The following letter was written by Benjamin M. Dunham (1840-1863), the son of John L. Dunham (1811-1861) and Laura Cheney (1812-1894) of LaPorte, Sullivan county, Pennsylvania. Benjamin enlisted as a private in Co. K, 141st Pennsylvania Infantry. Benjamin enlisted with his older brother Henry R. Dunham (1838-1877) who was made the 1st Lieutenant of the same company for his efforts in raising the company. However, ill health resulted in his resigning is commission in late December 1862 and returning home where he remained until 1864 when he accepted a commission in Co. E, 13th USCT.

According to the regimental history, Benjamin M. Dunham was a young man of more than ordinary ability and character. Said one who knew him: “He was characterized by untiring energy and intense application to his studies. No lesson or duty was ever assigned that he did not grapple with all his powers. He loved study. He was impetuous almost to a fault. Whatever he did, he did with all his might. His moral character was without reproach. He could be relied on implicitly in all he said or did. He was, in ‘ short, one of Nature’s noblemen, an honest man. His dear remains rest in an unknown grave, on hostile ground, and his spirit has gone to God who gave it.” Benjamin was killed at Chancellorsville.

Transcription

In Camp near Falmouth, Va.
February 24th 1863

My dear Mother,

I yesterday received a letter from you full of your anxious fear about me. I hear nothing from you but a constant lament that I am where I am! Nothing but worriment about & fears that I am suffering here where I am. Now let this be enough for you, Mother, as it ought to be for anyone to know that I am doing well, getting over my lameness, and in fact, I have almost gained my flesh again. I have been on duty and took no cold from it & I hope I am none the worse for it. I asked to be put on [duty], it is true, for I knew there were some who would think I did not want to do [my] duty, but I did and so I went on. And as I said before, I am not sorry.

Now, Mother, what more under the light of Heaven could a son write to a Mother that would be of more cheering—I mean real cheering news—than what I have just written to you which is God’s truth and no deception, for I have not now nor never intended to deceive you. I know, Mother, there is news that I could write that might be more pleasing such as that I was coming home soon or something like this. But do I not tell you, Mother, that if I have my health, which I now hope to get, that I had just as leave be in the army here at such a time as this as at home. Maybe you think I lie, but I tell you that I can stand it here from my friends & family, if old grey-headed men who have children & a wife to think of & long to see, for this is the great, the most difficulty the soldiers has to contend against.

Don’t understand me to say that I like the hardships & hard marching of our life. But Mother, I do say in view of all things now, I—a single man [with] no one to depend on me [and] no one to suffer from my loss if should be the case, and no one’s support arising from my earnings—I say I and those in like circumstances are just the ones to be where I am if they have their health.

Mother, be reasonable! Look about you & see if you can point to another Mother who has three able bodied (for such I am now called & hope Henry is) Republican son who have no wives & little ones, no farms & workshops to hinder their being in the army of our Nation. I say, see if you can find another Mother who still has two sons with her at home all the time. Do you think, Mother, to raise three sons and live to see them all grow to be men & still be with them all & live with them all? It is an impossibility & the sooner you make up your mind to be content & satisfied while your boys are all doing well, the better it will be for you and your health and comfort also. You are almost selfish. You wish us with you & by constantly (except when we are fighting perhaps). But you must expect to be obliged to lay aside your own desires to see & pleasure to be with your boys.

I know this is not altogether what you wish me to come home for but you fear I will die here & then you will never see me again. Mother, does it make any difference about our meeting again in this world (for I have no fears for the next). Whether I die here from disease or you die there from a useless worriment, that does no one any good & hastens your own end. Think of this when you are lying awake nights on my account & if you wish to do anything to please me & make me happy and contented here with my lot. Why, don’t fret and worry & lie awake nights for me. Will you do this for me? Will you let this ring in your ears every time your mind turns upon me. Or will you still do that which is the farthest from my wishes of anything you can do? If you will, why then I cannot help it.

Again, my complaint (diarrhea & rheumatism), Mother, is not a thing you need to worry about at all. Why, do you not know that those who die with the chronic diarrhea live for four or five months & that there is no need of men to be sick that long in this army and not be sent home. As to the rheumatism, I do not fear death from that at all. So be contented & satisfied with your lot.

Mother, as to what you say about getting into this army, you did not such thing at all. I came of my own free will & you never asked me to come at all so I want you never to think of that again. Oh! you are a queer woman, Mother, & I hope you will try and exercise a little more your reasoning & relective faculties a little more & your caution a little less and it will be better for us both.

Our Captain has returned & I like him very much indeed so far & all the boys seem to almost worship him. We have just received orders to be ready to move over into Ward’s Brigade & the 4th Maine is to come into our Brigade. It is but a few rods between us. The trade is from some cause, I know not what. Time will tell.

Brewster, I think, will come home on a furlough but I do not know whether he can get it or not. Hank Gunn too, if he’s able. I shall try and get one if I can but I have little hopes as there is so many ahead of me. Do not build up any hopes of my coming home this winter.

I yesterday received returns from my little investment (J. H. Winslow and Co., of New York) and I have me a larger patent lever silver watch and gold chain for which I have been offered $20 in cash besides selling some ten dollars worth of tickets to the boys and keeping for myself a ticket that calls for a watch worth fifteen dollars & ever so many other tickets calling for articles valued at eight and ten dollars. In fact, Mother, I have an agency here from which I can make double my wages & do it just as honestly as anything else.

So be content. Be satisfied & do not for God’s sake, kill yourself by worrying yourself about me. Have you any help yet? I will send you a circular of J. H. Winslow & you can see what I am doing. — B. M. Dunham