1862-63: Barzilla Merrill to Ruba (Cole) Merrill

Having only recently purchased and read Mark Dunkelman’s wonderful book entitled, War’s Relentless Hand, imagine my surprise when the Civil War letters of Barzilla Merrill of the 154th New York Infantry were sent to me for transcription. In his book, Mark features stories of twelve infantrymen who served in the 154th (a. k. a. the “Hard Tack Regiment”), one of which was Barzilla. As such, thinking maybe these letters had already been transcribed and were available on the internet (in which case I would not duplicate the effort), I searched in vain and only found the extracts of Barzilla’s letters that were incorporated into Mark’s book. From his website, I found Mark’s comment that Barzilla’s “voluminous wartime letters were among the first I located, copied, and transcribed, and they brought him vividly to life. Using his letters, I tried to convey his personality as best I could in the chapter on him in my book War’s Relentless Hand. In page after page of reporting and philosophizing, he conveyed his war with plainspoken brilliance.” Mark also wrote that it was Doris Williams, Barzillas’s great granddaughter, who shared the letters with him. [Note: Since writing the above and after having completely transcribed Barzilla’s entire collection of letters, a friend sent me a link to Barzilla’s letters that Mark Dunkelman transcribed years ago. See Letters.]

I don’t know how many years ago the letters were sold to my client but have reason to believe it was at least a decade ago and as far as I could learn, they had never been made completely available to the public on the internet until now.

Barzilla Merrill and his teenage son, Alva, both served in Co. K, both enlisting in August 1862, Alva couple weeks before his father. According to Dunkelman’s book, there were eight pairs of fathers and sons in the regiment. They came from Dayton, Cattaraugus county, New York. When they enlisted, they left behind at home Barzilla’s wife, Ruba (Cole) Merrill, and the couple’s other children, Nancy (b. 1843), and Irvin (b. 1850).

Mark Dunkelman’s masterful portrayal of Barzilla Merrill is described in 22 pages of Chapter 12 of his book. It’s beautifully written and I won’t begin to repeat here—only to use the excerpt which describes Barzilla’s demise which most readers will be interested in learning after digesting his letters.

“Late in the afternoon of May 2, 1863, Barzilla and Alva Merrill and the rest of the 154th New York relaxed near an old tavern in a clearing carved from dense woods. Several days of marching through the Wilderness had brought them to the verge of battle. Suspense and apprehension had been high among the men as the movement unfolded and distant fighting erupted. But this day had been one of inactivity, and the evening promised more quiet. The Eleventh Corps appeared to be positioned well to the army’s rear. Although rumors had circulated about a Confederate movement past their front, as the afternoon shadows lengthened, the threat seemed to diminish. With sundown approaching, the men chatted as they cooked their suppers, smoked, played cards, and prepared for a peaceful night’s sleep.

Suddenly, shockingly, the peace was shattered. Under the red sunset, the western woods exploded with a roar of gunfire and the shrill keen of the of the rebel yell. Terrified deer and rabbits darted from the trees and zigzagged wildly across the fields. As the regiment hurriedly took up arms and fell into line, Barzilla and Alva watched with astonishment as their fellow Eleventh Corps troops bolted and ran, smashed to flinders by the powerful Confederate onslaught, swarming past the brigade at Dowdall’s Tavern in a roiled, panicked mess of men, horse-drawn artillery, and mule-driven wagons. Few of the fugitives could be persuaded to join the brigade as it formed near the tavern, perpendicular to the road in a shallow rifle pit. Some troops rallied on the brigade’s right, stretching towards the woods. Anchoring the brigade”s left flank was the 154th New York.

As the last Yankee fugitives scampered past the brigade’s line and into the woods behind, out of the smoke emerged deep lines of Confederates, filling the clearing from side to side, filing through the forest beyond, their red battle flags and burnished rifles glowing in the twilight. The 154th New York and its brigade, with a small clump of rallied comrades on the right, were all that stood between [Stonewall] Jackson’s force and the reast of the Union army, a mile or more back through the forest. Barzilla and Alva watched the enemy surge over the rolling countryside toward the rifle pit like an immense gray wave, sweeping all resistance from its path. When orders were shouted to open fire, father and son shot and reloaded and shot and reloaded as fast as they could. The Confederates did the same. The rifle pit offered slight protection; men began to bleed and writhe and scream and moan. Among those hit was Barzilla Merrill, who was slightly wounded in the shoulder.

The Confederates were staggered by the Yankee line’s fire, but they could not be stopped. Far to the right, they outflanked and shattered the rallied Union troops. Then they sent the regiments of the 154th’s brigade reeling in turn. The 29th New York and 27th Pennsylvania fled to the rear. The right half, seeing the 154th standing fast, stood by the New Yorkers. The Confederates now closed in on that tiny force, the last Eleventh Corps troops on the field.

Col. Patrick Henry Jones of the 154th, down with a wound in the hip, gave the order for the regiment to retreat. The men now had to leave the rifle pit and cross an open field to the woods in their rear, all the while exposed to the concentrated Confederate fire. It was no retreat in precise alignment—they ran, every man for himself. During the chaotic withdrawal across that bullet-swept field, the regiment took its heaviest losses. the survivors plunged into the woods and stumbled toward the Union lines,, Confederates howling in pursuit, darkness deepening by the second. Left behind in the hands of the enemy were the regiment’s killed and badly wounded. Among them was Barzilla Merrill, dead of a gunshot to the head.

Did Alva Merrill see his father fall? Was he by Barzilla’s side for a last embrace and hasty parting word? Did he think his father was still alive. running through the woods somewhere to save his skin? Or maybe just wounded back there by the tavern, or nabbed by some younger, faster Reb, and now a prisoner of war? What Alva knew, we will never know.

We do know that he remained ready to fight. During the rout, blundering through the dark woods, some members of the 154th fell into enemy hands. Alva managed to escape, but in the confusion he and some comrades were separated from the regiment. They spent the night lost on the battlefield, listening to the raging fight. The next morning the little squad fell into line with other Union troops. Alva divided some coffee with his company mate, Private Marcellus W. Darling, and the hungry young men anticipated a restorative breakfast. But just as the coffee began to boil, the Confederates unleashed an attack on the position. In the ensuing battle, Alva was killed by Darling’s side.

When the Union army retreated from Chancellorsville the Confederates buried the dead. All across the battlefield, squads set to the grim work. Near the Dowdall’s Tavern, Barzilla’s corpse was dragged together with those of the 154th New York’s other killed and tossed into a common burial pit. More than a mile away, Alva’s remains received similar treatment.”

*Frock Coat belonging to Barzilla Merrill, Co. K, 154th New York (Cattaraugus County Museum in Machias)*

As a curiosity, the Cattaraugus County Museum in Machias has Barzilla Merrill’s frock coat. How was it that Barzilla’s coat came to be in the museum? Mark Dunkelman informs us that the answer is indicated in a letter Barzilla sent to his wife, Ruba, on 2 April 1863, in which he told her he had sent his overcoat and dress coat (i.e., the frock coat) in a trunk to a neighbor, where she could get them by paying a share of the freight charge. Exactly a month after he wrote this, Barzilla and Alva were killed at Chancellorsville. Mark’s supposition is a Merrill descendant donated the coat to the museum around the time it was dedicated in 1914.

Rearers may also be interested in 1863: H. Alvin Hitchcock to Otis Hitchcock. Alvin also served in the 154th New York, Co. A, and was wounded at Chancellorsville. In his book, Dunkelman also features Alvin Hitchcock in Chapter 8.

Alvin Hitchcock of Co. A, 154th New York giving an eyewitness account of the Battle of Chancellorsville, from the time that his company helped the 15th New York Engineers lay the canvas pontoon bridge over the Rappahannock river at Kelly’s Ford, until his capture on the day after Stonewall Jackson’s flank attack that rolled up the 11th Corps. From his letter we learn that he was wounded while standing with others of the 154th New York on the “Buschbeck line” near Dowdall’s Tavern (pictured below) which held back Jackson’s men for over an hour while the high command attempted to stem the chaos of the fleeing soldiers.

Letter 1

*Addressed to Mrs. Ruba C. Merrill, Cottage P. O., Cattaraugus county, New York*

Jamestown [New York]
September 3rd 1862

Wife, I don’t think that I can come home before the last of the week. I have been put through the mill and am all right and I wish that you would see someone and have that wheat down to Judd’s bound up and got up ten in a bunch, raked up clean, and done nice, except the Canada thistles. Skip them. Tell who does it that I will pay them the money for doing it when I come home. I want it done as soon as it can be. Please attend to it and try to have it done. Alva is well.

— B. Merritt

Letter 2

I shall want you to answer this before I write again and then I will write. I think that it will take you about 5 days to get this and 5 days to get an answer so you see that it will be 10 days before I can hear from home. I don’t hardly know how to write. If you think best, you may let some of th neighbors see this letter.

Please direct to Barzilla Merrill, Washington D. C., Company K, 154 [New York] Regt., Care of Capt. Huggabone

Please write as soon as you get this and I would like to have Nancy and Irvin write. Write all the news. Give my love to all and save a large share for yourselves.

Letter 3

Camp Guard
October 11th 1862

To my wife Ruba,

I thought that I would write a few lines to you this morning. I have written twice before. I don’t look for anything from you yet. I shall look next week for a letter from you. We have had orders this morning to cook two days rations and I expect that we shall leave today or tomorrow. I believe the orders is to Fairfax. Alva and I are well but there is some sick in the regiment. I believe that dysentery is the main complaint.

We are now on Lee’s farm, or what was once a farm. The fences are gone and the country around here is all stomped over and trod down and any amount of tents. There seems o be plenty of men here and have had a very trying time here but we had a fine rain last night and that has laid the dust and the weather is a little cooler today.

I want to hear from you and the children as soon as I can. I think that they had a battle south of us last night by the looks of things. It looked light and seemed to flash occasionally. What awaits me in the future, I don’t know, but I leave all in the hands of God and I expect to go forth and try and do my duty at all times, and in all places please remember me in your secret devotions.

I have not had a bed to sleep in since I slept with you to Jamestown. I would like to call to our house awhile and have one drink of water out of our well. They don’t have such water down here by no means. The land don’t look as I expected. It is rough here and the Virginia folks are some time behind so far as the customs are concerned. They appear some like the Dutch to Dayton. There is only a few families of the settlers left about here. We bring water about half a mile where a family have not left. The well is 115 feet deep. On the whole, the Cattaraugus folks don’t appreciate the privileges that they enjoy. If you should want me to write paryiculars about anything, mention in your letter.

I hant seen any plantations yet nor where anything grew the past summer. I have not heard from Wilbur yet. I don’t know where the 44th is. I have seen our chaplain but have not heard him preach. He appears like a fine man.

We have enough to eat when we can get it but there is so many to serve that we don’t get it very regular. There is a great deal wasted every day. Tell Miss Howlett that Horace is very steady and seems to enjoy himself well. Lieut. [Philander W.] Hubbard says if you see Jane, tell her that he has been well until last night. He was some unwell but he is able to be around. He says that he will write as soon as he can get time.

Direct to B. Merrill, Washington D. C., 154th Regt. Co. K, N. Y. S. V., Care of Captain Hugabone

Letter 4

October 14, 1862

Since the other was written we have moved to Fairfax, a 10 or 15 mile [march]. We are now about 20 miles south of Washington. There is a rumor in camp now that we leave this day for Centreville but we have not yet had orders to do so. There is but very few families left between here and Camp Seward. Desolation and ruin is spread over the place. I have not yet seen any rebels—only a few prisoners that were going to Washington when we came here.

My health still remains good and so is Alva’s. I don’t get much time to write. I thought that I would write considerable Sunday but Sunday morning we started for this place and arrived here Monday noon and so you see it goes. I don’t get much spare time. I have some house work to do such as cooking, washing dishes and the like. Some days I feel a little lonesome and think of home and the folks to Dayton, but I pass it off as soon as possible and enjoy myself as best I can. My lodging is not first rate. You know that I like a good bed and a good bed fellow of the right stripe but I can’t have either of those.

