I AM writing this, nearly sundown, watching a cavalry company (acting Signal service,) just come in through a shower, making their nights camp ready on some broad, vacant ground, a sort of hill, in full view opposite my window. There are the men in their yellow-striped jackets. All are dismounted; the freed horses stand with drooping heads and wet sides; they are to be led off presently in groups, to water. The little wall-tents and shelter tents spring up quickly. I see the fires already blazing, and pots and kettles over them. Some among the men are driving in tent-poles, wielding their axes with strong, slow blows. I see great huddles of horses, bundles of hay, groups of men (some with unbuckled sabres yet on their sides,) a few officers, piles of wood, the flames of the fires, saddles, harness, &c. The smoke streams upward, additional men arrive and dismountsome drive in stakes, and tie their horses to them; some go with buckets for water, some are chopping wood, and so on.
July 6th.A steady rain, dark and thick and warm. A train of six-mule wagons has just passd bearing pontoons, great square-end flat-boats, and the heavy planking for overlaying them. We hear that the Potomac above here is flooded, and are wondering whether Lee will be able to get back across again, or whether Meade will indeed break him to pieces. The cavalry camp on the hill is a ceaseless field of observation for me. This forenoon there stand the horses, tetherd together, dripping, steaming, chewing their hay. The men emerge from their tents, dripping also. The fires are half quenchd.
July 10th.Still the camp oppositeperhaps fifty or sixty tents. Some of the men are cleaning their sabres (pleasant to-day,) some brushing boots, some laying off, reading, writingsome cooking, some sleeping. On long temporary cross-sticks back of the tents are cavalry accoutrementsblankets and overcoats are hung out to airthere are the squads of horses tetherd, feeding, continually stamping and whisking their tails to keep off flies. I sit long in my third story window and look at the scenea hundred little things going onpeculiar objects connected with the camp that could not be described, any one of them justly, without much minute drawing and coloring in words.