Pretty soon they began to come in, and by the
time specified for awarding the prizes three hundred samples of such
left-hand writing by maim'd soldiers had arrived.
I have just been looking over some of this writing. A great many of
the specimens are written in a beautiful manner. All are good. The
writing in nearly all cases slants backward instead of forward. One
piece of writing, from a soldier who had lost both arms, was made by
holding the pen in his mouth.
CENTRAL VIRGINIA IN '64
Culpepper, where I am stopping, looks like a place of two or three
thousand inhabitants. Must be one of the pleasantest towns in
Virginia. Even now, dilapidated fences, all broken down, windows
out, it has the remains of much beauty. I am standing on an eminence
overlooking the town, though within its limits. To the west the long
Blue Mountain range is very plain, looks quite near, though from 30
to 50 miles distant, with some gray splashes of snow yet visible. The
show is varied and fascinating. I see a great eagle up there in
the air sailing with pois'd wings, quite low. Squads of red-legged
soldiers are drilling; I suppose some of the new men of the Brooklyn
14th; they march off presently with muskets on their shoulders. In
another place, just below me, are some soldiers squaring off logs to
build a shanty--chopping away, and the noise of the axes sounding
sharp. I hear the bellowing, unmusical screech of the mule. I mark the
thin blue smoke rising from camp fires.
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