I heard one of our folks—Howlett, I believe—-say that he would give 25 cents to see one good-looking woman. Such are scarce here, I tell you. I think of things that I can’t write. Well, Ruba, I think that you will want to read this in the dark. I think of these things but I can govern myself yet. As it happens, I think of your smooth face. I mean I want you to be very careful of your health and I calculate to and I intend to come home as clean as I left, if it is in my power to. You said you was afraid that I would get the rheumatism. What are the symptoms? I have spells of feeling stiff. Is this a symptom of rheumatism? I am afraid that you have some difficulty to get along after a while. Do you have any symptoms of this kind? I think of you but this, all the good it does. Will you write me a nice letter and tell me about these things? Do it nice and write on the back a private letter to B. Merrill.

Ruba, I thought that I would write a little more. You said you would fix up that little letter some time. I want you to do it right away. You know when I want a thing, I don’t know how to wait. I tell you the plain truth, I would like to sleep with you and that aint all that I would like neither. This has quite an affect on my while I think about it. I suppose you are about as Old Madish as ever. Do you think that you could be persuaded to me me have a kiss—I mean if I was there about now. Or would you go and sit down by the window and cry. I think of old times and that is some satisfaction. I expect that you are getting smooth and nice by this time. I judge you by myself and that is a very way to get at a thing. They say if I get home in the spring, you will let me have a little butter, won’t you? I am all right—are you? – B. M.

Letter 5

Fairfax
October 18, 1862

Ruba,

I received your letter this morning and was very glad to hear from home, I assure you, and I conclude that you have got to be a man of business by what you say what you have done. I guess you have the blues a little. I feel some like laughing at you a little and I feel some like writing a kind of request letter but I don’t know as it would do but there is a few telegraph marks towards the bottom of your letter that I hardly understand. I guess that you had better mark it a little plainer in your next or explain a little so as I am concerned, or rather so far as my health is concerned, I feel keen as a brier and Alva’s health is good. You spoke of your nice potatoes. I am glad that you have them and I guess that you had better bake one and put on some butter and eat it for me. I have not tasted of a potatoe since I left Jamestown nor had any butter. I live on meat and bread with coffee or tea and sugar with a little rice occasionally. We have fresh bread occasionally. My appetite is good.

I sleep in a small cloth tent with the ground for our bedstead and our tent is well ventilated with air. Fresh air you know is healthy and that makes me tough. I an’t as fleshy as when you seen me last. The water is poor here and there is quite a number in camp that it troubled with a back door trot and it runs some of them quite hard.

We still lay in camp at Fairfax. When or where we go, I can’t tell. The land here is poor and it don’t look like fighting a great deal about. The soil looks of a reddish cast and looks worn out. The inhabitants are mostly gone and the most of the buildings tore to pieces. Some of the stores up to town and brick buildings laid waste. I went up to town the other day. It is about half a mile from our camp. It is nearly ruined. When I read your letter, I thought if you had my writing table it might be that you would have written a little better. I will tell you what it is. I sit flat on my bottom on the ground in the shade of a tree. Sometimes I write in the evening in my tent in the same way and my gun bayonet stuck in the ground which serves for a candle stick and so the things goes.

I had a letter from Wilbur since I came from our last camp here. He says he is well and on all fours. I answered his letter and asked him to come and see me. He is down the river (the Potomac) at the Antietam Iron Works probably forty or fifty miles from ne. There is now about ten or 15 regiments in camp not far from ours which makes quite a number of men. Drums are beating a most all of the time and we are in a complete bustle. Things look quite war like around here and when the men comes out on dress parade, their shiny bayonets look savage. I would think from what I have seen that there is men a plenty in the field to go where they please with the right management but I can’t tell how this will be. I will send you two or three stamps that ain’t worth anything here. Maybe you can use them there. You will direct as usual until otherwise instructed. We have a post office right in camp and get mail here.

I washed a shirt and drawers the other day and that was a little new to me. You did not write whether you had got anything done with all the corn over to Mr. Edgerton’s nor whether the thrashing is done nor what you did with that little likeness of mine that we got to Jamestown. I have got yours in my pocket yet. I look at it occasionally. I think the thrashing had better be done as soon as it can be. The apples, are they gathered? and how many have you? Good apples will bring two to three cents apiece here in camp so you see I am without apples and butter is worth from 30 to 40 cents and cheese from 15 to 20 cents and small pies from 15 to 20 cents apiece and milk from 15 to 20 cents a quart and so on. And there is another thing troubles me—tobacco is worth $1 per pound and I have other troubles to get along with that I won’t mention.

I would like to have you let me know whether things look smooth or rough about home and whether it is wet or dry. The weather is dry. We get dry weather here and cool nights for one that sleeps as I do. We had a little frost last night for the first time this fall. I think on the whole that I would like to call home and eat supper with you and I would not be in a hurry to leave before morning to come back to camp.

I hardly know how to get along without tobacco but I don’t see any other way and so I shall have to stand up to the rack, hay or no hay. I would like to have you write me a small letter and do it up snug in the other and I will take it out and no one will see it but myself.

I want you to write how your health is and how you feel and how you like riding horseback alone. I expect that I shall be home between now and next spring and I expect to content myself as best I can for the present and I don’t [want] you to be lonely by any means. Keep cheery. Kiss the children for me. I want you to write often and let the children write some. Be careful of your health and get fat. Write all the news. — B. Merrill

Sunday, 19th. I think that I will write a little more to you today. I have been thinking more about them lonely feelings that you speak of and I want you to say Cheer up, cheer up. I am away on what I thought was my duty and I expect to stay and do the errand or rather help do it if it is ordered. I expect to stand up like a man and be a man in every sense of the word, or in other words, try and do my duty & would be very glad to have things so shape that I would [not] be discharged until that is done. I expect to stay if my health permits, My errand was to help maintain our government and I expect to do it. I don’t feel at all uneasy in my mind.

I received a letter from you this morning. I was glad to hear from you and I saw some more about this lovely feelings. I say try and cheer up. I think that I have reason to feel lonely if anyone has, but this don’t answer my turn. Walk erect and hold up my head and look and hope for better times. I have found things no worse than I expected as yet. I want you to write about Father’s folks in your next. I have written to them and have not had an answer yet.

*A post war picture of Rev. Henry D. Lowing*

Our chaplain preached to us this morning. I don’t remember his name. Text: Proverbs 22 and first verse and Psalms 119. Nine joined together and he preached good. He had his sermon wrote down. They say he is a Congregational preacher. I have just thought of his name, It’s [Henry D.] Lowing and I must tell about the meeting house. We formed a square in two ranks or in other words, two men thick with one side left out in a spot of clean grass on a side hill and he stood in the open space and preached to us. That is the way that we do business—all in the open—[just as we] cook, eat, and—I like to have said sleep and worship in the open air. I hardly seen the inside of a house since I left Jamestown nor have I sat down in a chair nor laid down in a bed, nor have I see but very few women. I have not seen a cow in the fields nor a sheep, nor hardly a horse or mule but what had U. S. stamped with a hot iron on them.

My equipage that I use is stamped U. S. I have not seen an ox team since I crossed the Potomac. I have rifle pits and embankments and so forth and I have seen trees that have been well marked up with balls and so on. In fact, we are encamped on the same ground that the rebels occupied a few weeks ago. Our pickets are now beyond Centreville 7 or 8 miles south of here. Our regiment has done no picket duty yet nor our guns have not been loaded yet. According to report, the rebels are falling back. We drill a little about every day and go through with the motions of sham fights, &c. I always liked realities better than motions but in this case, I presume that the motions would be the most pleasant to the eye. I understand that there is no rebels very near us. If there was, I think they would fare slim. Our team about here is pretty strong.

I don’t see anything why you should feel so lonely. You had the promise of having anything done for you that you wanted and why should you feel so bad. I had no such promises from anybody so I don’t see as you need to suffer for anything. I am where the water is poor and I go dry some of the time and a little hungry occasionally, but I feel well and I am saving all against a time of need. I would like to write you a long letter today but somehow I can’t think of much to write. You may give my love to some of my best friends…

Alva says that he will write in a few days. I am glad that Nancy and Irvin wrote and they must write a full letter. Try and write plain.

Ruba, I want you should send me some 3 cent stamps. You had better get a dollar’s worth and keep a part and send me about 20 in a letter. Alva says that if that box ain’t gone, he wants you to send his flannel shirts. I will try and get my thinking powers brightened up and write again when you answer this from — B. Merrill

Turn to read telegraph marks as you see I use them occasionally. I expect we will have a good time when I get home.

Letter 6

Fairfax
October 25, 1862

Ruba,

I received a letter and a paper from you yesterday and was glad to hear from home, My health remains good and so is Alva’s. Strickland is getting better and I believe the rest from our place are in usual health. I have not much news to write today. We are not doing much this afternoon and I thought that I would pass away a little time in writing to you. I have received three letters and one paper from home. I have written once since I heard from you. I don’t know but you think that I wrote oftener than you can afford for you will have to foot the bill. I wrote to have you send me some stamps. I am getting a most out of stamps and I can’t get them here. I think that you had better try and cheer up and I guess that you will if you have seen my last letter. If that don’t have the desired effect, I will try again.

I am here to try and do my duty as a soldier for my country and the old flag. When I am through, I shall be glad to come home and not till then and I want you to cheer up and enjoy yourself as best you can until I can come home. I expect to come some time if Providence permits.

I would be glad to draw you a landscape of the scene around here but I can’t. I will try and describe to you a little how it looks around here. The country is not level nor gulfy but hilly and there is considerable woods in sight and the place all around here is dotted with white tents and our camp lats between two roads and there seems to be a great deal of teaming going on mostly with baggage wagons—heavy wagons, two span on a wagon, sometimes three, and sometimes four span on one wagon—and the wagons covered with whole canvas. Our teams come every night but their teams are in the broad stable of all outdoors and they stand until morning.

Our camp is about half a mile from Fairfax Court House that we have read so much about and about 6 or 7 miles from Centreville. I don’t know the exact distance [to] Alexandria though not many miles and we are about fourteen miles from the celebrated Bull Run and about forty or fifty miles from Richmond and Harpers Ferry is about the [same] distance down the Potomac River. We are now on the same ground, nearly, that was occupied by the rebels a few weeks ago. I have not had my gun loaded yet and I don’t know of any amount of rebels very near and I don’t know anything how long we shall stay.

We drill some though not very much. We are camped on a clean, nice piece of ground and the water is a little better than it was in our other camp. Irvin wanted to know what I thought [ ] frame was worth. I don’t think that it is worth much—just the frame. If you can get a little something for it and have it taken away clean, perhaps you had better let it go. I would not let any boards go. I was glad to have Irvin write and Nancy must write some time too. Tell them to write plainer than I do for I have no where to lay my paper so I can’t write very well. I am glad you have sent some stuff and I hope we will get it safe. I would be very glad to have some butter from home. I got four letters yesterday and one paper; one from you, one from Leonard’s folks, and one from Milo and one from Mr. Edgerton’s folks.

When we came from camp guard here, we passed the stone bridge that we had read about. There has been a battle there and one this side of there in a piece of woods that we passed. There the trees was well marked up and another at Bailey’s Crossroads, Those three places we have passed. We are in Sigel’s Brigade, I understand. We have plenty to eat now and not a great deal to do and I guess that the sick are getting better. There is 8 or ten regiments camped near us now.

I don’t think if anything more that would be best for me to write this time unless I should do it with telegraph marks and I think I will wait and see if you can read them that I did make. Finally, the whole of this is a kind of telegraph mark. I will do it up and not try to read it myself. I can make more marks or dots most any time. Please write often. I think that I can read dots and marks when placed in the right place. Yours, — B. M.

Letter 7

Fairfax
Tuesday, [October] 28th [1862]

Wife,

*Hiram Vincent, one of Barzilla’s tent mates*

I am so comfortable tonight that I wanted to tell you about it. We have just got a nice little place fixed to keep fire in our tent and we are as comfortable as a biscuit. I am alone this evening and you see I think of [my] wife. Two of our family are out on picket. [Hiram] Vincent and [Bornt D.] Shelmadine and Calvin has gone out into camp on a visit. Alva has been in awhile but he has gone home now. I have been cleaning and greasing my boots and shoes and I now sit before a pleasant fire. In fact, I don’t lack but one thing of having quite a pleasant house and that is a woman to wash dishes, &c.

