Headquarters Co.’s H & K
Camp Bayview, Va., March 8, ’62

Dear Eagle:

Cold, blustering March is upon us, with its chill winds freezing the marrow in our bones, and driving back the blood to it’s source. This is the most unpleasant month in the year in the South. Instead of seeming the commencement of spring it seems to be the height of winter. But I will leave this description to Thompson, who has described it far better than I could. Last Tuesday having received an invitation from my friend Dr. J. G. Potts, whose address I sent you, to visit his new residence, which is the light house on Hog Island, I in company with my friend Lieut. Watkins left Townfields early and commenced our journey.

By the by, I will digress a little here to relate an anecdote of the doctor. At his former residence in Drummondtown the rebels raised a company of artillery. The news arrived that the federal gunboats were to attack Pangoteague. As there was nobody in either place that understood artillery practice, our friend Potts, who had "been thro’ the mill" in the old country, was impressed into the service by the rebels, and told to take command of the battery, which consisted of one gun. This he did, taking with him as his only assistant an ignorant German. When the order was given to load, Potts by mistake, rammed the cartridge home ball first. The command was given to fire, but no explosion followed, strange to say. After the engagement, which ended in the rebels being shelled from their stronghold, an examination took place, when the above circumstance was disclosed. On questioning Potts he laid the blame on the ignorance of his companion, and by that means both got clear.

But to return to our expedition. We <?> island (which by the way was not a very poetic cognomen,) shortly after sunset, without accident. We retired, leaving an examination for the next day. Early in the morning we commenced our explorations. Hog Island is about seven miles in length and contains about fifteen families, it is about seventeen miles from the mainland. The inhabitants are rather illiterate, very few knowing how to read or write, but hospitable. My host and hostess were the richest family on the island, and treated me very kindly. The host whose name was Wm. Doughty, followed <?> for his living, leaving the cares of the small farm upon which he resided to his wife and daughters, who are well fitted for the <?>. Most of the inhabitants <?> for their living, selling their game to the wealthier inhabitants of the mainland. They fill up the intervals by going "clamming and oystering," supplying vessels with these products of their labor. This war has sadly interfered with their employment, few vessels having stopped at the place since the war broke out. The beach is covered with shells of which I secured some specimens.

It is considered one of the most dangerous coasts on the continent, many vessels having been lost with all on board on the sand shoals, which line the waters in this vicinity. Remains of wrecks are seen strewn over the beach, and high and dry above the sea looms up the framework of a steamer’s walking beam. It is imbedded firmly in the sand, and strange to say has never been touched by the inhabitants for firewood. In many a house I saw the boards on which the name of vessels are usually painted, nailed over the fireplace as a relic of some boat that has been wrecked off this coast. Perhaps a description of my hostess would interest some of your readers of the fair sex. Unlike most of the women on this island, whose pinched features tell of a hard winter, Mrs. Doughty was the picture of health and good living. Just imagine a woman weighing three hundred pounds, with a countenance built on the same scale of liberality, and wearing No. 13 brogans, to which she made constant references, and you have her. But if her body was large so was her heart, and a better souled person I never met. Her table literally groaned beneath the food piled upon it. Woe to the person who had no appetite when he sat down to her table, for he had to eat whether nature <?> kindness with which I was treated while there.

Wild game abounds on the waters; brant being considered the best. They are a species of duck, nearly as large as a goose before being picked. I saw flocks over a mile in length and so thick they could scarcely be told from the clouds. The oysters which are taken from the bay are very good, indeed, being saltier than those we have up North, although not as large. The inhabitants of the island are all strong Union people; the only "secesh" the place ever produced being the former light house keeper. He fled at the beginning of the troubles. The people are strong abolitionists. I did not see a negro on the whole island. But my paper is full so I must close for the present. I will finish in my next.

S.H.B.,Jr.