. I must lose; it is getting dark and gloomy.

Yours as ever,J. W. Reid.

Army of Northern Virginia, McLane's Ford, Va., November 10th, 1861.

Nothing important; all quiet.

You say that you made a barrel of saurkraut. I want you and Irving, between you, to try and eat your own share and mine too, if you can; it won't be much; only a peck a day, unless it is when I am sick. In that case it would take a half bushel.

I have just learned that there are ten thousand of the enemy about ninety miles from here, in Western Virginia. A brigade of five regiments of Virginians have all gone on from here to see about it. A regiment of Mississippians have also gone there; seen them start, and a more gigantic set of men I never saw. It really puzzled me to tell which one of them it was that pushed the bull off the bridge. We are now engaged throwing up breastworks; it will take eight or ten days to finish, but I believe that I could eat all the cannon balls that will ever be thrown against those works this side of next Spring; know I could if they were yam potatoes. Some time ago we sent some of our blankets to Manassas Junction for safe keeping; had been trying for sometime to get leave to go after my blankets, but could not get leave; so yesterday myself and four others got leave to flank the guard which was at the bridge and go after our blankets; so we went up the creek about one mile, pulled off our shoes and socks and waded across. Jack McKeen, who is an Irishman, pulled off his B. B. pants. The water was over knee deep and as cold as Greenland, but we got across and went on our way rejoicing. It was about five miles. We got our blankets and some other little things that we needed and started back. By this time it was raining, but through rain and mud we made our way back to Bull Bun, and behold! it had risen about two feet. We did not pull off anything this time, but just took it dry so (a wet so,I should have said). I came on and put on dry clothes, and felt pretty well, considering.

Since writing the above I understand that some of the enemy have succeeded in landing somewhere between Charleston and Savannah. If so it is clearly necessary that they must be driven back, even if I have to do it myself.

I send you $10 in this letter. Do with it as you think best. You know better than I do what you need.

This morning I put on the new suit of clothes you sent me, and feel as big as a dog in a meat house. I will now close.

Yours as ever,J. W. Reid.

I think I informed you in my last letter that it was rumored we were to move again. At any rate, on Monday morning last we packed up goods and chattels and came on to this place. I believe I have had occasion to speak of Centreville in some of my former letters. Some of the enemy were stationed here when our regiment and Wheat's Battalion passed within three-fourths of a mile of em in going from Camp Holcomb to Stone Bridge, on the 5th of July last, and from here a portion of our own men followed the enemy on the 21st of July, when they left behind apparently all of their army stores. I passed here on the 23d and 24th of September last in going to and coming from Gainesville, of which I have already spoken. It is one of the highest points this side of the mountains. The ground, though high, is quite level for a considerable distance on all sides. The situation is beautiful.

Men are engaged in fortifying our position, and if Abraham (or Isaac or Jacob, either,) undertakes to drive us out he will find it harder work than splitting rails. When our lines are fully established they will be about twenty-five miles long, and this is the place most likely to be attacked, as it is on the main turnpike road, the only one over which heavy artillery could be brought at this season of the year.

This is the opinion of High Private Reid. My opinion also is that there will be no attack before next spring; it is too cold.

We are now in plain view of the mountains, which are covered with snow. It was snowing there the whole night night before last and all day yesterday, and it still keeps up. A stormy wind is blowing, and a colder day I never saw or want to see. It is a bad time in camp; every man is wrapped up in a blankets and hankerchiefs (or shirt-tails), tied around their jaws and ears. And this is only the beginning of winter.

While sitting in my tent writing this letter my fingers are stiff with cold. My nasty cold nose keeps dropping, and the blots nearly freeze before I can wipe them off the paper. Now, don't mistake me and think that my nose has actually dropped off. It is only the water dripping from it. If my nose was to drop it would stay off, and not keep on dropping.

Yesterday, while no one was in the tent, a coal of fire blew into our baggage and burnt a hole in the narrative of my broadcloth coat. It also burnt holes in several other garments unnecessary to mention.

So far as my smoked eyes can see there are nothing but tents and encampments. We are some ten miles from Manassas Junction, three miles from our old battle field and some twenty-five miles from Washington city. Last night some of our men came in with thirty prisoners and five wagons loaded with corn, together with forty muskets. They were taken somewhere between Fairfax and Fall's Church. Eight of the captured party made their escape. Among the prisoners, however, is a captain, a lieutenant and three non-commissioned officers. I will now stop until morning.

November 18.

I omitted in a former letter to tell you the name given our regiment. As we went to Fall's Church on picket duty one night, every regiment we passed would call out: "What regiment ?" When answered we were allowed to pass on. Upon one occasion when the answer was given, "The Fourth regiment, from South Carolina," some big-throated fellow hollowed out at the top of his voice, "Good God ! is that the old 'Bloody Fourth,' of which there is so much talk ?" We will go under that name henceforward and forever.

Yours as ever,J. W. Reid.

Army of Northern Virginia, Centreville, November 24, 1861.

Nothing new. Our officers still persist in saying; that we will have a fight soon, but I see no more prospect of it now than I did two months ago. My private opinion is that we will do nothing more than a little skirmishing before next spring, but then we will catch it. Gum-headed as I am, time will tell whether I am right or not. The Federal general and everybody else knows that a burnt child dreads the fire, and he and his men, too, dread their second trip to Richmond, and well they may. I believe it is their intention to draw us away from our present position. I understand that they are making some feints in South Carolina. It is only done to get us away from here. They don't seem to have forecast enough to know that there are now enough men in South Carolina to defend it for the present, and if not, the women of South Carolina would help them, wouldn't they, Polly? Tell A. M. Holland to take his two boys and my boy and go down and whip the last one of them out of their boots, if they have any boots on. Perhaps he had just as well take a free nigger along to act as a reserve. Or would it be best to put the nigger in front so as to draw their attention from the whites ? A nigger woman would be better.

I had to write something to you and I have done the best I could under existing circumstances.

Yours as ever, J. W, Reid.

Centreville, Va., Nov. 26, 1861.—

Reports are current here to-day that the enemy is advancing. I don't believe a word of it. We are ordered to again send off our heavy baggage. We have unanimously and with one accord not done so. If I have to loose my things at all I had about as leave loose them here as elsewhere, so my things don't go.

I said that I did not believe that the enemy were advancing. One grand reason why I don't believe it is that our advanced pickets are not driven in, which they undoubtedly would be if the enemy were advancing. They may make some people believe these reports, but I don't believe them. I also have several other reasons for disbelief—the maneuvers of our big officers don't denote it.

I will now have to stop and go back to my post.

