Camp Vermont, Virginia,

November 9, 1862

Dear Parents:

Sunday eve finds us in our tents taking things as easy as we can. When I last (or first) wrote you we were on Capitol Hill near Washington. Since then we have moved twice; first from Capitol Hill across the river on to Arlington Heights, and after remaining there two or three days we again moved, and finally landed some three miles from Alexandria on a sort of bluff or knoll which must be perfectly healthy, as the wind has full opportunity to whistle over and about it in a style that would not be disgraceful even to old Vermont. The distance from our first camping ground on Capitol Hill to our second abiding place was seven, perhaps eight miles, which made it a very comfortable (!) march for us, green at the business as we were. We like this situation very much, better than we did our first, but we were not destined to enjoy it long, for in about two or three days; we were again moved off in a southeasterly direction until I will judge that we are a little southeast of Alexandria and not more than a mile from Fort Lyon (if you know where that is). Me marched from our second camping ground between two and three P.M., each man taking with him half of one of the misnamed shelter tents, and a little after dark were halted in the bushes and told to pitch our tents and make ourselves as comfortable as we could, and accordingly we stuck up our canvas, set fire to the bush, bundled up, laid down, and went to sleep.

Some of the boys slept more and some less, just as they happened to be situated. I slept till about five o'clock when I awoke with a decidedly chilly sensation around the lower extremities, and immediately got up, went to a fire, and went through the warming up process . In the morning we were marched about one mile to our present situation where we found our tents and the rest of our baggage and set to preparing for housekeeping again. We have had quite a wintry spell for a few days, and indeed old residents say that they have not known so cold a time, even in winters for a good many years. Perhaps you will wonder that we could have had in Virginia during the first half of November, a cold so severe. Well, I will tell you if thin miserable pen and my present uncomfortable position will allow.

On Fridays Nov. 7th, after two or three days of rough chilly weather, we had a genuine snowstorm, not one of your soft sticky Injun snows, but a regular driver, such as you frequently have in Vermont in December, which left us at least four inches of good solid snow on the ground, and sent every man not on duty shivering to his quarters or in search of some friendly fire. It was my good fortune to be detailed as guard and to stand the storm for one turn of two hours, but before my turn came again the guards were called in to go with their respective companies to Alexandria. After their guns arrived we were obliged to right about and march straight back to camp again, completely verifying the old adage of the King of France marched up the hill with 10,000 men and then marched down again. However, our guns were brought up on teams so that we got them the next day (yesterday). I did not have to go out on guard again that night as there none put out, but 1 had the sweet privilege of dreading it for several hours.

We have seen several of the Vermont brigade since we came here. There is a convalescent camp near Fairfax Seminary not far from here, and they come over to see us. The first that came that I know of was Ian Gilson. A day or two after, Freeman Conant of Cavendish came. Today Sam Pinney, and a Blanchard fellow from Plymouth are here. Pinney has not been with his regiment since July, he says, that during the whole of last winter he never saw such severe weather as we have had for the last few days. Most of us have got some kind of warming apparatus in our tents. We in ours have got a sort of arch with a chimney outside but the thing smokes considerable, and if we can't contrive to remedy it I guess we shall have to give it up.

Tuesdays Nov. l1th

I will now endeavor to finish what I commenced the day before yesterday, and was then prevented from finishing by the candle going out. We have now had two or three days of most beautiful weather in strong contrast to our late experiences. Yesterday I was engaged in drilling on what some of the boys call McClellan's drill, i.e. I was detailed to work on a fort which is in process of construction less than a mile from here, and I must say that if any good enterprising Vermont farmer had a lot of help that couldn't do three times as much as we did he would be very likely to turn them off and try again.

I see Uncle Joseph very frequently. I do not see but that he is as well and in as good spirits as usual. You asked if I have got a cold yet. I answer yes, and so have nine tenths of the regiment. I am no worse off in that respect than they will average as I have managed to keep out of the Surgeon's hands, so although our company has sometimes had as many as 15 or 20 on the sick list at once, and although from the fact that they have drawn full rations and eat them all up clean you might possibly infer that they were not all desperately sick. Our Assistant Surgeon is George Spoffard (you know him, of course), and he seems to be very active in looking after the sick. Each of the tents we now have contains, or is supposed to contain, five men. The occupants of this tent are M. P. Baldwin, Alfred Moore, Surry Ross, Mr. Parker of Mount Holly and myself. For beds we have cedar boughs which we consider the bests all things considered, of anything we can have. We are not the least bit afraid of getting lousy as long as we can get them.

The talk now is that we have got to go into winter quarters not more than a mile and a half from here. Our stove works very well. We think it quite an institution. Ross has been sick in his tent for more than a week. It makes him feel quite blue, and I can't say that I much wonder as he never been used to sickness at all. You must tell Charlie Scott that he must not be hard on the soldiers as all that amounts to. I wish you would send me a bit of rubber cord, say a half yard, if you can put it in a letter. If not, let it go.

I do not know that there is anything more of any consequence to write now. Will write as often as I can. Yours, Hezron G. Day

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Contributed by Linda M. Welch, Dartmouth College, Windsor County researcher.

Return to the Index of Hezron's letters..

See also Hezron's biography, and his memoir of the Gettysburg Campaign.