A Son To His Father

Dear Papa,

I can scribble you only a few lines this cold morning. The Adjutant takes the money of Regt to Washington to day to deposit it. I can hardly write. My fingers are so numb. The snow is about two inches deep if not more. Last night was a regular Northeaster but I slept comfortably and well. Had not courage to cook meat for breakfast. So ate crackers and molasses by a provokingly dull fire. I am going to get a few books by the Adjutant from Washington City. I saw Gen Burnside yesterday. He looks like a General.

My health is excellent – I think we will likely move to morrow although there are no present signs of it. I only judge from the fact that Burnside rode up towards Gen Hooker's Headquarters yesterday – Perhaps we will stay still. The weather is very cold – but we stand it very well.

When you write tell me all the news from home and town. Tell everything that happens as any thing from home will interest me.

My love to all
Your loving and affect Son

G. F. Ziegler