Wednesday Evening, November 27th.—

Not much talk of Yankees to-day. Twenty-eight prisoners brought in to-day. They won't tell us much. I have heard so much of another big fight that I believe I would rather see it than to hear of it. It is now late in the evening and has quit snowing.

Thursday Evening Nov. 28th—

Friday Night (candle light), Nov. 29.—

Saturday Evening, Nov. 30.—

There are one or more buried here every day, but then there so many of them here that there will be some of them dying quite often.

The mountains are again covered with snow, and if we have to remain in these old tents all winter it will hurt us worse than the Federal army. My captain, A. T. Broyles,and a man named Rochester, of my company, were sent off to the hospital to-day. There is another one too sick to be carried off. He will die. His name is Murray—a son of Mitchel Murray.

I have just received a letter from the wife of Wesley Hale, who, I informed you, had died at hospital some time ago. She thanks me ,very much for writing to her. She requests me to still correspond with her occasionally, so that she may know how things are out here. I will do so, although I have never seen her.

Yours as ever, J. W, Reid.

Note.—I became well acquainted with Mrs. Hale after the war. She afterward married Marion Cox, both of Anderson county, S, C.

Army of Northern Virginia, Centreville, Fairfax Co., Va., Dec. 12, 1861.

I again commence writing with nothing to write about.

I can say that I am still at Centreville, though General McClelland can't boast of being here. So you wee I am rising in the world like smoke. I can stay at a place where the greatest general of the United States army dare not come.

I have seen and heard so much since coming to Virginia that nothing less than an earthquake or forty (storms combined in one can make much impression on me. If L could not sleep soundly now when there are one hundred men singing, fourteen preaching, twenty-one praying, eleven making political speeches (with unbounded applause), eight playing fiddles, twenty-seven beating drums, two hundred playing clarionets, flutes and fifen, fourteen thousand, nine hundred and twenty-eight playing cards, forty-eight wrestling, eighteen patting "jubat" and one reading his Bible ; if I could not sleep and all that going on within one hundred yards of me, and at the same time raining and freezing, with a wet sheet around me and perched on a liberty pole—I say that if I could not sleep under these favorable circumstances of course I would not say that I could.

On Saturday last we again went off on picket and returned on Tuesday. We saw nothing of our enemy, while I walked off a mile or so to myself several times. How strange it did seem to be alone.

There is as much rumor here as ever. Some days, if we could believe rumor we would think we would soon be in South Carolina. And perhaps on the next day, according to the same gentleman, we are going to the city of Washington, and by the next day somewhere else. By to-morrow, according to Mr. Rumor, we may be the other side of Mason and Dixon's line.

It is now stated, and I believe it a fact, that we will be called upon to re-volunteer for three years, or during the war. As all that will do so will get a furlough home and $50 bounty, it is a very good bait, and one that a great many will bite at, but I don't expect to even nibble. Still, I'm in favor of the plan, as we are obliged to keep an army here or give up the ghost, and if an army is not raised in this way it will have to be done by drafting. In April my time will be out, and then I will sing, "O, carry rue back, O carry me back, from Old Virginia's shore."

There were two men of Wheat's battalion shot here the other day by order of court martial. It was an awful affair. It is now night and very cold.

Yours as ever, J. W. Reed.

Centreville, Va., Dec. 22, 1861.—

I have been again to-day to visit the old battlefield. I never want to see it again. I saw the stump I got behind for a while that day, thinking it might shelter me a little, but if a cannon ball had hit it, it would have torn the stump and me, too, all to pieces, and some of them did not miss it very far. The stump is about ten inches high and nearly rotton. A drowning man will catch at a straw. My whole company was lying down at the time I am speaking of. It was while we were on the hill in front of Stone Bridge.

As many as eight at a time can get furlough now to go home, but I positively don't want one when I come home. I want to remain a while. Christmas will soon be here and then the 14th of April will quickly follow. I send some money in this letter. Do with it as you think best.

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

Centreville, Va., Dec. 24, 1861.—

No war news, and I hope there won't be soon. I will stop now till to-morrow.

Christmas Day, 3 O'clock p. m.—

In spite of Major-General Law and Gospel, most of the boys managed to get a wee drop to-day, but ail has been very quiet, there being no more noise than three earthquakes and a cyclone, and that is nothing unusual here. For ray part I have not tasted a drop. One reason for it is that the stuff is too high, being $5.00 a quart for the worst kind of "rot skull." Having drunk none myself I will miss the supreme felicity of the blues and headache.

I told you in a former letter that Captain Broyles was at the hospital, and to-day First-Lieutenant D. L. Hall was sent off. Our second lieutenant, William Jones, is also at the hospital. This leaves but one commissioned officer in the company, G. W. Belcher, third lieutenant. Your nephew, William Tripp, was also sent of this morning. He will die. Before this reaches you Christmas will be over, and then you can begin to look for April and—

J. W. Reid.

Note.—William Tripp died that same evening. About the time I wrote these letters and for some time afterwards there were no active operations going on. Most of them will not greatly interest the readers of to-day, so I will run over them pretty fast, until I come to more exciting times. However, I will not leave any of them out entirely, as they may contain some things of interest. I also wish to give our travels in the fall, as I have undertaken to do so. These letters may no doubt be a little dull to the reader at this time, but just follow me a while and I will raise your bristles.

J. W. R.

Centreville, Va. Dec. 28, 1861.—

Clayton Jones, one of my company and a good friend of mine, died at the hospital on Christmas day.

A man belonging to the second Georgia regiment was frozen to death the other night. He was sick and had to go out during the night, and was found frozen the next morning.

An old acquaintance of mine named Wryle, whom I knew in Newberry, died last week. He belonged to an Alabama regiment.

This thing of getting a thirty days furlough is said to be all knocked in the head, and I am glad of it.

The hat I told you of swapping for in July last has become more holy than righteous, so yesterday I got a cap that has ear covers, and, strange as it may seem I have already had it over two years.

Night.—(8 o'clock.)-—

Tell Irving to go to school now while he has an opportunity. On the 23d of December, 1837, my father (a school teacher), was well; on the 25th he was buried. I never went to school after he died, as I had no chance to go, though I was only twelve years old. I want Irving to go all he can while he has the opportunity of going. We don't know what a day may bring forth.

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

NOTE.—On the 5th of January, 1862, I wrote again to my family, but there is nothing in the letter worth repeating. We had received an oide not to write anything home concerning our whereabouts, numbers or movements in any way. To this order I paid no attention, but continued writing as I had before, as you will see. J. W. R.

Centreville, Va., Jan. 7. 1862.—

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

Confederate Hospital, Charlottesville, Va., Jan. 14,1862.