I am tough and hearty as a pig and so is Alva. This picket business ain’t dangerous yet for there is three sets [of pickets] between us and the enemy. We have had new neighbors come on today—a regiment from Ohio today. They have pitched a few rods from us and they have brought along a brass band and there is plenty of music here tonight. There is a good many soldiers camped about here now. I rather think that there will be an advance of the enemy soon but still I don’t know how that will be. I don’t know.

I would like to hear from you often. I have had but three letters yet.

We sent down to Wahington today to see about that box but we shan’t know until tomorrow. I wrote a few days ago to have you send me some stamps. I am about out. There ain’t no chance to get any here. Please send some if you hain’t [already]. I rather expected to hear from you today but I did not. I think that we will draw some pay soon. — B. Merrill

Letter 8

Fairfax
Friday, 31 October, 1862

Mrs. Merrill,

Alva received a letter from you this morning. Enclosed, I found one for me and eight stamps for which I was thankful. I think that you had better get a quantity of them and send me some about once in a week or two. I can’t take care of many at a time. I have some leisure time and I want to write considerable many letters and it is quite a bother to get them here. We drill some and are idle a part of the time.

Since I wrote last we have moved our camp nearly one mile from where we was, near some woods and it is a nice place, and we have not fairly got rigged up yet. The weather here is fine as summer. I was surprised to hear that you had so much snow to Dayton. About that time we had a hard rain here but the most of the time since we crossed the [Potomac] river, the weather has been fine—the days clear and the latter part of the nights chilly, and a little frost in the mornings.

Well, I have got above living in old snowy Cattaraugus now. My home is in the sunny South. But it looks some here as though we had pitched our tents towards Sodom. We hain’t had worship. In our tents, after I get laid down nights, I have a chance for reflection and I try in [my] weakness to call on the name of the Lord, and Mr. [ ] and I walk out together.

My health is good but I am thin in flesh, You said you was afraid that I would have the rheumatism. I don’t know how that may be. I feel nothing of it yet. My appetite is good and I want to eat more than is for my [own] good. I have fresh beef, salt pork, beans, rice, bread, hard tack, or “sheet iron crackers” and coffee and sugar and sometimes molasses. This is about my living. If we could have butter, cheese and potatoes added, our living would be first rate with occasionally a piece of pie and a few green apples. I have not had a potato nor a bit of butter nor a piece of pie since I saw you last.. I hain’t had a bit of milk but once. I bought a canteen of milk to Camp Seward.

We hain’t got that box yet. I think that somebody will go and see about the fore part of the week. We have got to have the receipt that was given when it was shipped. [Philander W.] Hubbard says he wrote for it and he expects it every day. Strickland is getting better so that he is about. Hubbard has been unwell. He is about now. [Horace H.] Howlett is tough and I guess that the health of the regiment is better than it was and the water is a little better here than it was to Camp Seward.

We had a General Review here about [Franz] Sigel’s Headquarters this forenoon and there was about 16 regiments present besides a good many artillry and cavalry. Quite a number of the men that we read about was present and among the rest was Secretary Chase and among the big men that rode on horses was a lassie that rode on a horse. She looked nice and managed her horse well. She wore a black hat something like Nancy’s only it was fixed very nice and she had on a long black riding dress. I don’t know who she was. She looked a little out of her place. ¹

I have not seen Uncle Abe [Lincoln] but I have seen his house. His house and mine that I live in don’t look a bit alike. I have an occasional thought come over me about my little home to Dayton and the folks there but I dry up and I expect to reside a spell longer in Old Virginia. I have not seen a green field since I crossed the river. About everything lays to waste and where the fields once were, it is all stomped over and a great deal of the ground used for tenting and drilling ground.

I have see Fairfax Court House. It is a brick building, windows stove in, &c. The woods about here is white oak and chestnut. There has been chestnuts here. They are gone now. I don’t hear much about the war though I understand that McClellan and Burnside do. When our division will move is more than I can tell.

The sun is getting low and I must hasten. You don’t write as often as I would like to have you. I believe that I have received three or four letters from you. I think that I have written two or three more than I have received but I suppose that you don’t have as many leisure moments as I do. I received a letter from Leonard and Elisa and one from Mr. Edgerton’s folks and I will answer both as soon as I can get time. I will try and write often. I would be glad to have Father’s folks write and Roslyn. I calculate to write to all of you as often as I can. I shall look for two letters, one done up in the other in a few days and I want you to write particular how you get along. You know I would like to see you and the children and all the rest of the folks but there seems to be something to be done here yet—if we ever get about it. But the thing moves slow. My love to all, — B. Merrill.

Please write.

Friday evening. I have got down by candle light to write a little more. Tell Nancy and Irvin that I would like to see them. Tell Irvin to take good care of the colts. He had better sell is calves and you had better kill that heifer. YOu can find someone that will want part of the meat I think by looking around. You want to get your chores as light as possible this winter and you must look out in time about wood for winter and fix as comfortable as you can. Be sure and fix the house so that the cellar won’t freeze. Get someone to help.

This evening our neighbors across the street gave me an invitation to come over and take supper with them and so I went. They had sweet potatoes and I had a good supper. The neighbors was Butler and Horace Robinson—John Newcomb’s wife’s brother. The other you don’t know. Potatoes are four cents a pound here. They had good cheese too so you see that I have some friends here. I have not had a hard word with anyone here. I have been well used so far as I know. Please excuse me this time. — B. M.

¹ It’s possible the “lassie” was Katherine Chase, the vivacious daughter of U.S. Treasury Secretary Salmon P. Chase. She had been escorted to Fairfax Court House by an ambitious, 32-year old, Union Brigadier General named James Garfield (the future president), who, several days later, wrote of the experience in a letter to his brother: “On Friday last, Miss Kate Chase and I took their carriage and a pompous liveried driver and allowing him to change his tall plug for a comfortable slouch, we set out for General Sigel’s headquarters at Fairfax Court House. Miss Chase had prepared two large baskets of provisions, partly for a present to the General and partly for our use if we should go on to the battlefield…We went on across Bull Run to the limit of the late battle for about five miles beyond Centreville…We saw hundreds of graves, or rather, heaps of earth piled upon bodies where they lay. Scores of heads, hands, and feet protruding, and so rapidly had been the decomposition of 34 days that naked, eyeless skulls grinned at us as if the corpses had lifted their heads from their deathbeds to leer at us as we passed by. Shells and round shot lay scattered all over the field and broken muskets and dismantled gun carriages were very plenty. Hats, caps, coats, equipment, letters, and all that lately belonged to life were scattered around.”

Letter 9

Virginia
November 7th 1862

Ruba,

I thought that I would write you a few lines this morning and I have come to the conclusion that I have got about through unless you are a little more prompt about writing to me. I han’t had a line from you since that that come in with Alva’s. Alva has received one since. He says that he had three dollars and a half besides. Alva, Horace, and all the rest are well and seems to enjoy themselves very well. I am tough and hearty. I don’t sleep as well the latter part of the nights as I could wish by some means.

Since I last wrote, we have moved about seven miles. Today we are laying in camp. We are now just past Thoroughfare Gap that has been held by the rebels but we hain’t seen any of them yet. We hear all the time that they are just ahead but they keep out of our way as yet. We are now moving strong headed. We are now probably about fifty miles southwest from Washington. For the last fifteen or twenty miles that we have passed has been mostly held by the rebels and there seems to [be] more stuff left such as fence, sheep, cattle, hogs, and the like, and more of the settlers. The land is better and the water [too]. There has been more [crops] raised here the past summer.

And now I will tell you how our army manages. They take just what they want. If they want fire, they take [fence] rails. If they want mutton, they kill sheep. If they want fresh pork, they kill hogs, and so it goes now-a-days. I went out yesterday in the afternoon. I took a canteen and haversack and took some potatoes, milked a cow, and gathered some apples, and this morning we had stewed apples, roasted potatoes, and milk in coffee, and we had a good breakfast. You did not think that I would go to taking things in this way, did you? But I have and this is the cut here now.

*Union soldiers foraging: “You did not think that I would go to taking things in this way, did you? But I have and this is the cut here now.” — Barzilla Merrill, 154th New York Infantry*

We are now not very far from Warrenton. That is a secesh hole. I suppose that we shall pass that place before long. Some think that we will have a brush there but I don’t think that we will. Some thought we would have a brush to the Gap, but we did not. Had no trouble as yet no where.

Now, about the weather here. We had a little snow here yesterday so that the ground was white. It is all off today but the air is chilly today but the sun shines. Yesterday was the first snow here as yet and the ground is quite dry—very dry now, so that the fires run over the ground a good deal before the snow. The land here lays rather rough but it is very good land [with] oak and hickory timber.

I begin to [see] some slaves. They live in rather poor houses not far from masser’s house. They are rather good, some of brick and some of wood, some are empty and some are inhabited. Some are torn to pieces and some are not injured and so it goes.

I don’t know how soon we shall move again but probably soon. I have tried to inform you about matters here as much as I could since I left and I shall continue to do so as much as I can provided you write to me often and particular.

A good many of the houses here are built rather nice. The chimneys are built outside. The customs and the people resemble Pennsylvania the cattle are mostly without horns or, if you please, mully. [There are] a great many mules. And you can’t imagine much about the expense of the war until you see what I have seen.

I am afraid that we shan’t get that box [as] we are getting so far off. Still we may. I am sorry that there was anything sent until we are more settled. I told [Philander W.] Hubbard so in the beginning but he thought that there would be no trouble about it. I would like to have you let me know about how many letters you have had from me. i think that the wheat done very well. I believe that if I am not mistaken, I have had four or five letters from you. About everyday when the mail comes into camp, names are called off—a most all but Merrill. My name is only occasionally called. I want to hear from you at least once a week and I would be glad to hear from home twice in a week. What do you say? Will you write often?

One of our company has just come into camp with a mule and two bags of apples. He said he got the mule for our Lieutenant. He rode up to him and says, “What do you think of your property, Bill”—meaning the human, not the mule. [It got] quite a laugh.

I don’t know as I could think of much more that would interest you this time. I believe that I have been able to answer to my name every time yet. I would like to have you just call into camp at meal time and see the men cook some with a crotched stick sharpened and broiling meat and some making coffee and so on and then see them wash the dishes. Some wipe them with leaves without washing. On the whole, they appear rather awkward. I have had two washings to do and I do not like to do that very well. Cooking and washing will make the men think of the women if nothing else will, I tell you. The men here speak of their wives at home. They say that they would like to see them and I suppose they would some of them say that they would like to call home and take supper with wife.

I had a letter from Wilbur a few days ago. He says he is well. The letter was mailed at Harpers Ferry. It’s rather cold to write today and I think that I won’t write much more this time although it it rather against my will to send clean paper. When we make another move, it will probably bring about something that will be interesting to you. Then I will try and write again. I want to hear from you and the children oftener than I have yet and I want to hear from some of the neighbors. Give my respects to Ebenezer and wife, and Mr. Edgerton’s folks and Miss Howlett. Tell her that Horace is rough as a pig and real steady. I would like to hear particulars from Father’s folks. Give all enquiring friends my respects. Tell them that I am here to help defend the rights that they enjoy. Try and take care of your health and sleep warm. From your husband, — Barzilla Merrill

Letter 10

Thoroughfare Gap
November 15, 1862

Ruba,

Alva received your kind letter last night. We were glad to hear from home and we [are] always glad to hear from you. Alva haves to go on picket duty at eleven o’clock and I don’t know whether he will write first or not. I am not busy and I thought that I would let you know that we are not taken prisoners yet. As it happens, I guess that the rebs would not like to undertake to get half of the Cattaraugus Regiment. By the by, there is a good many men goes in our gang. I don’t know what news you have seen in the papers about our being nearly surrounded. I don’t know how they would go to work to surround us unless they take in Washington with us. There is a great many men between here and Washington and the last twenty or thirty miles that we have passed was left by the rebels a short time before we came along and there is none very near now. They have a disposition to give the ground. I think if they do make a stand, it will be down near Richmond and that is one or two hundred miles from here, and there is another division of the army that is nearer there than we are. There is now probably twenty regiments in camp near this Gap and they are all the way along. You can’t hardly go away of them,

There is a report in camp that Yorktown is ours again. How this is, I don’t know yet I guess that it is so.

