"...wash clothes in a mudhole".

Tuesday, December 10, 1861 Pocotaligo Corners

There is much that I have missed entering into this diary. We have been digging every day since the fall of the forts. We dig trenches for the infantry. We dig emplacements for the artillery. Thank the Lord we do not have to dig anything for the cavalry. We dig in the dirt, we eat in the dirt, we sleep in the dirt, we exist in all manners in the dirt. When it rains, we do all these things in the mud. There have been several times that I have tried to make an entry but my hands had been wrapped around my spade for so long that I could grasp neither pen nor pencil.

The weather has turned quite cold, especially in the mornings. There has been frost. We lost much of our camp equipments during the retreat from the Fort Beauregard. There are few tents. Some of the boys who are handy with tools have felled trees and made crude cabins. Those equipped for fireplaces made of mud and wood are quite popular. We need to be careful not to set fire to the wood and mud chimneys. I still have my very good blanket that I brought from home. I need to keep a watchful eye on it lest it warm someone other than me. I have been offered and have turned down three dollars for it.

Our rations are adequate and that is the best that I can say about them. There is salt pork and hard crackers. There is some rice and a small amount of corn. When allowed, hunting parties go into the woods to bag some deer. Sometimes, one comes across wild hogs. They carry their own bayonets which are somewhat shorter than ours. Even so, when they charge, they hold nothing back. It is best to shoot them at a distance, the further the better.

The days of many packages sent by families and loved ones filled with jellies, pies, hams and the like are mostly over. Things are still too disrupted for much of that sort of thing. A detail of us were sent to help unload a train of supplies and ammunition. It was dark and raining. One of us, I dare not say which one, grabbed a small crate and smelled it. "I think there's a ham in this here box". "Who gets the box? Who's it for?" "I can't say. The address paper is missing". "So it goes to no body?" "I suppose so". "No body? That's us. We're no body. Hide that box". We were stopped by a staff lieutenant on our way back to camp. He asked what were were doing with the box. We answered that it was empty and we were going to use it to repair our chimmney and he believed us. There was a very nice ham inside and we feasted on it and hard crackers in our little cabin.

Our uniforms are all of uniform color which is the first time that this has happened. All are the color of dirt. My nice frock coat is no longer nice and barely qualifies as a coat. Our officers still insist on our presenting a proper military appeareance so we spend a good deal of time polishing our remaining buttons and brushing off the dirt, mud and grime. There is not enough sweet water here to allow for much laundrying. There is enough ditch water  but one might as well wash clothes in a mudhole. My soap is finally gone and there had been so little soap issued.

Our muskets and accroutrements are kept in splendid condition. We are soldiers after all. Only the presense of our muskets and cartridge boxes keep us from being mistaken for criminals. If it were posssible to scare the Yankees to death, we would win the war.