I am at length an inmate of the hospital. On Wednesday last we were again sent on picket duty near Fairfax County, some six miles from Centreville. It rained pretty hard, and I got wet and had to remain so, as my blanket and everything I had with me was wet, with no way to dry them. On Friday I was quite unwell and at night had a severe chill with pains in my jaws and head. My head grew worse and I soon became unconscious. My throat was very sore. They said I talked all night, often calling "Polly."

I was sent back to camp on Saturday. The doctor gave me some medicine and kept my head wet with cold water and on Sunday morning I was sent on to Manassas Junction and remained there under a doctor until Monday morning, when I was sent on to this place, a distance, I suppose, of about one hundred miles. I am much better at present, though my head is still somewhat painful. I will be all right in a short time, and as soon as I am able I will go back to camp, for I do not like to be at a hospital. It sounds sickly.

I find several of our Greenville friends here. Among them are David Westfield, Wash. Richardson, Jasper Smith, James Torrant, and an acquaintance of mine from Newberry named Hunt, and many others from different places.

Soldiers are dying here every day more or less.

I am in sight of Monticello, the home of Thomas Jefferson, who wrote the Declaration of Independence of the United States, and who was afterwards President of the same. I will try to visit the place before I return to camp. I will write again soon, as I know you will be anxious to hear from me.

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

Note.—I visited Monticellol before I left, and also the University of Virginia and all other places of importance that I could.

I may be mistaken in the distance from Manassas to Charlottesville, as I only guessed at it.

J. W. R.

Centreville, Va., Jan. 23,1892.—

The weather is very bad—raining and freezing or snowing nearly all the time. We have gotten into our huts, called winter quarters. We are dreadfully crowded. I have nine men in my hut.

Yours as ever,J. W. Reid.

Centreville, Va., Feb. 7, 1862.—

You will see that a good many of the boys are re-volunteering and corning home for thirty days. You will also see that I am not doing so. Some may think that I should, but I think different. Let those who are at home come next, and will take turns with them.

Some of the men here are doing all they can to get others to re-volunteer, but are not doing so themselves. Human nature will show itself. The boys can and no doubt will tell you more than I can (or would) write, but you need not take what they say as Gospel facts. If you could credit all that some of them tell you, you would think that we would have suffered an ignominious defeat at Stone Bridge had they not been present. There are one or two who were not with us, but I believe they did more to win the battle than those who participated in it, or at least you would think so from hearing them talk.

Yours as ever,J. W. Reid.

Note.—I sent the above letter and some other things home by Zion Lofton, who had re-volnnteered and gotten a furlough to go home, as did also many others. J. W. R.

Centreville, Va., Feb. 16, 1862.—

My regiment has just returned from another tour on picket. I did not go. One of my mess, named Jeff Pitts, had a spell of cramp colic the night before, and my captain got me to stay and attend to him. The captain did not have to use force to make me stay. Pitts was really badly off, and was the worst scared man I ever saw. He talked a good deal about another world he expected soon to visit, but he did not seem to think he would suffer cold there as he was here. In fact, he seemed to think he would cross the equatorial line and enter the torrid zone. He told me a great many things to tell his wife, which I doubt if he tells her the next time he sees her. Pitts is now as well as ever, and says he is going to do better from this time on, but will soon forget to until he has another spell of colic. He begs me now not to tell what he said when he thought he was going to his daddys'.

I hope I can soon come home, but when I do come I will be nearly in the condition in which I came into the world, so far as pants go, but I will try to keep them patched up until then. It is well known here that I keep a large needle. Some one is continually wanting to borrow it. When I ask the question, "What do you want with it the answer invariably is, "To sew up my breeches” Of course I always let them have it, well knowing; what a spectacle I would present had I no needle. Nothing more at present.

Yours as ever, J. W, Reid,

Centreville, Va., Mach 1, 1862.—

I went through the cold wind that evening. None else of the regiment would go; I followed my own tracks the next morning,. That were deeply indented in snow.

I had no road to guide me and went entirely by guess, but I finally succeeded in getting to camp, about one hour after dark, tired down and nearly frozen. I got rations for my company—hog's head and backbone. Some of the boys who had been left at camp sick, told me to lie down and let them do the cooking. I did so, and about 11 o'clock was awakened to supper. I got up and ate that fresh meat with a doubly-distilled vengeance. Next morning an hour or so before day I put my provisions in a sack,threw it over my shoulder and started. After leaving the camp I had nothing to guide me except the tracks I made in the snow the night before. I reached my company just after daybreak. The boys fairly shouted over me, and the remark was made by many of them that they would never forget me. When I left camp to go for rations I had ten biscuits in my haversack, and told Willis Dickson to get them and eat them that night. When he looked for them they were gone—stolen.

There is plenty of news but none true. The weather is the coldest I have ever seen. I have on a flannel shirt, a cotton ditto, my uniform coat, my broadcloth coat, my overcoat, and all my old breeches and am trembling as I write, but I hope my nose won't drop again. I will stop writing and try to warm.

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

Note.—Boys, you who are living, have you forgotten my trip through the snow for rations ? I suppose you have not. I never shall. About the time I wrote letters everything was still. It did not remain so long, as you will see.

I wrote a few lines home March 11th, but it is of no importance.

J.W. R.

Camp Taylor, Orange County, Va., March 23d, 1862.—

-Come, cheer uy pretty Polly, and go along with me, And a lady I will make of you in the Alleghanies-.

Although this trip was gratifying to me it was attended with a good many hardships, such as hard marching, heavy baggage, and for last two or three days came through enough mud to daub every negro cabin in the Southern Confederacy. We carried our knapsacks, with our clothing and blankets in them, our haversacks with our provisions and canteens of water, cartridge boxes with ammunition, our bayonet belts with bayonets in them and our muskets on our shoulders—a pretty good load.

You may suppose we had little room for bottles, yet there were some along.

Our entire army is falling back, some going by one road and some by another. The Federal army is also changing their position. I think they are going by water, but where they are moving I don't know or care. But let the enemy go where they will there we will be also. No more at present.

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

[The following letter is in answer to the first letter my son, W. Irving Reid, ever wrote me with his own hand. It will not be interesting, but as the advice I give may be of value to the boys of to-day I will publish it here.]

Camp Taylor, Orange County, Va., March 27,1862.— My Dear Son: I received your very welcome letter, inclosed in one your mother sent. I am very happy to see you can write papa a letter, and you wish me to say what I think of your handwriting. I think it will do very well considering your opportunities of going to school, but still I must say there is considerable room for improvement. Go to school and learn all you can. I have known some excellent scholors who were very poor writers. Penmanship is not education. Learn to spell well, to pronounce well and learn all you can about arithmetic. If you learn these things well you will be qualified for almost any kind of business. A fine copperplate handwriting is not always a sign of a good scholar. And above all, my son, learn to conduct yourself well and to be an agreeable companion in good society and you will get through the world all right. In the first place, and the first thing for a child to do, is to obey and honor their parents, and to remember their Creator in the days of their youth. He says, and He cannot lie: "Seek Me early and ye shall find Me." He don't say, "Ye may find Me," or "Ye can find Me." But thank God, he says, "Ye shall find Me."