I don’t know whether you get all that I have written. If you do, you don’t answer very definite. I think that I have written twice or three times. You wrote to Alva. We have got that money and stamps twice. If you have a mind, you may send a little tea in your letters. I had a letter from mother a day or two ago and she sent me a little tea and I was glad of it. You must send stamps occasionally and a few at a time. We can’t get them here and I am afraid that we shall be bothered about paper and envelopes. I don’t know of a store or a post office in running over this side of Washington & could not mail a letter if it was outside of the army. We have a man detailed for that purpose.

We are now about fifty miles southwest from Washington camped in a nice grove of timber near good water. The climate here is nice and the weather is fine. The roads are first rate and the fires run over the ground considerable every day. We hain’t had but one storm to amount to anything since I came this side of the [Potomac] river. That was when you had that deep snow. Then we had a cold rain with considerable wind. It made our tents flap pretty smart. We had a very little snow a few days ago but that was soon over and no rain. It has froze a very little a few nights. The days are pleasant as summer.

The country here is rough and near the mountains, the land is middling good, but stony. There has not been much raised here this season. The fences are mostly gone. There is some corn and some hay and some wheat but our folks take it for their use and make fires of the fences and they occasionally take sheep and cattle and hives of bees. I have some honey a few times but it had considerable comb in it. I like trained honey the best. I have had fresh mutton and a little secesh new milk. I know for I milked [the cow] myself. The government furnishes plenty of fresh beef now and that is good. You know I am tough and my appetite is first rate. I will send you one hard tack if you would like to see one and eat it. It can be sent in a letter [bit] it will take two stamps to carry one. They are about three by four inches in size and about one-fourth of an inch thick. They are about one grade poorer than common crackers but they go very well with coffee and we have good bread part of the time but the further this way we get, the less bread. We have our mess cooked for us and we make our own coffee and draw our own sugar. Sometimes we have rice. That is cooked. There is men detailed to cook in every company.

I can’t tell how long we shall be here but I don’t think we shall winter very far from [here]. There has been some talk that we [will] winter right here. I don’t know how that will be, yet there is one Dutch regiment in camp that are fixing up their tents nice and Sigel is a Dutchman and it may be that they know about it. We don’t get news any ahead. When we have moved, we only knew it an hour or so ahead. That is the way it goes.

I buy once and awhile a daily paper. With that exception, I don’t get much news about the war. You wrote to know whether you should send me that paper. I wrote that maybe you had better not until we was more settled. I would like once in a while a Tribune and have it as soon as may be after it was printed. I like fresh news now-a-days. I want you should write often and write all the news. I would like to hear from home at least two or three times a week.

We have got a floor in our tent now made of confiscated boards. We have got some straw, or rather wheat, in the bundle, and some boughs laid down and a blanket under and two over us and it makes a very good bed. I use mine for an upper sheet and it goes well. I have been very careful of it. I think a great deal of it. It is warm and light to carry. I am gaining in flesh now. I don’t have hardly enough to do to keep from getting lazy and would like to come and help you do some chores necessary to have done for winter but it is a most too far to have it pay. — B. M.

Letter 11

Fairfax
Friday, 21 November 1862

Beloved Wife,

I spend a few minutes to write a few lines to you this morning since I wrote two last. Our division of the army has been moved back within two or three miles of Fairfax. What this move was made for is more than i can tell but I suppose time will determine. Our forces were strong and the talk was one while in camp that we were going from Thoroughfare Gap to Fredericksburg. But by some means we took our back track and we are now about thirty nearer home than we was camped in a piece of woods. How long we stay here or where we go, I can’t tell but I don’t think that we go far at present. I can’t get much news here, I would like to have you send me some Tribunes and maybe I can find out from them what our retreat was made for. And I would like to know a little about the movement of the army.

I don’t know as I have much to write today more than to let you know where we are now, We are getting a very rainy time here now, It is not very cold but wet and muddy. You might send a little tea when it is convenient and I want you to write often.

I think that you had better get us as much as fice cords more of wood off Mr. Bond and get it home as soon as you can. You had better have a supply on hand early in the winter. About your stove trade, I don’t know anything about [it] but guess that it is a good idea. If Irvin don’t sell his calves, I guess that he had better have steers made of them. When you get this, if you have one or two dollars that you can spare, you might send through. It is something that can be done without I have a little yet.

I think the prospect is now that we shall get that box and I shall have to pay my share for drawing the box from Washington and that will take some money. Every such thing is high here—I mean every such job of teaming. We are now about 25 miles from Washington. I guess that I will let this answer for now for it is a damp, bad day to write.

From your husband, — B. M.

I could not count your letters for I have had to destroy them. I am sorry but I could not carry them. I should think that I have got all you have wrote. My love to the children.

Camp near Fairfax
November 23, 1862

Irvin, my son.

I received your good letter this evening and was glad to hear from you. I really think that you wrote a good letter. About that off colt, I guess you had better give her two ears of corn twice a day. It won’t cost a great deal and maybe that her campers are down too much. You bad better take her downtown nears ask him to burn her campers if they need it and ask him to take out her wolf teeth and you must salt them often. It will make you too much work to cut feed for them. I am glad you have got steers made of your calves. I guess you had better get the Indian to shoe the colts.

Well, Bub, I would be very glad to see you and maybe I shall by spring. I think the war is getting along some.

I am sorry that you have got a lame arm. I guess that you and Ma had better study at home this winter and Nancy too. It will be too much for you to go to school and do the chores. You must write again. Tell me in your next whether Nancy haves any bows. Tell Nancy to write to me. I like to hear from home often.

I han’t seen any secesh yet—only occasionally a few prisoners. It is a little chilly to our house this evening so you see that I can’t write very well, I write with my rubber blanket folded and laid on my knee and paper on it and I am flat on my sit down so please excuse poor writing. My health is quite good, only I have had a little back door trot for a day or two.

I am thirty miles nearer home now that I was a week ago and I guess that I shall move some nearer in a few days. Tell Ma that I think that we shall get that box in a day or two. We have heard that it is in Washington.

I guess I won’t write much more now. From B. Merrill

To his son Irvin

Letter 12

Camp near Fairfax
November 24, 1862

Miss Barzilla Merrill,

I received your letter last night dated 17th. I was glad to hear from you and I believe that I have written two since you wrote. You wrote that you wanted me to count my letters from you. I have had to destroy them because I could not carry them. I can’t tell just how many I have had. I think I have got about the number that you say you have wrote. I received one with four stamps. You had better put in three or four a eek. Do not send more than that at a time. We have moved about thirty miles towards home. We are now near Fairfax in camp. I think you have got a letter about this last move before this time.

I don’t get much news about the war—probably not as much as you do. I think that things are moving middling well. We are held as a reserve and I think by appearances, we have got to shift places of camp pretty often and I guess that this will be about all. I can’t tell where we shall be called next. I think though we don’t go far at present. i guess that we go some nearer to Washington. Do you hear anything about a settlement of the war? I would like to have you send some Tribunes occasionally.

I would like to have matters in shape so that I could come home between now and Spring and I rather look for such a move, don’t you? The thing ain’t right as it is now, with the men here and the women there. And you know that don’t work very well either way. The nights are quite cold here. It froze quite hard last night. It is pleasant today. Our bedroom is not very war, and our kitchen is all out doors but they say that we are going to have better tents for winter.

Our work ain’t very hard—only when we march, and then we have so much to carry it makes it hard. But we don’t go far in a day. Alva has been washing our clothes this forenoon. I expect that [box] tonight or tomorrow. We have sent for it and we have heard before that it was there. It will cost considerable to get it brought. I guess you had better send me a dollar or two if you can. We have been having our pay all the time for some time pushed out. We don’t get it yet and I can’t tell when we shall. We have that three dollars you sent and that is all. The men that I tent with choose to have a little butter and a few potatoes and I share with them and you see that I have to use some money. Yesterday we bought about two-thirds of a barrel of biscuit and they cost three dollars but they are good. We get tired of hard tack and the government hain’t furnished much other bread lately.

I try to get along as cheap as I can but I have to be one among the rest and Alva uses some money though he is not very bad, or in other words, very extravagant. He is a good boy and keeps quite steady. But I think that if he was now to home, he would not be so anxious to enlist again though he don’t complain. His health is good. Our tents are close together and we live quite neighborly together. Horace and Alva tent alone now. They thought that Aaron and Theodore got rather too nasty and they dissolved. Our company [mess] gets along first rate. Calvin wants to fuss round and cook or make coffee and tea and we are willing he should and it goes first rate. I think a good deal of Mr. [Hiram] Vincent. He is a nice man and free [ ]. He would like to see his wife. I think she writes often.

After dinner. We had for dinner fresh beef and beef soup and we crammed in some of our biscuit and we had a good dinner. I think that you had better get five cords more of wood and get it home now. I think that it won’t b long before I can send you some money. I guess that you had better give the off colt two ears of corn twice a day and see if she won’t gain a little or take a little bran and put on hot water ad let her have that. The bran would be the best. You had not try to cut feed. That will be too much work. They will want salt often, If she has got wolf teeth, they must be taken out and maybe her campers are down. If they are, they will be burnt. Have Mr. Near look at her. Tell him to look at her campers. I guess that the Indian had better shell for you. Maybe you can pay him something his family will want. I don’t know as I will want to advise you much. I think that you are getting along first rate.

I had a letter from Mother the other day and I have answered it. She sent me some tea and a little woolen yarn. You said something about my being to the expense both ways. I thought that I had played out on that score but I have not. I want you to write us often as twice a week and I want all the news and I feel anxious to know about Robert’s mumps. We have the mumps some here in the army and some have the dumps. I try and enjoy myself as well as I can and keep as contented as possible, Some days I get the blues a little and get to thinking about home and about wife. But there is one thing in my favor—my health is good. It is a bad place to be sick here. I feel a little lazy and I don’t feel as strong as I did when I came here and the reason is some of the time my exercise ain’t enough for my health.

I sent you a letter a while ago giving you a sketch of what had happened as near as I could remember since we got to Washington. You hain’t said anything about that, Maybe you hain’t got it. It was rather an interesting letter, allowing me to be judge. And I wrote one since that you don’t mention. Probably you will get on the whole. I think that I have wrote considerable and I thought that it was to your expense, but if it is to my expense, I don’t know but I had better hold on. But probably you will hear from me occasionally.

My beard is getting long but I keep it combed out pretty slick. I wash up thoroughly every day, comb my hair and beard, and shall have to have my hair cut before long. I would like to have you comb my head and cut my hair and fix me up a little.

I guess that Nancy nor Irvin had better go to school this winter. You had better have school to home, I guess. I would like to have you catch up about writing and keep up and then I can tell how to write better. — B. M.

Letter 13

Fairfax or Camp near Fairfax
November 30th 1862

I find from what you wrote a few days ago that it places me in rather a critical position to write to you and I hardly know how to commence, however, I think that I will take off my hat first and then commence by saying, Misses Barzilla Merrill, if you please dear madam, I have received one about four days since with two stamps and this morning I received one with a spare envelope and some tea. We have been thirty or forty miles farther into the state of Virginia than we now are. Then it was difficult for us to get little notions such as ink and envelopes, and now, situated not more than twenty miles from Washington we have no trouble to get such things only our money is getting a little short, I wrote the other day that you had better send a dollar or two, We don’t get any pay yet and I don’t know when we will. I hain’t received any yet. If you hain’t sent any, I would like to have you send two dollars as I have a little yet but I am getting short. I have written two or three that I think you have not had time to answer that I expect will be answered in due time. I have kept no account of the letters that I have wrote or received. I think if a letter gets lost, it don’t help the matter to keep count. However, it is well enough to count. I have convenient way to keep your letters. I have kept them a long while and toted them overm and then destroyed them. I hated to do so.

We have been shifting considerable since we have been this side of the river and I have been obliged to have as little to look after as possible and I suppose that we will have to keep shifting. We occupy the place of a reserve. Where we go next, I can’t tell. I rather expected that we would have to go somewhere today. We generally have to move Sundays. I have heard no such orders as yet. Maybe we shall stay in camp today.

