The following letter was written by 16 year-old Hugh P. Roden (1845-1911), a native of England, who enlisted in September 1861 as a drummer boy in Co. K, 7th New Jersey Infantry. He served three full years with his company and mustered out at Trenton on 7 October 1864.

At the time that Hugh wrote this letter, his regiment was with the Army of the Potomac on the Peninsula Campaign where they were with the 3rd Army Corps. The “battle” referred to in his letter was the Battle of Williamsburg fought on 5 May 1862. Four days after this letter was written, the regiment would fight again in the Battle of Fair Oaks.

Hugh was the son of George and Rachel J. Roden. His siblings were Agnes, Elizabeth, George and Rachel. At the time of the 1860 US Census, the Roden family lived in Newark where Hugh’s father earned a living as a tailor.

After the war he went to medical school and became a physician.

Transcription

Camp 14 miles from Richmond
May 27th, 1862

Dear Mother, Father, & Sisters,

I received your long looked for welcome letter last night dated the 20th. Dr. Rosey came in camp last night. He did not have any letter for me. You spoke about him bringing some paper for me. Did you send it? I have not received it as yet. The chaplain said he had nothing for me from home. Mother, did you send tea & sugar for Mr. Yuereagle. He has not seen them. One of our sergeants gave me a small parcel marked Hugh Roden, with salts and pills in. That is all I have seen. Was the salts for Mr. Yuereagle or for me? I wrote for some salts and I thought it was for me. I have not seen anything of the tea or sugar. I spoke to Yuereagle about it. I told he had better go and speak to the Chaplain of the 6th—Mr. Moor—about it. Mother if you want to send anything more to Yuereagle, please don’t send it in my name. Direct it to Mr. Yuereagle himself. The reason that I don’t want to be bothered with his things is when we was on the march, he had plenty of coffee and sugar. One of the boys asked me if I had any coffee. I said I wish I had some. Yuereagle heard me and he never offered me any, but just as I spoke, he shoved the coffee under his knapsack. Our wagons had not arrived yet so that I could not get any. One of the boys gave me enough to make enough to make a cup of coffee. It was mean of Yuereagle. I always gave him what I had from home. You know he mends pants and coats for the soldiers and he has plenty of money. It might be that Yuereagle did not hear me ask for coffee. Don’t judge him too hard. I might be mistaken. I never asked him for anything since I have been in the service but if you have anything, more tea, sugar, or anything else to send to Mr. Yuereagle, I want you to direct it to him, not to me.

I am sure I have wanted a little tea the other week a great many times when I was so sick I could not drink coffee. I think you might have sent me a little of something with Mr. Moor instead of using my name to send Yuereagle things. I am glad I know how much I am thought of—that accounts for me not getting any letters. I have wrote five letters since the Battle and have only received one. Yuereagle knows I wrote nearly every second day home. I told him to write and ask his wife to tell you to write. You never spoke if you received those 18 dollars I sent out of my 2-months pay. You don’t know how it makes me feel.

It is raining hard while I am writing. All the other boys have all received letters from home stating that they have received their money. We all ask each other if their money has got some safe. One of the boys asked me. I told him I did not know for I had not got a letter. Says he, your folks can’t care much whether you send your money or not. I told him I guessed you had wrote and the letter was delayed. I tell you, it makes me feel bad.

There is a great deal of sickness in camp. They send the sick down to Fortress Monroe. The ambulances carry down from five to ten every third day. The reason is we are moving every day. Some days it rains, wetting the men through. Then the orders come for to march.  Then after marching in wet clothes all day, we have to put up our tents and fall asleep. I tell you, this is soldiering I never read of in the books. I have read of marching with plenty to eat, but I never read of marching every day with a couple of crackers and a piece of green pork that had been salted down. At the time Noah went into the ark, I guess this pork was some that he had left over and our contractors bought [or] picked it up. The fresh meat that we get looks as if it had been hauled through all the mud that could be scraped together between Jersey and Virginia. Now you want me to tell you the truth. I have seen the cooks put a piece of meat in the pot that had not been killed five minutes and was shaking when they cooked it. But that is nothing. It is all for Dixie Land.

I tell you what, mother, when I come home, I [want] you to have a Yorkshire pudding and a plum pudding and some crullers ready on the table so that when I come into the house, I can just make one jump for the table, kiss the pudding, then kiss all around—-that is, if I get back, for you know these rebels fire so careless they would just as leave shoot a fellow as not. But you remember the pudding and crullers and I guess I stand as good a chance as anyone getting home.  But nobody knows what a day may bring forth. Boys that I had talked with the day before the battle now lay beneath the sod. Poor fellows. Little they thought they would be called away so soon.  Mother, have you received a picture of our camp I sent you? A man came and drew them and then had them printed.  It is a large picture. The man took it home for me and all that bought them. He is a brother to our Lieutenant.

Agnes, I don’t know the name of that boy but you shall know him in my next. Lizey, I hope I will be home to eat up all the pears so that you will not be troubled with so many but if I ain’t there in time, I pity the farmers around Dixie.

Rachel, I hope you will be a good girl and mind everything Mother & Father tell you.  How is Father’s work getting along?  Is father well?  

But I must close.  We expect another march.  Goodbye. I remain your loving and affectionate son & brother, — Hugh P. Roden