Try to find Him as your mother has done. If I find you as good a boy as I left you I will be satisfied.

You want to know if I want to see you as bad as your mother. I will now tell you an anecdote.

Once upon a time an old negro, who had an old master and a young master, went to reaching one day. When he returned his old master asked him what he thought of the sermon. He replied that the preacher had told two lies. One was that no man can serve two masters, "an5 dat am a lie, kase I knows I sarve you an Mas' Jimmy bof, an' den he say he'd love one and hate de odder, an' dat am a lie, for Goramighty knows I hate ye bof V Now, as to your mother and you, Goramighty knows I—love you both. Let me hear from you again.

Your papa, J. W. Reid.

Camp Taylor, Orange County, Va., April 5, 1862.—

If Congress can constitutionally keep us ninety days they can just as easily keep us 600 days, or if they can force the balance to remain three years they may just .as easily keep them ten years. What is the difference?

It makes me feel quite- sad thus to have my fondest hopes thus blasted. South Carolina and all the other states, I presume, furnished all the troops that were called for, and when they can't do it, it will be time for us to tuck our tails and quit.

This infernal bill is called the Conscript Bill. If it passes all patriotism is dead, and the Confederacy will be dead sooner or later. Watch passing events and you will believe me. I have gotten to a point where I hardly know what to think. One day I believe we will thrash them like the devil, and perhaps by the next day I take a pessimistic view, and conclude they will thrash us out. To-day I am in the latter mood. I am beginning to have these little moods quite often and pretty badly, and am daily growing worse.

We have just been furnished with eighty rounds of cartriges to the man. That looks a little squallish, don't it ? But I have become used to it. I presume there have been ten thousand rounds of cartriges thrown away since we left Centreville because we did not like to carry them. We would say they got wet. These just served us may also get wet

We have been drilling a good deal to-day.

Now let us talk about something that is nearer my heart, or nearer my back, I should say. I was engaged in patching those dad rotted old breeches again the other day. I could not get a patch that was precisely the same color as the pants, but so near the same thing that you would hardly notice the difference, the pants being black and the patch piece of an old white blanket. All will be one color long before this reaches you. I have two old pairs which I patch and wear, wash and tear time about. They will soon be gone forever, but I am perfectly satisfied that they will go in peace, for there is no doubt of their holeiness. I have one good pair of pants left, but I am trying to save them to come home in, for if you were to see me in my old ones you might mistake me for a zebra, leopard, or something else equally outrageous.

Sunday Morning, April 6,1862.—

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

N. B.: When I write again I don't think well be in Camp Taylor.

Camp near Louisa Courthouse, Louisa Co., Va., April 11,1862.—

Camp four Miles from Richmond, Va., April 14,1862.—

My time is out but I cannot come home. Hard times and hard fighting are still before me.

Yours as ever,J. W. Reid.

Camp near Yorktown, Va., April 18, 1862.—

This Conscript Act will do away with all the patriotism  have. Whenever men are forced to fight they take no personal interest in it, knowing that, let them do as well they can, it will be said they were forced, and their a very was not from patriotism. My private opinion is that our Confederacy is gone up, or will go soon, as the soldiers themselves will take little or no interest in it here. A more oppressive law was never enacted in the most uncivilized country or by the worst of despots. Remember what I say, it will eventually be our ruin. I suppose some of the people at home would like to give a free ride on a rail if they knew I said this. But let me tell you that the time for riding rails barebacked is about over with. I am mad at the action of Congress and if Davis, and I won't deny it.

We have had some more pretty hard times of late. We put camp near Richmond night before last about eight o'clock and, walked eight miles to the James river in Richmond, and about 2 o'clock the next morning went board a steamer called the "West Point," and came down the river about one hundred miles, landed and marched eight miles. We are near Yorktown and there is firing going on there now. We don't know at what moment we may be called upon to fight, nor do we care much.

A great deal depends upon what is done in the next ninety days. I am yet in tolerable spirits (I wish some hits were in me), and as stout as a mule. I can walk fifty miles a day, swim the James River from bank to bank, jump up and knock my heels together three times, and out run or jump, whip or throw any Yankee this side the Mason and Dixon line, or at least I feel as though I could. So cheer, up my lively lads in spite of wind or weather shall have to stop for the present,

Yours as ever, J. W, Reid.

Note.—When I wrote the above I was angry because the Conscript Bill had passed Congress, and, to speak plainly, I have not yet entirely recovered my temper. I was not the only one who was angry, and it did kill patriotism. J. W. R.

Camp near Yorktown, Warwick Co., Va., April 24,1862. —

We have not been in the trenches on guard as yet, but will probably be there soon. There are a few men killed about the trenches every day.

We were to-day reduced from a regiment to a battalion of five companies. A regiment has ten. My company and Captain Anderson's company were consolidated and formed one company. We elected D. L. Hall,, captain; William Jones, first lieutenant; Pinckney Haynie, second lieutenant, and a Mr. Kay, third lieutenant. The captains are Long, Cauble, Griffin and Hawthorne. Charles Mattison is elected major of the battalion.

As the mail is about starting I will stop.

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

Camp near Yorktown, Va., April 30,1862.—

I told you in my last letter that I had been to Washington's headquarters. Since that some I have been to York-town, on the York river, one mile and a half from here. In going there I passed the spot where Lord Cornwallis surrendered to Washington, which ended the War of Independence. I wish McClelland would surrender to us and end this war. He undoubtedly would have it to do if we had a navy on the river below him, but as we haven't that I can't exactly say how it will turn out. McClelland has vessels on the river, so that if we ever whip them here it will be quite an easy matter for them to take to their vessels and go somewhere else. I'll bet a Jew's harp they'll have it to do before I go home in the middle of July next; Yorktown is a very old town and the York river here is very wide because of the tide water. I bought a string of fish at Yorktown the other day, the first I have had in lo, these many days. The next day I bought a shad, but had to give part of it for salt to salt the balance. Those who can't turn can't spin.

I must now fix up for inspection of arms.

I will write again when I can. We don't know what a day may bring forth, but the sooner we fight the better.

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

Though many of my comrades lay cold in the field,I am here still able my weapon to wield;They were comrades of mine who were slain in the fight,While I am still spared this letter to write.