We don’t have a great deal to do—drill a little, some picket duty, and our own work about our tents the most of the time. My health has been good. I have had a hard cold the past week and so has Alva. We are both better now. The most of the time for a week past has been raw, chilly weather and not much storm and today which I sit writing, my feet are cold. There is no snow nor much mud—rather dry for the time of year.

I am rather sorry that you have been so uneasy about our being taken prisoners. You say that you think we are in danger. Now I will tell you what I think. I think that there is hardly rebs enough this side of the Blue Ridge to make a corporal’s guard. I think that Burnside and Jackson may have a battle down about Richmond before long, but this is only my opinion. I don’t know one thing. I do knnow I would like to see an end of the war. I hope that the good Lord will take this work in hand and bring about an honorable and speedy close. This seems to be the desire of the men as far as I hear. A speedy close may be that Congress will do something in this direction when they come together.

I think that probably you will need to be a little clear-headed to understand all my writing because I can’t get my ideas together very straight. I think that maybe it will be a spell after this before I am home on a furlough. I keep the same tobacco box that I brought from home. It is good. But I am sorry that I had not taken my other for my tobacco takes up too much in the one that I have. My clothes are good yet and i have drawed another pair of pants and a pair of mittens. My sox have wore through a little on the heels but Alva darned one pair of them. The greater difficulty that I have to get along is a poor place to sleep. We have some springy poles laid under and pine boughs on top and a blanket top of them and that does better than no way. We fare as well as our neighbors so we don’t complain.

Alva has drawed a pair of shirts. He says if Norman could bring his shirts, he would like them and he would like to have Benton make him a good pair of kid boots, number nines, or the same size his others were, and have Norman bring them. That he would be glad you would find out by Norman whether he could bring them. If he can, you had better get them ready so that he can fetch them. It may be that he can’t bring them. Boots are very dear here. If he could bring them, it would be a favor to Alva and I would try and fix it so that he would be made good and you had better see him right away.

So far as I am concerned, I don’t know as I need anything that Norman can bring. I need a few things from home but I don’t think that he could bring them. I think that he would do well to bring a few barrels of apples and a few barrels of potatoes. Apples sell three for five cents and potatoes sell for four cents a pound, butter is worth forty cents, and cheese twenty cents. If he could bother with such things, I think that he might make money seeing he is coming down. You can speak to him about these things. Then he can do as he pleases.

The way that we spent Thanksgiving in camp, we had one sermon and no drilling. Text, “O Lord, I thank thee for teaching our hands to war and our fingers to fight or to this import. 144 Psalm, first verse. You can turn to it at your leisure.

It bothers me some to write to you because you are two or three letters behind what I have written. I want you to remember that it [takes] 4 to 6 days to get a letter after it is written but I am a little used to your being behind, or in other words, a little slow so I get along. I expect that box will be in camp soon. A team left here with the intention of loading with boxes for this regiment. It will cost three dollars per hundred [weight] to get it brought.

I guess that I will send you a little sassafras in this letter. There is plenty of it close by. I guess I will tell you what I had for Thanksgiving supper and it was good. I had hasty pudding, butter, and sugar, and it was a nice treat. Milk is about out of date. I would like to come across our new milk heifer some night before milking. I think that I would have some milk once more. There ain’t much left here anywhere we have been but the face of the earth. I would be glad to step into our cellar and see the apples and potatoes and all the good fixings. I suppose you have got them all saved nice and I hope that the house is banked so that your sauce won’t freeze. Save a plenty of butter and you had better get five cords more of wood of Bond. There is a great deal wasted about our camp such as friend meat grease, meat, hard tack, and the like. We have plenty to eat but we don’t get change enough.

I have learned since I came this side of the river that I had left you pregnant. If there is anything of [this] kind, I would like to know it. You said in your little letter that you had not been unwell since July. I got news about Aunt Peas [?] and Aunt Town from you. What about that note that Aunt Peas had. — B. M.

Letter 14

Camp near Fairfax
December 4th 1862

Ruba,

We got that box last night. Things mostly in good order. The mice had got in some. The butter was nice and the cheese the mice had hurt, the berries some. Alva’s and mine was alright. Now I want you to let me know how much fruit money you paid. And I would like to have you let me know how much butter each one put in, and particularly how much Jane Hubbard put in. I would like have you let me know who paid for the fruit and how much each paid. You wrote that you had paid freight enough so that I could have some cheese without paying for it.

George Newcomb and I claim one, Chris and Hubbard the other. Hubbard let me have a piece this morning about a pound is all that I have got. I wish you would explain this matter. The letter that you put in the box was injured so that we could not make out all of it. When you write, please explain each matter particular to me.

The sugar that you spoke about I believe there was one or two little scollup cakes in the dried berries is all the sugar we got. Is htis all that you sent of sugar? I don’t know as I have any other news to write about this.

I sent home my dress coat, shoes, small rubber blanket that I bought, and that large bundle that you put up. I sent them yesterday in a box with others directed to Charles Blair. I want you to speak to him about it as soon as you see him and you will have to pay your share of the freight. We are moving so much that I thought best to spare what I can get along without. I am sorry that I did not send both pair of my drawers. I drawed a large rubber blanket is the reason that I sent home the one that I bought. That will make a good one for you to put over your shoulders when you go out to do chores. You will want to wash it in water about cold and without soap. I drawed another pair of pants and I might have worn them over the ones that I drawed first and sent home my drawers and you might have worn them but that is too late now. You may make Irwin a coat out of the dress coat or let it be just as you think best.

I have written you a number of letters that you have not answered. Probably you have not received all of them yet. I spoke about your sending me a dollar or two. I hain’t heard from that yet. My health is good. So is Alva’s. Did you send any dried cherries? We did not get any. Alva says he wanted some cherries.

The news came yesterday that Fredericksburg was burnt by our folks. I think that Burnside is about to make a ty on Richmond soon. The talk now is Washington about peace, I don’t know how this is. I do think that the war is moving favorable for us. We had orders Tuesday night about twelve o’clock to pack our knapsacks and be ready to march at a moment’s call, but we hain’t gone yet. I don’t know when or where we shall go. I know where I would like to go. I would like to go home if all was right here. I hope the thing may be hastened. Don’t think that I am homesick. I feel to wait patiently hoping that the Lord will interfere in our behalf.

We get plenty to eat now. Some of the time we have been short, though not long at a time. The trouble is we don’t get very comfortable lodging but we make this do. Our labor is not very hard. I think that when I come home, I will have a comfortable place to sleep and a comfortable bed fellow, don’t you? Pvt. B. M.

They call P. Hubbard old.

Letter 15

Camp near Fairfax
December 7, 1862

Mrs. Merrill,

Alva and I each received a letter from home this morning—two stamps and two dollars. We were glad to hear from home. We are still in camp here. I don’t think that [I] will be able to write much this time. The wind is heavy here today and the smoke settles down and our camp is filled with smoke and it affects my eyes very much and I have some cold besides. Both together affect me considerable.

We got that box. I an Newcomb claim one cheese and Hubbard the other, and Hubbard thinks that his folks must have sent fifteen or twenty pounds of butter so you see that the rest don’t stand much of a chance. Hubbard has now probably 20 or 30 pounds of butter in his possession. I have understood that all Mrs. Edgerton put in some butter. If she wants Hubbard to have it, alright. If she don’t, I wish she would tell you who she wants to have it and how much she sent.

I wrote to you in another letter about it, consequently I shan’t write as particular now. I want you to let me know how much fruit you pair [for] and who paid the rest. I have had about a pound of the cheese. It did not look as though all was as it should be. Your letter was injured so that we could not read it all. There was a small letter wrote with a pencil that Hubbard got hold and first that I knew, it was out of sight and I did not get a chance to read it. Do you know anything about that> If you do, please let me know. What I want [is] to get all the information about it that I can, and as soon as possible. The butter and cheese will soon all be gone. You might speak to Maria about the butter. Ask her if she wanted me to have any of that butter she sentr. If she says yes, ask her how much.

Last night after the rest of family had gone to bed, I changed my clothes and washed the ones that I took off and then I washed myself all over. I wish you were here to wash my shoulders and back but I got along. We have got a place fixed to keep fire in our tent now. So has Alva and Horca and we are quite comfortable so far as cold is concerned. I sent my rubber blanket, dress coat, and shoes and that budget that you sent. I could not carry them very well. They are sent to Charles Blair. You will have to see him and there will be some freight for you to pay. I guess you will have to send stamps a little faster. I am about out. Alva uses some. I guess that he writes occasionally to R. Settlement. I see he gets some letters occasionally that is mailed Versailles. He and Horace seem to enjoy each other’s company very well. There is some sick in our regiment, I don’t know as any have died. I don’t know as any are sick that you know but [Seymour] Sikes, [Truman] Manhurt, and [Isaac] Emery. They are away to some hospital is all that I know about them.

There is talk that we go into winter quarters about here somewhere and have good tents and stoves. — B. M

Well, Irvin, how do you do this evening? I am going to take time to answer your letter now. If I don’t make out much, you must not blame me for I ain’t in tune today and that ain’t all. I have to get flat on my sit down and lay my knapsack on my lap and it makes my back ache to sit in this position. Suppose you try this position next time you write to me. Sit down flat on the floor and lay Alva’s knapsack filled on your lap and write and see how you like it.

About your steers, they ain’t old enough to handle much and I am afraid that you and the school boys will hurt them. If Mr. Bonce wants them, I guess you had better sell them to him. It won’t take much to lame them or hurt them. Then you will feel bad and I guess you had better sell them. There won’t be pasture for them next summer and another thing, you may be short for hay this winter. I want you to take good care of the cows and colts this winter. They will eat a good deal of hay by next May. Don’t let the colts run away. I guess that Nob won’t need much grain. The other might have a very little. Towards spring they will want a little more. Ma did not say how much the hay made. I would like to know. You must write again. And I want Nancy to write too. I would like to see you and Nancy and Ma very well. I hope you will be good children and mind your Ma.

Ruba, I put in a little sassafras and I found that it would not work very well so I took it out so you must take the will for the deed. You must continue to send me stamps. Paper and envelopes I can get now probably better than you can send. When we were down to the Gap, I could not get such things. I spoke once about your sending envelopes. You need not send anymore envelopes nor tea as long as we are so near Washington. When I want any such thing, I will write. Give me full clean letters with a few stamps often. If you should put a two-dollar bill in one, that might do. If you hain’t, or if it ain’t convenient, I can get along a while. I am about out. I guess that you had better try and send a little. I rather hate to ask this. I rather expected pay before now and I may not get pay in a month, you see. I can’t tell.

George Real came back and stuck his head into our tent this evening as I sat writing. He says tell them I am well. George is fleshy and tough. He and I walk out together. We are trying to live in the enjoyment of religion but I tell you that it is an awful wicked place here. Alva and Horace are getting along very well. They seem to take comfort together and they are well. Horace Chester, [Harvey] Inman, Calvin, [Hiram] Vincent, [Bornt D.] Shelmadine, and Hubbard are all well. Some have had colds. Giles is well. [Isaac] Emery is sick. He is away in a hospital. I don’t know where he is or how he does.

Our tent stands open to one end and Alva and Horace’s tent is a little from ours and the end facing ours is open and we have a fire between Indian fashion. The talk is that we will have larger tents and a small stove but it may be talk only. There is one thing that I believe—our regiment, as far as I know, are agreed in [and] that is to see the war close so that they can go home. But we have got on the harness and we are going to keep it on until we see the thing through and no whining.

Alva got a letter today and I asked him who it was from. He said that it was from Mr. Tailor’s folks. I han’t read it yet and I don’t much expect that I shall. Give my love to Uncle Chester and John’s folks and tell them that Horace gets along well and I think that his health is better than when he left home. And I see that his beard is getting out considerable. Horace and Alva takes out coffee when they go out on picket and trade it for meal and they have some puddings.

I want you to write about Ebenezer and Mariah. Give them my respects. Ask them how they spent Thanksgiving. I thought of the folks up home that day…I think of old friends to home and the comforts of home life more than I ever did before and if I should live to get home again, I think that I shall be thankful. Give my love to Uncle Anson and wife. Maybe I have forgot some but it is now bed time and the mail goes at 8 in the morning so I will stop and bunk down. Some of the boys sing. I will go to my tent and lie down in despair. On the whole, I feel at little keen. — B. M.

