I ought to have written to you before, acknowledging the good package of books, duly received by express, & actively used since, changing them around in places where most needed among the soldiers—(I found a small hospital of U. S. teamsters, entirely without reading, I go there considerable, & have given them largely of your reading contribution)—I am down here pretty well toward the extreme front of the Army, eight or ten miles south of headquarters, (Brandy Station)—We had some fighting here, below here on picket lines, day before yesterday—We feared they, the rebs, were advancing upon us in our depleted condition, especially feared their making a flank movement up on our right. We were all ready to skedaddle from here last night, & expected it—horses harnessed in all directions, & traps packed up, (we have held & lost Culpepper three or four times already)—but I was very sleepy & laid down & went to sleep, never slept fresher or sweeter—but orders came during the night to stay for the present, there was no danger—during the night I heard tremendous yells, I got up & went out, & found it was some of the men returning from the extreme front—As day before yesterday a strong force, three corps, were moved down there—These were portions of them now returning—it was a curious sight to see the shadowy columns coming in two or three o'clock at night—I talked with the men—how good, how cheerful, how full of manliness & good nature our American young men are—I staid last night at the house of a real secesh woman, Mrs. Ashby—her husband (dead) a near relation of the famous reb Gen Ashby2—she gave me a good supper & bed—There was quite a squad of our officers there—she & her sister paid me the compliment of talking friendlily & nearly altogether exclusively with me—she was dressed in very faded clothes but her manners were fine, seems to be a travelled educated woman—quite melancholy—said she had remained through fearful troubles & changes here on acct of her children—she is a handsome middle-aged woman—poor lady, how I pitied her, compelled to live as one may say on chance & charity, with her high spirit—
Dear friend, I am moving around here among the field hospitals—(O how the poor young men suffer)—& to see more of camp life & war scenes, & the state of the army this winter—Dear friend, I have much to tell you, but must abruptly close—
Walt WhitmanWrite to me same address Washington, D. C.—has Caleb Babbitt gone home from Mason Hospital—I left the book at Mr. Chase's3— J. T. Trowbridge, / Somerville, Massachusetts.