Forget-me-nots of the Civil War;
A
Romance, Containing Reminiscences and Original Letters
of Two
Confederate Soldiers
:
Electronic Edition.
Lee, Laura Elizabeth
(Battle, Laura
Elizabeth Lee)
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- LC Subject Headings:
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- Battle, Laura Elizabeth Lee.
-
- Women -- North Carolina -- Biography.
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- North Carolina -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Personal narratives.
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- North Carolina -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Women.
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- Confederate States of America. Army. North Carolina Infantry Regiment, 4th. Company F.
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- United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Military life.
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- United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Personal narratives, Confederate.
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FORGET - ME - NOTS OF
THE CIVIL WAR
A ROMANCE,
CONTAINING REMINISCENCES AND ORIGINAL LETTERS
OF TWO CONFEDERATE SOLDIERS.
BY
LAURA ELIZABETH LEE
ILLUSTRATED BY
BRYAN BURNES
All rights reserved
ST. LOUIS, MO.
PRESS A. R. FLEMING PRINTING CO
COPYRIGHT 1909
By
MRS. JESSE MERCER BATTLE
TO JESSE, THE HUSBAND,
WHO IS STILL MY BOY LOVER,
TO HELEN, THE DUTIFUL DAUGHTER,
WHO HAS BEEN THE LINK TO WELD MORE
CLOSELY OUR LOVE,
AND WHOSE LIVES I HAVE WANTED
TO FILL WITH SUNSHINE,
BUT WHERE THE SHADOWS HAVE OFTEN CREPT,
THIS VOLUME IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED.
MAY ITS PAGES BE ILLUMINATED BY THEIR
LOVE AND INSPIRATION.
LAURA ELIZABETH LEE.
Page 5
CONTENTS
- CHAPTER
- I. My Arrival at "White Oaks" . . . . .
9
- II. Some of the Things That Happened . . . . .
17
- III. Our Removal to Clayton . . . . . 23
- IV. The Attempt to "Tar and Feather"
My Father . . . . . 29
- V. The Year Eighteen Sixty-one . . . . . 33
- VI. The Gallant Fourth N. C. Regiment,
State Troops . . . . . 37
- VII. Letters from George and Walter . . . . . 41
- VIII. My First School Days . . . . . 135
- IX. My Father's Death and Burial . . . . .
139
- X. How the Sheriff Swindled My
Mother . . . . . 147
- XI. The Work We All Did During the
War . . . . . 155
- XII. Sherman's March to Raleigh, North
Carolina . . . . . 159
- XIII. The "Bummers" and "Red Strings" . . . . .
165
- XIV. The "Ku Klux Klan" . . . . . 171
Page 6
- CHAPTER
- XV. How I First Met "Uncle Ned" . . . . . 177
- XVI. The Beautiful Pink Frock . . . . . 191
- XVII. My First Great Sacrifice . . . . . 199
- XVIII. The State Tournament . . . . . 207
- XIX. The Great Race . . . . . 217
- XX. The Crowning of Nealie For Queen . . . . . 229
- XXI. The Coronation Ball . . . . . 235
- XXII. The Marriage of Ashley and Nealie . . . . . 241
- XXIII. The Conquering Hero Comes . . . . . 247
- XXIV. The Baptizing at Stallings Mill . . . . . 255
- XXV. The Meeting at the Well . . . . . 261
- XXVI. Jesse Falls in Love at First Sight . . . . . 265
- XXVII. I Am Not Far Behind . . . . . 271
- XXVIII. His Departure and My Grief . . . . . 275
- XXIX. Hear Rumor of Engagement to
Another Girl . . . . . 281
- XXX. I Am Very Unhappy . . . . . 285
- XXXI. Our Engagement . . . . . 291
- XXXII. One Evening's Entertainment . . . . . 299
- XXXIII. How My Mother Disposed of Us . . . . . 335
- XXXIV. Jesse's Enforced Absence . . . . . 341
- XXXV. My Mother Makes Us Happy at Last . . . . . 351
Page 7
Page 6
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
- Mrs. Jesse Mercer Battle (Laura Elizabeth Lee) Frontispiece
- "Aunt Pallas." . . . . . 10
- George . . . . . 42
- Walter . . . . . 132a
- "General Sherman halted and asked in a kindly
voice whether she had husband or sons
in the war." . . . . . 160
- "Uncle Ned." . . . . . 178
- Nealie and the Pink Frock. . . . . . 192
- "Uncle Ned's" Return. . . . . . 195
- "Dropped the wreath at my sister's feet." . . . . . 236
- "Give the horses the reins, Henderson, and
let them go the road they will." . . . . . 248
- "Until death do us part." . . . . . 352
Page 8
"The
dainty architects of prose and rhyme
Have
their brief niches in the Hall of Time;
But
he is master of the deathless pen,
Whose
words are written in the lives of men."
- WILLIAM H. HAYNE.
Page 9
CHAPTER I.
MY ARRIVAL AT "WHITE OAKS."
On
the twenty-sixth day of January, eighteen fifty-five,
I first saw the light. The day was cold and
raw, with snow flurries now and then filling the air.
It is not to be wondered at that my arrival was not more warmly welcomed, as it was the most unusual thing for snow to fall in that warm southern climate. Being the youngest of eleven children, also made the advent of another girl baby a source of indifference to the inmates of "White Oaks," the name by which our place was known.
The children were assembled for their noonday meal on this eventful day in the dining room where they were discussing the new baby and attempting the difficult task of finding a name, one that was not already in the family Bible or had not been in use in the family generations before. After many names had been rejected and scorned as unfit, Nealie cried out "Oh, let's name the baby Bettie!" The boys not caring one way or the other acquiesced immediately, but Flora implored them "No, no, not Bettie, call her Laura." While Rilia, then fourteen, and feeling quite motherly to all, declared they should compromise and call me "Laura Bettie," which suggestion quite satisfied them
Page 10
all, both boys and girls. Rilia was then deputized to visit the nurse, Aunt Pallas, and beg that this name be submitted to my mother, as pleasing all the children. She soon returned with the glad tidings that "Laura Bettie" would be enrolled in the old family Bible, which was well nigh filled, as "Laura Elizabeth," that being more suitable for me in later years, but she said "Lookee heah, chillun, you can call dat baby poah little ugly thing 'Bettie' or 'Laura,' but I'll do her laik I did 'Pussie' (her pet name for Cornelia), I'm a' gwine to call her Betsy." So it was settled by them, and from then on I was called by each of those names as each member of the family or friend happened to think of first.
Aunt Pallas, whom you will meet throughout the pages of this book, was a typical African in color, though her head was larger than the average negro, with the kinky hair growing low on her forehead, her eyes were very small, but lighted up by intelligence. Her nose was large and flat, and most decidedly gave the appearance of a full-blooded native of Africa. Her mouth was large, with full lips even adding to her homeliness. Her shoulders were square, the body and hips with straight lines like a man's. Her limbs were muscular and her stature, though short, was as erect as a young Indian's. She claimed that she made herself so by carrying pails of water on her head when she was a child.
"I declare before goodness," she used to say, "that Col. Johnnie Hinton bought my mammy from some niggah traders, dat told him mammy was a guinea niggah
and b'longed to de quality, an dats why she called
me Pallas - dey shore did get my name out of the
dicshummary." Her homeliness was so marked that
it really helped to make her attractive. Her age, like
every other one of her race, was a problem we never
could guess, except from bits of history that she would
tell us. She remembered when George Washington
died, and many incidents of the Revolutionary war.
Our large family lived on the farm called "White
Oaks," near a small town called Clayton. The land
my father planted in grain at that time, and as the
soil was later found suitable for cotton he and the
boys had hard times "making both ends meet." Two
of the older boys had married, leaving the burden on
him and the younger sons. He was well advanced
in years at this time. My father was a typical Southern
gentleman, with a courtly dignified bearing, and
was well educated for the times. He was a descendant
from that illustrious Virginia family whose lives
have been recorded on the pages of American history
since the Colony of Virginia first had a Secretary of
State, and before his marriage had taught school in
the town near his present home. It was there that he
met and married the daughter of a wealthy planter
and a large slave owner. Being an ardent abolitionist
he refused the gift of a young negro man and his
wife on his marriage to Candace Hinton. This refusal,
coupled with his outspoken convictions never to
own slaves, made him a target for the slave owners
in that section. It is true that "Aunt Pallas" was
a maid for his first wife, and was so devoted to her
that she was no more a slave than the wife, and was
permitted to do exactly as she pleased. When the
rumor spread abroad that Charles Lee was a rank
abolitionist there were already war clouds that bid
fair to darken the whole fair South-land; his father-in-law,
Col. John Hinton, forbade him ever "darkening
his doors." Whether the estrangement had anything
to do with a decline in her health, the wife soon sickened
and died, leaving behind her seven children, all
except two greatly in need of a mother's love and
tender care.
My father soon began casting about to find some one
who would be a mother to his babies. He had known
my mother as an acquaintance a few years, and his
wife always spoke so kindly of her and her great
beauty - that may have helped him to turn his footsteps
toward her home. My mother, also named Candace
Hawkins Turley, was a woman remarkably beautiful,
but whose family was obscure, excepting her
grandfather, Thomas Turley, who was a Revolutionary
soldier when the war for American Independence
began; he enlisted on the patriot side, and served
from the beginning of the Revolution to the siege of
Yorktown, at which place he was made an invalid for
life by the bursting of a British bomb shell near his
head. The story of his abduction when a baby, as
handed down, made interesting family history; he
was born in Ireland, and belonged to the Irish nobility.
As was the custom in such families, the children were
entrusted to white nurses, who became strongly attached
to their charges. Thomas Turley's nurse having
decided to emigrate to America, could not endure
the separation, and he was stolen by this woman and
reared by her in America.
This child never knew the secret of his life until
divulged by his old nurse on her deathbed. It was
said that he did not know his own name, as this woman
so much feared that her guilt might be known and
the child restored to his seeking parents.
It is not strange that my mother's family was obscure
with such a bit of family history. My father
must have had in mind, to avoid another estrangement
if he should attempt to marry again, another slave
owner's daughter. That my mother married him for
love goes without saying. My father then being over
sixty years old, had that to his disadvantage, though
his genial, kind nature, together with his scholarly
attainments and his descent from an old Virginia family,
no doubt added to his other attractions, and caused
my mother to hasten to be the wife of a widower,
now growing old, whose sole wealth was a ready-made
family, excepting, of course, the farm of "White
Oaks." It was even whispered then that he had consumption
and would not live five years longer.