Letter 16

Camp near Fredericksburg
December 19, 1862

My dear wife,

I have a few things to write to this time. When we came back to Fairfax the second time, we lay in camp about two weeks. Then we had orders to march—Sigel’s whole corps. Consequently we started one week ago yesterday morning, taking a southerly course marching every day, and last night we got into camp here, averaging about eight miles per day. Some of the way the roads were very bad—mud was ankle deep; some of the way the roads were good. Part of the time there was short rations. The teams are in this morning and we have plenty to eat again. We had to march about half of one night. The same day or the day after we started, the battle commenced to Fredericksburg. It was the design of Sigel’s Corps to flank the enemy as near as I can learn but we did not get through in time or I think that we would have had to have walked in.

As near as I can learn about the battle, it was a whole slaughter on our side and not a very heavy loss on the side of the enemy. Our men succeeded in taking the place and the enemy fell back to their pits and batteries and they just mowed us and we could not make our big guns work very much and the next day night we evacuated the city. While our folks were there, they destroyed large stores of their provision that was stored there.

We are now about four miles from the city and in sight of the enemy’s campfires. Their pickets and ours—some of them—are not more than a hundred rods apart. There is no firing of pickets now on either side. How this thing will come out, I can’t tell. I think they won’t fight anymore just yet.

The news is in camp that Banks took Richmond while the battle was in progress but I don’t know how this is. And the news is that Fort Darling is ours. Providing this is the case, I think the heft of our trouble is got along with. You probably will hear about these things correct as soon as I will. Alva and I are well and hearty and are blessed with a good appetite—can eat raw pork or most anything.

With regard to our march down here, nothing very special. The most of the way [was] through woods. The places are marked with destruction. We came through a place called Dumfries. That was a secesh place. About two or three hours before we passed there, there was a lot of seceshs left. We are now in close contact with the enemy. Probably things will shape different some way soon. How it will turn out, I can’t tell. I know of no other way only to wait and trust Providence.

I have seen Gus [Darbee]. He is well. He saw Wilbur a day or two before I saw him. He says that Wilbur is well and fleshy. They were both in the last battle.

We get pleasant days here. The nights are quite cold. We have had a little snow two different times. There is no snow on the ground now. I have had no letters from you since the two that you sent and the two dollars. It is on the account of our move, no doubt. Your mail will probably come soon. You must send stamps for I am about out. I don’t know as there is much to write until things come around more. War news—you will get that soon than I can get it to you and I don’t get much.

December 20th 1862

Ruba, I received a letter from you yesterday and was very glad to hear from you. It is the first mail that we have had in ten days. I am sorry that you are sick. I would be glad to be with you. I have wrote two or three letters that you had not got when you wrote yours. I got your fifty cents and one stamp. i have the two dollars that you sent yet. i am about out of stamps. I want you to send some stamps if you han’t [already]. I think that I will hear from you when you write another mail. The reason that we han’t had mail is because we have been on the move. We are now in camp. How long we shall be here, I can’t tell. We are near the 64th and 44th. I expect Wilbur here today. Hart is in our camp now and so is Gus Darbee. Gus’s health is good.

I guess that I won’t have the potash kettle sold now. Tell Mr. Rich if I ain’t like to get home by next spring, it may be i shall think best to have the kettle sold and he shall have the first chance. If you can get three dollars for the old harness, it would be better to sell it than to keep it. You had better let the calves go if you can. I can’t write much. It is cold but no snow. The weather is pleasant but rather cold, There is a great many men camped about in this section.

Give my love to the children. Tell Mrs. Hall that Jason is well. He says that he has wrote and will write again. — B. M.

I got both of them Tribunes you sent. Was glad of them. Alva appears about the same as when you saw him. We have to go out on a General Inspection soon and I can’t write much more. I hope you will be careful of your health in future. We have a good deal of camp smoke and it affects my eyes considerable. My health is good, I was weighed yesterday and my weight was 136. I am fleshier than I was a month or two ago. I have got roughened to camp life considerable. I ain’t as much in favor of it as might be. I think of Dayton occasionally and the folks there. I saw you in a dream the other night. You looked pleasant. — B. M.

Letter 17

Camp near Fredericksburg
December 23, 1862

I thought that I would spend a few moments in writing to my wife this morning. Ruba, I received two letters from you yesterday and was very glad to hear from home. I hain’t got mail very regular nor have had a chance to send very regular for the last two weeks. We have laid in camp here a few days past and the mail goes and comes more regular now.

We are now in camp near Fredericksburg, probably one mile from the Rappahannock, and the rebel army about the same distance on the other side and Fredericksburg between. There was a hard battle here a few days ago. Our folks succeeded in taking the city and the rebels fell back on the hills beyond where their batteries and pits were. There they held the ground. Our men were marched up right in front of their batteries and were mowed down tremendously. Finally our men were ordered to fall back with a heavy loss and so ended the fight. Our men destroyed large stores of provision that was stored in Fredericksburg by the rebs and what will be the next move, I can’t tell. I don’t think that things will lay as they now do very long. Some think the rebs are falling back now. Some say that Sigel is moving to try and cut off their retreat. I don’t know anything about it. One thing we are not far from the enemy and there is a large number of men camped within a few miles of here. The 64th and 44th [New York regiments] are not far off. Alva has been over to the 44th and has seen Wilbur. He is well. He said that he would be over to our regiment soon. I have been to the 64th that lays nearer. The country about here is rough—hilly on both sides of the [Rappahannock] river—and things bear the marks of war. Things destroyed the same as further back from Fairfax. Down here the most of the way was through woods and the roads were muddy. Distance about sixty miles.

Since we crossed the [Potomac] river and came into Virginia, we probably have done about two hundred miles marching.

I have some peculiar feelings about this war sometimes. My faith has been strong that the Lord would take this work in hand and stop this manslaughter business. Then again I think that we as a Nation are so wicked that we will go by the board. Still I hope and my prayer is that the Lord will be merciful and bring about a speedy close.

I find things are managed altogether different from what I expected to find them before I came here. Had I understood the perfect workings of the war, I should have stayed at home. But I came in good faith and I shall trust the consequences. I hope to have patience and grace sufficient for my dear, you must not make any dependence on money from me at any particular time. I don’t know when I shall get anything. When I get it, I will send it. That is all I can do. I don’t know how you will get along about [paying the] taxes. Do the best you can.

About the weather here, it is about as warm today as summer and the robins are singing. We have had a little cold weather and a little snow two or three times. The sky looks warm today and the ground is quite dry. the climate is nice here. Were things as far as advanced here as in York State. it would be a nice place to live. [But] as it is, give me Old Cattaraugus. I would be glad to step on Slab City Flats once more. I have hardly slept the inside of a house since I saw you and I have not sat down in a chase since, or any such thing. We are turned into the lots or woods as the case may be like some brutes. We prefer woods for then we can get wood to use and strike our tents with.

There is no chance for Alva and I to send our likeness for there is no chance to have it taken here. We look about as we did when you saw us—only some smoked up with camp fires. Our healths are good. I am some fleshier than I was. While the camp smoke affects me some—that is, my eyes and head—and I find that I begin to get a little clumsy. My knee joints are a little stiff and I feel that I am growing old some but I guess that I stand it about as well as the generality of the men. I have not failed answering to my name yet nor have I been excused from duty once yet. I have been troubled some with cold. I have some cold now [but] not very bad.

Our folks have been sending up balloons yesterday and today some. There was one just up a few minutes ago. It has gone down now.

Yesterday Alfred Dye was here of the 64th [New York]. He is well. He gave me two plugs of nice tobacco that was taken at Fredericksburg. Our living now is principally hard tacks and coffee. The farther south we get, the harder it is to get something to eat. Our rations are rather short though not bad. I have a great many anxieties both here and at home. I was sorry to hear that you was sick. I am glad you are getting better and I think you had not better get anybody to read your letters after this. Maybe you will find something you won’t want others to see. Wait till you get able to read after this.

I begin to think that I have been away from home a long time. I begin to think the prospect slim for getting home in the spring. I think our head men like money too well for that, but I can’t tell how this will be. I dreamed of seeing you the other night. I thought your cheeks were very red and you looked fresh. I would be very glad to see you and see home once more. I think of the privileges that I have enjoyed in the home circle. I hope the time will soon come when I can enjoy the same again, don’t you?

I have had two letters from Mother. The last letter was a very good one. The first one I could hardly read.

I find by noticing that the troops here are getting very uneasy. Some say that they won’t stay longer than spring anyway. If this kind of feeling gets to going extensively, I don’t know what effect it will have. One thing sure, the men are getting sick and tired of the kind of management. Still I try and keep as quiet as possible. Some days I get the blues a little to see the thing run as it does.

You spoke about my missing or rather calling you miss. I will tell you about that. You will remember giving me directions about directing your letters by using your whole name and [to] put it nearer the bottom? So I thought that I would try and suit you as I generally do. That is all there was to it. I was glad to have that nice little letter that was done up so nice in another this time. What have you done with that small likeness that I got to Jamestown? You know what I would like to have done with it.

You wrote the hog weighed 161 pounds. Was this a mistake or was she as light as that? I thought that she had ought to have weighed about three hundred or two hundred and fifty. My space is full. Maybe you can’ t read this but try. From your husband, — B. M

December 24th—Wife, I guess that I must answer your small letter. I rather had the blues yesterday but I have slept it off and I feel rather keen this morning. I believe that tonight is the night to hang up stockings. I am sure of one thing—if I was at home and you should hang up your stocking, I should be very likely to put in something. After your sickness—or confinement—I wish you would let me know what you have got and what doctor you called. You was confined rather sooner than I expected.

I feel rather uncomfortable occasionally but it works off and I am alright again. I would be glad to sleep in my old nest and have my old bed fellow again. I think that I would lat close.

How do the colts get along? Do they cough any now? How does the hay last? Some of the time when it is cold, you must get some of that over the stable and let the cows pick out the best and then use it for bedding. You had not better sell any wheat or potatoes now. They will be higher by and by and may be Alva and I will be home. Then the potatoes will suffer. You may eat an apple for me. I just now undertake to read this over. Tell Irvin and Nancy that I would be glad to see them. Give my love to the friends and some in particular. — B. M.

Letter 18

Camp near Fredericksburg
December 31st 1862

Wife,

I received your letter of the 25th last night. I was glad to hear from home and to hear that your health is improving, I hope you will be careful and try and get your health again. I feel sorry that you have been so afflicted with poor health.

We still lay in camp where we first camped when we came here this side of the Rappahannock and a little up the river from 47th [?] and the Rebs over the river on the rise. Their tents—some of them, in sight, so you see that we are neighbors. Our regiment came in yesterday from a 48 hour picket duty. I saw quite a number of Reb pickets. Some of the two set of pickets have talked together some. They say that they are sick of the war and they don’t want to hurt us but they would like to get at our officers. Both pickets seem friendly. They have traded tobacco some for coffee with our pickets. I have been watching the movements some. I guess that there won’t be much more fighting here at present. Still I don’t know. This forenoon we were mustered in for our second payment. We may get four months pay. When we get any, I don’t know how soon. It may be in a week or two, maybe not.

My health is good except a bad cold. I have had a bad cold about a week. My cold is better today. Alva is well. So is Horace. That man that stayed to Garfield’s with his wife the night that you and I stayed there is dead. He [had] the lung fever. I believe a great many are having hard colds here now. The weather today is chilly. No snow. We have had the nicest weather since we crossed the [Potomac] river, take the time together that I ever saw. The roads are good now and some dusty.

I received a letter from Emily last night. She says that Harry is sick with lung fever. She also says that Mother sent her that letter that I wrote and wrote a few lines herself about that skirmish to Dumfries. We had orders to load our guns just before we got there. Then we were ordered on. Presently we were in town. A sunken place it is and a secesh place. TO return, we passed through without any trouble and not a gun fired. So much for the skirmish. We camped a little beyond the place over night and no trouble. I visited their burying ground a little out of town in a pine grove near our camp. I saw lots of newish graves there filled with reb soldiers—some from Texas, some Arkansas, and some from other extreme southern states. Boards were set up and their names marked on the place where they belonged and to what regiment.

