Camp Brown, N. Y., Sept. 10th 1862
I am going to give you a little sketch of camp life. Last eve we had the tallest kind of camp meeting. You ought to hear once the chorus of 200 men, voices joining to the tune of “Old Hundred” or “Tanbill” and other familiar strains rising on the evening still like the sound of some nightly cataract. The night was calm, the full moon shown in full splendor and all together it seemed was but not easily forgotten. At nine o’clock we retired, in a short time familiar breathing of some tired soldiers, the occasional tattoo of the camp drum or the challenge of the guards at some belated boy, were the only proof I was in a soldiers camp.
The rest of the boys were up before me…Shall we go tomorrow? Colonel says doubtful.
Poor little Dill, (daughter Della) wish I had something to send her.