Will Fisher to his mother
In camp don’t know where
June 18, 1864

Dear Mother,

Still the campaign goes on & I don’t see any prospect of its coming to a close very soon, at least not until we shall have taken that doomed place, Atlanta.
I, for one, will be glad of an opportunity to rest, for both men and animals are very much jaded & worn out. This is the greatest campaign I ever heard of, for the Rebel’s whole line of retreat has been one ridge of mountains after another, already fortified by a large gang of negroes, which they have to work in their rear & they just fall from one to the other, as fast as Gen. Sherman gets them flanked.
It is first a few miles march and then a little battle, which generally finds them in breastworks strong enough to stand a siege of 300-pounders, & then when it comes night, we build breastworks right under their nose and we lay from 2 to 6 days carrying on a perfect rattle of sharpshooting & artillery practice, by this time Gen. Sherman will manage to get them flanked and then they will get out as fast as possible to the next stronghold.
Blast them if they would come out on fair ground just once I will guarantee that Joe Hooker will drive their whole cowardly, dishonorable army clear into Atlanta by one grand bayonet charge. I am dreadfully out of patience with the Rebels in this dept. There is no more honor in them than there is in Gen. Lee’s little toe, and they are very cowardly too.
We had a little fight again the 15th. No loss in our regt. until next morning when two in this regt. were wounded in hand, very slight, by chance ball.
I have received another letter from you dated June 2nd, that’s the latest. You are right about Gen. Knipe being our brigadier. I sent his photograph home, last summer, along with Gen. Williams.
Our Div. Comdr. Gen. Knipe was hit by a spent ball at Resaca but did not hurt him.
You say these “dreadful battles” make you tremble. I’ll warrant they do and a great many others. I guess the people must think the somebody is in earnest this summer but at a fearful loss of life. People dressed in deep black must be a common thing now.
I often think how strange that I, one naturally rather tender hearted, can get so accustomed to these awful sights as to look upon them with so little concern. The fact of the business is I begin war this spring with a different spirit from before. I have got so sick of their eternal stories about being sick of it and deserting, if they had a chance, all taken together with their inhuman treatment of prisoners, and fiendish barbarities at Ft. Pillow & Plymouth. All these have raised a kind of spirit of hatred in me & I can’t help it. Just to see a prisoner come in with his dirty, dingy grey clothes on makes me feel as though I wanted to take him by the collar and jam him right down about 50 feet blow the surface. I should like to have an army about a million strong. I would make every one bow to the stars and stripes in less than five minutes, or I would exterminate them.
I have been unwell now for about a week, have had to ride in the ambulance 2 days. My complaint was diarrhea and lame through my kidneys and feel kind of feverish towards night, but I am better now. Guess I’ll go it now.
The two $ bill you sent me passed all right. Give my love to L. J. and her little folks. You may send one of my photos in the next letter & after I see I will send it back. Give my love to Aunt Sarah and all my acquaintances.
Jim Esmon is well. His mother need not fear his being hurt for he is a drummer 9 miles to the rear.
Is Jim Sherman in the hotel? I heard he was.
I will close for the present in much love from your own boy.

Will G. Fisher