I'll ne'er see them again this side of the grave,But such is the end of the valliant and brave.

I can now see the slaughter, I can now hear the sound,I ne'er can forget it till I'm buried in the ground.

I can still see them bleeding, I can still hear them cry,But I hope they are now in the Mansions on High.

An unseen hand has carried me safely through another storm of balls, shells and other missiles of death and destruction and I am here to-day not only able to write, but unhurt and untouched by an enemy's weapon. Nothing less than God could have carried me safely through such an awful day, a day I never can forget. I presume you have already heard,from this battle, though not from me, I know your apprehension and anxiety concerning me, but the army has been marching ever since the battle. I have had no opportunity of writing until now, and even if I had had an opportunity I could not have written for want of paper. You see this is written upon the blank pages of a memorandum book.

I will begin at the first and tell you as nearly as I can how it has been with us since I last wrote you.

All the troops about Yorktown left camp just aft-er dark on Saturday night, and marched loiteringly all night, only getting about ten miles from camp. On Sunday, the 4th, we traveled about twelve miles. My battalion passed Williamsburg about four miles and put up for camp. The enemy was close behind our rear guard all day, and late in the evening there was a considerable skirmish with them near Williamsburg. About an hour after dark we, (that is Mattison's battalion), were sent back below Williamsburg on picket guard, after traveling all day and the night before. It was a very dark night, cloudy and drizzling rain. We nearly ran into the enemy's lines before we knew it. Three men were put at each post, with orders to stay awake all night, and for one of us to crawl out toward the enemy's lines, and find out, if possible, their position. I crawled out to a fence about one hundred yards in the rear of my post two or three times through the night I could distinctly hear them talking while at the fence, but could see nothing on account of the darkness.

Thus we passed the night of the 4th of May ; the rain descending slowly. Just at daylight the enemy commenced snapping caps on their guns—to dry the tubes, I suppose. I will admit that I never felt so nervous in my life. I did not feel half as badly when the battle was regularly opened. I never shall forget the bursting of those caps.

A little after daylight they appeared in large numbers and soon attacked. We held our ground as long as possible, giving them as good as they sent, until about 7 o'clock, when they came in such overwhelming numbers as to force us back on our main lines, a distance of about six hundred yards, with the loss of several of our men. I lost all my clothing and blankets. In falling back we had a slanting hill to go down and when we got to the foot of it our artillery opened fire on the enemy over our heads, This stopped them from following us. We then took a circuitous route, to as not to be in the way of the artillery, finally got around and went into the fort, near the main road to Williamsburg. While skirmishing that morning we left several men killed or wounded, who fell into the enemy's hands. While Thomas Stacks and another man were carrying off Archibald Sadler, who was wounded, the man who was helping was shot dead and a Minnie ball struck Stacks' canteen and tore it all to pieces. Stacks left Saddler, and he is now in the enemy's hands. He is badly wounded A ball went through my overcoat, but did not graze the skin.

The fort into which we went is called Fort Richmond. We (Mattison's battalion) remained in the fort amid a 6torm of shell, cannon and musket balls until late in the evening.

The fighting was going on all this time to our right and left without a moment's intermission. The noise was deafening. The sight was sickening. A continual roaring was going on the full length of our line. Oh, the slaughter that was made that day—the slaughter of human beings, brother against brother.

The fort, as I have said, was on the main road,and it was here that the heaviest attack was made, but the nine pieces artillery we had in the fort and the infantry backing it kept the enemy at a distance all day. Two or three times during the day they attempted to charge and drive us out of the fort, but were just as often repulsed with heavy loss. Late in the evening a brigade or two of our men came up from our right wing and engaged the enemy directly in front of us. At this juncture of affairs our battalion was taken out of the fort and ordered to storm a fort the enemy were in possession of, up to our left. We obeyed the order, and with a corporal's guard undertook to storm a fort well supplied with artillery and perhaps ten times our number of infantry to back them. We made a bold but unsuccessful effort to drive them out, and being repulsed, filed off into a strip of woods somewhat out of range of their guns. Just alter this a whole brigade of our made a charge on the fort, but were driven back with considerable loss. Our battalion had also lost several men. One of my company named Gantt Milford had his leg shot off at the thigh and died in a few minutes. While we were lying flat on the ground a cannon ball struck about two feet from Willis Dickson, going under the ground, and raising him off the ground a foot or more, but not hurting him seriously. There were a great many narrow escapes.

About the time that brigade made its unsuccessful charge night came on and ended the slaughter.

We had then been marching or fighting or on guard two days and nights, and I was completely broken down. It had also been raining the greater part of the time. My clothing was wet, my body nearly frozen, and in this condition we were again ordered on guard. We were ordered to go into an empty fort and remain there as a guard. I flatly refused to go in the condition in which I was. I would have died first. I left ranks and went to a house in Williamsburg, where I remained all night, of which I shall try to give you a description hereafter.

I shall not undertake a description of the battle. A description of one is a description of all big battles. I will only remark that the firing did not cease for a moment from early dawn until dark, in fact, firing was going on in places until after dark. The losses on booth sides are heavy. When the battle ended each army occupied about the same position they had at the beginning. I will give you my opinion about it hereafter.

Yours as ever, J.W.Reid.

Note.—This man, Archibald Sadler, whom I speak of as wounded that morning, got well and came-through the war safely. J. W. R.

Thirty miles below Richmond, Va., May 11, 1862.—

I took the good old darky at his word, and was soon at a good fire drying myself and eating a snack. I lay down by the fire and got as good a night's sleep as I ever had. In the mean time five others of my command had come in, and they also remained all night. Next morning about sunrise I walked out into the yard, and behold, the town was full of the enemy, but none of them had quite gotten up to where we were. Our army was gone. I called up the other men and hastily evacuated Williamsburg. In passing the suburbs of the town we found a large quantity of clothing and blankets some of out men had left. I got as much as I wanted and went my way rejoicing. I had returned the things I borrowed from the enemy on the 21st of July last, but now I am about as well off as before the fight. Of all the mud I ever saw we trudged through it that morning. My overcoat draggled in it. It was about the consistency of fritter batter, and knee deep. There was no way of getting around it. After going about too miles we overtook the battalion, acting as rear guard as usual. We joined them and waded on. We traveled all day and until some time after night. That day Captain Hall got sick and had to stop. I stayed with him until a wagon happened along, and I got him into it. This wagon had been delayed in some way. Our wagons were in front.

