Letter from John Pelham to his brother Charles, Oct. 12th 1858
West Point, N.Y.,
Oct. 12th 1858
My Dear Bro.:
Your kind letter of Oct. 4th was received a few minutes since. Having met
with so much encouragement from it, I will attempt another long one. But since
my Pegasus is both lame and short-winded I fear the attempt will be
made in vain. You seem to fear things are not going well with me--they were
not running entirely smqothe when I last wrote you -- for then the stings
of furlough were making sad havoc upon my peace of mind -- and fearful breaches
in my temper -- and there seemed ever ready a forlorn hope to break
through and unchain "le tison d' enfer"1 in my breast.
However, I have had no personal difficulties of consequence since my return. I have been sick with the chills and fever for more than a week --am still unwell. Every feeling of sickness and discontent was overcome for a while by the good news of yesterday. The course has been reduced.2
The order was published yesterday evening at parade. I am a member of the second class. Without some misfortune, I will graduate in June, 1860. The combined efforts of our chaplain (generally known as "Old Visionary" because he wanders about so much like a specter) and the young officers in his department, who are courting his daughters, have failed.
The intelligence of the change was received by the corps with becoming merriment and rejoicing. As soon as we broke ranks everyone put forth a shout that set at defiance all control, and might have frightened one who knew not its cause -- or one that might have caused even a party of savages to cease with shame, their hideous yells.
The officers essayed to stop it, but in vain. They threatened to place anyone they heard make a noise in arrest, but they could not hear any particular one, the shout was too general.
After supper we formed a procession of about 150. The band went in front -- it was composed of one fiddle, one tamborine, one accordeon, two pieces of sheet iron, one large tin box (upon which your humble bro. performed) and five or six sabres and swords to clang together -- most of the others followed with brooms.
All this may appear very foolish to you but we were full of enjoyment. West Point looks very dreary -- the gay, fashionable crowd has dispersed to return to their home to prepare for next Summer -- it is a pity some of them can't stay at home, for I am sure it would look much better, and suit their husbands better.
It is quite cold -- everybody has doffed their Summer and donned the Winter dress, and some have even commenced sticking on the firs. The "4 o'clocks" 3 have almost ceased to come out, a very rare occurrence for this season of the year -- they generally make their appearance as long as the drills last, and it is almost three weeks before they will be discontinued.
I am very glad you have quit the use of tobacco, but don't commence lecturing me yet. I would not discontinue the use of it for a good deal now. Write whenever you can.
Your brother,
John
1 "the ember of Hell".
2 This incorrect. It course. later proved to be remained a five-year.
3 Pelham is not referring to the flower, four o'clocks, but to
the ladies who visited the Point at 4 p.m., according to Mary Elizabeth Sergent.
This article first appeared in Volume 3, No. 6 of The Cannoneer.
