blue it made us feel, after having waited so
long, hoping that a mail would come, and then find that it contained
nothing for us; it made us envious of those who had been more fortunate.

Not getting any letters, made us doubt whether the ones we had written
home, had ever reached their destination. Here is a modest order I had
sent in my last. Please send me two pounds of dried peaches, five of
coffee, five of corn starch, ten of sugar, two of tea, one bar of castile
soap, four cans condensed milk, one codfish, five of dried beef, one of
cheese, two cotton shirts, two pair drawers, thread, etc. Oh, what visions
of good living were mine, while I waited for the arrival of the box
containing all of these good things, but that box never came. I was not
starving, far from it, I had plenty to eat such as it was, and in this
respect was much better off than the most of my comrades, but I so longed
for something from home, something to remind me that I was remembered. It
was the subject of my thoughts through the day, and of my dreams at night;
and I used to have such vivid dreams of home, that after I had been
paroled and returned, I have stood and looked around and pinched myself,
to be sure that I was really out of prison, and not merely dreaming again,
fearful lest I should wake up, as I so frequently had, to find myself
still a prisoner.

I had so frequently had such vivid dreams of home, and as frequently awoke
with such a feeling of despair and anguish, when I found I was still a
prisoner, that even in my dreams, I would doubt the truth of what seemed
so evident to me, and would look about for some familiar object, and say
as I saw something I recognized, I know now that this cannot be a dream.
The first place I would make for when I arrived at Oswego, in my dreams,
was the old Fitzhugh House, which at that time was THE first class house
of the city, and order a dinner, determined to have a good square meal the
first thing, even before visiting my family. These dreams had become so
frequent, and seemed so real, and the reaction so great when I awoke to
the consciousness that it was only a dream, that I could scarcely suppress
a wail of despair, as the truth was forced upon me, that I was still in
that rebel pen, surrounded by an armed guard, with no prospect of release,
and little chance of escape, I can scarcely command language to fitly
describe my feelings at such times.

On the 10th of June the following officers w