After we had camped that night we drew some flour, but had no way of making up dough or baking it. I made up some of it on my oil cloth and baked it in a tin plate I always carry with me. I put it up before the fire Johnny-cake fashion, and behold, it was good. Most of the men were so worn out they did not attempt to cook, but lay down and went to sleep. Just after I lay down orders came to go to the ordnance wagon, about three hundred yards off, and draw cartridges, as the enemy were fast approaching. Not a man of my company could be stirred. I went by myself and got a hundred pound box of cartridges for my company. I might as well have brought acorns to them then. It was now about two o'clock. I then told some of the boys not to disturb me until I woke of my own accord, orders or no orders, unless the enemy were upon us, lay down and went to sleep. About 8 o'clock next morning I awoke refreshed, and in a short time resumed the march, the enemy following close in our rear. Don't be alarmed.

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

Camp Tyler, Va., May 14,1862.—

I believe that in my statement of the fight at Williamsburg I failed to state that a considerable portion of the enemy were making their way up the James and York rivers so as to cut us off from Richmond, but some of our forces at West Point and at some point on the James river, the name of which I have not learned, were keeping them back, and it was fortunate for us that they did so, for it would have been "farewell landlord, farewell Jerry" with us if they had landed. Of course we will have, more fighting to do, and that soon, but I am getting like a man I once knew in Edgefield, when speaking of the torments of the wicked after death. He was of opinion that they would get so used to the discomforts of their abode that they would cease to mind it. I have gotten so used to fighting that I do not mind it much.

I bought three pounds of manufactured tobacco last night, the best I ever saw. I am chewing it now. It rained all night last night. I stuck up some sticks, put up my oilcloth and kept myself dry. I let Rufus McLees stay with me. He is sick.

I have just this moment learned that the enemy has driven in our pickets. We shall have to fight or "skeedadle." If we fight I will write when it is over, if living; should we do the other thing will drop you a line when we halt. I prefer the skeedadling if I could have it my way.

I hear heavy firing down toward West Point. The doctrine of Hardshellism teaches that what is to b6 will be. Perhaps there is truth in predestination.

I am almost bomb proof, but if is foreordained that I shall die to-day, tell your people that Jesse died at his post.

Nothing more until McClelland comes. Firing continues.

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

I told you in my last letter we would either fight or skeedadle, as the enemy had driven in our pickets. Sure enough, on the next morning, the 15th, we skipped, and crossed the Chickahominy river, not far, it is said, from the spot where Pocahontas performed her act of heroism over two hundred years ago. We came on some eight or ten miles, and camped in the woods during a hard rain.

The next morning before daylight we resumed the march. We had just drawn some flour, and most of us had made dough, indulging in the anticipation of a good breakfast. I had saved a little coffee for a rainy day, and this was a day that answered that description. We had eaten nothing the day before and the rain kept us from cooking anything that night. Just about the time our dough was ready to cook orders came for us to march, as the enemy were nearer to us than we wished them to be. That, day we passed Fort Holly, or Holland, and about 10 o'clock halted in an old field, and then I baked my dough, which I had brought with me. Most of the boys had thrown theirs away. I used my tin plate again, made some coffee and fared sumptuously, eating like a half-starved Bengal tiger. We came on that day to Laurel church. Nothing worthy of note occurred while there, except that one of our boys was made to mark time on the steps of the church for a turn of two hours for shooting at a squirrel (which he missed), it being against orders to fire a gun at that time. It was ludicrous to see him at it, but I felt truly sorry for him.

We left Laurel church and came to this place, a distance o! one and a half miles. We are not far from Drurey's bluff, on the James river, and but a short distance from Richmond. There is trouble ahead of us, and we can't tell what a day may bring forth. Try to keep in good spirits and I will do the same.

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

Richmond, Va., May 29,1862.—

The armies will be counted by hundreds of thousands. I apprehend that before this letter ends there will be more men killed than Washington or Lord Cornwallis had in their combined armies.

I see but little in the papers about our fight at Williams-burg. I suppose the reason is that we fell back from our position. Now, the reason for our doing so is very plain to me. I think it was not because we were worsted in the fight, but that the enemy were trying to force their way up the rivers to cut us off from Richmond. And again, I believe our generals were falling back on Richmond in order to shorten our lines. A good piece of generalship it was, too, though I have no doubt it will be currently reported we were whipped. I am not whipped yet. I think we'll , change this tune if the engagement takes place. The enemy cannot get above us on the river. To do so they will be obliged to go by land, and if they do that they will encounter a Stonewall they cannot scale. It is Stonewall Jackson, who is harder to manage than granite rock.

I forgot to mention that we drove the enemy back from Drurey's Bluff, badly damaged, as well as from West Point.

I have just gotten information that Stonewall Jackson has administered another flogging to the enemy. Hurrah for Jackson! And report says that he took four thous-prisoners. Another report says twenty-eight hundred. I split the difference and say three thousand, and risk stretching my blanket, but I suppose he did take one full regiment of infantry, which was from Maryland, and a regiment of cavalry from—(confound the name of the place, I am so forgetful)—anyhow, they are from Europe. I know this much is true, for they have just been brought to Richmond as prisoners of war. The latest news I heard from Jackson was that he was playing the devil with the enemy at Harper's Ferry It is thought Jackson will see Washington City by the time Lincoln sees Richmond, Va. It is also said that Jackson has possession of a portion of the Baltimore and Ohio railroad.

No more news at present, but there will undoubtedly be some for me or some one else to tell before long. Keep cool.

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

Note.—In all of my letters I gave the names of our neighbors, stating who were well, who sick, etc. Among them were Bird Philips, James and Willis Dickinson, E. Herring, Thomas Stacks, Samuel Couch, Jim Lofton, R. Jefferson, S. and W. Harlan, Sandy Earle, Matthew Parker, Tyler Mochat, William Jones, D. L. Hall and others. J. W. R.

The sulphur and smoke o'ershadowed the earth, And the cannon they did rattle, And many brave men lie cold in the earth,Who were slain in Seven Pines battle.

Though the earth has again trembled with the boom of cannon and the atmosphere been darkened by dust and smoke, I am still here, and, strange to say, am unhurt.

To begin at the first, 1 will say that on the night of the 30th of May a tremendous rain fell, and it was reasonable to suppose that the Chickahominy would be very much swollen, and as it was understood that a division or two of the enemy were on this side of the river, it was also very reasonable to suppose that they could not recross to the other side in the swollen condition of the stream. Neither was it probable that they could be reinforced from the other side. This, I believe, is the reason the attack was made by General Johnson. (This, you understand, is merely a supposition, but I think it very reasonable.) Let the causes have been what they may, the attack was made, the results of which I will endeavor to describe.