I understand that there was a battle there last Sunday and the rebs got a thorough whipping. I believe that I have not had orders to load my gun but three or four times. Calvin has been quite unwell some time. I hardly know what ails him. He has some cough and I guess he is troubled some with the full stomach the most of the time. He eats wolf meals. [ ] Hubbard is some down. He hain’t been out on duty in some time. I saw him out to the mustering in for pay today. I have not been excused a day from duty yet nor have I missed roll call. So much for Merrill. The most of the time I have been tough as a pig. Lately I have not felt quite as well but as it happens, I am fit for duty yet.

It is a hard place here to be sick and I am thankful that my health has been as good as it has . What awaits me ahead, I don’t know, but I trust Providence. The most of the time we have plenty to eat. Sometimes we get short, though not long at a time. We have chances occasionally to draw clothing so we keep clothed up good. The government socks ain’t worth much. I han’t got any of them. My sox are getting worn some through—not bad. My shirts are good yet and the pants that I first drawed a few days after I sent home my clothes. I saw a man in another company that had two dress coats. He said he was going to throw one away. I said give it to me so he did and so I have a good dress coat now.

I look at your likeness occasionally. It looks good—all but the hat. The case is getting some worn. I am glad that I have it. I would like to hear about the colts when you write and how they do and how you like to get along for hay and how you fare yourselves. I did think that I should be home next spring but now the prospect looks slim. Sometimes a short time brings about a good deal. I would be very glad to see you and the children. All that I can do is to send you my best respects. I know that you will do the best you can. I hope that it will be yours to enjoy good health and I hope the time will come soon when I shall see my family again and all the rest.

You must send more stamps. I am about out. You need not send anymore money unless I write. How much is our taxes and how do you make out with matters. I thought that I should have sent you some [money] before now but you see that I han’t.

I could describe the Rappahannock river. Suffice it to say that it is a rocky, lonesome stream—probably as large as or a little larger than the Cattaraugus. Banks steep on both sides. Country rough about here. I have not been right in Fredericksburg, but as near as I can judge from a little distance, it was rather a nice place before the Yankees made it a visit. Falmouth lays nearby. That is something of a place. There is considerable of the land here that has been tobacco plantations that is now grown up to little pines, thick and large enough for fence poles. Land sandy and light soil. I guess that I will insert a paragraph that was in a letter found at Donisalceres [?]—I mean from a girl to her intended husband. She says, “My dear intended husband, I hope you will soon be home. If the war don’t close, come home on a furlough. I think of the time that we lay on the sofa. I want to see you again. It is all locked up now and will be till you come to unlock it.” I suppose his key just fitted.

—B. Merrill

Letter 19

Camp near Fredericksburg
January 1, 1863

Wife,

I thought that I would write a little to you. We ain’t doing anything in camp. I think of home. I ain’t situated so that I can hold New Years as pleasant as on former occasions but I am thankful that it is as well with me as it is. I am able to write to you and this is a privilege to me during the time I have been here. When I have wrote, as a general thing, I have wrote in a hurry and hain’t even read over what I have wrote. I don’t know hardly how you have got along with what I have wrote. Doubtless you have found lots of mistakes but I have designed to write pretty straight and I did not think or calculate that you would be obliged to call on someone else to read for you. I guess you better not ask anyone to read for you again for some curious notions comes into my head when I write.

Ruba, I have though for some time that I would write to you a little about how the war is moving. Maybe you will call me a secesh but this ain’t so. I love my country and its government and I feel like weeping over the deplorable condition that we as a nation are in this pleasant New Years morning. What shall I say? I lack words to describe. One thing I will say and I think that I will be safe in the statement, and that is this: unless God by His almighty power interposes, we are lost as a nation. I never was more disappointed in my life than I was when I came down here and see how this thing run. So far as the soldiers are concerned, they have come forth nobly and they have come with the intention to help crush the rebellion and save the Union. Well, where shall I place the blame? Right where it belongs—on our leading [military] men. They don’t seem to think of the government or the good of the soldiers. They think of the large pay and they seem to be jealous of each other. They all seem to want to be the largest toad in the puddle. Consequently when one makes a move, another will try and take off his head. This is generally done and generrally to the expense of the lives of a great many men. I think that I am correct in this statement. Now, what is the result? The result is the soldiers are becoming discouraged and disheartened. I have heard men that have been in all through the service say that they were sick and discouraged and did not never want to go in another battle. All seem to be of the opinion that have been disappointed. I think that I have spoke the mind of nearly all what is to be done.

What is to be done? I know of no better way to answer the question than to take the statement that I made a while ago for an answer and I leave it there. Judging from appearances, I am rather inclined to think that we fall back until spring. Then have this ground to go over again. But this I don’t know. It is only my opinion. Men are sickening and dying and they are badly exposed to the weather. Our tents are poor and that makes a poor place to sleep and I think before there is much more done, our [forces] will [be] considerably diminished by sickness and death. There could never have been better weather for this business than it has been since I have been here and what has been done—nothing. No, this statement ain’t right. There has been lots of our men killed. Now it is so late that it ain’t safe to advance on account of our artillery and baggage wagons. And another thing, the government teams are poor and jaded out so I don’t see as we can do much more this winter—only to fall back and prolong the thing. All this is only my notion of the thing. It won’t cost much. I don’t know as it would be best for you to show this to anyone. I might write more on this subject, but let this suffice while I write today.

I sit in Horace and Alva’s tent. They have gone over to the 44th [New York] to see Wilber so you see that I am alone. And here I want to write a little about Horace and Alva. They are a couple of first rate boys. They both mind their own business. They appear pretty [happy]. They seem to think as much of each other as two brothers. They look fresh and their healths are good. They seem contented so far as I am concerned. I try and take the thing cool. Sometimes I feel a little uneasy and think of home and the friends there. The most of the time my health has been good and a good appetite. For a week past I have had a hard cold and quite a hard cough and my lungs have been sore, but for a day or two past, my cold begins to loosen and I am getting better. The camp smoke has been quite troublesome to me. That has hurt my lungs some. You know that I always called a smoky chimney two bad things.

Now I am going to tell you what kind of a day we are getting here. Today it is very pleasant. The sun shines very pleasant and we hain’t any storm of any kind in a long time to amount to anything. The air today is a little chilly and when men are standing around, overcoats are not burdensome. I never saw a fall and winter so far in Cattaraugus with as little storm, It is nice weather here now to plow, make fence, or any such thing. The weather seems to be more steady than to home. I think that the climate here is first rate but the country about here and all where I have been is marked with the destruction of war. It would cost a great deal to put amost any farm that I have seen back in order again. The fences are nearly all burnt up and a great share of the buildings ruined, or nearly so. Our folks made a slaughter so far as property was concerned in Fredericksburg this other day. This looks rather hard to see—our folks coming down here and slaughtering property in this kind of a way. Whether it is right or not, I don’t know. The wood lots that have been left on farms are being cut down for wood, men that own farms are gone somewhere. There is but very few settlers left anywhere that I have seen. And allowing me to judge, things are getting in a very bad shape. I think that we would not very well like to have our home and property served in this kind of a way. I admit that the South began this, but the right ones are not being punished. I presume that a large majority of these farmers are loyal men but they are suffering tremendously so the innocent suffer with the guilty. So the thing goes. I have been of the opinion that I should come home next spring but I have about give this up. There is quite a number that their time is out next spring—whole regiments. I wish that the thing might be settled. I think it would be better, materially better, for both sides to have the thing stopped and stop killing folks and let them go to their homes and families. But we as a nation are guilty and we need chastising.

I am about out of timber. I don’t know whether I will be able to fill this page so that it will be interesting to you or not. I think that I will tell you a little about my own individual feelings. I still feel that the Lord blesses me and I have no other intention only to try and live so that I can feel those approving smiles of my heavenly Father, Sometimes I feel that I get a double portion. Then at other times I feel less satisfied. One thing when I lay down nights and try to ask the Lord to bless me—and I don’t forget to ask the same blessing for my wife and children—sometimes I think that I get the evidence that the Lord hears me. Sometimes I enjoy my mind first rate and I feel clear. At other times, not as well. One thing sure, I have no disposition to join in the wickedness that is going on around me. I have not had a word of trouble with anyone since I have been here and I don’t think that Alva or Horace has. There is card playing, swearing, and in fact, all kinds of obscene talk going on every day. I have watched the boys some and tried to advise them some and I think they have a mind to be men.

There is a good many men camped about here. Hardly a day passes without someone, or more, being buried. While I write, I hear muffled drums for a funeral procession in some regiment somewhere. I feel anxious that the Lord will spare my life to come home again and live and die with my family. I try to feel reconciled and say the will of the Lord be done. I feel rather solemn today. I want you to pray for me and I know that you do. I hope the time will soon come round when we shall meet.

From your husband, — B. Merrill

Write often and I would like to have more stamps. I am about out now.

Ruba, since I finished writing, I have been thinking over what I have written. I don’t know but you will come to the conclusion that I am homesick. I am bold to acknowledge that I would like to see home [but] don’t form the opinion that I can’t stay any longer. I expect to stay until discharged. Another thing, I find that I miss my wife in a number of ways and I miss home and the comforts of home and I miss my nest to sleep in and to tell the plain truth, I miss my bed fellow. I would just like a few nights lodging at home. I suppose you would not be worth much to sleep with until you are a little more over your confinement, would you? How is this? Do you think that you could pass muster, or in other words, muster in. I think that I would just like to see you and lay my hand on, or rather around, your waist. Oh well, I can think about these things and that is some satisfaction. Do you have any such wandering thoughts and feelings cross your path? Please let me know in your next small letter. — B. M.

Letter 20

Camp near Fredericksburg
January 7, 1863

Beloved Wife,

I received a letter from you last night and was glad to hear from you dated December 21st (no. 18). I see you count cobs pretty close. I have written two that you had not got when you wrote this. Probably you will get them.

We are laying in the same camp now that we have been for the last three weeks, Probably the reason of your not getting letters is they did not take letters here for a number of days after we came here. We could send once in a while over to the 64th [New York] and get letters mailed. Now we mail and receive every day. I don’t know as I have much news to write today. You said you thought probably we had got new houses again by this time. I will tell you when we first come here we just struck tents quick and did not know as we should stay but a short time so we did not fix much. The most of the time it was warm so we did not fix much. We received marching orders occasionally but we did not go and last Saturday our Colonel gave orders to have the ground cleared off a larger spot, ad Sabbath morning we had orders to take down our tents and set them up more scattering. And the way most of us set up, we made a bottom about two or three feet with pine poles and then drawed our canvas over and the most of us have got a place to keep fire inside and our beds raised a little from the ground and it makes rather a comfortable place to stay. I would just like to have you pass through camp and see the Yankee with fixing and nothing to do with. we don’t get the new tents I told you [about] in another letter.

I thought that we would fall back but it don’t look much like it just now. But everything seems uncertain in war times. I can’t tell what will take place any ahead so I can’t tell you where we will be tomorrow. I can only say that we still are here and maybe we shall be a few days and maybe a few weeks.

We hain’t drilled much since we have been here. Our business has been picket duty, guard duty, a little drilling and the like. We picket one side of the Rappahannock and the rebs the other. I have had one 48 hour tour of picketing and saw plenty of rebs. I think if it wasn’t for the big toads, we and the rebs—I means the reb soldiers—would not quarrel or fight much. I have not spoke with any of them but some of our men have. They say if we will lay down our arms, they will and both go home. We are in speaking distance when on picket in some places.

I have had a bad cold but am getting better, I have received another letter (N. 21). There seems by your numbers that there is two letters from you that I have not yet received. Alva has not yet had the letter that you speak of. I have not got the letter from Mother that you spoke about. I have been short for stamps for a while back. I would like to have you send more stamps and you may send a little ground black pepper if you please. [ ]. M. Allen has not arrived here yet. Maybe he ain’t coming. I don’t know. Our captain is back ad I was glad to hear so direct from home. I asked him if things looked as though you would make a living through the winter. He said it did. He said things looked snug and tidy. He said you did not look as fleshy as when he saw you last.

January 9th. I thought that I would try and finish this letter this morning. Col. Hickox has come into camp this morning from [ ]. He hain’t seen Norman.

