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on the outer edge of the blackened
wharf, paces the rebel guard & on
the inner edge (near the boat)
our own. They eye each other savagely
as they tramp back & forth but dont
speak, nothing but that ^little^ white ^rag^
^fluttering in its intrinsic fullness^ keeps them from blowing each others brains
out. What a strange sad thing war is.
These flag of truce boats do not expect
to come up again, as some earnest
military movement is on foot.

I have Mr Broughtons last letters
saying that quite a number of boxes
are to be received. How do you expect
me to come home to help in making
collections for reading matter, when
these sanitary articles are still consigned
to me. You are joking, I presume, about
my coming. These things will all be
lost if I leave, as no one sees to any
thing here but their own. I am sure
you would all be ashamed of me if
I should come now. When every body