"The fatigue will kill us..."

Sunday, August 24, 1862, near Jeffersonton

We are all done in. Jackson is marching our feet right off. If we were to meet the Yankees tomorrow, we would all be captured intact in our sleep. More and more of us are falling out for want of shoe leather. The fatigue will kill us before the Yankees will.

Even so, we are generally of good cheer. We know that all this marching is for a purpose. We are to maneuver ourselves into a position where we can strike a blow for our independence. We just need to have enough soldiers still able to shoulder a musket to effect this outcome.

There has been much rain of late. The chills from the damp along with numerous cases of the flux are playing evil within the ranks. We go to sleep wet and awake the same way. We can get neither warm nor dry.

Earlier today, the Yankees began a noisy cannonade. The brigade formed up behind our batteries who were returning fire in case their infantry should advance upon us. They made no move and neither did we. There was a great deal of powder burned but to want effect I am unaware. We stood down eventually and marched to this place where we now sit around a campfire, trying to get warm. Where is Pope? Where is McClellan?