As I have said, a tremendous rain fell on the night of the 80th, and we found it impossible to cook anything for supper. I can say for my part that I was wolfishly hungry in consequence. Indeed, I could not sleep comfortably with an empty stomach, and got up about two o'clock, made a fire and put some peas on to cook. The peas were so black they would have made good ink. About the time they were pretty well done I heard the familiar sound of the long role beating at General Longstreet's headquarters, and in a few minutes it was beating at the headquarters of the different brigades and regiments. I knew what was up. I called some of the boys and told them what was going on. Just then that awful, solemn role that has called so many of them to gory beds, took up the peal and thundered in midnight gloom from our own camp. The sound of galoping hoofs resounded on all sides as couriers dashed away with orders to the different headquarters. I felt a little lonesome when the long role beat from our headquarters. In a short time all hands and the cook (myself, on this occasion), were up and getting on equipments. The order came to be ready to march at daybreak.

Everything was in confusion and uproar, but notwithstanding this I ate my peas and felt ready for anything.

Early in the morning of the 31st of May all was in readiness. The wagons were brought and orders given that one man from each company should be detailed to remain and see that everything was loaded. The wagons were to remain until further orders. I was detailed from my company. I saw that everything was loaded. As I have said the wagons were to remain at camp, for no one knew how the battle would end. I thought I did but I did not. So my command took up the line of march and left me in camp.

After the loading was finished, being under no orders, we would have been excusbale in remaining,* but not careing to stay out of a fight simply because I could do so, I determined to go on and risk my chances with the balance. Accordingly, about 8 o'clock, Wheeler Gilmore (who was detailed from another company), and myself started alone to overtake our command. We came up with our battalion in an old field, where they were leaving all the baggage they had brought with them, preparatory to going into action. The firing had already commenced but a few hundred yards in our front. We joined our decimated company, and went on to receive at the very first the deadliest fire any company of men ever received.

Remember hereafter that when I speak of our command I mean Mattison's battalion, which is now a mere corporal's guard.

We marched through a pine thicket, along a big road, and then through an old field, and right in front of us was a battery of nine cannon, supported by a considerable force of infantry. They were but a few hundred yards in advance of us, and immediately opened fire. Our numbers being so small we made a flank movement to our left, making for a thick piece of woods that was but a short distance away, as we thought we would be sheltered from the storm of ball and shell which played havoc in our ranks.

We were every moment expecting reinforcements. I knew they would come to our assistance soon, for I had ' passed them on the road.

When we had gotten within thirty yards of the woods a large force of the enemy, who were hidden in the underbrush, raised up as though springing out of the ground, and poured among us the most destructive fire we have yet experienced. Of my own company of ten or twelve men George Driver was shot in the mouth and killed ; Judd McLees, killed, shot in the head; Wheeler Gilmore mortally wounded, besides several others more or less injured. Elijah Herring was slightly wounded and fatally scared. Of the battalion Major Mattison was wounded, Captain Griffin killed, Adjutants. S. Crittendon wounded, both the Harlans wounded, and so many others killed and wounded that I cannot at present give their names.

All this was done in less than ten minutes. When Major Mattison fell some one called put "Retreat." My Captain, D. L. Hall, and about ten others of my company were all there were left of us. The other companies of the battalion, what was left of them, remained, and we did what shooting we could while laying on the ground amongst our dead and wounded comrades.

It was but a short time before the expected reinforcement joined us, when we drove the enemy out of the woods with considerable loss on their side.

By this side the fighting became hot on both sides and in the centre, Longstreet's position, as usual.

I cannot convey an idea of the terrors of the next few hours. As I said at the beginning of this letter.

The sulphur and smoke o'ershadowed the earth, And the cannon they did rattle.

We in the centre kept driving the enemy back slowly until they got to their camp, where they made a bold stand, but they could not stand the Southern charge. They finally gave way and left all their camp equipage behind them. We followed them about a mile further, when night came on and the slaughter ceased. We got a good many cannon and small arms and a great many other things unnecessary to mention. We took between five hundred and one thousand prisoners, I am not certain of the exact number.

Honesty compels me to say that the wings of the Federal army did not give back as did the centre, and that threw us into a crescent or horse shoe position, being in advance of both wings of the Federal army, and on that account alone. We came back that night to where the fight commenced.

There was some firing on the Federal wings that night and a few shots next morning, but the great fight of Seven Pines was ended.

General Johnston is badly wounded. I don't know as yet who will succeed him, but it is said that it will be R. E. Lee, of Virginia. I know but little about him. They say he is a good general, but I doubt his being better than Johnston or Longstreet.

This is the first fight we have had that our side made the attack, and if this is a victory I never want to be in a battle that is not a victory.

We got a great many provisions of all kinds in their camps—bacon, flour, sugar, coffee (already ground and sweetened, and almost every other kind of dainty, besides several barrels of whiskey, one of which had a bullet hole in it, from which several of the men filled their canteens. My old friend J. J. Pitts, when he had gotten himself and his canteen both full, thought himself as rich as John Jacob Astor.

Among other things I got, and by the way, not before I needed it, was a hat, new for me, but somewhat frazzled by its original owner. It fit me to a fraction.

Remember that, although this was a terrible fight, yet it is by no means the great, decisive battle we have been expecting. It is yet to come and assuredly will take place.

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

Note.—My friend Wheeler Gilmore, who went with me that morning, was mortally wounded at the beginning of the fight and died in a few days. J. W. R.

Near Richmond, Va., June 3, 1862.—

I understand the enemy is landing below here in large numbers. Hard times ahead of us.

Mr. J. J. Land is at Richmond sick. He has sent for me but I cannot get off.

I will now have to stop writing and do what little fixing I have to do and be ready for the word. I will write a line as often as I can. I know you feel anxious about me at these trying times. I have still some cheerfulness, notwithstanding the threatening storm. This storm will surely come, and it will be accompanied by heavy thunder. Try to be cheerful.

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

Camp-near Richmond, Va., June 7,1862.—

As stated in my letter of the 3d, our army expected to move and this has been done. We are near Seven Pines battlefield, about three miles from Richmond. It has been raining almost ever since our coming, and we had to take it as it came, having no other clothing except that on our backs. Bird Phillips brought our blankets in a wagon from the old camp. We are waiting for the ball to open. The fight is certainly coming on, and it is the opinion both of my superiors and inferiors that it will take at least three days to decide it, and if this should be so I almost envy the ticklish position occupied on one occasion by Jonah of old.

To make it worse for us there is a great deal of sickness in our army, and soldiers are dying at the hospital almost daily. A man of my company, Rufus McLees, died at Richmond on last Wednesday. He is the man I took under my oilcloth one rainy night during the march from Yorktown. His brother was killed at Seven Pines the other day. They were good boys, the eons of Jeff McLees, and well liked in the company. Five of my company were carried to the hospital yesterday, namely, Warren McGee, J. J. Pitts, John Gordon, Jim Lofton and Elijah Herring. Herring says a cannon ball struck his musket at Seven Pines, and gave him a jar he has not yet recovered from. If a cannon ball had struck his gun it would have jarred his soul out of his body.

