"We delight in killing them."

Tuesday, September 23, 1862, at Opequon Creek, near Martinsburg

When it appeared that McClellan would make no move against us, our army yielded the field to them and we marched towards the Potromac and Virginia. Our division formed the rear guard of the army.

McClellan was not going to let us go in peace. Several miles beyond where we crossed the Potomac at Boteler's Ford, the Yankees crossed, too and followed us with a notion of chewing us up. The division was turned around and we went back to kill them again. They had massed some artillery against us but not enough to stop us. The Fourteenth took the worst of their guns but bravely moved on. Our regiment suffered but one wounded. I fired my new Yankee musket but five times. I hated to give up my old musket but as it was a smoothbore, it did not have the range to kill Yankees beyond a sixty yards or so. This rifled musket can easily double that distance.

We were compelled by the lack of ambulances to abandon some of our wounded to the mercies of the enemy. I have not heard if Colonel Barnes is among them.

I do not know where the rest of the army is. I only know that we are near Martinsburg. For all I know, we are still the rear guard since we are so close to the river. I cannot imagine that this place can sustain the whole army for long so they must not be here. We must be ready to move quickly to oppose any more attempts by the enemy to cross over to our side.

Until someone beats the long roll, we are engaging in resting and refitting ourselves. Almost everything that composes us soldiers has to be put right again. We have had some chance to launder our uniforms and ourselves. Our officers have insisted on it. As I was one of the few who thought ahead enough to save some soap, I was rather popular. Now I am soapless and not half clean yet. The waters are cold but the fires are hot so it is even.

Our rations have returned to normal, that is to say ordinary and monotonous. The good people of Martinsburg have little to spare since our last visit. Perhaps we should not have been so greedy then. We make do with corn, salt pork and crackers. Things will be better in the spring if we do not starve first.

Although, at present, we do not do battle with the two-legged enemy but rather, we are engaged in battle with the six-legged enemy. He is called by several names, some of which I will take note of here.  When not being condemmed to the infernal regions, they are called, "confederates", "zouaves", "greybacks" and "tigers", amongst other names. We take no prisoners, we fight under the black flag. We kill them in droves and they are rapidly replaced by more. We kill them by smoke, we kill them by boiling, we kill them between our fingernails. We sit in groups around the campfire and seek them out. 

Duncan, Lyles, Adkins and Terry have a wager. The one who kills the most wins one hardtack cracker. I heard Adkins exclaim, "Fifty-two!", a moment ago.

We spend a good deal of time doing this. As we have not had the time to take a proper clensing of ourselves and our clothes for some months, all of us are being attacked by great hosts. We delight in killing them. Sometimes, a garment such as a shirt, is infested beyond all efforts to save it. When it is thrown away, we say that it has been paroled. I did not parole my drawers. I burned them. I am wearing my last shirt and already know that it has been invaded by advance scouts who will pass the word to the main body that fresh meat is hard by. Someday, I will burn this shirt, too.