Letter from Welch, Spencer Glasglow

Soldier: Welch, Spencer Glasglow
Allegiance: Confederate
Unit/Service Branch: 13th Infantry
Home State: South Carolina
Date Written: Sunday, December 28th, 1862
Location: Spottsylvania County, Va.
Correspondence Type: Letter
Subjects: Camp Life, Comrades, Family, Wife/Girlfriend

The weather during Christmas has been as
warm and pleasant as I ever saw it at the same
season in South Carolina, but this morning it
was quite clear and cold. I like the cold weather
here, for we have such fine health. It is seldom
that we have a man to die now. Our army was
in better fighting trim at the battle of Freder-
icksburg than at any time since the war began,
and it is still in the same condition. It does not
seem possible to defeat this army now with General
Lee at its head.

The Yankees are certainly very tired of this
war. All the prisoners I have talked with express
themselves as completely worn out and
disgusted with it. Our regiment was on picket
at the river a few days ago and the Yankee
pickets were on the opposite bank. There is no
firing between pickets now. It is forbidden in
both armies. The men do not even have their
guns loaded. The two sides talk familiarly with
each other, and the Yankees say they are very
anxious to have peace and get home.
Edwin and James Allen dined with me yesterday
and said it was the best meal they had
partaken of since they left home. We had fried
tripe, chicken and dumplings, shortened biscuits,
tea which was sweetened, and peach pie. Ed
slept with me and took breakfast with me this
morning. He thought my quarters very good
for camp.

I have a pocketful of money now, and while
there is a dollar of it left you can have all you
wish. I would certainly like so very much to be
with you, but it will never do for our country
to be sacrificed in order that our selfish desires
for comfort and ease may be gratified. It is
everyone's duty to lend a helping hand to his
country and never abandon his post of duty because
a few who have no patriotism do so.

While I write I hear Chaplain Beauschelle
preaching at a tremendous rate. He seems to
think everyone is very deaf. I should prefer
to hear some ludicrous old negro preacher, for
that would afford me some amusement. To
save my life I cannot think of anything more to
write, so good-by, my dear wife. Take good
care of George.