Life here is horrible. The rations are low, my regiment is all mean people who don't like me and don't listen to me. My leader is awful, as I have mentioned in letters before, is a mean and horrible man. I hate him. I am only saying this because I trust you, but if I find that other people feel the same way, we will make a plan to kill him. About going mad. I do not feel that way anymore. It's strange but I feel as if I have made it over a hump in the road. I have been desensitized. I have heard about this, some call it Army Fever, or the Killing Disease, but in all accounts it goes away quickly. The rest of the Union is in the state I was in last time I wrote you.
I'll Keep You Posted,
Your son Nelson McCook