La Fayette, Iowa  July 9th 62    Dear Mother & Mollie,  You heard of  Davy's death several days before we did, but  our feelings since we did hear, you can  only measure by your own. We only heard  of it two days before Father rec'd Mother's let-  ter stating that you had rec'd the sad intelli-  gence, and could not believe it then, until it  was confirmed by the boys from Ohio, on the next  day, who came by Corinth & Monterey and visited  his grave. It was as much a terrible surprise  to us as to you. I rec'd Mary's letter this even-  ing. You ask - and properly, too - why Davy was  left to die alone; i.e. amongst strangers. I  will tell you just how it happened. When  [?] S., Timmons and myself were ordered to  Monterey with the rest of the sick, Davy applied  for permission to go, partly because he felt un-  well, party because he thought it best that some-  one should go with the sick. When we arrived at  the Hospital he felt worse and continued to feel quite  unwell, but, while I remained there, did not become 



so ill as not to be able to walk about a part of  the day. He generally spent a great part of the  afternoon out in the shade. I had not the  least idea of his becoming seriously ill, nor  do I think he had. For two or three days after our  arrival there my health improved, and on the  third day I was able to do many little favors  for the sick - as bringing in fresh water, or  toasting a piece of bread. But I suppose I   overdid myself, as from that day I grew weaker  and on the sixth day of our stay there, I was  scarcely able to get off my bed. During the day  our Sutler's wagon came by there on the way to  the Regt. Davy and I had talked it over and both  thought that if I was with the Regt, I would recover  much sooner, and when the wagon came along I  got permission from the Surgeon to go, Davy ex-  pressing perfect willingness that I should go, and re-  marking that he thought he and Timmons would  be with us in a few days. Three days afterwards, Fath-  er saw him and he was still improving, the fever -  - a sort of camp-fever - being broken. From that  time we heard nothing more from him, until the  last sad news. After I left the Hospital I was  not able to play for about three weeks. Once Zeke 



and I thought of trying get to see Davy, but I   was too weak to ride, as it was Twenty miles  to Monterey. So we defered it, thinking we might be  able to go in a few days - I forgot to say that  before leaving him, I asked Davy if I should not  send one of the boys to stay with him, but he said  he thought it not worth while. He had thought  of it once, but now thought he should need no one.  And then if any one had gone he would have had  to go without a pass from the Regt. (as they were  hourly expecting marching orders) and run the risk  of being taken up by the Patroll guard - and pun-  ished. Soon after I joined the Regt. about four days  after - we marched forward, and continued to do  so until now, stopping but a short time in a   place, making it impossible to return to see him,  or to get word to or from him, except by mail,  which would require from ten days, to two weeks.  We feel as badly as you can about his having  died alone, and regret deeply that none of knew  that he had taken a relapse. Some one of us would  have gone to him at any risk. No one of us sus-  pected but that he was at least able to travel and was  on his way home, as so many others were. The boys  say that even his Physician did not expect him 



to die. The boys often spoke of Davy, when we  could not hear from him, and wished him back  among us. They feel - most of them - as if they  had lost a brother. But few men were left at  Monterey as the boys came through. The Clerk told  Homer Budd that "if Davy was as good as a   performer as he was as a man, the Band had  suffered a great loss." We all loved him - Every  body loved him who knew him. - You speak of  his clothes not being taken off him. I have very  seldom seen the clothes taken off a soldier when  sick, and never after death if he dies in them.  This looks hard, but cannot well be otherwise. It  is only one of the unhappy features of war.  What things Davy had with him will be sent to  the Regt - or to Westerville, - at least this is the regulation.  If the ring can be had at all, it will be after that  is done. I would do anything in my power to get  it, but all I could do would be of no avail now. I shall  not forget it though.   You can not think  how badly your letters have made me feel.  Mother, do not grieve so. I know it is very, very, sad, yet  you know Davy would say 'do not grive.' Think  of the Dear boy as still near you in Spirit, grieving for your  grief and ready to be joyous with your joy.