My mother was a woman so strikingly handsome
that I shall not attempt more than a few words of
description. She was an Irish type of beauty, above
the medium height, with beautiful wavy brown hair,
a broad low brow, a classical Grecian nose; her eyes
of grey, were large and seemed unfathomable; her
mouth a perfect cupid bow, and ruby lips through
which shone pearl-like teeth, an oval face, with perfect
chin and ears, moulded on a neck of alabaster whiteness;
her pink cheeks glowed with health, her complexion
was marvellously fair, and the blue veins
showed their delicate tracery beneath a skin of polished
smoothness. A Madonna like face was my
mother's. There was nothing insipid in my mother's
beauty; it was a beauty of strength of mind, that
shone out on her noble mien, whether the tradition
in regard to her descent from the Irish nobility were
true or not, hers was a face of such uncommon beauty
that obscure birth could not hide the breeding and
noble race from which she sprang. Her very carriage
bespoke grace and dignity, with a firmness of purpose
that once she had taken hold of the plowshare, it would
take nothing less than victory to cause her to drop
it. Still there was nothing obstinate in her appearance,
only a resolute face and figure that radiated a beautiful
character in every suggestion.
- EDMUND SPENSER.
Well, somehow, widowers are more expeditious in
such matters, and after a very short courtship they
were married, and Candace Hawkins Turley went to
be mother and mistress of "White Oaks."
The time passed rapidly, filled with work and many
cares, and in five years she was the mother of four
children, three girls, one of whom died, and one boy.
They continued to live on the farm, though father
had no turn for farming; the poor land and the large
family made work enough for all, and a slave of my
mother. The older children were sometimes required
to look after me and their manner of amusing me
was at times very peculiar. I was told that on one
occasion when I was about ten months old father
took mother to church, at "Old Liberty," five miles
distant, Rilia, my half sister, and Nealie, the oldest
of my mother's children, took me out to the barn
where a pile of raw cotton had been thrown, reaching
up to the ceiling. These sisters of mine, wishing
to stop my cries for my mother, began to toss me up
on the pile of cotton and let me roll down to the floor
where they were carefully stationed to catch me. It
gave me great delight, and I set up such crowing
and laughing that it gave such zest to the pastime that I
began to laugh and crow louder. I suspect now that my
brains were being well addled, but any way the more I
laughed, the more I was kept tobogganing until in a
careless way Rilia threw me up and I went clear over the
top of the pile of cotton, rolled down and struck a beam
on the other side. Immediately I set up such a scream that
with great alarm they carried me back to the house where
Aunt Pallas discovered a sprained wrist and a dislocated
shoulder. It took hours in those days to drive five miles to
church and return, so my cries well night drove my poor
sisters wild, until my father returned and set the bones.
My poor mother declared it happened just because she
left me at home, and did not intend to ever do so again.
Still she and father were good Baptists and could not
resist the monthly meetings, at "Old Liberty" Church, and
there were many other times when I was left behind.
On another occasion the older children had me in
charge again, and decided upon another novel way of
amusing me. We were all playing in a large room with a
big high white bed in it, Nealie, after while, said: "Suppose
we amuse Bettie by making pictures for her," then turning
to me, she asked: "Wouldn't you like for sisters to make
some pretty pictures for baby to look at?" I smiled and
cried "Yes," whereupon the two held a whispered
conversation and immediately they made a dash for the
fire place, and placing their little white hands on the back
of the fire place that was all
covered in soot, ran to the bed and began laying their
hands on the pretty white counterpane trying to draw
pictures of dogs and people. I was the audience and had
a seat in the rear of the room, but not wishing to sit there,
while such works of art were being placed before me, I
up and toddled over to the bed and began to investigate.
Imagine my consternation on seeing my sisters begin to
turn black before my eyes, so I thought I'd rub the black
off them, when lo, I began to turn black too. Well, in a
short time the whole bunch of us were black and weird-looking.
I was so frightened I could hardly speak when
the door opened and father and my mother came in, and I
think the rod was not spared, on seeing the snow white
counterpane, covered in grotesque pictures and little
finger prints, even the walls were decorated to suit the
taste of the embryonic artists.
My first recollections of going to church at "Old
Liberty" were of being dressed up and riding with father
and mother in the barouche till we came to a deserted
looking house, standing by itself in a big grove of trees.
Then my mother led me around to the side of this house
where a great many ladies and children were sitting down
on a bench. After a while the door was unlocked and we
all went inside. The men all sat to themselves on one side
and the women and children sat on the other side of the
room. Then they all began to sing such a sleepy song, I
dozed off, but dreamily heard a man talking, and once in a
while he would shout so loud I'd awaken with a start, to
drop off to sleep again, my head resting on my mother's
lap. I awoke after a long time and saw a man handing
a plate to everybody, to take something to eat,
Oh! how glad I felt, but when my mother broke only
one tiny bite and then ate that, without even looking
at me, I was getting ready to weep, but when another
man came up with a silver goblet and she took a drink
and didn't look at me again, I gave one loud wail
and begged for a drink too; not only denied that,
but taken in her arms and toted out of the church,
before everybody. Then the cookies were found and
a nice gourd of cool water from the spring was given
me, and we went back home. I was old enough to
know why I was not permitted to partake of the
Lord's Supper the next time I went to "Old Liberty."
- ANONYMOUS
One day when father had returned from the corn
field my mother said to him, "Mr. Lee, I wish you
would move to Clayton where we will be near enough
to a school for the little children to go by themselves."
"Why, 'old woman' (calling her by his pet name for
my mother), "what shall I do with the farm?" "Rent
it," said my mother, "start up the old saw mill in
Clayton, build a home there for us to live in; I hear
that a great many people are anxious to move there
if they could only get the lumber to build with. We
have plenty of seasoned lumber," she continued, "to
build a home for us. Since some of the older children
are married it makes the work too hard on you. The
small children ought to be in school every day, and
here we have to send them and send after them and
many times the weather is so bad they don't go at all.
If we move to town there will be no excuse for staying
at home. When you have set up the saw mill
and supplied everybody with lumber for building,
you can take your money, and with some I had before
we were married, start some kind of a mercantile
business in this thriving little town. The rent from
the farm will put us in easy circumstances. This
money I have had for so long I intended to buy
with it a couple of young negroes to work this land
and increase their progeny. Knowing your feelings
I have nothing else to do but submit to your will,
though it has been a long cherished dream of mine
to use my money to buy slaves."
"Now 'old woman,' I decline to discuss this slavery
question again. I will never own another slave (if
you call Pallas such), and only pray that this talk
among the Northern statesmen may not end without
good results. No I will never buy a human soul with
money," emphatically declared my father. "So talk
no more about that, but your other proposition I believe
is a good one, and I will go to Clayton tomorrow
and see what I can do." My mother who had lived
in town before her marriage and was never pleased
to live on the farm, was delighted at the prospect of
a change to town.
Father went to Clayton the next day, bought a lot
and built a home and moved his family there within
the next year.
Clayton was beautifully situated. Nature had been
most lavish in her gifts. The hills, upon which the
town was built, gave a most picturesque look to the
undulating country for miles around, if the view had
not been obstructed by the tall pines and majestic oaks
that stood like sentinels to guard the lovely spot.
Flowers bloomed perpetually though there came nipping
frosts now and then which made malaria and
fever give it a "wide berth." The atmosphere was
always so dry that it gave one a feeling that it had
just come from the hands of its maker, so pure and
clean it appeared. The climate reached the happy
medium in winter and summer alike, it was never
enervating, for the ozone from the pine forests and
the oxygen that the grand old oaks set free gave health
and rosy cheeks to the children that roamed around
the little town. The streets were not paved, but like
the beach drives at the sea shore, were hard and
white, as if made of crystalline powder - and for racing
purposes gave the horses a firm footing though
cushioned and yielding. The water was noted for
its purity and health-giving qualities. Take it altogether
Clayton seemed to be about the "garden spot"
of the "Old North States," so far as what nature had
done for it. On one side of the town were the
"sunny banks of the rippling Neuse," inviting alike to
fisherman and picnicker. The other side was bordered
by "Little Creek," a limped stream filled with
silver perch. Added to these charms was the old
Academy for boys and girls, with its two large play
grounds which had more to do with our removal
there than anything that nature might have offered.
When father moved to Clayton, the mill did such
a good business that he was kept busy for five years.
In the meantime he bought pieces of land here and
there about town and with the money he made from
milling he bought a stock of goods and groceries and
established a mercantile business.
The war clouds were growing blacker and threatened
to end in something more than "talk."
He continued to talk against slavery, and the slave
owners began to fear that he might be a disturbing
element if let alone. One day father received an
anonymous letter, saying if he did not stop this talk
against slavery, that he would be "tarred and feathered
and ridden out of town on a fence rail."
He was then in very delicate health, and when he
came home and told my mother about this note she
was greatly agitated and said, "Why, Mr. Lee, what
shall we do, move back to the farm or what in the
world will you do?"
" 'Old woman' I shall stay right here and do my
work for I do not fear these men who are too cowardly
to sign their names to the letter of threats."
"Oh suppose they should try to carry out their diabolical
plot. I don't think we ought to stay here,
really 'White Oaks' is the only safe place. Come let
us move tomorrow."
"Never," said my father, very calmly but very firmly
too. "I am not a coward, for I inherit a love of my
country from my ancestors who helped to establish
independence in these colonies, but slavery and its
evils I forsee will precipitate another war for the freedom
of another race. I do not fear these threats for
the writers of this anonymous letter dare not do what
they no doubt would like to do, for such a thing would
be heralded from Maine to Texas, and my life, though
a forfeit, would help to free the slaves, even sooner
than I now think will be."
"Well, Mr. Lee, I can't help but fear all the same
such underhand work. It is not the foe we meet face
to face, but the enemy that slips upon us unawares,"
persisted my poor mother. "I dare not permit myself
to think of this horrible deed without being
alarmed and fearing for your safety. I shall keep a
close watch over you and not let you get far from
me," insisted mother.
"Well, 'old woman,' this cough means that my days
are numbered. I want to make my will and arrange
all my worldly affairs, so as to give you as little
trouble as possible. I want to leave you with the business
in good shape, knowing your fine executive ability,
so that everything will continue to run smoothly.
I am resigned to God's will, but hate to leave you, my
faithful wife, with the five small children." Here my
mother began to cry, "Oh don't speak of leaving me
and the children, I can't bear to hear you say it," and
thereupon she broke down again.
"Well, 'old woman,' this is a matter of business; that
you should know we are doing well in the store and
the farm is paying better than I ever hoped for. Raising
cotton has been more profitable, with the Jones
tenants, than my poor efforts at raising grain ever
were, besides bringing much higher prices."
However the days and nights were spent in horror
to my mother, though she tried to hide it from
father; the fear of those men doing that dastardly
deed, and the knowledge that father was daily growing
worse, made poor mother old before her time. I
remember going day after day with her to the store
where she sat and sewed, always near the door, and
scanning every one as they came in, her face wearing
a set look and a determined one, and I now think
after more than forty years have passed that it was
her presence, always near my father, that helped to
hinder those fanatics from perpetrating that black
crime.
- P. J. BAILEY.
My two half brothers,
Walter and George, were as
rank secessionists as my father was abolitionist.
Though only fifteen and seventeen years of age, these
boys had inherited from Col. John Hinton, their maternal
grandfather, a desire to own slaves, and always
declared when they were old enough that they would
have negroes to work for them. Still the main reason
for their being secessionists was that all their companions
were drilling and talking of war all the time.