Mr. Land and Wheeler Gilmore send for me to go to Richmond. I cannot go. John McClinton is with Gilmore.

No more news at present.

Yours as ever,J. W. Reid.

Note.—McClinton remained with Gilmore until his death.

Camp near Richmond, Va., Sunday, June 15,1862.—

There will be no pleasure here or at home until the war closes. More than this, the longer it lasts the larger the war debt will be, the less able and the fewer of -- there will be to pay it.

The enemy is down in the river swamps, but I don't think they will remain there long on account of sickness. There is a great deal of it in both armies. We have, it is said, about thirty thousand men at the various hospitals. About one-third of my company is sick. This is the condition of the other companies, indeed, or the entire army. Can I be blamed for wanting to fight and end the matter?

I am quite well but for the fact that my shoe has rubbed by heel until it is blistered and I have to wear a slipshod. My heel has risen and is quite sore. I am excused from duty on account of it, but if a fight comes up I will go into it and let my heels take care of themselves—unless it turns out that my heels have to take care of me.

Monday Morning, June 16.—

We were drawn out in line of battle yesterday, stacked arms and were told to hold ourselves in readiness at a moment's warning. That order is still in force. We had another heavy rain yesterday, and that may stop active operations for a day or two.

I hear considerable firing down toward the Chickahominy. Perhaps it is only a picket fight, as they are quite common.

I don't apprehend a general engagement at present. There is not enough stir going on for that. I can tell pretty well when a battle is brewing by the stir that is made. There will be none to-day.

Yours as ever,J. W. Reid.

Camp near Richmond, Va., June 22, 1862.—

Day before yesterday a heavy firing was going on for several hours over toward Seven Pines. Orders were expected every moment for us to march, but no orders came. I asked leave of my officers to go and see what it meant. They gave me permission to go, and a caution to look out for No. 1. In fact, the officers were as anxious to know what was going on as I was.

I went about three-fourths of a mile and met a Colonel —Somebody—wounded. I asked him if he thought a general engagement was likely to come on. He said, "No; it is only a picket fight, but I am painfully wounded." I went a little further, but saw so many being carried off wounded that I concluded it best to return to the command, where I described what I had seen and heard. All were interested and crowded around me, evidently appreciating what I had done.

It was curious to see that the lame walked, and the sick were suddenly and miraculously made well as soon as I reported it not a general engagement. It is well known that heavy firing will create alarming symptoms in dysentery and other complaints.

Perhaps it would be interesting to know the current prices here for some articles in general use. Coffee is $2 per pound; sugar, 50 cents; molases, per quart, $1; chickens (the size of a robin), $ 1 Apiece; eggs, per dozen, $1; butter (some of it old enough to stand alone for its rights), $1.25; little fruit pies the size of the palm of my hand, 25 cents. I could at this moment eat $5 worth of them. If J. J. Astor had to feed me on these dainties for twelve months at the present price, he would be bankrupt.

Yesterday I bought a loaf of bread for twenty-five cents, but it was hollow, and, though as big as my head, would not have weighed two ounces. I gave part of it to John McClinton and Warren McGee, because they were sick.

Then Tom--came to me with a long face and said;

"Mr. Reid, I feel dreadful bad to-day, and I wish, if you please, you would give me a piece of that 'pone.' " He really looked as though he had come from the valley and shadows of death. I said, "Tom, you old hog, go to my haversack and get it all. He accordingly went and took about half. There was nothing the matter with him, though he can look like a ghost whenever he chooses.

Mrs. Land sent me word she would kill a goat when Joe and I got home, and as Joe can't come she can kill half of one for me and the other half when Joe does come.

Monday Morning, June 23d.—

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

On a Halt, near Richmond, Va., June 26,1862.—

It is about a mile to the Chickahominy, and the entire Federal army of about 200,000 men, are on the other side of the river.

We have a large army, which is being placed in position. There are some troops a little in advance of us, but I suppose our body will soon join them. We expect every moment to hear from them. Will await further operations.

Four O'Clock p. m.—

Later.—Thank God, I hear the roar of Jackson's artilery. That he is there is an indisputable fact, the evidence of which is a heavy cannonading.

A Few Minutes Later.—Firing has commenced just in our front, said to be from Hill's division.

We are ordered to prepare for action. Marching orders! We march to the front. Good-bye, J. W. Reid.

We were ordered to the front, the firing still going on in advance of us, and over in the direction of York river, where Jackson opened the fight. The York river is still further on, rather to the left of our front.

By the time we reached the Chickahominy river (a creek up here), it was night, and very dark. We were halted about the time i reached the middle of the bridge by which we crossed the stream. We remained standing for some time, when orders came to rest where we were until further orders, for us to remain with our equipments on and arms in hand.

I made my way over the bridge and lay down on a beautiful sand bar by the river. I fell asleep, and for a time forgot I was a soldier on a battle field. Very early in the morning I was aroused by the familiar boom of cannon and rattle of musketry. I was nearly frozen, for the damp sand had chilled me through.

We took up the line of march, and were soon engaged.

All day the fight has been going on along our lines.

Jackson is still in the direction of the York river, from which he is trying to keep the enemy, who have gradually given back, but they have disputed every inch of the ground. The place where we commenced is called Mechanicsville.

I cannot convey an idea of the awful confusion and strife going on at this moment. Marching orders.

Six O'clock p. m.—

Battlefield, 2 O'clock, p. m., June 28.—

I shall not attempt a description. Four hundred thousand men engaged in the work of extermination; the noise of the battle, the cries of the wounded, the groans of the dying cannot be described on paper. And all this is going on around me.

Our command is resting a little. I presume that every ambulance in the army is flying to and fro carrying the wounded to Richmond. Then many from the city fire helping in the same work, and are removing the suffering at this moment. Many brave men have fallen to-day. The gaping, bleeding wounds of the wounded and dying We pitiful, but not more heartrending than will be the agony of breaking hearts at home.

Marching orders. Hope for the best.

Just Before Sunset.—We are slowly but surely driving the enemy before us, but it is costing us a great deal to do so. They give back in good order and often turn on us and give us as good as we send. We are now several miles below Mechanicsville, at which place the ball opened.

I don't know under what name these several battles will be know; it should be, Legion! For they are many in number and the end is not yet.

As it is now nearly dark I shall have to close this letter. I will send it by wagon to Richmond. I will commence another to-morrow, if spared. Captain Hall says I am bullet proof. I hope it may be so. Be cheerful.

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid,