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give such universal satisfaction if I write in that strain, but I care for that; it is a truth. You do not see it perhaps, but to us who know the Mexicans and see the springs of all their actions, it is painfully, lamentably true.

I want my letters to please you, and that is all I ask for, but I must write the truth when it affects me or you, and state my honest convictions always. If this do not please you I regret it, but cannot help it. There is something stern in my nature, I see it in my intercourse with men and they complain of it, yet I would not for the world injure the weakest person in the world either by word or deed for my own advantage. I aim to tell the truth and do my duty wherever I am in life and either of these is a two edged sword to some people, and I sometimes think that others are to blame as well as myself. The hard feature in my composition does not prevent me from cherishing a love for all that is good and beautiful in nature or mankind, and if heartfelt sympathy for the woes of others could relieve them, I know there would be but little sorrow. But above and beyond every other feeling, except a dread of deserved dishonor, I am conscious of possessing a love for you and my children, and a warm heart for a real friend. This must excuse all my errors to you, for I have no other to offer.

Last night I saw you again in my dreams, looking so blooming and natural that in my eagerness to embrace you I awoke, and saw ---darkness. I am getting very happy in my dreams and can bear the banishment much better if I can dream of you often. It makes me feel poetic as of old, and you need not be surprised if some of these days I send you some doggerel addressed to "Eliza".

In my letters to you I tell everything that happens and all that I feel, and in reading them to others you will exercise your own good sense and discretion. I do not wish a word against anyone here to come from you or be traced to you. Of all things in the world do not suffer yourself deservedly to be mixed up in the gossip of Marion. When I come

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When I come home I can attend to all my little difficulties, and when I can say to a man's face what I think, then he may know me, but I do not wish your name in their mouths, nor any excuse given for it.

The Mexican congress is in session; the President, all the ministers and a majority of the deputies are in favor of peace. If this pronunciamento does not terrify them a treaty is or will be made immediately; this is well known here. It is believed by most of us that a treaty is already made, or the basis of one agreed to between Mr. Trist, Genl. Scott and the Mexican government.

The order arrived here some days since for fast horses to be ready at five minutes notice for a courier, and an order went to Vera Cruz for a fast sailing vessel to be retained until his arrival. This courier is looked for hourly, and if he comes he will no doubt be the bearer of a treaty of peace for the consideration of our government. I shall come home in May, whether peace is made or not. If a peace is made and the Volunteers ordered home, I shall not resign but be discharged with the rest. In case this does not take place until after the month of May I shall come on leave, and return to New Orleans to be mustered out of the service. I shall not return to Mexico in any event. The probabilities are that we shall be ordered home in April; that is the Volunteers. The regulars will stay here to "keep the peace". I have sent another hundred dollars home by Mr. Phelps of New Orleans who will send a draft to Sweetser. I wish him to pay Gov. Whitcomb sixty some dollars, and you the rest. If I get a good opportunity I shall send you more, but hardly think I will until I come myself. If I thought you were in want of it I would send it now, but I do not like to run the risk unless it is necessary. You say nothing of that I sent by Lt. Douglas of Cincinnati. I am afraid he lost it, as the train was attacked and it was specii. My love to Mother and kiss the children for me. Good by. John.

Give my respects to Jo, John and all my friends of that stripe; to Grandfather and

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Mother give my especial regards, also to Mr. and Mrs. Hawes, Lenox and his wife,—
my good wishes for her soon recovery. Tell Lois I expect to kiss her when she is
twice as old. Oliver is well. Decatur has gone to the City to see to the effects
of Eb.

Feb. 3rd. The express has just arrived. Everything from the city says peace
immediately. I shall come home in May anyway, but hope that we may all come. My
health is excellent, and good health and spirits prevail generally. You will get
this about the first of March,— in less than two months I shall be with you if I live.
God bless you wife, children and friends until I embrace you, is the prayer of your
affectionate husband, John.

Puebla, Mexico, Feb. 10th, 1848.

My dear wife: An express is just in from the city with dispatches to our government.
They leave in five minutes; I have only time to tell you that I am in good health,
and all the rest whose friends live in Marion. Oliver was just in my quarters, he is
well. Decatur is still in Mexico.
Next to the fact that I am well it will
gladden you to hear that peace is made, or a treaty is signed between the Mexican
commissioners and Mr. Trist and Gen. Scott, and it is believed that this express takes
the treaty ratified by the Mexican congress to our government. The people here are
all in favor of peace now, and if our congress does not waste time upon it we shall
have a peace immediately. Everybody is rejoiced and we expect to be at home in May.
I shall anyway; look for me about the last of May, unless the troops should go about
that time, in which case I, of course, shall be discharged with the rest at New Orleans.
There is nothing new, no fighting or moving in any direction; everything is in "statu
que". We hung three robbers yesterday in the Plaza, to the surprise of the
Mexicans who never hang criminals.

I want to hear from you very much, but cannot for ten days or two weeks. My love to
Mother, kiss the children for me and believe me, ever yours truly. John. I cannot

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write more as the express leaves immediately.

Five minutes more. I am a little uneasy about some money I sent home, $100 by Lieut. Douglas of Cincinnati and $100 by Mr. Phelps of New Orleans. You, of course, would mention it when you receive it. Address your letters as heretofore, as all official letters are sent to "the Adjutant" and they would be opened at a half dozen others.

If our congress ratifies the treaty the Volunteers will be withdrawn immediately and the regulars left to guard a peace. I have but little confidence that our congress will ratify such a condition, and no confidence that any other kind of a peace would last.

Humor 2d. Some of our officers who went up to the City have returned with this express who say that the present bearer of dispatches brings an order to resume hostilities, as the President of this Republic refused to sign the treaty agreed upon by the commissioners. So that there is no peace if this be true. I cannot learn what the express brings in time to inform you, but would as soon believe the latter as the former rumor. You will see from the papers what the truth is. I care but little; I shall come home if flesh and blood hold out that long. I am in excellent health. John

Puebla, February 26th, 1648.

Dear Eliza: A mail arrived yesterday and I received letters from you to the 10th of Jan; from Samuel McClure and from Harrison. Your letters were not as late as I had hoped to hear from you, but it is such a relief to hear from you at all that they gave me great pleasure. My hopes for your continued health and prosperity are so far realized, and am I not right in not distrusting the kindness of that Providence who has so long followed me and mine with blessings. Those little difficulties of mine which you mention, and which are mostly of a pecuniary nature, dwindle into perfect insignificance when I think that all that effects your happiness and mine, is well. I regret, however, anything, however small, which molests your peace, makes you uneasy

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or reflects upon my credit peculiarly, but when I do all in my power I have done my duty, and feel no reproach. I never once thought of that money due the Governor after Wallace left for we supposed, as he said, that it could be paid when convenient or when we returned. Wallace could have had it when he left if he wished, but he evidently did not think it important, and if he had not taken such a course as to call down the notice and dislike of the Governor he would not have been called on for it before the close of the war. So much for that. I sent the money long ago and Sweetser will have received it before you get this, unless it be lost. I dare not risk any more, and indeed scarcely have it to send, but you will have about twenty five to add to your forty, which I hope will last you until I return. I do not wish you to work care or do anything but take of yourself and the children. And Mother need not do a thing but take care of herself. I can pay all my debts in good time, never fear. Dick says you wished him to persuade me to resign and come home, but he did not do it, and rather thinks it would be unmanly and disgraceful to do it. You seem to think the advice of Wallace is good when he says "do not resign", but you would be overcome by your regard for me, as Wallace was by his for his wife. He knew it was wrong before he went, and confessed it, but had not the strength of mind to resist the desire to see his wife, and escape from the hardships which we were then compelled to endure. I say then because our situation was much worse then than now. Now do not get alarmed at this strain and think I am never coming. What I have told you is true. I am coming in May, whether there is peace or not, and I am coming honorably. If I thought you serious when you say "do not come until you come to stay", and there was no other way to come honorably except on furlough, I should not come, but I do not think you mean it; you would rather have me at home three months contented and happy than to come to stay and have me miserable and disgraced, as you say Capt. Wallace is. To save your life I would disgrace myself, but for nothing else, not even to save or prolong my own. If I knew than an act dishonoring me would prolong my life, or save

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it, and that act take me home, I would not go, and if you cannot reconcile all this
with my regard for you, why then I don't love you. Whatever I may have said to
you heretofore, be assured of this, if you see me at any time it will be under
circumstances which will not make you blush for me, nor think I have sacrificed my own
sense of honor or right for the gratification of seeing you.

Everything is flattering for peace and everyone looks for its immediate consummation.

The congress is pledged to the President to ratify the treaty as soon as it comes back
ratified by ours. This will be within three weeks, unless our demagogues waste time
by long speeches, which we hope they will not do at our expense. There has been
enough of political gambling upon the blood of our soldiers, and the miserable, whining
cowards and aspiring knaves whose acts and declarations have prolonged the war, will
be remembered forever by every man who has spent a year in Mexico. Just think, at
the very time when our increasing army was toiling from Vera Cruz to the Capital, and
by their swelling numbers terrifying the Mexican government; and Mr. Trist holding out
the olive branch of peace and all the influential men of this country aiding him in his
efforts,- at this very time men proclaiming in our congress that the war was all wrong
and of course ought to be discontinued, and intimating their intention to vote against
supplies. How could they more effectually have espoused the cause of the enemy, or
better deserved the name of traitors. That a commentary upon our nation, that with so
many traitors in her councils, she yet comes out of the contest honorably. You cannot
imagine the scorn in which such men are held here. I believe if they were to fall into
the hands of the Volunteers here, they would hang them upon the first tree. All will
be forgotten, however, if a peace is now made and we allowed to go home, but not a man
of them will ever get a vote from a volunteer. The greatest desire is felt by all
the volunteers to get home in time to help elect a democratic President, and I think
we shall do it.

This is rather an uninteresting letter, but I cannot help it, as you say "from the

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fullness of the heart the pen writeth". The bearer of dispatches must have arrived at Washington on the 22nd of this month, and ere this you probably know the fate of the treaty in our congress. It is expected here by the middle of March.

The regularity with which I receive letters from you, by every mail that comes, is the subject of remark, and of not a little envy by my brother officers, who about half the time look on with faces very much like a man who has drawn a blank in a lottery, not receiving letters from their friends. When a mail is to arrive bets are made jokingly upon the number of letters I will get. Harlan says in his last letter that you hear from me much oftener than the others do from their husbands. You say you do not love to write, but you make a very good correspondent and your letters are just such as I like. The arrival of a mail and your letters is the only thing I look forward to with any interest; is the only way I have of measuring the flight of time. Your last letters, containing a short one from Kate, and the children's hair, gave me great pleasure, and I don't believe I could tell how old Kate is were it not for her letter. Willie I can come within a few months of, but am not exactly certain how old he is. You must not talk of such complete loneliness with two such children, and then Mother, who knows so much more than I do about everything, except politics and war.

Spring is upon you now, and by the time you get this you will almost begin to look for my return. In two months I shall be on the road home; perhaps sooner, if I live, and there is not much danger of death from the enemy now. Sickness is all we have to fear, and my health is so good now and my quarters so comfortable, that I hardly fear it. I acknowledge I trust to my previous good fortune and hope for a continuance of the blessings which have followed me so long. There is a disease here similar to scurvy which effects us in the mouth and throat, frequently terminating fatally and suddenly by strangulation. I have had it very bad, and my mouth and throat were so full of ulcers I lived on gruel and soup for several weeks. I got over it, however, thanks to my good Angel, and have not missed a single day's duty.

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duty since we left the Rio Grande.

I got a petition from our company the other day to run for Captain, but I told them that Wallace was coming back. This quiets them for the present. All my friends are anxious for his return, for they know I prefer my present position and they all wish me to keep it, as I am so much more comfortable, but they will not think of anyone for Captain but me if Wallace resigns. I shall not run though, and I don't know who they would elect. Oliver has grown very unpopular in the company; he does not do his duty; shows no desire to qualify himself, and moreover he is not honest. Pomeroy, Dillon, Price, and all the boys from our county are begging me to take the place of Captain as German will order an election any time if I can be elected, and desire it, though he does not want me to leave his staff, nor do I intend to do it. As long as you see, those who come here to be soldiers and do their duty, though unpopular for a while, will eventually come out right. I was very strict in the company, punished all who were lazy or refractory, and they now see that without discipline they can't drill, and are not thought half as much of as they were when I was in the company.

Some of the officers are constantly electioneering, letting the men violate orders, and even the articles of war which they are sworn to support,-- in order to be in their good graces, and get their votes when they get home. I was out late the other night, and passing a sentinel without challenge I went up to him and found him asleep. I immediately sent him to the guardhouse, and when tried for the offense, I was for which a regular would have been shot, he escaped with a slight punishment. If a regular officer had found him it would have gone much harder with him. The men begin to see that the officers who let them do as they please get them into worse scrapes than those who punish them and make them do their duty. Since I left our company there has been six at a time in the guardhouse for being drunk, neglecting duty, etc. and they are heard to say, "when Dodd was our officer he watched us so close that we did nothing which brought us here". It is deemed disgraceful to be put in the

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guardhouse with Mexicans and common felons. So you understand about what they think of us all, and it is as gratifying to me as it is distasteful to some others. Everything is coming out just as I told them it would long ago. John.

Puebla, March 6th, 1948.

Dear Eliza: I date this the 6th because it is 2 o'clock next morning after the 5th. The mail arrived late tonight while I was at a masquerade. This is the season of "carnival" and fun is the order of the day. I attended one of the masked balls, as a spectator, and was well repaid. It was a treat.

The news from the City says that an armistice is concluded and there is to be no more fighting for three months. This is equivalent to no more fighting, for everybody firmly believes that peace will be made before that time. It is no doubt upon assurances that the congress here will ratify the treaty, that Gen. Butler consented to an armistice. If our congress ratifies the treaty, you may look for peace as certain. The Mexican papers have discussed it and though they say it makes great sacrifices on their part, yet they are willing to do it for the sake of peace.

Our regiment is ordered to Ojo de Agua (pronounced oho da awa), which means a fountain of water. It is half way from here to Perote and on the way home. There is no town there, only a hacienda and spring of pure water. We shall probably go in three or four weeks; we shall live in tents as of old, but the weather is getting warm and pleasant and we shall get along very well. The officers are very mad about it and several of them have resigned. Gen. Lane goes home on furlough during the armistice. Make no difference in the direction of your letters.

Carey went to the City and while there applied for leave of absence to take the body of Capt. Carey home, but not having the sanction of his own Colonel, it was refused and referred to us. Col. German approved it and it will go back in the next mail, but before it can get there he will either resign and take the body home, or leave it until we all go. One of our Captains who was with us and has resigned, told me that

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Carey would, but I hardly think so.

Our company is at Fort Loretto on the hill which overlooks the City, a fine place.
As soon as I have a good opportunity I will send you some money, perhaps the next
train. I am in hopes you do not suffer for anything. Mr. Sweetser is very kind;
give him my compliments and warmest thanks.

My pen is very poor and it is too late to make another and I am very sleepy. You will
excuse me writing more, for the assurance that I am well and want to see you as much
as ever is about the only thing I can write which will interest you. I am coming
home in May whether or no. Your affectionate husband, J. W. Dodd.

Guenin is thirty miles this side the City, teaching a band for the 5th Ohio at
Rio Frio; he is well. Oliver is in good health, and all the rest.

Mexico City, March 23d, 1848.

Dear Eliza: Do not be alarmed that this is on gold paper and from the City of Mexico; I have not deserted nor grown suddenly rickshawvy rich, but have taken advantage of a good opportunity to visit the City of the Aztecs and revel for a few days in the Halls of the Montezumas. I arrived here, in company with Col. German and five or six officers of our regiment on the 39th inst., escorted by a company of Dragoons to keep off the guerillas. You know there has been no other fighting for four months. We had a delightful ride, reaching here in two days and passing through some of the most sublime and beautiful scenery in Mexico. The valley of San Martin I have described to you before, and after passing through that we ascended the mountains, through the deep and almost impassable gorges of which we gained the valley of Mexico. This City and the plain or valley in which it lies has but one feature different from all the low country on this line, and that is the lakes around it. The ground is low and marshy and the water, having no outlet, forms little lakes, which gives a new and picturesque feature to Mexican scenery. The City if approached only by the road made through these lakes, of which there are five or six leading to the city. They are fine

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stone roads, raised above the water and for miles near the City are planted with shade trees, making a delightful drive. These roads were all fortified and it is a wonder to even a soldier how our troops ever gained the City over the numberless batteries erected across the road, and frowning castles and forts, whose guns command the approaches to the City in every direction. These things are what I came to see and as I cannot tell you all about them now, I will make many a fireside tale for you of what I see and learn.

Today we have visited the battleground of Moline del Rey, Tacubaza and the Castle of Chapultapeo, tomorrow the rest.

I should defer writing you until I have seen everything, but the mail leaves today and I cannot let an opportunity pass of informing you at least that I am still alive and in "good health". You perhaps will not credit my constant report of good health, since I never at home so long enjoyed it without interruption, but strange as it seems, it is true, and I am too happy to be able to assure you of it.

Among the pleasant things which I have seen today is your letter of 14th February, which came up in the mail day before yesterday. It is later than anyone has heard from home and gave me great pleasure, as all your letters do. You devoted a page or two to John Wallace which I would rather you would have filled with something about yourself, but I do not find fault about it. You write for my gratification and, like all correspondents, are entitled to choose your own subjects. I suppose his conduct has grieved all who have friends in Mexico, and probably is just cause of grievance, but him and his are indifferent to me. I have done my duty towards him while present and absent and as he has carved out, in part, his own fate, he must abide it.

He is below par here as he is at home, and my opinion is that his name will be stricken from the roll. I have done all I could to prevent it, but I think it will soon be done.

As I told you in my last, if peace is made before we have the election, I shall be Captain by every vote in the company, and if Oliver gets any

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commission it will be by my influence. So you see, the mean practices get their reward sometimes. The day we left I was beseeched by the whole company to get an election ordered for them, and solicited to run for their Captain. Many of them are very sorry for what they did before, and their turning around has revealed things for which I shall remember Oliver. He shall have an office in the company, for the sake of his wife; if I am elected he will get my place, and if Decatur dies he will have his. I left Decatur very low and I do not think he is alive now; if he is it is a miracle. He had the inflammatory rheumatism and was so low that we all gave him up. I took care of him, with Oliver and James, until I left, and I should not have left him if there had been any hope of his recovery. By this mail, you will learn if Decatur if alive, and if he is not dead when the mail passes Puebla, he may get well, but I much fear that the mail that brings you this will bear awful tidings to his wife and family. God forbid such a calamity to them, if consistent with His purposes. Decatur thought he would die and talked with me about it very feelingly and sensibly. He wished to be taken home, and shall be, if I do it myself.

Heaven seems to be constantly protecting me from the fangers and accidents of this life and I am more and more convinced that it is for your sake and that of the children. I made a narrow escape the other day which I must tell you, first because I am grateful for my preservation and to show you how I am protected by an over-ruling Providence. I was putting my pistols in the holsters of my saddle to go upon duty as Adjutant of the Day, standing upon the ground, and as the pistol went down into the holster of course the muzzle was pointed down and towards me. The cock of the pistol caught upon the edge of the holster and the weight of it threw the cock up far enough to explode the cap, and it went off. The ball struck me in the groin, just at the lower part of the abdomen but, passing through my pantaloons, it encountered my knife, which turned the ball, and it came out at the outside seam of my pantaloons, without

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serious injury, only bruising the flesh a little in the groin. For such an escape
from immediate death I am truly thankful, and for the future shall be more careful,
though I am never careless with firearms of any description. Oh, how grateful should
I be if permitted to return to you from so many dangers and with so many falling
around who bid as fair for life as I.

The mail is going sooner than I expected and I must close. The peace news is without
change. The papers of today say a quorum of the congress will be together by the time
the treaty reaches here. If it is ratified by our Congress and not materially amended
it will be ratified here immediately. You will see from the papers at home if this is
done, and can tell whether there will be peace just as well as anybody else.

What I tell you depend on, but if our Congress should amend it so as to change the
treaty much there is danger it will be lost here,— but the Mexicans wish peace and will
do much to secure it, as the treaty fully proves.

I have sent $181.00 by Gen. Lane, which will probably reach Sweetser, if all the rest
is lost, so that you will not suffer.

We have a mail every two weeks, both ways, and I will write you a letter next mail.

Excuse this, as I am forced to stop or risk its being left; so much of a letter is
better than none.

We go to Puebla in three or four days and our regiment will then go to Ojo de Agua or Napolucan, Direct as usual.

Give my love to Mother and the children and everybody. Yours faithfully, John.

Nepolucan, April 3d, 1848.

Dear Eliza: I sat down yesterday to write you, but it rained and I was sick and cross
and gave it up. While at the City of Mexico I had a second attack of sore throat,
which has since occasioned me much trouble and pain. I got no relief until my neck
was blistered from ear to ear, and from this latter as much affliction I am now suffering.

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It is no easy matter to keep cool when a fellow is suffering the burning of a huge blister, and to keep good natured when he loses a fine pair of whiskers and in their place sports a girdle of cabbage leaves. These things combined made me feel cross yesterday, as you will readily suppose, but I shall not complain much for I am not so ungrateful as to forget how I have been blessed with health heretofore, nor that many have died from this same sore throat; indeed it is an epidemic here and numbers in our own regiment have died, suddenly and awfully from this swelling in the throat producing strangulation. When swelling continues without ulceration, death is almost universal, but when ulcers form in the throat and superate the danger is not so great. Mine ulcerated and broke in my throat and, though painful from inward inflammation and blistering, I bore it quite patiently for me, as I knew the danger was passed. The ulcers have quite disappeared, the swelling nearly gone and the enormous blister outside is恢复 healing, so that I am again nearly normal. I am thus particular about this because it is the first serious ailing I have had since I left home, and because you think I never tell you when I am sick. Another reason is that when the regiment left Puebla it was not supposed that I could come, and already reports were circulated that I would not get well, as the disease had killed so many. It was propably the cause of Carey's death. How favored I am and indeed I am grateful for the providences which continually follow me. I sometimes fancy I can see the blessings which come to me, the faces of my wife and children, like the form of an angel in a cloud, directing the visitations, and calling down upon me by their innocence and helplessness the favor and protection of the Almighty. Certain I am that I have no more claims upon life and health than hundreds of those who have fallen around me, and you know, I always thought I should be preserved for your sake and that of our children. Oh, how dear you are to me, and how has my imagination fed upon the joy of seeing you again, during the long weary hours and days of my confinement. I rode in a carriage

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from Puebla here, forty miles, and it is the first march ever performed by my regiment that I was not at my place and doing my duty.

Well, this is a mean little town of some thousand inhabitants, quite pleasantly situated upon a hill, but all our water is drawn two miles; this, however, is a trifling hardship and I have no doubt we shall get along very well. Five companies, or half the regiment, will be stationed at Ojo de Agua, six miles on, or some other place in the vicinity.

I got your letter of Feb. 29th yesterday and how glad I am to hear that you are still well. May Heaven continue to smile on us until we once more meet. While I think of it, do not stop writing until one month before we start home, you will know when that is, and don't stop then, but write me at New Orleans. By directing your letters to New Orleans and leaving off the military title, they will stop there. There is no doubt of a speedy peace, the treaty is already in the Mexican Capitol, it arrived there yesterday, and in two weeks it will be ratified. There is no doubt that we shall be home in June. Everybody here is as much in favor of peace as they have been opposed to it, and no one advocates any other policy, except such as wish to be employed in the army and want a war somewhere. You see I am determined to be a prophet, for I shall prophesy peace until it comes.

Today I was unanimously elected first lieutenant of our company. It was offered me by the whole company and I accepted it. I am still Adjutant, however, and this will make my pay a little better, nearly one hundred dollars a month. Oliver will be elected in my place and he is very well satisfied. We are good friends and things go on smoothly. I shall not accept the Captaincy, if there is one elected, unless there is a certainty of going home. That you may depend upon. But if peace is made certain and we get official information that Wallace is stricken off, I shall come home commander of the company. They all wish it; officers and men. Gorman recommended the Department to strike off Wallace's name in the December report, and Gen. Butler had done the same

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thing, so that it is done by this time in all probability. I hope we shall get the information before we go home, for I should like to go home with a full set of officers, and I don't want Wallace to have any claim to membership with us when we return. The boys asked me today to draw up a paper for them, expressing their opinion of him; they want to sign it and send it home, but I think we had better let him alone; he is dead enough now, and anything from us would only wound the feelings of his wife and friends. How selfish he acted with that letter of mine. I wrote him, as you know, for his own sake to return, and to induce him to do so as represented the total incapacity of Carey to command, which is true; but that he should make use of things thus confidentially told, by a friend to himself, to injure the feelings of women and bolster up his own rotten fame, is beyond question a mean and dishonorable act. Between Decatur and myself there was never any personal difficulty; he knew my opinion of his military qualifications, and he made no pretensions to them, and knew that as a commander the company did not like him. The best feelings always existed between us personally, and for some time during his sickness I nursed him like a brother. I shall write his wife by this mail, and I hope Wallace may see the letter, for I shall not write him any more. Decatur died while I was at the City, and at the meeting of the officers I see they kindly put my name upon the committee. The letter she will receive, with the proceedings, was written by Major McCoy and I presume is all it should be.

I shall write to her, however, myself. The death of Thomas Dillen also occurred while I was at the City. I left him well and nursing the sick boys in the hospital and, though I was only gone two weeks, he was buried when I returned. I am sorry for his poor children, yet they will never want for friends I trust. I shall also write to Reed who is, I suppose, their proper guardian. All these things, with my daily duties, in my present health, will keep me busy for the three days before the mail leaves for Vera Cruz, so that you must not look for a very long letter this time.

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Death has been busy with our company since we left home, and but a small band remain of "the largest company in the regiment". The company once numbered an hundred men; now we have but fifty-eight all told, and six of them on the sick list. We shall arrive there making perhaps forty lost out of a hundred in one year. This is a fearful loss, but we all put our lives on the throw, and fortunate are those who return to tell the fate of their companions. Guenin has recovered his health perfectly and is more fleshy than I ever saw him. Enoch Hendrix looks much better than I ever saw him and is very sober and orderly; he makes a good soldier, and I think his old mother may hope to see him again.

I received a letter from Mr. Sweetser of Feb. 24th, the first I have ever received from him; it was very kind and I am under obligations to him for his kindness and favors. I am very sorry about that money, and I yet hope to get it unless it was lost between here and New Orleans. I wrote you that I had sent since, by Mr. Phelps of New Orleans, one hundred dollars, and my Gen. Lane one hundred and eighty dollars. If none of it comes, you must borrow, for I shall not risk any more. I never got a letter or anything else from Lenox and I am quite sure that I have written him several times, April 6th. Today Oliver was elected unanimously 2d Lieutenant of the company, and he is well satisfied with his promotion. If I am elected Captain there will be a struggle between him and Lieut. Macom for the 1st Lieutenancy. I am still acting as Assistant Adjutant General, and am relieved from the daily duties of Adjutant, though I am still the adjutant of the regiment. Our regiment is divided into two battalions, one here, the other at a hacienda two miles from here and there is a temporary adjutant appointed to each, though I get the pay as Adjutant General. I get eight dollars per month, so that my pay is really one hundred and four dollars a month. This would do very well in a country where we could live any way reasonably, but it takes just about half my pay to live comfortably, and then we don't half live. I am doing

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very well just now, even in this little town. There is a French cook who keeps a
fonda and boards the officers for a good price and he feeds us very well. I have good
quarters in a Mexican house, with the Colonel; our room is hung with french pictures
and images of the Saviour and Virgin Mary, as is usual in Mexican houses. In the way
of sleeping I am getting luxurious too, for on my cot is a mattress, a pair of clean
white sheets, a pillow and pillow-slip, and blankets; rather comfortable for a soldier
and more than many others have. I take coffee with my French friend at sun rise,
breakfast at 10, and he gives us a good dinner at 3 in the afternoon. This is Spanish
living, and I like the hours very well, for if a fellow eats a very hearty dinner he
can walk it off before bed time. There are no senoritas here that I have seen,
except a few old dried commandoes, as ugly as sin and about the color of a pumpkin.
Women are competent for the duties of life at an early age, bearing children at twelve
and fourteen, and the consequence is they become prematurely old, looking awful old
bags by the time they are thirty. That is the common people whom labor and do the
drudgery, for it is only these who are properly Indians.

You wanted to know how I looked, what I wore and all that; well, just fancy a fellow
with long hair, long beard (but no whiskers) with a lot of green vegetables like a
string of pearls around his neck, enveloped in a dozen cotton handkerchiefs, with a
pair of blue pants on, a stripe down the leg that had been white once, suspenders, a
blue soldier's roundabout, between which and the pantaloons hang out a shirt in
wrinkles, the color of which depends upon his stock on hand. This is a good portrait
of your lord as he now sits; think you could fancy such a chap? Mind, this is in
the office off duty for on duty he is another fellow; as spruce as you please and as
fierce as the grand turk. You know I have been sick for some time and, doing no
duty, am allowed to look as shabby as I please, but Gorman requires us to dress well
and clean on duty, and this is one item of expense, but I do not object to it as I like
to dress well. A coat costs in Puebla for an officer, fifty dollars, and everything

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else in proportion.

April 7th. I wrote to Mrs. Carey yesterday and dispatched it by the diligence (Mexican) and she will no doubt receive it before you do this. I told her that Decatur and I were always friends and that when he died the most kindly feeling existed between us. I did not deny having found fault with his military qualifications, but told her that if ever I had mentioned it it was in confidence to such as I supposed too honorable to betray confidence. But you will see the letter, and I hope Wallace will see it. I never write anything but the truth, and am prepared to answer to men for what I say, but I cannot bear to have any controversy with women and never want anything I write to reach their ears, for you know I think very little of men who can be gratified by injuring the feelings of a woman.

The weather is quite cool here now, not too cold, but pleasantly so. It has commenced raining, and we have a shower every day. It is not properly the rainy season yet, that does not commence for two months yet. The showers now make it very pleasant, as it keeps cloudy through the day and we do not duffer from the sun, and the ground being sandy, it is not muddy.

Deputations from surrounding towns have already waited upon the Colonel, making all sorts of promises of allegiance and good behavior. We are sent down here to establish a post for furnishing supplies to our trains, to furnish relays for the mail, of escort for express, etc., and to watch the towns around to see that they do not harbor robbers or recruit troops for the Mexican army. This is all that can be done during the armistice, unless we can find some of the robbers to fight. They are scarce in these parts since we arrived.

How have your ears been gladdened by the news of peace, and how has your heart leaped with anticipation of a speedy reunion, for I judge you by myself and I can scarce contain the joy I feel at the prospect of going home,-- of once more folding you in my arms, and of sitting in our quiet home as happy as I used to be. It seems to me it will be the

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greatest joy I ever knew and more happiness than I ever experienced. For almost a
long year I have hoped for this,-- a year filled with toil and danger sufficient to
dampen the most ardent hopes and fill with doubt the most sanguine heart. Yet have I
hoped, almost against hope, and in the face of danger and disease which has laid low
many who cherished hopes as dear as mine. I love to trace the hand of God in my
preservation and to impute to his providences the continuance in life and health of
one so frail and imprudent. I have scarcely taken the least care of myself or avoided
any danger, yet escaped when others have fallen who were careful, prudent and atten-
tive to every means of preserving life and health. I would much rather have died
here than purchase life as John Wallace has done, dear as you are to me and much as
I wish to live to administer to your happiness, and life purchased by any act which
would forfeit justly the good opinion of my associates here, would not be worth having.
When I resolved to come home, I thought of all the consequences, and I resolved to be
and act the soldier, whether I lived or died, preferring rather to lose my life than
live a reproach to myself and those who loved me. The memory of Decatur Carey will
live and be honored, while Alexander while John Wallace, with superior talents and a
once high claim upon his country, will be despised while living and forgotten when dead.
In other words, there is more salt in Carey's dead body than in John Wallace living,
body and mind,-- the acts of the two men, not their capacity, have tested their worth
and constitute the claim upon their country. This resolution of mine has never
faltered, and having so far escaped the dangers of this life, I look forward to the
enjoyment of home and happiness and the love of my wife and children (so long perilled)
with that fervent and grateful joy that the ship wrecked mariner feels when he sees
through the dangers which surround him, the joyful sight of land. My joy at the
prospect of relief is not of a boisterous or noisy kind, but saddened perhaps by the
uncertainties which still exist. It makes me long the more for the hour when I am free

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and can feel, in your presence that the dangers are past and I am yours forever.
I never experienced a real joy in my life that was not the more prized from the
uncertainties which attended its attainment; for though I always hoped, yet I never
could divest myself of the truth that the present moment could be poisoned and the
sweetest cup dashed to the ground as it went to the lips. You will understand me,
and I think my feelings are more those of a Christian than a philosopher, for, though
always alive to the uncertainty of things, I always hope and am always grateful.
We have got up a pony Jecky Club, and have a race with Mexican ponies every day or
two, which is a little fun for us and serves to pass away the time. The roads are all
fine about here, being level and sandy and we have a little recreation cantering over
the country; there are no fences, nothing to stop us but ditches and hedges of the
Maguey plant (century plant). I have ridden but little here as I am not well enough
yet, but shall in a day or two. It is the most pleasant way to pass our leisure, to
ride to the towns and haciendas in the vicinity, take a drink of pulque (pronounced
pulmo) and talk Spanish with the natives. I must tell you about this pulque. The
Maguey plant grows from a hill, branching out like potato tops, but growing to the
height of four feet, shaped like a slab, with thorns on each edge and sharp as a needle
at the point. They tap these green slabs and get a white sour liquor, which when
sweetened and fermented, is pulque. For the common people it is made strong and very
sour, but when properly made, sweetened and tinctured with pineapple and clarified, it
is a fine drink. Sometimes it is put up in bottles, and sparkles like champagne or soda.

Nepomucen, 9th April, 1948.

The Quartermaster has just come in and says the mail will leave this evening. I did
not suppose it would go for two days and I intended to fill another sheet with something
and give you a long letter, for I love long letters so well that I want to send such to
you. But there will be another mail in two weeks and I'll write you an awful long one.

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I have written to all I wished to except Sweetser, and if the mail does not go tonight, I'll write him tomorrow.

Don't stop writing until you hear the troops are ordered home, and then write to New Orleans, leaving off my military title so that I can find the letters there.

I am getting very well and feel quite fine. Remember me to Mother, kiss the children and yourself for me and be a good girl until I come. Yours faithfully, J.W.D.

Nepalaca, Mexico,
April 20th, 1848.

Dear Eliza:

I have sat down to commence writing you just a week before the mail leaves for the States and, if nothing happens, I hope to write you a long letter. First, I must tell you that I received your letters of the 9th and 20th March day before yesterday, which gave me as great pleasure as any I have received; the continued good health and prosperity with which you are visited I look upon as another of my blessings, for no ill which visits you could fail to give me equal pain and anxiety, while the blessings you receive fill me with pleasure and gratitude. The mail is so regular now that we know the precise hour at which we shall get letters; at least I do, for I have never yet failed to get a letter when the mail arrives, and anybody will bet when a mail arrives that Dodd gets letters. The mail arrives here on the 4th and 17th of every month from Vera Cruz, and at Vera Cruz on the 12th and 28th. I must have said something very ill matured of your letters to make you so desirous that I should destroy them: remember that I am not always in a good humor, and if I have said anything harsh forgive me, for your letters I prize above anything I possess and I should as soon think of jumping in the Gulf myself as of throwing your letters there. Why, I

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think so much of them that I preserve the envelopes with as much care
as the letters and would deem it sacrilege to destroy a piece of paper
that you had written upon.

You had heard the peace news; I am glad of that, and can realize how
happy it made you feel, for I have experienced it, and even the hope
of such a return is a reward for half we have suffered. I hope to tell
you in this letter that our treaty is ratified here and that we shall
soon be on the road home. I had the pleasure of reading my letter to
Stebbins today, in the "Banner" and the labored critique of the
editor. I care nothing about it, but if I had thought of its being
published I should have made it a little stronger and left out all
concerning myself, for I cannot bear anything about myself. Still,
there is nothing of which I am ashamed in it. I intended it for the
neighborhood and perhaps if it had not been published it would have
fared worse than it did with the editor. I don't think he made much
out of it. I know why they wanted it to publish it; it was
because of the line in regard to John Wallace, which was true.

Personally, towards John there has always been a warm feeling among
the officers, for generally they did not know what he was doing at
home, and while he was with us he was quite popular. His worst sin is
not known by many here, and until quite lately there has been a feeling
of sympathy for him. Officers, with a few exceptions, are liberal and
generous in their reflections upon others, and generally sympathize
with a man who suffers rather than remember that it is his own fault.
Such is the character of a brave man in the army almost universally.
I am glad I wrote as I did for he has gone to the devil anyhow and I
do not want my hand in this downfall.

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It is all up with him now, even here, for his discharge from the service
was received here on the 1st of this month. It is a short flat
discharge, without the word honorable in it, which is always put in
when it is deserved. How he will receive this I cannot tell, but it
strikes me as one of the most galling things that a high minded man
could suffer. If I were him I would come to Mexico and serve as a
private until we went home. He must have received his discharge about
the 20th of March, but will probably keep it to himself.

I was elected Captain of the company on the 10th inst., and you will
perhaps think me very changeable, but remember I always said I would
like to command the company if we went home. It was offered me by the
officers and men unanimously, and I accepted it in the same spirit of
good feeling with which it was tendered, and everything is going off
as smooth as a marriage bell. Another reason I accepted it; there is
quite a responsibility resting upon someone when the company is mustered
out of the service and requires one familiar with the history of every
man, and I did not feel disposed to shirk from any responsibility or
duty connected with the company. Oliver was elected first lieutenant
with the same unanimity, and nothing perhaps has tended more to unite
the company and make our situation pleasant, than the burial of the
tomahawk between me and Oliver. We have forgotten our old differences
and it will not be my fault if they are ever renewed. The quidnuncs
in Marion who so much hate to see a man prosper, can take their fill
now for those are elevated whom many there would like to see going down
hill instead of up. Our company is acquiring its old reputation of the
best company in the regiment and, though small in numbers, it is yet
some in a bear fight.

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There is more of the feeling and appearance of the soldier in our company than in any other and their neat appearance and good discipline calls out frequent praise from all who see them. Oliver and I mess together, and the other lieutenant, for there is still one vacancy.

Now do not think that I am regardless of your wishes, and that I would not even make a sacrifice to gratify you, particularly if it could possibly effect your happiness, but in accepting the Captaincy of the company I have done my duty to the men, accepted what they meant for an honor, and done no one any harm, and certainly not to you. You certainly would not object to my doing anything that I wished to, merely because you had asked me not to, for there are many things that influence a man in which a woman cannot sympathize, and which does not influence his regard for her. I would suffer anything rather than do a thing which would effect your happiness in the least, and you are too sensible a woman to construe things so wrongly as to imagine me regardless of your wishes or your real happiness. I should not have taken any more responsibilities upon myself if it were not almost certain than we were going home, and just think how I would have felt coming home under anyone in our company, particularly when everyone would have thought that the company preferred another. Still if we were to have been kept in the service, instead of being a Captain, I should have resigned and sacrificed my hard toil and patient endurance to my love of you and home, for no one would give me any credit for what I have done if I came home before the rest.

I feel today as though we should soon be on the road home, everything promises such a thing, and I feel a kind of satisfaction of it that I

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have never before experienced. There is now a quorum of the Mexican
Congress together, and that there never would have been if they did not
intend to do something towards peace. I suppose you will confess, if
peace is made now, that I am a true prophet, for all prophets I reckon
make some mistakes in these "latter days'. I stand corrected upon my
quotations from scripture, and I think I will obey the injunction to
"dwell" with my wife, if I am so fortunate as to get there once more.
I think I shall enlist under your flag and suffer myself to be
commanded by you, unless you think it would conflict with the duty of
wives to "submit to their husbands", but for fear of getting into deep
water I'll quit quoting scripture. If you ever see me at home, you
will see the happiest man that ever was born, and one who now knows
how to appreciate happiness. What a joy it will be truly to once more
embrace you and minister to your happiness and pleasure. I hardly dare
contemplate anything which promises so much happiness, yet I do and will
until I see you.. Oliver has gone to the City today and will be gone
two weeks; he thinks of bringing the bodies of his brothers here so we
can take them home with us. Oliver and I are quite good friends, and
talking over our old difficulties has rectified a great many mistakes
under which we both have labored. I am glad for Lois' sake that we
are friends and that I can do him something like justice, or at least
not remember his faults when I speak of him. I think he will make a
better officer than we have had in the company since Wallace left.

I am certainly under obligations to Mr. Dilts for his flattering
account of me and can easily see why he is partial to me; I procured
his discharge after Decatur failed, and when he had given it up and

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concluded to die here ( for he is a babyish, homesick fellow), - and then he was in my house and talking to those he knew loved me, of course he would speak well of me. As I have always been on the staff, and obliged to represent the commanding officer in his absence, and to accompany him on all visits of ceremony, I had to be well dressed when on duty, and this is the reason, rather than from any innate love of it, that I dressed well. A clean shirt I always did like, and thanks to you and my good luck, I have still a good number on hand of those I started with. Here there is no necessity to dress fine, and there is more truth than poetry in the description I gave you in my last.

Indoors we wear a soldier's jacket and anything else than is handy, but on drill, parade or other duty I am a remarkable nice young man.

I am still acting as Assistant Adjutant General to the Colonel, and command Company A too; it keeps me quite busy, but I like to have plenty to do, it keeps away the blue devils and homesickness. We get along quite pleasantly in our mess; one of the boys cooks for us and he does very well. A great luxury arrived the other day in the shape of a lot of American hams, which we enjoy at the rate of 18cts. perpound; eggs 25 cts. a dozen, potatoes two dollars a bushel, everything else in proportion, however, price is nothing if we only get what we want; we are satisfied at any price. There is a kind of sugar here, something like our country sugar which is very good and makes excellent molasses.

We get cornmeal of the Commissary, and with keen appetitie, manage to live pretty well. Of course, we eat a great deal of dirt and grease by way of dessert, but then we are always hungry and don't mind it. For the first time since we have been on this line, we have bad water.

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But the rainy season has commenced and the rain water is excellent. It rains every day from about 3 o'clock in the afternoon until 5 or 6, and it the rain is very cold, mixed with hail, so that to drink I prefer it to any of the fountain water in the cities. The mornings are clear and pleasant and as everything looks green and fresh, and the raindrops glisten in the morning sun and occasionally a bird sings from the orange trees, it reminds me of summer at home and the loved ones far away. I think often of all of you in that pleasant little yard of ours and, as spring advances, I can see the grass grow, the roses bloom and the children so happy.

Napolucan, Mexico, April 22, 1843

Dear Eliza: I lost yesterday totally and my letter is not as long as it would have been had I not slept all day. We were out on a scout after some deserters and our guide, who had drank pretty freely before we started, got lost along the mountains and, after riding all night, we found ourselves at daylight a long distance from where we intended to go. I took some of the Dragoons and came to camp and went to sleep, from which I did not awaken in time to write any. So you have my excuse. There is something in the wild excitement of a chase that makes one forget the hardships and in new scenery, or a different view of old scenery, there is something to reconcile us to a scout at any time. Yesterday morning broke when we were on the top of a mountain and as the sun rose the clouds lifted from around us and revealed one of the most beautiful sights I ever beheld. Beneath us lay a beautiful valley while around us on every side rose up the high mountains which stopped

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its limits and seemed to protect the smiling valley from outward encroachments. To our right lay Huamantla and in every direction, on the plain and in the mountain sides, were scattered little towns whose church spires and whitewashed houses gave a rural aspect to the scene, which was charming. Directly in front rose the rugged "storm mountain", his white nightcap reaching far above the clouds and, looking but a few miles off, he seemed to preside over the destinies of the valley, and indeed he does for at any time he could inundate the valley, either with volcanic eruption or with water, which goes tumbling down his rocky sides with all the beauty and danger of a mountain torrent. The sun rose in splendor and as his beams shone upon the snow topped mountain they were coldly reflected back again, as if the old fellow were indignant at the invitation of the sun to warm himself. My noon the old Storm King got in a better humor and even took off his nightcap to the sun, which came running down the sides of the mountain. It snows every night and this makes the mornings very cold in the vicinity of the mountains. At Rio Frio (cold river) we saw plenty of snow and ice in the road at mid day when going over the mountains to the City. Nopolucan is not worthy of much notice, as it is composed of a few houses mostly made of unburnt brick and whitewashed. It has an old Gothic church and plaza like most Mexican towns and everything has a white and clean appearance. The valley around is very productive and there are some wealthy farms or haciendas in the vicinity, but the most of the latter come from the valley of the Orizaba, where coffee and all tropical fruits grow in abundance.

I dated my first sheet two or three days ahead, in fact I was some days

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writing it. The mail leaves tomorrow, 23rd. If I could tell you that peace was made, certain, I would fold up this and not write another word, but, sanguine as we all are that peace will be made, it is not yet done and, of course, there is doubt. The Mexican mail today from the City brought a rumor that the treaty was ratified, but I have not learned how well authenticated it is. Our mail tonight will tell the story and although I cannot tell you in this letter yet, if it is so, you will hear it long before this reaches you. Our letters must be mailed tonight, as the mail comes and goes before daylight.

I have written a letter to Lenox, which I told him not to publish, but gave him liberty to read it to anyone who wanted to hear from us. In that letter I have spoken (purposely) favorably of John M. Wallace, first, because I do not wish to join in kicking a man who is going down hill, and secondly, because I am in his place and it would not look well for me to abuse him. The company despise him and though I never said a word about him out of the way, it made no difference with them; they had no fear that I would follow his example because I did not abuse him.

I have often been amused to hear the boys talk of him; the other night some of them were repeating portions of a speech he made to us in Marion the night before we left, in which he promised to "protect" the "sons" who volunteered from "vice and crime", to "minister to their wants when sick" and finally to "stand by them in danger", etc., and then the boys would laugh and make their comments. What a complete failure John has made, and one from which he will never recover in our State. Bill's desertion and John's abandonment of the company, with his other sins, make a stigma which will attach to their name for

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generations to come. I expected they would abuse me about those deserters being published; I could not help it; I let them run a long time, though I knew it was my duty, until the Colonel ordered me peremptorily to do it. It was through my persuasion that I got liberty to put in the alleviating circumstances Oldham and William Wallace's desertion. Mention this casually to Lenox and perhaps they will hear it. I care very little what the Wallace's say, and as for Warren Oldham, any sympathy which such a character can excite he is welcome to. I ought to beg your pardon for putting the name of such a low, vulgar blackguard in your letter. These things will all come right. I care not what kind of a war it is, nor how much people may be opposed to it, the man who sneaks out of duty and danger is sure to be despised in any community. The full effect will not be felt by them until we return, when the honors awarded to those who have been faithful and the pride of those who have lost friends here, will make the deserters appear more despicable than despicable.

Pomeroy and I have indulged in many a dream of home lately, sitting for hours (like children building castles in the air) talking of those we love and making plans for their future happiness. Pomeroy is a fine fellow and I like him. If we were to elect another lieutenant I should try and get him elected, for there is one vacancy, Oliver being promoted to first lieutenant. There will not probably be one elected if we go home as soon as we think to. Home,-- what a sweet word when viewed as attainable, after such an absence. The joys of home, of meeting a wife and children (loved as mine are) would pay for years of toil, hardship and danger, but I would not like to wait years to enjoy them.

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them. I have soldiered long enough and though there's much in the life
that I like, I have known better. As I have often said, I would be a
soldier the rest of my days if I were single and had nothing better to
occupy me. But, thank fortune I have a home and those I love, and if
ever I get there again they must bring their wars closer home if I
engage in them. This campaign has implanted martial spirit in the
bosoms of many which will not easily be extinguished, particularly the
young and those who have formed no attachments. In case of a war
against our country by another, you would see nine tenths of those who
live to get home engage in it.

I wrote to Lenox about John Terril, poor boy, I was in hopes that after
all his sickness and suffering he would live to get home. He was a
brave boy and showed it in his death, preferring to die with his
company than to accept an honorable discharge. How different must be
the feelings of his father from those of Bill Wallace's father; who
would not rather be proud of the fame of a dead son than witness the
shame of a living one. Oh, God, let me rather bequeath to my children
the honest fame of an humble father dead, than live to see them grow up
while men have the right to point the finger of scorn at me. I say
"the right" because men are often unjustly punished by the opinions of
others, but you understand me, - it is only the deserved obloquy that I
fear. I wrote to Decatur's wife and you will probably see the
letter. I could not bear to have her think, while lamenting her husband,
that he died on unfavourably unfriendly terms with me, his brother officer.
I suppose Oliver will bring them home with him (the bodies) and we
shall bury them there. There is but fifty-eight of the company left
and I hope to bring that number home if we go as soon as we expect. It

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cannot be many days until we shall know all about it. The Mexican
Congress will ratify the treaty or break up in a row before many days,
and in the one event I shall come home for good, in the other I shall
come on furlough, for while there is a prospect of peace I cannot think
of resigning, but see you I shall, if I live, before three months roll
round.

Night is approaching and I must draw my scribbling to a close for it
must be mailed before dark. I have been writing all day, without much
intermission, and if I had anything to interest you it would be no
labor, but a pleasure to write a whole quire of paper over. You know
everything I know, and I hope before you get this you will hear that
peace is concluded. This is the all absorbing subject and I am so
anxious to go home that I can scarcely talk or write about anything else.
I am glad you concluded to stay at home, for I would rather meet you
there than anywhere else. What a time we will have. God bless Mother,
and providence care and regard for me I hope I shall be blessed with
good health and an appetite to do justice to her larder.

My throat has been some sore since I wrote you, but it is principally in
my mouth, and though there is no danger in it, it is very annoying. It
has been three months since my throat first got sore. It seems to be an
obstinate disease and if it don't kill a man it annoys him nearly to
death. I hope to be well of it soon as I have got a new medicine which
promises to cure me. Otherwise my health is good and has been for a
long time; I am full as heavy as I have been since you knew me, and for
the whole year have been quite as healthy.

