Sciota, Wednesday the 27th.

DEAR MOTHER:--

You need not worry about my sleeping warm. When I go to bed I take off my
shoes and leggings, put on an extra pair of socks, and crawl into the bag
which each afternoon I make up afresh by pinning the folded blankets
together with the biggest safety pins you ever saw, and buttoning my
poncho around them. Over me thus there is the poncho, and as many layers
of blankets as I please, up to five. Besides I have two sweaters, if I
need them. So I sleep snug.

This morning it is pleasant and windless, as I wait for the order to
start.

An instance of the change of orders under which we labor. (As I recall
the Civil War memoirs that I have read, it seems to me that conditions
are much the same.) We were assembled in line at 5.25, reported, stacked
arms, and were ordered (remember that we are to camp on this same ground
tonight) "Strike tents and make packs. Make up blanket rolls and squad
bags, and bring them to the head of the street." Oh, the disgust! The
orders were proper for the first battalion, which marches on to Altona
today; but for us it seemed needless. But the promptest fell to work,
took down their tents, and began to make up the packs. Then the word came
travelling down the street, "Leave tents standing!" Luckily Bann and I
had not got to the work of striking the tent, and so we jubilated while
some others cussed. But we went on with making up the rolls and bags.
Then the order was transmitted, "Leave blankets and extra kits in tents!"
Perhaps someone blundered in the first place, and we got the order
intended for the first battalion. And I do not complain, for today we
travel light, with many things not in our packs.

The call has come, "Squad leaders to the head of the street." That means
a talk preparatory to setting out. So I have put on my pack, so as to
wait without worry. Having marched very dry yesterday, and a pebble which
I hastily scooped up proving large and rough, I have provided myself (per
one buzzard) with a package of chewing gum. Oh for the old-fashioned
spruce, with no sweetness or artificial flavor!--The first battalion,
having packed entirely, is assembling for the march. My map is buttoned
in my shirt, for consultation at halts. The day is warm, with the wind
from the west; but there are gathering clouds, and I am going to use the
time which is left in digging with my bayonet a ditch around the ten