Isaac

Sixty-eight thousand and the shelling has stopped. First quiet day in weeks. We have lost half the regiment since October and these fifty days have been the worst march in our history, but I woke this morning and the line still held. A Chinese whale rode into camp at dawn with three quarters of a billion on his saddle, whether friend or foe none can say. The men are tired. The fear is thick as Virginia fog. But I am still here.