Brazos is a low sandbar, called an island, but does not deserve the dignity of the name, as we found nothing there but brackish water, hot sand, a few small oysters. We remained there a short time however, and went up the east bank of the Rio Grande a few miles, and pitched our tents at "Camp Belknap" hallowed by the memory of many happy days spent there. The writer of this does not propose to give a detailed account of the campaign, but is tempted to dwell in the camp at Belknap, as the incidents of more than thirty years ago come crowding on his memory. It would take several columns of the Public Press to tell of the eccentricities of Austin and Bell, the peculiarities of the "tiger tails," the tramps of Hopkins, Freeman, Taylor and others, the sharp practice of the steamboat engineer to see the old folks at home and not return, and many other incidents that would be relished by the old soldiers, but would be of little interest to the public. But our pleasure was not without alloy. The dark shadow of death came at Brazos and took Joseph Morgan. Martin Howard and John T. Lewis died at Belknap. At camp Belknap the hunting and fishing were excellent, the climate delicious, no enemy near and the regulations of war not very strictly enforced. There were about eight thousand men at camp Belknap. to be continued . . . Posted by Sue P. Carpenter 2005, all rights reserved