I am truly sorry to hear that you did not receive any of the money I
sent by Douglas

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or Phelps. I care not half so much for the money as for your probable
need of it. Fearing that something of this kind might happen, I sent
by Genl. Lane $180.00 and to do this I anticipated my pay up to this
month. Since then I have done without except what I have borrowed, and
if we are discharged in a month I shall not have more than sufficient
money to bring me home. I tell you of this because you might think it
strange if I did not bring home a Mexican shawl or a gold locket, or
some other trinket. I trust I shall get home myself and I hope you
will not be much disappointed if I should bring nothing but my own
unadorned person. God knows it's all I care for, to get home; it is
natural for women though to like such things and you were probably
right in expecting it. Good bye. John.

Give my love to Mother and kiss the children. Also to Grandfather
and mother, Lois and the boys. Don't forget to write at New Orleans
without the military title. Write here up to one month before we
leave, Yux

bble, Mexico, May 6th, 1848.

My dear Wife: I sit down to write you this morning in an unsatisfactory mood; if not absolutely mad, I am in a bad humor, disappointed and chagrined, for the mail arrived three days ago and brought me no letter, the first time such a thing had happened since I have been in the army. That I should receive a letter when the mail arrived had got to be a thing of course, and I had looked for one with so much confidence that the disappointment had put me all out of sorts. Now I can sympathize with my brother officers who for months have received no letters and over whom I exulted with a kind of Physisical satisfaction.

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at being blessed with an intelligence and satisfaction denied to them.
For a while I silently abused you, then feared that something was wrong,
but finally my bump of hope resumed its sway and I became reassured.
It cannot be that anything has happened to you or that for a split second
trivial reason you would neglect what always gives me such great
satisfaction, so I have concluded that the letter is on the road and by
the next mail, which will arrive in two weeks, I shall receive two. I
have always probed your letters above everything here but not until
disappointed in receiving one have I realized how much my contentment
and happiness depended upon the regular receipt of them. Col. Gorman
is again in command of this department, Col. Childs having gone home.
I am upon the Col.'s staff as aide-de-camp and we are in our old
quarters, the palace. Summer has come and the beautiful scenery is
discloses, the mild climate and delightful atmosphere which surrounds
us would make an ardent admirer of nature like myself happy and contented
were it not for my constant thoughts of and longing for home. I have
enjoyed nothing of late; indeed ever since the commencement of negotiations I have thought of nothing else but going home, and that sweet hope
so long deferred makes me constantly unhappy. If the war had
continued I fear I should have followed an inglorious example and
resigned, so filled was I with a desire to leave this country. A few
days will decide it now, and probably before you receive this the news
will reach the States that the treaty is ratified and the Volunteers on
the road home. The Mexican Congress commenced their session on Monday
last (May 1st) and their first act, the election of Herrera to the
Presidency, augers well for their action upon the treaty. All the
letters say that a large majority of the members are in favor of peace

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and the election of President sustains the declaration. Herrera is publicly known to be in favor of peace. Two years ago he was driven from power by a revolution, for receiving the propositions of Mr Slidell, our commissioner to settle the Texas boundary. Now, after two years of ruin and disgrace to Mexico; two years of the most disastrous war ever waged by a civilized nation and after having been shorn of one third of the territory which the policy of Herrera would have saved, he is called to the presidential chair, affording the best possible proof that they are tired of war and willing to listen to wise and peaceable counsel. No doubts are entertained that in fifteen days the treaty will be ratified and in ten more days the Volunteers will be on the road home, so that we confidently expect to be in New Orleans by the middle of June, sickness or no sickness. Yellow fever, vomito or anything else, possesses sufficient terror to keep us here if we are once permitted to turn our faces toward home. Many, no doubt, will be lost; on the way, even with the best care on the part of those directing the march, but all are willing to risk it, except a few who would risk life and happiness forever for a little more fame or a little more money.

My health is good with the exception of the sore throat and mouth, which though better does not seem inclined to leave me immediately. I am going through a course of medicine which of course makes me irritable, weak and out of humor at times. Doc Van Avery who is my physician says it is nothing and it will pass off in a short time. I associate no danger with it, but it has troubled me for a long time and is very inconvenient. If I were at home I would not think it worth attention, as it is kept up by constant colds with which I am afflicted as of old.

206.

Perhaps I should not mention this to you, but you will naturally think
that I cannot always be well so I thought I might as well tell you the
truth as to have you fearing that something worse might be the matter.
This is the only sickness of consequence that has visited me since I
left home and I should be thankful rather than complaining of it.
I almost despair of writing any more letters that will interest you for
my mind is so filled with a desire to go home, to see you and once more
reppse upon your kindness and love, that I cannot write about other,
matters as I used to. With some a prolonged absence may have weakened
the ties that bound them to home and those they love, but with me as the
months roll round which lengthen my absence my gaze towards home
becomes more wistful and I love you with an increasing tenderness.
Strange that the truthfulness and fervency of my regard for you should
be one reason for my prolonged absence; how hard it is for you to
believe and understand this, for loving me as I believe you do, you
scarcely understand one of my most deeply cherished feelings, because
it is one of which scarcely anyone suspects me. While I have the most
thorough contempt for the babbling opinions of anybody when I am
conscious that I am right and can laugh at anything said of us, while I
am pursuing the the course which my conscience directs, I
always shrunk from giving anybody the right to question my conduct or
impugn my motives. Since I have taken upon myself the relations of a
husband and father I am more jealous of my public conduct than ever.
You know that all who have gone home have suffered more or less from
what others have said and I cannot bear the thought of their having the
shadow of a right to connect my name with that of recreants and cowards
and would rather die here, bequeathing you no other legacy than a proud

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and an honor unsullied than live with you the cause of one humiliating feeling, or having given by my want of firmness or neglect to fulfil my promises, the shadow of a right to censure me. The acts of men in Mexico and the question "did they stay until the war was over" will last as long as we live, and if anything ever reaches you which reflects upon my conduct here or the fulfillment of promises I made to those who accompanied me, I have the consolation of knowing that it will not be deserved. I have sacrificed my own preferences, my desire to be with you and my children, to what I thought was my duty, and now I wish to stay until the rest go, rather than any should say I had failed in duty. You see from all this that my staying here, rather than arguing any want of regard for you, or attachment to home, proves me desirous of doing my whole duty, the benefits of which will be shared by both of us.

Oliver is here, just returned from the City of Mexico. He is very much pleased with his visit and is in fine health. He goes to Napoléon tomorrow. I shall go there in about ten days and take command of the company. I told you in my last that I was Captain and why I consented to be elected. The company is now well united and under good discipline. They were much opposed to my coming here with the Colonel, but he gave them a reason for it which satisfied them and reconciled them to my temporary absence. It was so flattering to me that I must tell it to you. He said that "for the good order, good discipline and good name of our regiment he was more indebted to me than to any other officer in it; that he had need of my services on his staff a little longer, and then I should return to the company." This was said openly and publicly and one witnessing the pride that the company manifested would have supposed I had always been a favorite.

208.

I believe I am now, for they begin to see what kind of qualifications are necessary for a military man, and that the man who for popularity will lie down in the dirt with them merely from choice, get drunk with them and enforce no discipline, is not exactly the man to be proud of as a commander, and that a man, even though he is severe and makes them feel the difference between an officer and a soldier, is preferable to one who gains no credit for himself or his company. There are no better men than in our company and if they had always had an officer at their hearth would have gained much more credit than they have. At Rhamantla for instance, it was the first company in action and but for an egregious blunder which Decatur made, would have been spoken favorably of. His "faux pas", however, brought down the ire of the Col. and though I left my place by the side of the Lieut. Col. and went to the company and did everything I could to repair the blunder, and the company behaved admirably, the Col. would not overlock it and the company lost an opportunity for favorable notice. Remember I tell this to you and no one else, for Decatur is dead and no one shall hear of his faults. I tell it to you simply as an incident, that the credit of soldiers depends upon their officers. Oliver will make a good officer; he has been long enough in the ranks to know what is requisite for a good officer, and he has the good sense to do as others do who have gained credit.

The news from the City is still more favorable. The vote for President was considered a test question, and the majority for peace is large. Even those who have had no faith in peace now believe it and think that the action of the Congress will be prompt and immediate. The Lord grant

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it. Oh, how I wish that I could tell you in this that it had been accomplished, and send you a copy of the paper ordering us home, but you will in all probability hear it before this reaches you as it will go through by express.

My views for the future have undergone some modification since I wrote you last and if I should not do as I told you some time since, it will be for reasons stated in this letter, viz: my own respect and our happiness hereafter. If peace is delayed for any reason, and there is a prospect of its being soon accomplished, I think I shall stay and come home with the rest. If peace is not made and there is no prospect of it soon, I shall come home on furlough; if they refuse me that I shall resign unequivocally. I shall have been here a year, shall have served while there was a prospect of active service, but to sit down in quiet occupation of this country for God knows how long, leaving my family, I will not do it. It is not my desire to become a soldier for life and I shall leave the honors of occupation to those who fancy the life of an idle soldier. But I hope I shall not have to do this; I sincerely hope that peace so long evasive will not perch upon our standard, and that the glorious victories we have won will not be charged with additional lives and happiness. The feeling is universal in the army and it proceeds from motives honorable to all who entertain them. There are vultures who would make their selfish ends the cause for continuance of the war, but happily no good interest demands it, nor good men.

I scarcely know how to close a letter without having received one from you for there are so many reasons why I did not get one that I almost shudder to think what may be the real one. I must hope though, and hope

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all
you are/well, that you wrote me as usual and that I shall receive it
on the 17th for then another mail will arrive from Vera Cruz.

The health here is excellent and there is no sickness among any of the
troops. When I left # Napolucan the other day there were but three sick
men in the regiment. I hope all may live to get home, for every one we
lose will lessen the joy of our friends at seeing us. Oh, it will be a
happy day for me; if I ever get home nothing will ever take me from you
again. It seems to me I could return to my old life perfectly contented
and happy if I could only get home # once more.

everything
Puebla is # more gay than ever; the summer has clothed/## in the
most delightful colors and flowers bloom in # almost every nook
and corner of this part of the world. The "Alamada" (public garden) is a
place of great resort. A carriage drive surrounds a park of trees,
thick bushes with paths through the grass plots, lined with flowers of
every hue and fragrance, and a roll upon the grass under the # shade of the
## trees, with a bouquet of flowers, is very refreshing, particularly as
the weather is becoming warm. It is never hot or oppressive, but mild
and pleasant constantly. I go to the Alamada sometimes by moonlight
alone, and wander around among the flowers and listen to the play of the
fountains which are constantly spouting cold ##, fresh water, until I get
homesick and long for someone I love with whom to enjoy the delightful scene,
but hope, ## my day star, ## says I shall soon see you and Oh, how
happy I shall be. My love to Mother and the children. Goodbye. John.

