02. Harry's Letters, 1864

heart for your tender attention to her. I wish you could meet her oftener -- and I know she is very fond of you. She is very lonely I am afraid -- my poor father dead -- and I a homeless wanderer. Write to her Nellie, And when you meet her, kiss her and tell her I told you to, for me. I sometimes feel I am unworthy such a mother as she. I have not lived with her in nearly fourteen years. I look back upon those years as upon a long, sad exile -- and God Knows my heart longs for a time when she and I may have a home and this wandering life of mine be ended.

You see by the heading of this letter that our command has changed its camping ground since I last wrote you. This place, Morristown, is a little struggling village, about half as big as Norway and is situated on the East Tennessee and Virginia Rail Road, about forty miles East from Knoxville. We came here about a fortnight since and then went back some twelve or fourteen miles; and now we have come again -- like Monsieur Touson, -- and I wouldn't be surprised if we should be treated to a bit of a misunderstanding with the Rebs, for their cavalry

continually have on our flanks -- and ventured an attack yesterday and another today upon our advanced Cavalry. They were driven back each time with more or less loss. I don't quite know what the programme is, but I suppose that we are to march out and offer the enemy battle; or maybe we are to attack him in his camp which is some fifteen or sixteen miles East of here. At all events, we are likely to have a fight at any time -- by which I mean we may expect a victory very soon, for of course we slay and utterly rout all opposers -- The 9th Corps knows "no such word as fail" and all of us, from drummer boys to Maj General feel the confidence of invincibility. Fact, Nelly, so none of your laughing.

The chances for our Corps going East seem farther off than ever. But still I hope to be able to go and claim my share of kisses from your sweet lips sometime during the summer. If such an opportunity offers itself you must go to Norway with me to see Mother and Lue. By the way, I must write to Lue as I promised. When

[March 14, 1864]

you write you must tell her to be a good girl and to look out for a letter from me one of these days. Lue is a dear, kind cousin and you may tell her that I love her very much. She consoled you with a "cooky" -- did she. Well, that was kind and thoughtfull on her part. And you did cry "just a little" when I bid you good bye and went away to the Pacific? I didn't cry Nelly, but I went away with a heavy heart. Old Rover as I am, that was a sad, sad parting, the morning I left Norway. My poor father said "good bye my son, we shall never meet again" -- and he tried to smile through his grief and I made a last effort to cheer him -- trying to drown my conviction that I should never more hear his voice. It was saddening to say good bye to mother and Lue and her father and mother and I tell you the truth when I say that your parting kiss was pressed to lips that were powerless to tell how hard it was to leave you.

I am afraid I have made but a gloomy letter of this, Nellie. But you must excuse my poor humor.

Believe me, I love you better today than ever, and with all my nonsense I can love as steadily and heartily as "any other man." And if you don't love me in return, it your own neglect of duty, and I shall prefer charges against you and have you court martialed and reduced to the ranks. Beside that I'll tell my mother.

My kindest regards to your brothers & sisters. As I cant kiss you, I will your picture -- the last one -- and bid God bless you and good bye for a little while.

[left side margin] I wish I had a picture of my shaved pate to send you. Answer this before you lie down for the night and write me a good long letter. Address as before -- Knoxville Tenn. Do this, and you may "come south and get warm". Ever yours, affectionately Henry R. Mighels.