The following letter was written by 19 year-old Joseph Tucker Whitehouse (1843-1910) who enlisted in October 1862 as a private in Co. H. 42nd Massachusetts Infantry. He mustered out of the regiment on 20 August 1863. The various companies of the 42nd Massachusetts were mustered in between Sept. 13 and Oct. 14, 1862, while the field and staff were not mustered until Nov. 11. Under command of Colonel Isaac S. Burrell, the regiment left Nov. 21st for Camp Banks, Long Island, N. Y., where the “Banks Expedition” for Louisiana was being organized. From here on the 3d of December, it took transports for New Orleans.

Joseph was the son of David Whitehouse (1814-1890) and Mary A. Tucker (1810-1880) of Boston, Massachusetts.

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Camp Banks
Friday, [14] November 1862

Dear Mother,

Having a few moments to spare, I thought I would write these few lines to you hoping that they will find you in as good health as they leave me at present. If you have answered my last letter, there is no need of answering this until you hear from me again as we shall probably leave here very shortly now. I begin to think that I am not going to get any answers to my letters as I have not got any yet. I have wrote one to you, one to Mary Ann, and one to Ezra, and have received no answers yet. But they may get here yet before we leave. I want you to answer every letter that I send to you just as soon as you get it but you need not answer this one on account of our going away.

I have not been very well since I got here but I suppose it was owing to that awful march we had. But I am all well now. But I hate to go into the southern climate because the most that troubles me is dysentery. Them old belts are a regular humbug. They don’t do any good at all.

I don’t suppose that we shall go to war for 1 or 2 months yet but when we leave here, we shall probably go to Staten Island where Banks is himself. It is said now for a sure thing that we are going to attack Richmond in the rear. If it is so, we shall see some hard fighting. You must not expect me to write very often but I shall write to you just as often as I can. I have 6 to write to, 3 out of my own family and Ezra, John, and Charley Ray so every time I write, it costs me 18 cents a time and that will soon run me out of money to write very often. I have only got about 3 dollars left now. We meet such poor food that once in a while I buy a pie. They have pies here just about as big around as a saucer and charge a shilling for them. But a shil is only 12 cents here. But that is awful for a small pie without any insides to it at all.

I expected David’s box out here yesterday but it has not got here yet. Tom Evans got a box and so did two or three others in other companies, but we did not get anything out of them. They told us that New York was a nice place but of all the places you ever get into, this knocks them. The streets they never clean up and the mud smells like this awful duck mud. We tramped 7 miles through that mud and it was all but over shoes and it was like walking through a vault [?] Their camps are about half a mile apart and when you get between 2 of them you might as well be in hell—it is so dark.

I have got to write to John and Charley Ray and my time is so precious, I must now close. So bidding you goodbye till you hear from me again. I remain your dutiful son, — Joseph Tucker Whitehouse