Oxford Times, February 22, 1865
Camp Sheridan, Va., Feb. 8th, 1865
Well, another night is gone, another break of day appears, and I am permitted to sit not on mother earth by the side of an old pail for a writing desk, but in a good snug warm log cabin, with a good piece of pine board for a writing desk, to answer an article published by your cotemporary on Jan. 26th last, and to express my few collected thoughts, to the dear ones at home, and look forward with the happy thought of meeting them all on earth once more. But I have only about another year more to be looked upon (nor far below the negro) as one of Uncle Sam's noble boys, struggling for my country, and my country's rights, and treated as as such by Uncle Sam's noble officers, who are struggling by my side, for the same noble cause.
I do not think I should be ashamed to be seen walking the streets with the officers at home (as a certain fellow says he should) for it matters not how poor or how low their position at home was, if they live reformed and put forth their manly courage like true and noble men, and gained the confidence of their country, and can trust the cause in their hands. I also put trust and confidence in them and shall feel honored in their society at home. Such things look pleasing to the eye of a true soldier, and makes his heart swell with emotions of gratitude to a government that does not place any barrier before the poor man to prevent him from attaining as high a position as he justly merits. Perhaps it would e a good thing if the poor fellow who feels so bad about the officers, had some friends or relations to dig his knowing faculty out of the ditches and grogshops, and endeavor to place him on a level with a majority of the true soldiers, who treat their officers as a true soldier only knows how to treat them. It is true I enlisted to crush the rebellion; and to strike from our noble country that corrupt of all corruptible institutions, Slavery. Oh, how the soldier's heart fills with indignation and contempt towards those things in the south who have dared to call themselves men and masters, when in fact they are demons in human form, when listening to the damnable impositions they have heaped upon the slave. There is no people on earth that feel more thankful to have the yoke of slavery taken off their necks than the negro, and it is truly pleasing and interesting to sit and listen to their future calculations; how they will show their old massa that they can be rich planters as well as they, when Lincoln gives them their freedom. There is nothing in the character of a man that look so mean and low as the continual slang of a copperhead against his government, and its officers. In my estimation, he is 100 degrees below the meanest rebel in the Southern Confederacy, and that is the editor of the Charleston Mercury, who confesses our President to be a man of a clear head, and an eye single to his purpose, with a strong determination to carry out his plans. Will not the northern copperheads endeavor to come up to the level with those people in that heaven forsaken and hell forgotten hole called Charleston. G.
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