“I am willing to run the risk, be it ever so great”

Camp Convalescent

[Wednesday,] June 24, 1863

Dearest Wife,

I received your letter today and was sorry that I have been the cause of so much anxiety by not writing to you before. I wrote one last Thursday and one on Sunday. It seems as if you should of got them before. I have been looking for a telegram since Monday but as yet none has come. I think if you send one I might get home.

Today I have been playing with a little girl Ida’s age here in Camp and she thinks a great deal of me. She puts me in mind of Ida so much I could hardly leave her. Poor sweet little Ida, how bad I want to see her. Oh, Dear Clara, God knows how much I think of you and I would give all and everything to see you all again. But it seems every time there is a shadow of hope to get home, something appears before it. If you haven’t telegraphed to me yet, do so now and see what can be made out of it. I am will to run the risk, be it ever so great.

There was fighting heard here in Camp last Sunday and oh, how awful it did sound, nothing but a roar of artillery all the time. Dear Clara, why don’t some of our folks write? It seems curious I don’t hear from some of them. I should of thought George would of wrote before this. Fletch feels bad because he don’t hear from his folks oftener. Dear Clara, if you could see the way the Boys crowd round the post office to hear from home, you would not wonder at our wanting to hear from home so bad. Poor Soldiers, that is about all the comfort they get is in a letter. Some of them have not had a letter since they have been here, and to see the looks when they come from the office empty-handed is enough to make one cry a little. Some swear and some will go off by themselves and have a cry over it. Some will say that they will give ten dollars for a letter, they don’t care whether it comes from how or not. So you see, Dear Clara, what Soldiers thinks of getting a letter. I hope you have gotten them letters long before this so you will see I am alive and well.

Dear Clara, there seems to be a little trouble about one of my ears. It has been so ever since I was taken prisoner. I had a pretty hard cold and I guess it settled there. I can scarcely hear out of it. But I guess in time it will wear off. Otherwise, I am enjoying good health at present and hope this may find you all the same. Hoping to hear from you soon. I will bid goodnight and go to bed praying for my Dear Clara and little ones. God bless you all. Give my love to all my folks, a kiss.

Yours and yours only, with love,

Sergt. Peter L. Dumont

P.S. I met with a pretty narrow escape the other night. I woke up in the morning with a pin in my mouth. How it came there is more than I can tell. Good night, Dear Clara,

From your true Pete

[looping swirls]