Puebla, May 17th 1848.

Dear Eliza: An hour since I could hardly have said that for I was
mad at everybody and everything, and even vented some ill natured spleen
at you. The mail arrived this morning and again no letter for me. The

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hope that I had lived upon for the last month was again disappointed.
I thought that as I got none the last mail that there would certainly
one come this time, but I am to look forward for two weeks to another
mail, and perhaps be disappointed again. I was very, very much
disappointed tonight and in the first moments of my anger and chagrin
thought perhaps you had not written, you might have thought it too much
trouble to write every week to a husband whom you perhaps never would
see again, perhaps you had other and more pleasant employment than
sitting down to the task of writing to one so far away. These were my
first thoughts when I was mad, disappointed and mortified. Then I
thought how different you would act if you could realize my situation,
the long, anxious and tender solicitude that I constantly feel for you,
how the hope of hearing from you that you were still alive and well, and
receiving the weekly evidence that you remembered me, cheered me in
sickness and danger, and was the subject of my thoughts and dreams.
Then I thought perhaps you are sick and cannot write, but you would
surely have someone write if that were so, and nothing would have
prevented my coming to you immediately. If you had been sick and had
written me so by anybody I should have been nearly home by this time,
for much as I am willing to suffer for my own good name, I would leave
everything to come to you if you were in trouble or sickness. But I will
hope that you are not sick and that you are not growing cold and forgett-
ing how much I love you and how much satisfaction and happiness your
letters bring to me. If I did really think (as some devil prompted me
to fear when thinking over the reasons why I got no letter) that you had
neglected to write to me, I should not care whether I got home or not,
for if one year's absence could so far lessen your regard as to make it
a

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a task to write to me, so far away, how little of the love which I feel
could you possess. There has never been an opportunity to send a letter
that I know of, but I have sent one and perhaps dozens by precarious
conveyances that you never received. I have provided for your comfort
as well as I could, and if you have suffered for anything it has been
because my intentions were disappointed. Now I think it is the mail
that is to blame and shall absolve you from all intentional cause of
my bitter and disappointed feelings tonight. You must have some
idea of my situation, - of this long life in a land of strangers and
enemies with no one to love or confide in, - my thoughts and cares
constantly recurring back to you and my little ones, for "where one's
treasure is, there will his heart be also". My only thought has been,
and my only care, is my wife and children well and comfortable, nothing
else has ever given me any pain or trouble since I left home.

You must realize something from your own situation, of my longing for
news from you, and surely you would not neglect, simply because of the
labor or other reasons, to send me a letter at least every week. You
see that at first what consequences it produced, - fear for your health
and fear for your regard for me. But it is over now and I shall find
other reasons for not getting a letter besides a decrease in your love
for me, - that would make me wretched indeed, as much as to hear that you
were sick or that anything else had befallen you.

A bearer of dispatches leaves for Vera Cruz tomorrow morning and I shall
escort him, with a company of dragoons, as far as Napolucan, and return
here the next day. I have been much confined in the office for three
weeks and a ride of eighty miles will do me good. I shall carry this to

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Napolucan myself and then give it to the officer to mail in New Orleans. Our regiment is in Napolucan and Col. Gorman is in command of this department. I shall not return to the regiment until peace is made, and if not made I shall come home somehow. I shall be home in June I hope. The news from Querataro is favorable; we just got papers from there. The President has delivered his message and is strongly in favor of peace. The whole Cabinet is in favor of it. The treaty has been referred to a committee, all of whom are peace men. The discussion would commence in the 15th and the vote taken on the 20th. No doubts are now entertained that it will be ratified by a large vote and the troops on the road home by the 1st June. Good bye, John. My love to Mother and the children. We shall start for home in ten or fifteen days sure. J.W.D.

Napolucan. May 16th. I have just arrived here and return tonight. I have just learned that letters came in the mail for me yesterday and were sent up to Puebla after the mail left, so I take it all back. Forgive me for all I said and imagine I was out of humor and suspected you of neglecting me. My health is good but my throat is not perfectly well. John.

Puebla, Mexico, May 21st, 1948

Dear Eliza: This is a bright Sunday morning and everything wears a sunny peaceful appearance, corresponding with our hopes and expectations, created by the news of peace. Intelligence came here yesterday that the treaty had been ratified, but you will hear it in the papers long before this reaches you as several expresses have already gone to New Orleans with the news. With this hope of so soon coming home my heart

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is full and I can scarcely think or write of anything else. If home was
sweet when viewed as a thing unattainable, how infinitely sweeter when
in prospect as a joy to be realized. What a long period of absence, of
danger and suspense does it put an end to, and if there was not time and
danger to yet intervene I should be happy. God only knows how many of
us shall escape the dangers by land and sea and sickness which lie
between us and our homes. I shall hope as usual, and so strong is that
hope that already in anticipation I have met you and been happy in
contemplating you and the children.

I read your letters of the 6th and 17th April yesterday, before I left
Napolucan. They were here when I left to go there on Thursday, but were
sent down to me the next day by Col. Gorman. Your last letter was
short, sad and discouraging, but you are in health and that is all I
care for in this world. I shall not find fault with your letters for I
scolded enough in the last one I wrote to do until I see you. It seems
you did not deserve it for at the very time I was writing, your letters
were coming up from Napolucan, and the next day when I was blaming you
for my disappointment and swearing at the mails, your letters were
following me back to Napolucan. How much were these letters like the
love and care of kind friends, following us in good and evil report and
surrounding us with proofs of regard at the very hour when perhaps we
are doing violence to the kind hearts which prompted them. No matter
what I wrote in my last letter, no matter what I said while under the
influence of angry and disappointed feelings, all the world could not
convince me you do not love me just as I do you, truly, faithfully,
devotedly. So you must think nothing of that except as the pouting

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effusion of a boy lover who for the first time has a quarrel with his
mistress. Your last letter showed some signs of the same spirit for you
hinted at my being so much occupied with the pleasures of Puebla that I
neglected you. This is almost as unkind as my letter to you. I have
always tried to shake off gloomy feelings and forget my homesickness in
any amusements that have been going on, but I have never seen anything
since I left home which could put thoughts of you out of my head for
five minutes. I do not believe five minutes ever passed when I was not
writing or in some business that I did not think of you. There never
has an opportunity passed of sending a letter that I have not written
one, long or short, as I had time. Sometimes the means would be very
uncertain and I have written many a letter when I almost knew you would
not get it. You say four weeks have passed without a letter from me
Now, there never passed two weeks without my starting one, and sometimes
two or three in that time. You see from these facts that in no circum-
stance in which I have been placed, have I neglected you for a moment,
or in any pleasures forgotten you. Why, I could not do it if I should
try, and I have seen nothing yet which makes the attempt desirable. So,
we will make peace on that score and ratify it when I come home. Oh, may
nothing happen to prevent our happiness so long waited for and I think
now deserved. My desire to see you becomes stronger every day and
increases in intensity as the time grows shorter which intervenes. I
care very little whether I bring anything with me or not. I should like
very much to have what little I have saved during the year to pay my
debts, but the loss of it will not trouble me very much if I only get
home and find you all alive and well, with health. I can soon pay all
I owe, and labor is not a task but a pleasure when providing for you and

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the children. If I had lost nothing I could py all I owe and more too
when I come home, but the two hundred dollars I have sent I do not
expect ever to get. I hope you will write to New Orleans that you got
the money sent by Gen. Lane, for if you did not it is because he did
not draw it. I sent my account for Feb. and March by him, to be
collected at N O. If he did not get it it is safe still. Do not fail
to write me as soon as you get this. If you see in the papers the peace
confirmed, write at N Orleans, without my military title. Write to
New Orleans anyway, for I shall be there anyway in June early, even if
anything should happen to keep us here longer than we expect. I think
we shall all be in N. Orleans by the twentieth June, and be at
home in two or three weeks after this letter, but no matter what
happens, if I am well, I am coming anyhow. I left the company yesterday;
all are well. David Rogers is dead. He died very suddenly about the
10th of April; he had always been well and was the last man we thought
likely to die. Oliver is well, but I suppose he will write by this
mail. His letters I see still come to Capt. Carey. The officers laugh
about it some, but he cares nothing about it, nor do I. We are very
good friends and I hope may always be. I like Lois and would never say
or do anything to hurt her feelings, but he is a mean devil at best.
Tomorrow I have to dig up Decatur (who has been buried) preparatory to
moving, and Shunk will bring Eb and Marshall. I have also to gather
the remains of Sper Tipton of our state, Logansport, who died here
last year, and take them home with us. My health is quite good,
always excepting my mouth and throat which do not seem disposed to
ever get quite well, but they are not dangerous.

Tonight the mail arrives from the City and I shall leave this space for

217.

any news which might come. Remember me to Mother, the old folks, Lois, Mary, Lenox and Uncle Jo in particular. Well John I am glad he did not come for he would not have stood the climate.

May 22nd. The American mail did not arrive last night, but comes down today. By the Mexican mail we have the gratifying intelligence that the treaty passed the House of Deputies on the 19th by a vote of 50 to 35, and in all human probability passed the Senate on the 20th almost unanimously. The express by Mr. Bugbee of the Picayune was premature, the vote had not been taken when he left, so that the readers of that paper will only be hoaxed by a few days.

Puebla, May 22d, 1849.

Dear Eliza: If you could hear the newsboys who are as thick as hops around the Palace with their extras announcing the fact of the ratification of the treaty you could realize the pleasant thoughts which each cry of theirs fills me with. Every time they cry "peace" at the end of a long rigamarole I think of "home, sweet home" The idea of escaping from danger does not mingle with the sensations I feel when I think of returning; it is the idea of home alone, so full of happy, joyful anticipations, which makes my heart beat more lightly than it has for a year. I feel like one of the patriot poets when he asks -

"Breathes there a man with soul so dead,

Who never to himself hath said

This is my own, my native land!

