The following, written at the entrenched camp near Norfolk, is from a member of the Mobile Gulf City Guards, only seventeen years of age:
Dear Grand Pa If you only knew the monotony of camp life you would not wonder (coming from as feeble a pen as mine) at my letters being so dull and uninteresting.
No news, no excitement at all. Every day the same old thing—drill, drill, drill; and after that the men return to their quarters, and there remain in a kind of trance until some unlucky dog comes along, when he is immediately grabbed by some one, a canteen is tied to his tail, and away he flies amid the yells and cries of a thousand men, making the old woods ring for miles around and then just is suddenly, every thing is as quiet as if nothing had happened.
Occasionally may be heard the loud laugh of some tired-out soldier, trying to drive away melancholy thoughts. In the evening, very likely, you may see a game of ball; but take a soldier’s life upon the whole, it reminds me more of a lot of cattle occasionally being driven around for some purpose, then going back, stretching themselves down, giving away to quiet repose. Do not, however, infer from the above that I am anxious to return home, for I have only to think of our cause, and against whom we are fighting, and in a moment my blood boils as if in a cauldron.— Speak of a Yankee to any of the men, and you can see their clutch tighten on their guns, and some look at their cartridges to see if they are dry, or cock their guns to see if the lock works easy, and they are ready at five minutes’ notice to march, if ordered to do so, into the port-holes of Fort Monroe.
Yorkville Enquirer, Yorkville, SC