Aunt Pallas having heard my mother tell of the note
to my father, in which he was to be "tarred and feathered
and ridden on a rail out of town," was so distressed
that she told Walter and George to get out the
old guns and put them in good condition, that they
didn't need to go off to shoot Yankees on account of
the trifling niggers. "I'll tell ye what we will do,
when anybody comes round heah looking for Marse
Charles we will take our guns and load up with powder
and go out and fire 'em off, he! he! I'll be seized
by cats, but dey nevah will try to ride any other gentleman
on a rail."
The boys were so angry at the bare mention of
such treatment for their good father that it was all
Aunt Pallas could do to keep Walter and George from
putting in bullets to kill somebody. At last she persuaded
them not to do it, still they "kept their powder
dry" and waited.
One beautiful moonlight night some one came to
our front door and knocked. One of the boys went to
open it and found waiting outside a negro boy, owned
by one of our near neighbors, who said "my master
sent me to ax your daddy to come out to de store and
let me have a bottle of castor ile, for brudder Reuben,
he got de colok." Aunt Pallas had posted Walter and
George that when they heard her singing "My head
got wet wid de midnight dew, honah de lam, good
Lawd honah de lam," they might know that the posse
were out after father. Before Walter had time to go
to father with the message Aunt Pallas began to sing
"Honah de lam" and both boys darted out to the place
where the guns were hidden, and with Aunt Pallas
leading the little army they made a rush for the big
oaks, and standing back of them they began to discharge
the old guns. At the first shot such consternation
seized these villains that the whole posse stampeded
and such running as they did has never been
seen before or since in that dignified old town of
Clayton. Of course Aunt Pallas and the boys ran after
them and continued to explode their powder, but so
effectually did the explosions work that no more attempts
were ever made on my father's life.
- PYRRHUS.
The year
eighteen sixty-one was ushered in with
loud mutterings of war, and among my earliest recollections
were those of seeing a body of men drilling
in front of our home. These militia companies were
being formed in every county, and the women and
girls were meeting in halls or school houses for the
purpose of sewing on flags and uniforms for the men
and boys, that later became soldiers. Everywhere was
heard the talk of war, even the small boys were hoping
for the time to come when they might be allowed to
shoulder a gun and go off to shoot "Yankees." One
day on our way home from school, some one told us
that Fort Sumter had been fired on, that was even unintelligible
to me, but greatly pleased my brother George,
for he threw up his cap and howled, "Hurrah for
South Carolina, I am going to be a soldier now."
My father was so feeble that when Walter and
George declared their intention of volunteering he
could not show them by his arguments that they were
wrong, and knowing, too, that his days were numbered,
felt that only a short time and they would
be at liberty to go to the war. From morning till
night was heard fife and drum, or the talk of the citizens
that preparations were being made all over the
South for a contest which would soon end in favor
of States' rights. Shortly trains loaded with men going
to enlist, and soldiers, kept the young people running
to the depot to see the different regiments. Everyone
had a flag which was waved as the trains passed
our town. Sometimes they made no stop at the station,
but the girls had notes of encouragement written
and placed between split sticks, and as the cars went by
the girls would throw their missives of faith and hope
to these strangers. When the ladies were sewing on
the uniforms the girls would write notes and put them
in the pockets of the soldiers' jackets. In these they
would write and beg the wearer to be true to his colors
and his country, and never despair until the last Yankee
had been whipped. Like "bread cast upon the
waters" the soldier boys read and were inspired with
courage to go on, and very many correspondences begun
like that, ripened in later years into love and marriage.
- WILLIAM WINTER.
The day
that the gallant "Fourth North Carolina
Regiment" passed our town my half brothers, Walter
and George, bade us all goodbye amid tears and hurrahs,
bands playing and the crowd singing, "Shout the
joyous notes of freedom" and off to the war they went.
They had spent some little time at Fort Macon, but
now they were on their way to Richmond and death.
Some of their letters have been preserved up to this
time; they were written on scraps of writing paper
and sometimes cheapest wrapping paper. It
may be interesting to publish them for future
generations, to know exactly what two young
Southern boys thought of war in the beginning, and
how one, at least, throughout those terrible battles at
Spottsylvania Court House, etc., lasted to give us such
a vivid description of them, and I have written them
verbatim from the original letters, and know nothing
was exaggerated from their view point. This extract
from the letter of a friend shows how fine looking
and soldierly in bearing these brave men and boys
of the Fourth North Carolina were considered by a
friend who saw them in Richmond soon after their
arrival.
""The Fourth North Carolina Regiment" is the recipient
of unmeasured praise for their deportment while
on leave and their soldierly bearing in the ranks. In
fact not a regiment has come from our state that has
not elicited unstinted commendation for their fine appearance.
It does me good to stand in a crowd as I
did on Sunday when the "Fourth" passed through the
streets and hear the hearty words of satisfaction expressed
as to the material, the "Old North State" was
sending into the field. Such expressions as "Did you
ever see such determined looking fellows, steady, cool
and resolute looking?" "What should we fear while
such as these are between Richmond and the enemy?"
I assure you I felt like giving one uproarious shout
for the "Old North State" forever. I enclose you a
rare curiosity, being the Federal version of the glorious
battle at Manassas. It is a curiosity, inasmuch as no
instance is known where a Lincolnite has put so many
words together with so few monstrous discrepancies
spicing the whole, and I have marked them, under the
influence of the panic which such news created. A
greater proportion of truth bubbled forth than usually
characterizes their accounts of such disasters to their
arms."
Richmond, July 23, 1861.
ROBERTSON.
- MICHAEL ALTENBURG.
FORT MACON,
N. C., April 19, 1861.
Dear Mother:
There is only about two or three hundred men here as
yet. There are more men expected daily. Our company is
the largest, the best looking (so said by the men here),
that there is in the Fort.
George and Tom Stith are down on the beach shooting
porpoises. I had to borrow this piece of paper to write to
you, George having the paper in his valise.
The company has this evening to look around.
Tomorrow we have to commence drilling. George has
just come in. He says he had lots of fun, and told
me to tell you that he would write to you tomorrow.
He found a good many curious looking shells, which
he has put in his valise, to carry home. Blake asked
me to say to Mr. Rhodes that he was very well satisfied,
indeed. The whole company is enjoying themselves
very much. I will write to you again as soon
as I hear from you. Please write to me often. Direct
to Fort Macon, care of Capt. Jesse Barnes. Your
affectionate son, till death,
WALTER.
FORT MACON, N. C., April 28, '61.
Dear Mother:
For the last day or two we have been living on the
victuals that the people sent down here. The first few
days we had bread, butter, etc., but as they have given
out we live on bread, fat meat and coffee. If Blake
does not tell you, I wish you would please send Walter
and me a cooked ham and some biscuits, with a few
of those small round cakes, for the cakes that are sent
down here for the company are usually taken care
of by the officers and are hardly seen by the privates.
Walter is upon his bunk enjoying himself finely and
sends his love to you. I am going to try to get a furlough
to go home before long, for I long to be home
with you all. * * * I forgot to tell you that we did
not have to drill or work either this Sunday like we
did the last. You spoke of sending a mattress down
to us, but you need not for we are getting along
very well. We are ordered to stay down here three
months without lief to go home in the meantime, so
Col. Tew says. Believe me as ever
Your loving son,
CAMP HILL, N. C., July 9, 1861.
Dear Mother:
It is different with us here to what it was in Fort
Macon and Newbern, as we are now the same as regulars.
We have to come under the general regulations
of war. I do not think that we will leave here for
some time yet, as the whole regiment has to be uniformed
with state dress. We have not received anything,
and have only drilled this morning. Capt. Hall,
of the Irish Company of Wilmington, in Tew's regiment,
had one of his men hung over a pole by the
thumbs, but Col. Tew had him taken down. In Tew's
regiment there are 200 men sick, and a great many have
died already, but in ours there are only two in the hospital.
Walter sends his love. When you write, direct
Camp Hill, Company F., Fourth Regiment, infantry.
Goodbye.
Your affectionate son,
RICHMOND, VA., July 22, 1861.
Dear Mother:
We are enjoying ourselves finely. I have not had
anything to eat since yesterday morning, except some
cake and apples. We slept on the ground last night,
and I felt sorter chilly this morning, but we will soon
get used to that. I must close now. Give my love
to all.
Goodbye.
Your affectionate son,
GEORGE.
RICHMOND, VA., July 22, 1861.
My Dear Mother:
There is not much to write, as we are about four
miles from the center of the city. We don't hear
any news, though we heard yesterday that they were
fighting at Manassas Gap all day. We heard none
of the particulars. Captain rather expects to leave
to-day, but I do not think we will. Col. Anderson
came along with us. We left half of the regiment
at Camp Hill (five companies). My opinion is that
we will stay here until the other five companies come,
and all of us leave together.
David Carter and little lawyer Marsh are both Captains
in our regiment. George got the bundle you
sent him yesterday. We are enjoying camp life now
to perfection. Heretofore we have had a plank floor,
but now we pitch our tents, spread our blankets on
the ground and sleep as sound as you please. I never
slept better in my life than I did last night. If it
stops raining this morning I expect to go up town
shopping, and if I have time I want to have myself
and George's likeness taken together and send it
home, as you may never see either of us again.
I can't tell you anything about Richmond yet, as
we have not seen any part of it but one street, that
was about four miles long, and led out of town to
our camp. We are much obliged for the bed quilts.
They do us a great deal of good. We do not trouble
ourselves to carry them, but roll them up in our tents.
We got blankets before we left our camps. Some of
them were the finest I ever saw. I was detailed to
give the blankets and knapsacks out, so I kept the best
out for all the boys in our tent. They are so fine
and nice I hate to spread them on the ground.
Fitzgerald, Henry Warren, Billy Barnes, Tom Stith,
George and myself compose the inhabitants of our
tent. We have a very respectable crowd. I like it
much better than being in a room with the whole
company. As we are we have just as nice and quiet
a time of it as if we were in a private room.
Give my love to sisters, and believe me, as ever, your
sincere and affectionate son,
WALTER.
P. S. I don't know where to tell you to direct your
letters in future, as it is uncertain how long we stay
here.
COMPANY F., FOURTH REGIMENT, N. C. STATE
TROOPS.
NEAR MANASSAS JUNCTION, VA., July 31, 1861.
Dear Mother:
we did not expect to stay here this long without having
a fight. I went over to the battle field last Sunday,
and there met a most horrible sight, for it had been
over a week after the fight, and the bodies of the men
had been blackened by the burning sun and the horses
had a most disagreeable smell.
On our going on the field the first object that met
our gaze was a grave in which fifteen North Carolinans
were buried. We next came to a Yankee who
had only a little dust thrown over him. One of his
hands was out, which looked very black, the skin
peeling off, and you could see the inscission in it. The
next which I noticed particularly had his face out and
his white teeth looked horrible. The worms were eating
the skin off his face. It made me shudder to think
that perhaps I may be buried that way.
There are wounded prisoners all through the country
in every house. I hope that peace will soon be
declared, that we may enjoy the happiness with which
we were once blest. I wish you all would write to
me for I long to hear from you.
I suppose you heard about Frank T. running
from the enemy; it is true, the officers told it. The
General gave him his choice to have a Court Martial
or be discharged through cowardice, and he took the
latter.
We have our little bantams with us yet, and we
intend that they shall crow in Washington City, which
is only thirty-three miles off, if we live. I must close.
Goodbye,
Your affectionate son,
MANASSAS JUNCTION, August 23, 1861.
My Dear Mother:
Ed Harris is now here with us, he came day before
yesterday. He will leave in the morning, and I shall
send this letter by him. He got here through the influence
of some members of Congress of his acquaintance
in Richmond.
Give my love to all. Tell them to write often and
let us hear all the news.
Good bye.
Your devoted son,
P. S. Please name my dog Nero and try to make
him of some account. What is sister's address?
Dear Mother:
I wish some of you would write every day, for I
do love to hear from home so much. I do not know
what else to say, I only thought I would write to let
you know that I was still in the land of the living.
Write soon, some of you. Tell Dr. Harrell that I
shall endeavor to write to him soon. If you have an
opportunity, I wish you would send some paper and
envelopes, as every letter we send costs about ten
cents, and that is too exorbitant a price. Give my love
to all. Goodbye.
Your loving son,
MANASSAS JUNCTION, October 11, 1861
Dear Mother:
I am thankful for the boots, which are a trifle too
large but I reckon by the time that I put on two or
three pairs of stockings, they will nearly fit me. We
were all very glad to see the captain and we were
also pleased to see the things he brought with him,
which added so much to our comfort. Times are all
very quiet about here. We hear firing on the Potomac
nearly every day, though I heard some of the
boys say that Mr. Christman was collecting goods to
bring to the soldiers. If such be the case I wish you
would send me an old quilt or something as somebody
has stolen my shawl and I think I shall need one this
winter, but you need not send anything unless some
one can bring it, for it will cost too much to get anything
here. We are all well and if we had been sick
our boxes would have cured us. Concerning what
Jeff Davis says, I don't think I shall take any notice
of it at all, for there are already too many healthy
young men skulking around home and I could not bear
the disgrace of leaving the army because I was not
eighteen years old, but shall stay in the service until
the war is over. I must close now, give my love to
all and tell them to write.
Goodbye.
Your loving son,
MANASSAS JUNCTION, VA., October 24, 1861.
Dear Mother:
You were speaking of your hogs being fat. You
ought to see these up here, they are so fat that they
can hardly get along. The beeves that we have here
are the fattest and prettiest I ever saw. They are
generally large young cows, nearly twice as large as
ours at home. I have often wished that you could
have such at home. We have got thick overcoats from
the government, with capes reaching below our elbows.
They are of great service to us in standing
guard. If we had a good dog and was allowed to
shoot, we could live on rabbits, for I never saw so
many in my life, the woods are full of them. If I
only had Leo here now, I could get along very well. I
don't want him to be an unruly dog, for he comes of
such good breed that I would not like to hear of his
being killed.
I should like to be at home in hog killing time, and
wish I could see Tasso now, for I know he is a fine
looking dog. I hope Walter's puppy will not turn out.
I should like to be at home with you on Christmas,
but the way affairs are going on now I do not think
there is any likelihood of it, as for winter quarters,
I do not expect that we will go into any at all, for the
enemy pride themselves on standing the cold weather
and I expect they will attack us in the dead of winter.
We learned from the prisoners that the enemy intended
to attack us in two or three days, but let them come
when they will. I will insure them a very warm reception.
Before this reaches you will have heard of L.
Barnes' death and also of Bowden's discharge from
the army on account of being a minor, etc. Lafayette's
death has cast a deep gloom over the company, for
he was a very much beloved member. I will be very
glad to get those blankets but I would wait and send
them by some one, as they might get lost by themselves.
All send their love to you.
Give my love to all. Goodbye.
Your loving son,
CAMP PICKINS, MANASSAS, VA., NOV. 2, 1861.
MR. CHAS. W. LEE.
Yours
of the 29th ult. was received to-day, contents
duly noted, and I hasten to reply. I must confess
to a feeling of surprise that you desire the discharge
of your son, Mr. G. B. Lee, from service, as I was of
the opinion that you had fully and determinedly given
your consent to his serving in the army of the C. S.
during the war. Yet, however much I should regret to
see George leave us, as he has been with us so long and
has been, though young, a strong, athletic and good
soldier, you have my free consent to have him discharged.
You will be the proper person to apply to
the Government through the War Dept., for the same,
where I doubt not, should you still desire him to leave,
you can, by presenting the facts, after a while obtain
his discharge. It is not in my power to do more than
give my consent, which you now have. George expressed
some surprise on receiving your letter,
and says he don't want to leave. I, of course, do not
deem it proper to give him any advice, but simply told
him to write you whatever he might think proper, as
of course you were the person to advise him, when
you could. He has just handed me a letter to enclose
to you with this. Whatever course you may pursue
I shall willingly acquiesce in. If he is still left in my
charge, I shall, as heretofore, advise and correct him
and use every effort in my power to secure his happiness
and welfare. Hoping to hear from you again
and that my answer may be satisfactory, I remain,
Yours most respectfully,
MANASSAS JUNCTION, VA., November 2, 1861.
Dear Father:
I received your letter this morning through Captain
Barnes and I never was more surprised in my life, to
hear that you had applied for my dismissal for,
although I should like very much to go home, I do not
like the idea of being discharged from the army on
account of my age, for in size and strength I consider
myself able to stand the campaign, and should I go
home, I do not think that it would be entirely right
for me to stay there when our coast is in such imminent
peril. I compare this war to that of the revolutionary,
when our ancestors fought for their liberty,
that whoever remained neutral were considered Tories,
and I think that when this war is over and peace is
declared, those who had no hand in it will be considered
in the same light as the Tories of old, and I have
too much pride in me to allow others to gain the
rights which I will possess, besides it would take two
or three months before a discharge could be obtained.
It took Mr. Bowden that long to get his son discharged.
Captain Barnes is going to write and he
will tell you all about it.
I am very well satisfied here. I am treated well,
and am permitted every indulgence which the army
regulations will permit. All the boys wish me to
stay. I am a minor in age, as you say, but I am a
man in size and everything else, and fully able to be
a soldier. Nothing would afford me greater
pleasure than to be of service to you, but
the confederacy also needs my services. But if you
still insist upon my coming home, you can write again.
I expect Bowden pictured to you the darkest side of
a soldier's life, but there is enough enjoyment blended
with it to make a soldier's life very pleasant.
I must close now, so goodbye,
Your loving son,
MANASSAS JUNCTION, VA., December 9, 1861.
Dear Mother:
I
received your letter some days since and was very
glad to hear from you and would have answered immediately
but Walter has gone to Richmond and I
thought I would wait until he came back. He went
with a detail of men to carry prisoners who were taken
by the N. C. Cavalry. He came back day before yesterday
and brought us several books to read. Among
the prisoners was a deserter from the Federal camp.
He was a Baron in Russia and being of an adventurous
disposition, he came over to participate in a battle or
two and accepted a Lieutenant's commission in the
Federal army, but finding, as he said, that there was
not a gentleman in the whole army, he deserted, took
a horse and came into our camp and has been sent to
Richmond for trial. Formerly he had a commission
in the Russian army, which he showed to the people.
We are expecting a battle daily. Yesterday we were
presented with a battle flag from General Beauregard,
consisting of white cloth crossed with blue. This
is for us to fight under and also every other regiment
has one. The enemy knows our national flag and had
already tried to deceive us by hoisting it at their head.
Now I guess we will deceive them next time.
Our company has been detached from the regiment
for the purpose of taking charge of two batteries which
another company has left. We are now relieved of a
great deal of duty, for we only have to guard the
batteries which take six men a day and that brings
us on about once a week, and we drill occasionally.
With that exception we have nothing to do, but if
the regiment leaves to go into a fight our company
goes also, and if the battle rages at this point we will
give them a few grapes to eat and also a few shells
to hide themselves in and then we will play ball with
them for a while.
Walter is still at his old, or rather, new post, and
has a great deal to do as the chief clerk is very sick.
I hope we shall get a chance to come and see you
before the winter is gone, but I have given up the
idea of seeing you this Christmas, altogether, but after
the fight I reckon we can get a chance to go home.
Give my love to all and tell them to write soon.
Goodbye. I remain as ever,
Your loving son,
MANASSAS JUNCTION, VA., January 16, 1862.
Dear Sister:
I received your letter some days since and was very
much rejoiced to hear from you, but I thought that
you were a very long time in answering my last. It
came at last and eagerly did I devour the contents and
with what pleasure I lingered on every sentence, no
tongue can tell. The description you gave of your
tableaux interested me very much, and I regret
very much, not being able to have been there,
as all such scenes always interest me so much,
besides the desire of seeing you act. I think,
myself, that you should have had your face painted,
and that would have set off the piece a great deal. It
is a pretty hard piece. Didn't you feel pretty scared?
What does Dick act? Who was that sweetheart of
yours that has been home four times? I should like
to know him.
We have a hard time of it here now. The ground
is covered with snow and then a sleet over that, and
it is nearly as cold as the frozen regions, the winds
come directly from mountains and blow around us
like a regular hurricane. But we have now moved
into our winter quarters, huge log hut, and we keep
very comfortable, but it is nothing like home, home
with its sweet recollections. As I sit and write I cannot
refrain from gliding back into the past and enjoying
the blessed memories of yore. But enough of
indulging the imagination, for this is a sad reality and
it will not do for my imagination to assume too large
a sway. Tell Miss Myra that when I visit Washington
I will call on her parents. I expect to go there
soon, either as a visitor or captive, but I hope as the
former. We will have a tableau before long, I expect,
but I expect the scene will be played in a larger place
than a hall. It will encompass several miles and will
take several hours to perform it, but when it does come
off it will end in a sad havoc. I am very thankful to you
for those socks you knit for me, and when I wear them I
shall think of you. All around me are asleep and the huge
logs have sunk into large livid coals ever and anon
emitting large brilliant sparks, that cast a ghastly hue
around the whole room, and I now think it time to close,
so goodbye.
Your loving brother,
MANASSAS JUNCTION, February 22, 1862.
Dear Mother:
I did
not intend to write before the Captain came back,
but as one of our men is going home on a sick furlough I
though I would write a few lines to let you know how we
are. I expect the Captain is at Richmond at the
Inauguration of the President (Jeff Davis), if so he will be
here by tomorrow night, and we are all anxiously waiting
for his return, each one looking for a letter and a box of
good things.
The weather is still very bad and there is an incessant
rain since morning, the roads are so sloppy and rough that
the wagons can hardly get along over them and very
frequently we have our wood to carry on our shoulders to
keep our fires burning, but nevertheless we are getting
along nicely and not much incommoded from the
inclemency of the weather.
To-day you will remember is my birthday, seventeen
years old. In size I have been a man for sometime, and
now I am nearly one in age. I do not feel as boyish as I
did when I left home, for here we have
to act the man whether we are or not, and it has been
quite natural for me to do so. In the service is a splendid
place to study human nature, you can very early find out
what a man is. This war will be a benefit to me and an
injury to others. Some seem to lose all pride for self, and
like a brute are governed entirely by their animal
passions. Such persons may be found kneeling at the
shrine of Bacchus, to such persons it is decidedly
injurious. As for myself, I think it will be very beneficial,
for I learn to take care of myself, think and act for
myself. I now see how much education is needed, and I
regret exceedingly not having applied myself more
closely when I had the opportunity. If this war closes
within the next year I intend to go to school again, and at
the shrine of Minerva seek that which I have never
obtained.
One Company of the North Carolina Cavalry were
taken prisoners the other day. I do not know which
company. Was never in better health. Give love to all.
Your loving son,
You must excuse such a disconnected letter for my
mind is very much confused. Love to all, Miss Mollie and
everybody.
MANASSAS JUNCTION, VA., March 5, 1862.
Dear Mother:
As
I have nothing to do to-day, I thought I would let
you all know how we are getting along. The weather is
still very bad, ground muddy and miry
as it can be. We all have had orders to have our
heavy baggage ready to send off at a moment's notice,
and also to be ready for the field. The enemy is continually
marching upon us, and I expect that we will
be in a fight soon, but the enemy cannot do so much
damage for they cannot bring their artillery along
with them. I was vaccinated last week and my arm
is now very sore. I am excused from duty on account
of it. I wish you would please get a pair of bootlegs
and have them footed for me, a thick double soled
pair, that will stand anything, and well put up so that
there will be no ripping, and send them by Pat Simms.
Ask him to take them along with him or Virgil, and
also send what they cost, for I don't reckon that you
have the ready cash, and will send the money. Let
the boots be No. 8, made so that they will fit him, for
I guess our feet are pretty near the same size. If you
cannot get a pair made, get a pair out of the store,
for I am just almost out and there is none about here.
Tell my
sisters I think they could answer my letters.
I must close now. Give my love to all.
Your loving son,
Don't get the boots if they cost exceeding $10.00.
March 14, 1862.
Dear Mother:
We are
all well as can be expected from the situation
that we are now in. We have retreated from Manassas
on account of not being able to hold our position.
We are now 25 miles from Manassas, across
the Rappahannock, and camped upon a high hill that
commands a splendid view of that part of the river,
which the enemy is compelled to cross.
We left
Manassas on Sunday night and traveled
until about 1 o'clock. When we camped for the night,
everything that we could not carry on our backs was
burned up, and I can tell you that you cannot imagine
how much we suffered on the march, which consisted
of three days' traveling, loaded down with our baggage
and equipment, sleeping on the hard, cold ground,
feet sore, half fed on hard dry crackers and meat.
Our lot was not to be envied, and it is amazing how
we bore up under the circumstances. We have been
at this place for a day or two, for what purpose I know
not, unless it be for us to recruit up for another march.
We have no tents here to sleep in, but we have made
ourselves shelters out of cedar bushes. We all seem
to flourish, nevertheless.
The
night we left Manassas it was burnt down and
I expect there was a million of goods consumed on
that night, all the soldiers' clothes they could not carry
with them and everything that could have been expected
to be at such a place where everything was sent
to this division of the army, all was burnt.
I do
not know where to tell you to send your letters,
for I do not know how long we will stay here, so I
reckon you had better not write at all. When I get
to a place where it is likely we will stay, I will write
again at a better opportunity.
Give my love to all. Goodbye.
Your loving son,
HDQTS. SPECIAL BRIGADE, NEAR RAPIDAN
STATION, VA., March 23rd, 1862.
My Dear Mother:
We
received your letter last night dated the 6th of
March. 'Tis the first time any of us have heard from
home within the last two weeks. We have had considerable
excitement since you last heard from us. To-day,
two weeks ago, we evacuated Manassas and have
been moving to the rear ever since. We are now on
the South side of the Rapidan River, where I think
we will make a stand. But nothing is known for certain,
I don't believe the Generals themselves know.
The night we left Manassas (about sunset) we
marched ten miles that night, stopped about two o'clock
and slept on the ground with the sky for a covering.
We haven't had a tent in two weeks. We are playing
the soldier now in good earnest. The last three days
we marched it rained every night just as soon as
we would stop for the night. After walking all day,
carrying your ALL on your back, then having to start
a fire out doors without wood (we have no light wood)
and cook your next day's ration, is pretty hard soldiering,
I can assure you. Though the boys all seem to
be cheerful. We have very little sickness and for the
last ten days (a circumstance not known before since
we have been in Virginia) we haven't had a man to
die in the Regiment. Pat Simms and his recruits have
not yet arrived, they were stopped at Gordonsville
some time ago, while we were making our retreat from
Manassas. We expect them daily.
The Yankees have been some distance this side of
Manassas. Our troupes had a little skirmish with them
a day or two after we left, some of the Cavalry came
in sight of our pickets. They fired on them and they
disappeared, 'tis reported that they have gone back
to Centerville, perfectly non-plussed at our movement.
The country we are now occupying is the prettiest and
the most beautiful scenery you ever saw. We can see
the mountains in the distance covered with snow, and
when the sun shines it is sublime. We are on what is
called the "Clark Mountain." There is a mountain
or rather hill, on a mountain, about a quarter of a
mile off that commands a view of the country for
miles around, some of the men are up there all the
time. I intend to send this letter to Richmond to be
mailed. I do not know that there is any communication
between here and Richmond. We only got the old
mail that was stopped at Gordonville
. MacWilliams,
one of our company, is going to Richmond tomorrow
on business. I will get him to mail it for me.
I do not see a word about this move in the papers,
so I must think the Government is withholding it
from them, to prevent the Yankees from obtaining
information. Johnnie Dunham is still A. A. Genl.
of the Brigade and I am writing for him, though I do
not have one third to do that I did at Manassas, as
that was a regular military post. We had inspection
to-day, to see how the guns, etc., were getting on after
the hard usage and bad weather they have gone
through lately.
Write soon. We may get all of your letters, though
you might not get all of ours, unless mailed beyond
Gordonsville. Give my love to all the family, Aunt
and Claudia, etc. etc. I remain,
Your sincere and devoted son,
March 23rd, 1862.
Dear Mother:
As Walter did not mention me in his letter, I thought
I would let you know that I am well. Walter has
told you nearly everything that transpired on our
tramp, so I have not anything to tell except the burning
of the property at Manassas the same day that
we left. We had been told to go to the Junction and
get what things out of our boxes as we could carry
on our backs, for the boxes would not be carried on
the train. After we left, the town was set on fire, and
I expect that a million dollars' worth of property was
consumed. We had to leave our little Bantam chickens,
as we had no way to carry them. The first night
of our march, I never suffered so much from fatigue
in my life. When we did halt we fell on the ground
and slept soundly until next morning. I do not expect
you can hardly read this, as it is done by a log fire
on my cartridge box. Must close. Good bye.
Your loving son,
YORKTOWN, VA., April 13, 1862.
Dear Mother:
I commenced a letter to you the other day but was
unable to finish it, being called off to participate in a
slight skirmish with the Yankees. We arrived at this
place last Thursday evening and having sent out our
portion of the picket, of which I was one, we ate our
hard bread and meat and laid on the hard, cold ground
for the night, with the blankets we brought on our
backs for a covering. On Friday we were ordered out,
for the Yankees were about to attack us, our skirmishers
went out towards the enemy for the purpose
of drawing them within range of our batteries, the
enemy came in sight with a long line of artillery and
drew up in battle array about half a mile from our
batteries, by that time there was some right hard fighting
on the part of the skirmishers. About two o'clock
p.m., our batteries opened upon them and they were
returned with the greatest alacrity; bombs, shells and
balls flew about promiscuously, but happily they did
no damage on our side, nearly all of them going over
our heads. We threw some shells that seemed to do
damage with the Yankees, the way they scattered when
the shell fell among them. One shell which came over
us bursted and fell all around, one piece fell right between
two of our boys, but no injury done. The
firing continued until dark, in the time the skirmishers
set fire to a large dwelling house, near the enemy's
infantry and under the cover of the smoke they broke
in on them and routed them, but they had soon to retreat
for the Yanks turned their batteries upon them,
after which hostilities ceased for the night. We lay
in the entrenchments all night. Next morning, Saturday,
the enemy was not to be seen. This morning
we are expecting an attack again, and have been
ordered into the entrenchments, but they have not made
an attack yet.
Gen. Magruder says that if they do not attack us
to-day, that he will them to-morrow. We are exactly
on the battle ground of Washington and Cornwallis,
but all that remains to be seen are the old breastworks
of the British, which lie immediately behind ours.
The Yankees hold the same position that Washington
did. There is also the place where Cornwallis surrendered
his sword to Washington. Yorktown is the
oldest place I ever saw. I do not believe that there
is a single house that has been built in fifty years. As
I was walking through the town, I chanced to come
upon an old grave yard, that had gone into entire ruin.
There could be seen the tombstone of the Revolutionary
soldier, citizen and foreigner. The oldest one was
dated 1727, that was the tombstone of an old lady
sixty years old, and another of a president of his
majesty's council in Virginia. He died in 1753, and
all the rest of nearly the same date. It was a perfect
pleasure to me to look over the old place, such a contrast
to the clay hills of Manassas. I feel nearer
home, but still I am a long ways off. I am wanted
now, as they are continually detailing men for something
or other. I will send the letter I wrote the other
day. When the battle closes I will write again.
Give my love to all.
Your loving son,
P. S. I have not heard from Walter yet, except
from a man that came from the hospital, he says that
his hand is nearly well.
RICHMOND, VA., June 15, 1862.
Dear Mother:
I
hope you are not uneasy about me because I have
not written before. I knew if I wrote it would take
a week for you to get it, so I put it off till I could send
it by Mr. Albert Farmer, who will go tomorrow. The
Surgeon of the hospital has given me a passport to
stay wherever I please in the city and report to him
every week. I believe I should go crazy if I had to
stay out in the hospital where everything is so dull and
disheartening. In fact I don't believe I am the same
being I was two weeks ago, at least I don't think as
I used to and things don't seem as they did. I don't
believe I will ever get over the death of George. The
more I think of him the more it affects me, and unless
I am in some battle and excitement I am eternally
thinking of the last moments of his life. How he
must have suffered, if he was conscious of it. I shall
never forget it. I think a long letter from some of
you would make me feel so much better. I shall send
by Mr. Farmer my watch, sleeve buttons, also the shirt
I wore off. Everything I ought to have left at home
I brought away and a great many things I ought to
have brought I left behind. I only brought one flannel
shirt, and by the way I'll send this one back and try
this summer without them, as they are very heavy for
summer wear. The war news you read every day in
the papers, but Capt. Billy Brown came down from
Gordonville
with some of Jackson's prisoners. He
says he was in Lynchburg. Twenty-two hundred were
sent in and that thirteen hundred were on the way.
The Yankees that are near Richmond, we don't hear
anything of, everything is quiet. Please some of you
write me soon.
Your loving son,
HEAD QUARTERS, ANDERSON BRIGADE,
RIPLEY DIVISION, August 11, 1862.
My Dear Mother:
I am
sorry I have kept you waiting so long before
writing to you, but I thought I would wait until I could
have a talk with General Anderson to find out what I
was to do before writing. I sent word by John Hines,
also Dr. Barham, that I was well and for them to tell
you all the news. When I arrived at the Camp of our
Regiment it was gone to Malvern Hill to have a fight
with the Yankees. They did not return in a day or
two. General Anderson went to Richmond immediately
on business, so I did not have an opportunity of
speaking with him until this morning. He was perfectly
willing for me to come back into the office, so
I commenced duty this morning. We have a very
pleasant place for our quarters, a large two story house
with plenty of shade, in an open field, where we have
the breezes from every direction.
I don't know yet, but I may come up here to mess
and sleep, though I thought I would wait a while. I
haven't slept in a tent since I've been in camp, but
once. That was last night. It rained yesterday morning,
and the ground was wet, and the air rather cold,
so I thought I would go in the tent, as it was
convenient. I shall go in bathing tonight to cool off, and
sleep out doors. We have an excellent place for that
purpose, that is bathing. It's been awfully hot here
today. I believe it is warmer here than at home.
General G. W. Smith was to-day assigned to the
command of our Division. I understand he is an excellent
officer. Some of our regiments in this brigade
have received their conscripts. They are a very good
looking set of men seen drilling in a field, as they
were this morning. It looks right funny to see men
so green, but I suppose all of us were so at first, and
we ought not to make fun of them. Dossey's Regiment
is only about half mile from here. He has been
to see me twice since I have been here. I went over to
see him last Saturday. He was very well. I went up
to see Dunham when I passed through Richmond, but
he had gone home the week before, so I was disappointed.
Give my best respects to all friends, and my
love to all the family, some of you write often and tell
me everything that happens about town.
Goodbye, as ever,
Your loving son,
P. S. I've got to endorse this letter for the want
of stamps. I haven't written any in so long a time
that my hand is as stiff as if I had been mauling rails,
you can readily see the difference now and some time
ago. I hope it will soon get better.
I forgot to tell you that our whole brigade was
throwing up breastworks every day, about two miles
from here, that is the only duty they do now, no guard
duty.
HEAD QUARTERS, ANDERSON BRIGADE,
My Dear Mother:
As Mr.
Parker will leave in the morning for home,
I thought I would avail myself of the opportunity to
let you hear from me. There is nothing new to write
in the way of "War News." You hear everything that
we do, and that's in the papers. Everything on our
lines is quiet. We were put under marching orders
a day or two ago, with the expectation of making
another march to "Malvern Hill," but the Yankees
left and it saved us the trouble of running them away.
Eight hundred of the Brigade are still working on
the breastworks, some two miles below here. I am
in hopes the Yankees will never get near enough to
Richmond for us to have to fight behind them. The
other regiment in the Brigade has received their conscripts,
ours is the smallest one and we haven't received
a single one, and I hope we won't.
General Anderson was making a calculation this
morning and he says that we have lost 226 men, killed
and died from their wounds, since the day before we
went into the fight at "Seven Pines." The Regiment
is now under command of Pat Simms. All of our
company are in very good health. I don't believe that
we have a single man on the sick list, and I believe it
is owing in a great degree to the good water we get.
It is the best we have had since we've been in Virginia.
I am getting along very well indeed, enjoying
excellent health, and have a very pleasant time.
We have very little writing to do, not half as much
as we had at Manassas. General Anderson has no
Adj. General yet. I would not be surprised if he
was not waiting for Dunham to get well. I believe
he likes Dunham better as an officer than any man in
the Brigade. He has one of his brothers (Walker)
as one of his Aides. I wish you would please look
in my trunk and send me that brown veil that you
will find. I want it to put over my face when I take
a nap in the morning, to keep off the flies. You
never saw any flies yet, you can measure them by the
bushel here. The mosquitoes are terrible here, too. I
shall put it over my face when I sleep out of doors,
and that's every night that it don't rain. I've just
learned from Mr. Parker that little Leon was dead.
Poor little fellow, I never thought that when I left
home it would be the last time I should see him.
Give my love
to all the family, my respects to all
my friends. Write soon, tell me all the news.
Your affectionate son,
P. S. Please send the veil by the first one coming
to our camp. Give my respects to all the boys that
you see.
HEAD QUARTERS, ANDERSON BRIGADE,
My Dear Mother:
This
is the first opportunity that I have had to
write to you since we left our camp near Richmond.
Mr. Christman left us, or rather parted from us, in
Richmond as we passed through on our march. Blake
and myself did not get the barrel that was sent by Mr.
Christman, though we had just as much fruit and
Irish potatoes (that the company received) as we
could eat. We left the very next morning after the
night Mr. Christman arrived. The first day we
marched about 14 miles and camped in an open field,
the next day we march all day until dark. We
stopped, ate our supper, spread our blankets and was
just going to sleep, nearly every man exhausted, when
the drum sounded and the order given for every man
to be under arms. In ten minutes the brigade marched
off and we continued the march until nearly day. The
next morning, that is those that kept up, (the road for
ten miles was strewn with men who had fallen out of
ranks from exhaustion). We are now encamped at
the place we arrived at that night. We have been here
three days and it is impossible to tell when we will
leave. This is a very important position for the Aides
of General Jackson. The Yankees are about twelve
miles from us and it was supposed that they would
make an attack at this point, is the reason we were in
such a hurry to get here that night. We would have
made a very poor stand if they had. I don't suppose
we had more than one third of the men when we
arrived here that night, when we came through Richmond.
I had a very good opportunity of judging as
our company was detailed that day as a war guard
of the Brigade, to prevent straggling, and I marched
behind with them for company. It's no use trying to
make a broken down man get up and march. We
didn't know but what the Yankees were near or advancing
on us, but the men would lie right down side of
the road and swear they could not go one foot farther,
Yankees or no Yankees. They are still coming
in though it has been three days ago.
You may say what you please about marching
twenty or thirty miles a day in warm weather, but I
don't believe in it. The last day we marched twenty-six
miles, we started at daylight and didn't stop until
nearly day break the next morning, with about one
third of the men, when we got to the end of our route,
we had when we started and they were good for nothing,
with their feet all blistered and sore. Mine have
just got so I can walk without limping. You may
direct your next letter to Richmond as heretofore, putting
on the back "Smith's Division," and I reckon it
will be forwarded. We have a very pleasant place to
camp. I wouldn't care if we were to stay here for a
month. General Anderson and his Staff are in tents
at present, no house being near. Col. Grimes arrived
this morning. The men are all very glad to see him
return. They all love him since the fights that he has
led them in. Give my love to all the family. Tell
sister to write. I have writen, I believe, three letters
home and haven't received but one.
Your affectionate son,
HEAD QUARTERS, ANDERSON'S BRIGADE,
My Dear Mother:
I guess you are all very anxious about me, that is to
know my whereabouts. Since I last wrote you I have been
through the most hardships that I ever have before. Today
makes eleven successive days that we have been on the
march, without resting a day since we left Anderson's
station, the place from which I last wrote you. We are
now on the side south of the Potomac, opposite a place
called Berlin, where there is some Yankees, don't know
how many. We have our brigade and a tolerable good
force of Artillery at this point. What we intend to do or
where we are going, it's impossible to say. The men are all
very anxious to drop over into Maryland and I don't know
but what that will be our next move. We have just stopped
for the night, after a march of about twenty miles. I'm in a
hurry to finish before dark, as we have no candles or
lightwood. Mr. Ed Marsh will leave for North Carolina in
the morning, he will carry our mail. We haven't had a
chance to send off our mail before, since we waded the
Rapidan River. Day before yesterday we marched over
the battle ground that Jackson had his last fight on. All of
our men had been buried, but the Yankees lay just as they
were killed. I never saw such a scene before. I saw just
from the road, as I did not go out of my way to see any
more. It must have been nearly a thousand. Our wagon
actually ran over the dead bodies in the
road before they would throw them out, or go around
them. The trees were literally shot all to pieces. The
wounded Yankees were all over the woods, in squads of
a dozen or more, under some shady tree without any
quard
of any kind to guard them. I recollect one squad
on
the side of the road with their bush shelter in ten steps of
a dead Yankee, that had not been buried and was horribly
mangled. I don't suppose the dead Yankees of that fight
will ever be buried. It will be an awful job to those who do
it, if it is ever done. There is some five or six of our
company that have not come up yet. Blake is among the
number. They are not sick, merely broken down. The
Second N. C. Regiment haven't more than half of the
men with them now, that they had when they left
Richmond. It has been an awfully hard march. Two men
died in one day from sun stroke. The weather is not so
warm now as some days ago. It takes two or three
blankets to keep us warm at night, it is so cool. The days
are very warm. I hope to gracious that we will stay here
tomorrow and rest a while, it's a beautiful place on the
side of the Blue Ridge. The sun will not strike the ground
where our headquarters are during the whole day. I don't
know where to tell you to direct your next letter.
Richmond, though, I reckon. Give my love to all the
family. Goodbye. I'll now cook my supper. I'll have an
excellent one tonight, chicken, and sugar and coffee and
biscuit.
Yours, etc.,
I bought sugar at 12 1/2c per pound and coffee at 25c
pound this morning in a store on our way.
HEAD QUARTER'S ANDERSON'S BRIGADE,
My Dear Mother:
It
has been some time since I last wrote you. I
hope you have not been uneasy about me, for I have
never been in better health in my life. During the
past two months we have been on the march almost
constantly, sometimes resting one or two days, but
never longer.
On Sunday, the 14th of September, we left our camp
at 4 o'clock in the morning and marched some six
miles to the top of the Blue Ridge and drew up in
line of battle. We were not long waiting for the
Yankees, they came in very large columns and we
fought until after dark. That night our troops fell
back through Boonsboro some few miles and drew up
in line of battle little after sunrise, very little fighting
was done on that day, only some cannonading. We
continued in our position until the 17th inst., when
we had almost a general engagement. The line of
battle of our Brigade was some two hundred yards in
front of a house in which General D. H. Hill and
General Anderson had their Head Quarters. The
fight commenced in the morning before I awoke (long
before sunrise), soon after light the wounded from the
Artillery commenced coming in, pretty soon the
wounded infantry came in by the dozens. There
wasn't a surgeon on the battle field from our Brigade,
but Gus Stith. He stayed there to the last. He, his
two assistants and myself dressed the wounds until
the Yankees got in 30 yards of the house. General
Anderson was anxious to get off before the Yankees
got nearer. He did not want to be taken prisoner by
them. He would prefer being shot through the head,
so Capt. Gales, his A. A. General, myself and two
other men of the Ambulance Corps carried him
through a field that looked like it was impossible for
man to walk ten steps without being killed, though we
got out safe. A piece of shell struck me on the knee,
which occasioned some little inconvenience for a few
days, but nothing else. The house in which we were
was the hottest part of the battle field, we were exposed
to a cross fire of two Yankee Batteries and from the
front by musket balls. The house, kitchen, trees and
everything else was torn and shot all to pieces. We
had a large pot full of chicken on the stove, cooking
for dinner, when a bomb took off one-half of the
kitchen and turned the stove bottom upwards. That
stopped the splendid dinner we had in preparation.
You must get Gus Stith to tell you all about our campaign,
adventures, etc. He can do it better than I
can write it. Every day's march through Maryland
I could write a long letter, but when it is all past and
forgotten I can't think of one thing that I wished to
write. If I ever live to get home I can think of one
thing at a time, and tell you a great many little incidents
of interest. The Northern part of Virginia and
some parts of Maryland is the most beautiful country
that I ever saw. I don't know how it is in the winter,
but from the looks of the soil, it's as muddy as Manassas,
I reckon. We (our company) lost several in
the two battles, none killed, but some badly wounded,
others taken prisoners or have not come up yet, may
be wounded and left on the battlefield and had to be
left in the hands of the Yankees when we fell back
this side of the Potomac. We are now encamped on
the Turnpike from Martinsburg to Winchester, some
ten miles from the latter place.
I don't know where to tell you to direct your next
letter, Richmond, though, I reckon. Our mail for this
Brigade is at Winchester, we will get that to-day. I
hope to get some letters from home when it comes. I
must close this so as to have it ready when Gus Stith
starts, he can't tell when, so I must have it ready. I
may get something in the mail before this gets off.
Your loving son,
NEAR BUNKER HILL, VA., October 1st, 1862.
Dear Mother:
I have
just received a letter from you, dated Sept.
2nd. It is the first word I have heard from home since
I left Richmond (I forgot I did receive one letter down
at Anderson's station, 30 miles from Richmond). It
appears that you have not received the letter I wrote
from the Potomac, opposite Berlin, though you must
have gotten it before now. I heard that Pat Simms
will be in Wilson for a short time as detail for our
winter clothing. He can tell you all about that trip.
It has been so long that I have forgotten almost all
about it. I shall send this by Dr. Stith, as he starts in
the morning. You can get him to tell you a good deal
of news if you choose. Dr. Stith and Pat Wooten
came up this morning. I haven't been up to see them
yet. I must sleep and stay at head quarters nearly all
the time, as it is more convenient and I get plenty of
something to eat, and often something extra. If Pat
Simms goes home, as I think he will, you may send
me my two flannel shirts and my drawers, also two
pair of woolen socks. I reckon I will have to make
out with shoes this winter, though if you can have
me a good pair of winter sewed boots made (large 6s)
you may send them also, and the price. If I can't
wear them myself I can sell them for any price I may
choose to ask. See if Pat is willing to bring them
first and if he is certain that he can get them here without
being lost. Write often by some of the boys that
are coming.
Your affectionate son,
HEAD QUARTERS, ANDERSON'S BRIGADE,
My Dear Mother:
As
I have another good opportunity of sending a
letter the other side of Richmond to be mailed, I
thought I would avail myself of it. One of our surgeons
will leave in the morning for North Carolina, so
that I can have my letter mailed very near home, it
will stand less chance of being lost. I have neglected
to write to you longer than I wished, waiting for an
opportunity of sending it by some one. This is the
first chance that has occurred. The letters that are
mailed here for North Carolina, not one half of them
ever get there, so I made up my mind not to write except
when I knew you would receive it. We have
been through a good many hardships since I last wrote
to you, tho' we haven't had any fighting, that is, our
Brigade has not, tho' we have lain in line of battle
several days and nights at the time, waiting for the
advance of the enemy. The strongest position I think
our Division ever occupied was on the mountains behind
rock fences, near Paris. We stayed there one
day and night, but the Yankees didn't come. We left
there and marched to Fort Royal, there we laid in line
of battle two days and one night. Little after dark
the second day we got orders to cross the Shenandoah
River and take up camp some mile or two off for the
night. The men were cold and hungry and somewhat
expecting the Yankees that night, when the word
was given they started at a double quick for the river,
some half mile off, and in they went, half waist
deep, the water was freezing cold and the wind almost
cutting you in two. I guess you know something about
the mountain winds in the winter. For the next few
days we had some rest, but we don't lie idle in camp
long at a time. Night before last we marched seven
miles, tore up and burned railroads all night, and
marched back ten miles the next day. To-day is a
beautiful sunshiny one, and I hope we will remain
quiet for the men's sake. We have had one snow some
two or three inches deep, though it melted very soon,
there are thousands of barefooted men in Virginia and
I do hope we will have pleasant weather until they
can get shoes. We have a good many in our Brigade
stark barefooted, and have not had a shoe on since
we left Richmond some months ago. John Burton,
poor fellow, was paroled and came up with us some
week or two back, looking dreadfully. He has gone
home on a furlough. He was barefooted and almost
clothesless. My feet can just be said to be off the ground
and that is all. They are no protection from wet
weather. I hope Pat Simms will come soon and have
my boots with him. I am glad you sent me a pair
of pants, as these are entirely worn out. I have
been patching them up for some time. There is two
big patches on the knees as large as your two hands,
put on with blue cloth, you recollect the pants are
brown. I never thought to mention any clothes in
my letter. I hope you thought of them. I need a
pair. I also need an overcoat, but I will have to wait
until the Regiment get their clothes before I can get
one. I hope before one month more passes we will
be on the railroad somewhere, so I can get something
good to eat once more. I think I will know how to
appreciate something good after living on beef and
bread for so long. I want some oysters and sweet
potatoes and other winter delicacies so much. I hope,
if we ever do get where I can change my diet, I will
be able to stop the diarrhoea which has been reducing
me for some time. I've fallen off considerable since
we left Richmond. With that exception I have nothing
to complain of. In a great many respects I fare
a great deal better than the officers of the regiment
do. I have better fare and not half the duty to do.
The other night, when all the men were at work on
the railroad, I was with our wagon and had as comfortable
a night's sleep as I ever do. I very often get
a chance to ride on the march, too, for the last several
marches I have ridden Col. Grimes' extra horse.
Since we left Richmond we have crossed twenty
streams waist deep and very often in the night, and
I have never waded one yet. I always get a ride
across, some way or another.
We will
have a general change at Headquarters in
a few days. General Ramseur is assigned to this
Brigade and I expect he will bring his own Staff with
him. I'll stand as good a chance of remaining as any
of them and I think I will be very apt to remain, at
least I shall try to do so. I hope he will be as clever
as the other commanders have been. I like Col.
Grimes very much and I think he is more entitled to
the promotion of Brigadier than Ramseur, who was
only a Captain of Artillery, though they say he is a
West Pointer, and a very good officer. I hope he will
prove himself to be as good as General Anderson was,
though that is hardly possible. I don't think he had
his equal in the Confederate Army. I hope Dr. Harrell
will pass his examination and get in the army as
surgeon. It is the easiest and most comfortable position
there is in the Army.
Tell Mr.
Rhodes if I was in his place I would try
and get in a new company, one that has not been in
long. Dr. Bullock's Company would suit him better
than any other. He thinks that we've got a good one
and a picket company, but it is not what it was, and he
would be out of place all the time if he would try to
keep up with men who had been playing the old soldier
for nearly two years. I would rather be dead than
in the place of some of the Conscripts sent to our
Regiment, they look like they wanted to die, they felt
so bad. Please let me know in your next whether
you ever received my watch or not. I've asked in
every letter and you've never told me yet. Write soon
to your
Affectionate son,
Give my love to all the family, tell some of them to
write. I haven't sent a letter home yet with a stamp
on it, it is because we can't possibly get them and I
know it makes no difference with you.
HEADQUARTERS FOURTH BRIGADE.
My Dear Mother:
I
received your letter yesterday, and also one from
brother by Mr. Gorman. I was very glad to hear
from you, as I had not received any news from home
in some time. He handed me the gloves also, which
you sent by him. Nothing ever came in better time
in the world. I had been trying my best to get a pair
of some kind ever since cold weather set in, but could
not, gloves such as you sent me sell for $3.00 in this
country, and everything else in proportion. The last
letter that I wrote home, sent to Richmond by Capt.
John Grimes to be mailed, was from our Camp near
Strasburg, Va. We left there on Friday, the 21st,
and arrived here on Tuesday evening, the 25th, making
a march of over one hundred miles in four days.
It is the best marching that we have ever done, it's
because we are going towards home, I reckon, that
the men did so well. There are hundreds of them
barefooted and ice on the ground all day. General
Hill issued an order yesterday requiring all the barefooted
men to make sandals of raw hides with the
hair on the inside. It answers the purpose very well.
It's a wonder the idea had not been thought of sooner,
before the men suffered so much. Gorman says that
Pat Simms will be here to-day with the things for the
Regiment. I hope he will be, for I need my boots very
badly, also my pants. I shall draw a pair of pants
from the Regimental clothing, also a pair of shoes.
I bought me a Yankee overcoat, a very comfortable
one, for $12.50, a better coat than our men draw at
more money. We are now on our way to Hanover
Junction, some fifty miles off. We have stopped here
to transport our sick on the cars ahead of us, though
we have been here going on two days, a longer time
than would be required for that purpose. We have no
idea how long we will stay here. From what you write
about your exchanging farms, I think you made a
very good bargain. I wish I could be with you to
help you fix it up. The boys are all well as could be
expected. Virgil Stevens looks thin from diarrhoea.
Tom Stith looks as fat as a pig. Buck Hansill is the
same old "Buck," though Marshbourns, that is Sam, is
well and tough, Jim I don't recollect having seen for
some time. I really don't know whether he is in the
company or not. I did write to you and intended to
send it by Ed Gordon, but he left just before I carried
my letters up to the Company to give him. The
next time any one leaves Wilson for the Company,
please send me some kind of tonic bitters. I need
something of the kind.
Give my
love to all, and believe me as ever,
Your affectionate son,
HEAD QUARTERS FOURTH BRIGADE,
My Dear Mother:
bring the things, why doesn't he let some one else
come with them. The men have been kept out of their
clothing long enough. May Warren, I understand, is
willing to bring them. If you should receive this before
any of them leaves, please send my watch and
chain by him, I need the use of it very much and I
don't think there is any danger of my losing it or being
killed this winter or fall, campaign is about over. If
both of them have left, please send it by the first
reliable person coming to our company. Please have
a key fitted to it and send that also, also a piece of
buckskin in my trunk. Wrap them all up together
and enjoin the one that brings it to be very careful
with it, and not to lose it. I have not time to write
much more, as Major Miller, who is going to take my
letter to Richmond to be mailed, is in a hurry to go
to the depot, for fear of being left. I received the
things which you sent by Buck Hansill, also the gloves
you sent by John Gorman, all I need now are the things
which you are going to send by Pat Simms. Give my
love to all the family and believe me, as ever, your
Affectionate son,
P. S. Write often and tell me all the news about
home. Wrap my watch up very securely and direct
it to me. Don't forget to send me a key for it, as I
have none.
WILLIAMSPORT, MD., July 8, 1863.
My Dear Mother:
The
Fourth of July we got in eight miles of the battlefield,
all that day the citizens tried their best to prevent
our going any farther. Told us we were certainly
gone chickens if we went any farther, that the Yankees
were on picket some little distance off in large
force. We didn't put any confidence in their chat but
kept on. The last day of the three days' big fight, we
got within a few miles of the battlefield, when we met
General Imboden's Cavalry, the advance guard of our
whole wagon train, who turned us back by orders from
General Lee, ordering us at the same time to keep with
the train, which did not stop until we arrived at this
place, we (the wagon train) intended to ford the river
here and again set foot on Virginia soil, but it has
rained so much we have been waiting four days for
the river to fall low enough to ford it. The Yankees
attacked us here day before yesterday with the intention
of capturing us, but they were driven off. I can't
form the most distant idea what the army is going
to do, whether they intend to stay this side of the river
or go back into Virginia. There is not a day passes
but you hear of fighting going on. You don't feel
right unless you hear cannonading going on. The
stillness doesn't seem natural. There are five or six
thousand Yankees here waiting for the river to fall
to cross.
When I
have more time I will write again. Captain
Thompson was wounded slightly and has crossed the
river, I don't know with what intention. Buck Nolly
was killed in our company.
Write
to me as soon as you get this and let me
hear from you all, direct to Richmond and I will get
it. This letter is No. 3.
WALTER.
CAMP NEAR ORANGE C. H., August 2nd, 1863.
My Dear Mother:
miles yesterday through the hottest sun that I
ever felt. The men were constantly dropping out
from overheat, and one or two died from the effects.
We are in camp to-day, but have orders to hold ourselves
in readiness to move at a moment's notice. The
report is the Yankees are advancing on Culpepper. I
guess we will leave here tonight or before day in the
morning. This army is seeing a very hard time at
present. Nothing to eat but beef and flour and the
hardest marching that this army has ever done. At
the time we crossed the mountains at Fort Royal, we
marched from 4 o'clock one morning until d
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For, lo! my love doth in herself contain
All this world's riches that may be found;
If sapphires, lo! her eyes be sapphires plain;
If rubies, lo! her lips be rubies sound;
If pearls, her teeth be pearls, both pure and round;
If ivory, her forehead Ivory ween;
If gold, her locks are finest gold on ground;
But that which fairest is, but few behold,
Her mind, adorned with virtues manifold.
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CHAPTER II.
SOME OF THE THINGS THAT HAPPENED.
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A little elbow leans upon your knee,
Your tired knee that has so much to bear;
A child's dear eyes are looking lovingly
From underneath a thatch of tangled hair,
Perhaps you do not heed the velvet touch,
Of warm, moist fingers folding yours so tight,
You do not prize this blessing over-much,
You almost are too tired to pray tonight.
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CHAPTER III.
OUR REMOVAL TO CLAYTON.
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We live in deed, not years; in thoughts, not breath;
In feelings, not in figures on a dial.
We should count time by heart throbs where they beat
For God, for man, for duty; He most lives
Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best;
Life is but a means unto an end, that end
Beginning, mean and end to all things, God.
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CHAPTER IV.
THE ATTEMPT TO "TAR AND FEATHER" MY FATHER.
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In war not crafty, but in battle bold,
No wealth I value, and I shun all gold.
Be steel the only metal shall decree
The fate of empire, or to you or me.
The generous conquest be by courage tried,
And all the captives on the Roman side,
I swear by all the gods of open war,
As fate their lives, their freedom I will spare.
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CHAPTER V.
THE YEAR EIGHTEEN SIXTY-ONE.
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And far from over the distance
The faltering echoes come -
Of the flying blast of the trumpet,
And the rattling roll of drum;
Then the Grandsire speaks in a whisper,
"The end no man can see:
But we give him to his country,
And we give our prayers to Thee."
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CHAPTER VI.
THE GALLANT FOURTH NORTH CAROLINA REGIMENT
STATE TROOPS.
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"Be of good cheer; your cause belongs
To Him who can avenge your wrongs;
Leave it to Him, our Lord.
Though hidden from our longing eyes,
He sees the Gideon who shall rise
To save us, and His Word."
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CHAPTER VII.
LETTERS FROM GEORGE AND WALTER.
Our company
arrived here this morning at 8 o'clock.
We had to stay at Beaufort last night, the water being too
rough to carry us over last night. I intended to have
written last night while at Beaufort, but we were so
completely worn out with hollowing, etc., that all of us got
to bed as soon as possible, which was about 12 o'clock.
We have been employed a little while this morning
carrying barrels, etc. It was raining the whole time. They
make no difference here for rain or anything else.
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As there is a man going by Clayton tomorrow I
thought I would write you a few lines, to let you know
how we are getting along. We are enjoying ourselves
as well as can be expected. We had prayers and singing
this morning by Mr. Cobb. He spoke of the injuries
of the South in an eloquent manner.
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GEORGE.
We arrived
here about night, the day we left Wilson,
and having raised our tents prepared to get supper,
which we got about 9 o'clock. We are encamped
in an old pine field, which is very hot, but the other
companies that were here before have a very pleasant
oak grove on a hill. The Second regiment, under
Col. Tew, are on the opposite side of the road. Our
Col. Anderson is a fine looking man, about six feet
high, large and muscular, but not corpulent; a high,
broad and intellectual forehead, bold face, and whiskers
(shaped like Walter's), about a foot long.
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GEORGE.
We
arrived here yesterday, and had to walk about
four miles to our camps, with our knapsacks on our
backs, and everything necessary to soldiers. Before
we left Camp Hill, we got our state uniform, blankets
and all the accouterments. We were nearly worn out
after having walked four miles to our encampment,
the knapsack straps hurt our shoulders, besides the
weight. We expect to leave here for Manassas to-day,
but I do not think we will, as it is raining.
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As George wrote two or three times since I have, I
told him I would write when we got to Richmond.
The first thing I knew this morning was that he was
writing home, so I told him to leave some room for
me and I would write some in his letter.
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This
is the first opportunity I have had of writing
to you since I've been here. We do not live as well
here as we have, but we make out very well. We have
to walk about a mile for our water; as the ground is
too rocky to dig a well we get it out of a spring. You
can't imagine how much I wish to see you all, I long
to be free to go where I please. But alas, there is no
telling where I may be, for when we first came here
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GEORGE.
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We received your letter this morning when John
Clark came. George wrote a day or two ago, which
you had hardly received when you last wrote. There
is no news of any kind worth writing. George and
myself are both well at present. It has been raining
here for nearly a week, and it is tolerably cool. This
morning was very cool and chilly. It begins to feel
like winter is fast approaching. You spoke of
sending us some winter clothing. We would be very
glad to have a good supply, as we shall suffer if not
well clothed in this cold country. I can almost imagine
now how cold it will be on top of these high hills when
the winter winds come whistling around them. The
following list of clothes will be as many as we shall
need and can take care of conveniently. Two pairs
of thick woolen shirts each, such as can be worn either
next to the skin or over other shirts; two pairs of red
flannel drawers each, and some woolen socks, that is
everything that we shall need for the present. You
can send them by express, and we shall get them. You
need not attempt to come to see us, for it will be impossible
for you to get here. Men are not even allowed
to come after their sons to carry them home when they
die with sickness in the service. I tell you this to save
you the trouble and expense of coming so far and
then having to go back without seeing us. It is a
great deal harder to get back after you get here than
it is to come.
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WALTER.
As Walter has told you everything, I shall be at a
loss what to say, but I cannot help writing when an
opportunity presents itself. Our fare is bread and butter
and occasionally a little honey. The two latter
articles we buy. The nights have been rather cool
of late, but we have not suffered any yet.
GEORGE.
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I would have written as soon as I received your
letter if the box had come with it, but as the captain
could not bring them with him, he had to get them
transported on freight, which did not arrive until yesterday.
You never saw such a mess in your life, cakes
molded, meat spoiled, etc. Everything was safe and
sound in our box, which we rejoiced at very much,
for we have not been faring the best for the last
week or two. Tom Stith got a box which was full
of cake and nearly every bit of it was spoiled.
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GEORGE.
I received your letter this morning and was very
glad to hear from you all, but was very sorry to hear
that sister was sick. There were 544 prisoners brought
in here yesterday morning from Leesburg, an account
of which you have seen in the paper ere now. They
were sent off last night to Richmond. Blake and Jack
Robinson was detailed from our company to go as
guard. Leesburg has since been taken by the enemy.
Our forces retreated seven miles. The enemy are
about to flank us and I think that we shall have to
fight soon for I guess it is very galling to them to have
so many of their men taken prisoners. We have had
frost for several nights and it is already beginning to
turn very cold, but we have not suffered any yet. I
wear two pair of socks in my boots and they do very
well, for it keeps the cold wind off my legs.
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GEORGE.
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Dear Sir:
J. S. BARNES.
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GEORGE.
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GEORGE.
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GEORGE.
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GEORGE.
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GEORGE.
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GEORGE.
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WALTER.
GEORGE.
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GEORGE.
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WALTER.
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WALTER.
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August 15, 1862.
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WALTER.
30 MILES FROM RICHMOND ON MANAPAS
RAILROAD, August 23rd, 1862.
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WALTER.
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SOUTH SIDE OF POTOMAC, OPPOSITE
BERLIN, LOUDON CO., Sept. 5, l862.
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WALTER.
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MAR. BUNKER'S HILL, VA.,
Sept. 29, 1862.
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WALTER.
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WALTER.
November 14, 1862.
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WALTER.
November 27, 1862.
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WALTER.
HILL'S DIV., NEAR GUNNEY DEPOT,
12 MILES FROM FREDERICKSBURG,
December 2nd., 1862.
Once
more settled in camp for a little while, long
enough to write, at least, I thought I would let you
know where we are and what we are doing. We are
on the railroad between Richmond and Fredericksburg,
some twelve miles from the latter place. What we
are doing, one hasn't the remotest idea. We can't
tell whether we are going to fight here or not, or how
long we shall stay here. I think the most of our army
is in this vicinity and some part of it is constantly
in motion. Ewell's Division is now passing our encampment.
I'm in hopes we will stay here until our
men get their clothing. Ed Gordon has just returned,
though he does not bring any news from home. He
says that Pat Simms will start back to-day. He
certainly has appointed enough times for starting to
have been here long before now, if he is not able to
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WALTER.
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As
I think there will be an opportunity of sending
off a letter in a day or two, I believe I will drop you
a few lines to let you know of some of my adventures
since I last wrote you (Winchester). We have had
rain every day since we left Winchester. I've been
marching about ten to twenty miles a day. After the
first two days our squad of two hundred dwindled
down to about fifteen men, most of whom were
officers. A Lieutenant from Texas commanded us.
We were bound to form squads of some strength to
prevent "bushwhackers" and the enraged citizens from
attacking us on the road. Last summer was nothing
at all to this one in Pennsylvania. Although
I did not have the pleasure of going into
Yankeeland with them, I was following them
in the rear and could see the havoc they did.
The squad that I was in, the first night we
got into Pennsylvania, killed a hog near a man's house
and then sent two men to him to borrow cooking utensils
to cook it in, most of them would make the expression,
"I reckon you got your rations out of the field."
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I
received your letter day before yesterday, just as
we received orders to march. We marched about fifteen
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