Whose heart within him hath not burned

As home his footsteps he hath turned

From wandering in a foreign strand."

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If such men live, there is but few of them here, none except those
without home and friends, or such as a lust for fame or money would
lead to forget ties the most sacred or associations the most happy and
virtuous. The little of true happiness I have known has been with
those I love, and once more in a situation to enjoy it I shall not
without a more urgent necessity make myself voluntarily miserable.
Hereafter my happiness will lead to yours.

Orders were received here this morning to stop a column of recruits on their way up who will arrive here tomorrow. Gen. Lane who is on his way back will also stop here. Orders were also published in a Mexican paper received here last night, for the immediate occupation of the City of Mexico by 3000 Mexican troops. This looks like a speedy move by our forces, and we expect the Volunteer divisions to commence moving on Monday next. Mr. Clifford, one of the American commissioners, will arrive here tonight on his way home. I need not write you all these things for I suppose you read everything in the papers long before my letters reach you, but then you do not know how much is true that you see in the papers. I shall try and get all the news before this goes, for I do not expect to write another letter from here, but shall write by any opportunity as we are on the march down. Suppose we move from here on the first of June, it will take ten days to Vera Cruz and five days to cross the Gulf, so that by the 20th June we shall be in N. Orleans. Mr. Clifford will arrive at 6 o'clock and our mail will leave at 8 and I shall leave this for the news.

Evening. The mail will not arrive until late and I must mail this. No
more news. Anything which may happen in a few days you will hear before
this reaches you. Goodbye. Heaven bless you all. Yours affectionately,

J.W.DODD.

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Camp Encero, June 12th, 1848.

Dear Eliza: I have time to write you a few lines by Lt. Col. Dumont who leaves for N. Orleans this morning on account of his health. We arrived here yesterday, five days from Puebla. This is the rendezvous for all the troops and most of the Volunteers have already arrived.

We are fifty miles from Vera Cruz and can march there in three days.

We expect to hear that shipping is ready for us in six days, so that in nine days we shall be in Vera Cruz. You will see from the papers when our division (Marshall's) leaves Vera Cruz, and reckoning three weeks from that time will bring us home; supposing we leave here in a week we shall be at home in five weeks from this time.

Our camp is very pleasantly situated and the scenery beautiful. We are encamped upon smooth, grassy slopes, with clear running streams, and the foliage of summer is in full luxuriance about us. The mountains are just high enough and sufficiently near to give variety to the scene. Had I time or inclination I might describe the picturesque effect of our camp, the white tents of which extend over many miles, but the "tented field" I suppose has no charms for you and the pleasure I feel in gazing upon is enhanced by the thought that it will soon be over. The greatest enthusiasm prevails through the troops; all are anxious to be on the move home, and marches which took two or three days going up are now performed in one with ease. The health of our regiment is quite good. I have been in bad health for some weeks, but am better now. Oliver is well and hearty. This letter must do for both of us, as we have but little to write and but few minutes to write it. We have received no letters from home for the last month. Oliver will probably

220

go to Cincinnati with me and then he will go by the canal to Lagro with
the remains of Decatur and Ebnezer. Shunk will bring Marshall to
Marion. I shall come directly home from Cincinnati and meet Oliver at
Lagro. The company will probably go by Indianapolis, but I shall write
of that at New Orleans. I have no time to write more and there is
nothing to write, except that we are well and on the road home. John.

Excuse the shortness of this letter but I cannot write of anything
else than coming home. If God spares my life to get there I shall be
the happiest man in the world. I expect to get one hundred dollars
of the money I sent home (by Phelps), the other is probably lost as I
shall never see McDonald. Tell Mccllen I will write him at New Orleans
when the company will be at Indianapolis. My love to Mother and the
children. I feel quite well today and shall ride to Jalapa, from which
our camp is distant eight miles. Good bye John.

Hewlett's Exchange,

New Orleans, June 26th, 1848.

Dear Eliza: I hasten to give you an agreeable surprise for you will
scarcely think me on the road home before you receive this. Being in
bad health I got permission to come here and await the arrival of the
troops, thinking we should be discharged here. I left the camp at
Encera, fifty miles from Vera Cruz, on the 14th and arrived at Vera
Cruz on the 15th and was obliged to stay there three days for transporta-
tion. Most of the officers on sick list came on in advance, running
less risk of being attacked by yellow fever than crowded with troops
on the transports. Many paid dearly, some with their lives, for the
privilege, for the road, woods and mountains are full of guerillas
watchi

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watching for small parties of officers and others, all of whom had more
or less money, and as it was the last chance at us the robbers fought
hard for booty; several were killed and for three or four days nearly
everybody robbed. We were six, well armed and mostly practiced at
that kind of fighting, yet were attacked and fired upon three times
before we got through. They got nothing from us, however, but lead;
we had one man slightly hurt, none killed. It is something of a
coincidence that in the same spot going up I was fired upon, with a
flanking party, and had as now, one man slightly wounded. Now they can
shoot and rob to their heart's content, but if they ever hit me their
guns must carry as well as the one which shot Sinbad across the ocean.
We left Vera Cruz on the 18th and arrived here this day, being eight
days on the Gulf, and Oh, such long, weary days of seasickness and
suspense that had we been going the other way must have killed me.
It seemed so far to where the sun rose out of the blue ocean before us
that I thought we never should reach it, yet we had to go as far
beyond where it appeared to rise before us as we had come from beyond
where it seemed to set behind us. But everything has an end, and so had
our journey over the gulf, and the weather being for the most part
pleasant, we got along as well as we could hope. Our eyes were greeted
with a pleasant sight you may be sure when we saw the Crescent City
rising out of the low marshy country around it, and seemed as full of
promise to our homesick souls and tired, sick and dirty bodies as
anything which mortal eyes ever beheld. New Orleans, that city away
down south, where we had been taught to believe crime and disease
prevailed, and

222.

"pestilence walked abroad at noon-day" now appeared as the canaan of our long suggerings and the El Dorado of the world. After having visited the bath, the barber and tailor, and feeling clean and refreshed as a "new pin", I sit down in a finely furnished room to breathe in that quiet air of my native land, and seeing this sheet of paper on the table, my first thought was to tell you of my safe arrival thus far on the pleasantest journey I ever undertook in my life.
Oh, who could fail to be a patriot, the sight of whose country fills him with so much pleasure; who could fail to be a poet (to some extent at least) that can feel keenly,

"his heart within him burn
as home his footsteps he doth turn,
From wandering in a foreign strant"

and whose heart, the memory of familiar scenes and dear loved ones, is filling with such delightful hopes of renewed happiness and pleasure, - and who could fail to be a Christian in feeling what cherishes the deep gratitude and thankfulness which God's mercies demand. I know not if I am such a Christian as you think me, but if a measureless gratitude to God Almighty for the blessings conferred on me and those I love, entitle me to the name, then I am one. Perhaps my offerings are less acceptable than were I to put the "whole armor on" and make a public demonstration of my feelings, but then, you know it makes no difference how the rain reaches the ocean after having refreshed the earth, - if it only gets there it is rarely rejected because it did not come by some larger stream or popular channel, and I am inclined to think that an offering of the heart is as much known and accepted by the Almighty as though it were sent through the church or other popular mode of conveyance.
I speak of my feelings of thankfulness and gratitude

223.

because I cannot help help it, and just in proportion as I am conscious
of being undeserving, am I grateful as the recipient of blessings.
No man is a great sinner, unless his wrong doing is premeditated or
persevered in, and the character whose impulse does a wrong is stronger
in its impulse of sorrow and atonement. In moments of pique or dis-
appointment during a year which has tried many a heart or greater
pretensions to patience and endurance, I may have found fault with
Providence or abused you (the two greatest sins I could commit) but
repentance chased away the gloom which an erroneous impulse had brought
upon me and my conscience, knowing that I loved you really and that I
was not ungrateful to Heaven, easily forgave me. As I get nearer
home my hope increases and my heart leaps with a more joyful anticipation
of meeting you and contributing to your happiness; for I know your
gentle nature - that you were made to be loved and cared for -, and that
you have suffered much from a dread so lengthened and hope so long
delivered. But never mind, I'll soon be with you, if Providence
continues to smile, and I'll love you so tenderly and take such good
care of you that you'll forget this temporary desertion.
As I walk through the streets the familiar sights, sounds, forms and
faces all remind me that I am in my own native land, and I love everything
I see and fancy in every face a friend. Every woman I see makes me
think of you, and the flutter of a dress or the gaze of a woman's eye
makes my heart jump as though it were you. But I am spinning my letter
too long.

Our regiment will arrive here in six days probably and it will take us
six or eight to go up the river, so that in about two weeks we shall be

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at Madison or Jeffersonville, where we are to be mustered out. That
will take but a few days. I should come on home, but I should hardly
get there before I would have to go back to the river, and if I go up
in advance I must pay my own way. I have seen Phelps and there is no
prospect of the money, he spent it; that by McDonald is also undoubtedly
lost. I shall have just enough to get home, having lost by the year 's
operation, but I care not for money only as a means to make you happy
and comfortable. I have not lost my energy and industry, nor my hope
that we shall get along very well. My health is upon the whole better
than when I left home. Oliver was well when I left camp. I received
your letter and Sweetser's of May 25th at Vera Cruz. It is quite
healthy here but very warm. I shall write to McLure by what route we
will come home and when we shall be at some point on the way.

You misunderstood me about coming home. I said "if we were to remain
here" (meaning the troops) that I would not be Captain, and my reason
was that if elected Captain I could not then go home consistent with
my duty to the company after consenting to command them. Had peace
not been made I should have been home about the time we shall now
arrive, as I should have resigned, but no one knows it. Give my love
to Mother and the children. I hope to be home by the 15th July at
farthest, but you will see our progress in the paper and I shall write
at Madison or wherever we land to be mustered out, and endeavor to tell
what day we shall be at Indianapolis, if we come that way.

I send you ten thousand kisses and if you don't get them I'll bring
them myself "poco tiempo" Yours, J. W. D.