We are now located in splendid quarters, just evacuated by Martin’s North Carolina Brigade1, but we expect to leave them soon. This evening orders arrived to leave for Weldon again, and we again marched to Wilmington, and again as before the order was countermanded, and we returned cursing the inconstancy of a soldier’s life. It is now thought we will be kept here sometime. The rest of the brigade has gone on to Weldon. General W.S. Walker is now in command of it, Vice General Evans, lately injured by a fall from a buggy. Our present camp is one of the most pleasant that we ever occupied. A short distance from us is one of the most beautiful little rivers that I ever beheld. Tonight our mess went down to have a sail in the canoe. The night shone resplendently by the ruddy beams of the moon, and was one of the most lovely that I ever beheld. The dark blue canopy above, studded with stars, unutterably bright, illuminated by a fair lunar beams was one that would compare with the brightest skies that ever blessed a tropical June. California, celebrated for its illuminated skies, Cuba, blessed with the rays of a tropical clime, could not surpass it. Enough. The river, Ah O’Helicon, am I a paltry subaltern in the art “De descriptione” can I do justice, aye, even describe so exalted a subject, I fear not. It would take something more than a man of letters, aye, even a poet. This lovely stream pearls along its transparent waters amid the towering forest like a silvery beam athwart the darkened clouds, bounded by the most luxuriant of lowland vegetation on its banks; crystal waves of most astounding transparency, all combined to render it one of natures brightest gems. No one with a love for the works of nature could have failed to admire it. How could he pass it unobserved, sailing over its still waters by moonlight, inhaling the delicious fragrance of its flower covered banks listening to the gentle murmur of the waves, the musical whistle of the still night breeze, varied by the hoarse growl of the native crocodile, and the answering call of the shrill throated whippoorwill, all point out the favoring hand of nature. We sailed up this river enjoying ourselves by playing tricks on one another’s boats. Enough. This is East River, two miles from Wilmington, North Carolina or at least, this is the name we hear it called.
1 James Green Martin - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Green_Martin