I guess I must tell you how we have got our bed fixed. We take six feet of the back end for a bed. We cut little poles about as large as bean poles, laid them the same way way that we lay on, some poles at each end, and nothing under the middlw. Then we laid on a lot of pine boughs—fine ones. The poles lay close together, and then on the top of the boughs we got some dry grass—something like that would be on the creek supposing it had stood out out until now, cut off with jack knives, and laid it on top of the boughs. And a top of that we spread our blanket which serves for an under sheet. The rest of our blankets a top and we sleep, as they say in the army, bully. My tent [mates] are the same with one exception. Mr. [Hiram] Vincent has been promoted to the office of corporal and there was a vacancy in our orderly’s tent and he gave them an invitation to come there and he accepted and went and we have a man from Versailles in his place by the name of [Taylor B.] Vanderburgh. Vincent says he is sorry that he left us and shall try and get out again. He don’t like his new company. They swear, drink, and play cards. Our family live very quiet and Horace and Alva are close by and we borrow and lend and live quiet and neighborly.

I noticed for a few days back there is a great many stables fixed for horses about here and tents are being fixed quite warm and things look as though the intention was to stay a while.

You spoke about the 17th [of December] being cold where you was. I remember that night myself when we first arrived here. We stopped nearer the Fredericksburg than we now are. Came the 16th and the 17th a little after dark. We had orders to move, consequently we started and tread the mud until about 12 o’clock at night but made but little progress. Then we had orders to halt. Then we were marched up on a side hill a little. Then we moved a short distance and camped where we now are. So you see that I can remember the 17th. That night here was cold and chilly. It did not storm. Our covering that night was the heavens and the ground for a bed. I did not lay down. I did not for fear of taking cold although a great many did lay down. I kept up and occasionally moved round some to keep warm. Probably I should not have mentioned [this[ had you not referred to that date.

You spoke about our being out of Sigel’s Corps. The talk has been that we were placed in Sumner’s Corps for ten days and then we were to be in the same place that we was. How this is, I don’t exactly know. One thing I do know, [Adolph von] Steinwehr’s headquarters are nearby the same as they have been and he is under Sigel. If Norman don’t come, you may send one pair of socks for me by mail. My docks are failing and I see that some get socks in this way. Alva says his socks are quite good yet. I would like to hear from the colts and whether Irvin keeps his calves and how the hay gets along and how many weddings there was New Years. My love to you and the children. Please excuse mistakes. Please write often. Give me a small letter inside occasionally. — B. Merrill

Letter 21

Place of Residence
the same as arrival near Fredericksburg
Sunday, January 11, 1863

Seeing that it is Sunday, my inclination is to write you a few lines. I got a Tribune from you this morning according to your numbers, there are two letters that I have not [received]. I have no news to write this time as I know of. I noticed in your last letter you spoke of being so lonely. It may be that you will get used to your operation going through the world horseback alone after a while. Don’t get discouraged yet. I would like to comfort you if I could.

Yesterday it rained here all day. It has cleared off and is pleasant and warm today. I had a thorough wash yesterday in warm water and put on clean clothes. When I got my clothes changed, I told [Bornt] Shelmadine that I was clean enough to sleep with my wife. Let me see how long is it since your confinement and how do you get along? I begin to have rather a heavy set of whiskers on my face. Maybe you would like to see them. I keep the beard off from my upper lip and keep a stiff upper lip. We have a comfortable tent and a nice fireplace and it don’t smoke. You know I would like to have you peep into our home. We hain’t put down our carpet yet not put up our valances around our bed.

N. M. Allen has not got here yet. Afraid he won’t come. I guess unless something new turns up, we shall stay in this camp a while. I would like our team a day to draw wood. We have to back our wood about a half a mile but we don’t have to use but little to be comfortable. I begin to be afraid that I shall forget how the inside of a house looks and how a York State lady like you looks because I don’t see such things now-a-days. The scenery for me is soldiers, horses, mules, wagons, guns, cannons, &c. It takes three span of horses to draw one cannon. Uncle Sam has got a great deal of such property now.

I am a gaining in flesh now some and I am about over my cold and someways one side of my cold. Well, I would like to write a little encouraging to my lonely wife. Well, what shall I say? Hummm. Try and run your one horse institution as best you can until I come. Then we will double teams and then maybe it will go better—in some respects, at least. Can you send me some more stuff to make ink? Will I feel a little roguish today &c. Give my love to Nancy and Irvin. — B. M.

Send stamps faster. I have borrowed.

Letter 22

Virginia Camp near Fredericksburg
January 13, 1863

Beloved wife,

I thought seeing that I had a good chance to send again, I would write a few lines to send to you. Norman got here Sunday evening after I wrote to you. Alva got his boots and they fit well and look like a good pair. I am glad he has got them. My boots are good yet. My socks are failing. Captain says you sent a pair of gloves for Alva by him. He don’t say anything about socks. He checked his trunk when he was at New York for Washington and he hain’t heard from that [illegible due to paper fold] brought any socks. If there ain’t any started, you had better try one pair by mail and you had better send stamps a little faster and you may send some stuff to make ink of. I would be glad to go home with Norman but I hardly think that it would be best, My health is good now and I have rather a comfortable place to stay.

Our regiment together with three others got into camp last night being two days and a half out. Our mission up the Rappahannock River about 8 miles to fix a place for an army to cross. Report says that Sumner is going over with his Corps. As near as I can learn, our division was lent to Sumner for fifteen days and now we occupy the same position as before.

I found a letter here last night from you. I think that I have written three since you wrote that I would judge from the present appearances that our army here are about to try and do something soon. You wanted my opinion about the President’s Message. When I got that paper, my eyes was sore caused by camp smoke and I have not read it with care. I have looked it over. Consequently I ain’t prepared to give an opinion. One thing I will say, it won’t do for the President to make a move that goes a great deal ahead of public opinion. It is awful times now and it would not take a great deal to get up a rebellion in our own army. The probability is [that won’t happen but] you don’t know the minds of our own army as well as I do. About all seem to agree in trying to stop the rebellion, but when the nigger—as they call him—[is] mentioned, they say that they will throw down their arms and there is a large class of this stripe in the army. So you see it is a difficult point to take action upon. But I hain’t time nor room to write on this point.

The calculation this morning is to draw five days rations. This is a new thing, so I think that there is a move of some kind to be made. But I can’t tell what. My health is good now and last night when we got on, I slept as sweet as a man could. I was to see Norman and hear so direct from home. I saw Gus about three weeks ago. He said that he was a going to trey and get a furlough. I told him if he got a furlough, that I would try and get one too. This is all. You need not look for me at present at any rate. I think that the intention is to move the Army of the Potomac towards Richmond as fast as they can. So you see that there won’t be much chance for going home yet. Probably there is more hard fighting to do yet unless something special takes place.

You probably have seen more or less about Falmouth in the papers. I will tell you about that. It is a little nasty huddle about a half a mile from our camp. Probably Fredericksburg is two or three miles from our camp and was rather a nice place once. I can see two or three spires in that place from here. The ground where the battle was fought is in sight and our batteries were planted a short distance below our camp. Ruba, there is two things that I have learned since I have been in the army. One is a man can endure a great deal more fatigue that I thought he could. And the other is he can get along with a great deal less of the comforts of life than I thought he could do. Now a cup of coffee with a little sugar and 4 or 5 hard tacks makes a meal. And a pint cup and spoon makes out our dishes to eat it. And our bed is cheap—a coat for a pillow answers, and we get along without sheets or pillow.

I don’t mention this to complain. There is one thing I am thankful for—my health is good. It is a hard place here to be sick. I have received some inconvenience from camp smoke but now they have mostly got chimneys and the smoke is not as bad. Among other things that are inconvenient to get along with is we have to wash our own shirts and do without our wives, potatoes and apples but some of us will live through it ad go home and some will fall and sleep in Virginia without doubt. I am in hopes to be favored with the privilege of again returning home but I want to see this trouble cleared up and removed first if I can.

You spoke about Norman getting things for me here. There is no chance to get much here. There is a commissary store calculated for the officers to buy their living and I can manage to get a little from there sometimes but not much. And we don’t have any sutlers here now. The further we get from Washington, the harder to get things. You might put in an extra envelope when you send and send more stamps. It may be so that I can’t write again in a number of days and may not. I can’t tell. I shall try and write as often as I can and I want to hear from you often. I feel in hopes that things will take a favorable turn soon but I can’t tell. I am sorry that Nancy keeps so lame. Give my love to the children. Alva is well and seems to enjoy himself. — B. Merrill

Letter 23

Virginia
January 25, 1863

Beloved wife,

I have a little leisure time today so I take it to write a few lines to you. I have not heard a word from you since your letter dated the 7th. Time seems long. I believe that I have written three times since that I have had no answer from.

Soon after I received your last letter we had orders to march. We moved 8 or 10 miles up the Rappahannock, There we halted and camped. Our business here was to make roads. We stayed two days and worked and then we went back to our old camp. Then I got your last letter. We stayed there two nights and then we had orders to take our tents and march back where we was before. Then we pitched our tents and stayed a few days longer and made roads—we supposed with the intention to have pontoon bridges to have an army cross the river. Then this was throwed up and a place a little above was selected and the bridges started for that place and the whole army about here was put under march, ourselves with the rest expecting to go over and have a battle and the night before we were to go over, we had a heavy rain so that our artillery and baggage trains could not move. Then the whole army had orders to fall back so there went another great Union victory.

We are now in camp about one mile above our old camp. The Lord only knows where our next move will be. I believe that we have been in twenty different camps since we crossed the Potomac. Our tents are now only not up temporary, there is some talk that we go farther towards Washington. The roads are so bad now that the army probably won’t do anything for a month or two to come. I see while they are moving our artillery back they have four span to draw one cannon. I expected one while that I should have to step into battle but still I am out and my health is good and my appetite good. Alva is alright, only he has a boil on his heel cord—not very bad. We were towards the first that fell back and I would liked to have had you seen the amount of men that have passed our camp. They have been almost without number. Had the two armies have come together, probably there would have been a great slaughter of men.

I will tell you a little about the pontoon bridges. They are scow boats the width of a wagon and about forty feet long and put into the steam the longest way up and down and fastened together as they are put in and fastened to each bank. Then they are covered over the top with plank from one end to the other. This makes a pontoon bridge.

I have written to you before about Norman [Allen] being down here and about Alva’s boots. They fit well. I want you to send more stamps and you may send one pair of socks by mail. Do them up snug as you can and you had better have Delong mail them and you might see what it would cost to send a half pound paper of fine cut tobacco. If it would answer, you may send a half pound paper of best kind of fine cut tobacco. Don’t send any poor tobacco. We can get that here. I might write more about this last army move but I will wait till I get home. Then we will talk the whole matter over.

I can’t tell what the reason has been that it has been so long since I have heard from you but I conclude you have written and I have failed to get them. I would have written before now to you but we have been on the tramp so that it han’t been convenient. I want you to write so that I can [get] one or two letters every week and make some calculation sheet, It may be that I won’t get every letter. There is talk that we will get some money soon but I han’t got much faith about it. One thing I know, the 29th New York got pay a day or two ago and they are in our division. They camp near us and it may be that we will get some. If we do, probably we will get [it] within a few days so you may look a little for pay.

I see by the little examination that the men in the army are getting uneasy and discontented and I am inclined to think that it would not take a great many more moves to cause a break in our army and a great many seem to curse Burnside. Sometimes I almost think that our army ain’t going to do anything to the purpose. If we don’t, it won’t be on account of the men. They are here and have come in good faith. The head men seem to be the ones. Things look rather dark now. The rain storm has passed off now and today asa warm and pleasant as summer. No frost in the ground nor no snow, But the roads are very bad, We han’t had a flake of snow in a long time. I see that a large share of the army horses and mules are badly fagged and quite a number are dying off. And if the war continues very long, I think that it will take a great deal to replace the teams.

I am just the same as out of money now and when you answer this I would like to have you send one or two fifty cents stamps for we can’t use anything but government money [and] maybe I shan’t get pay in some time to come. I can’t very well get along without a little money by me. I think if we make any more moves very soon, it will be towards Washington. There has been talk that the move would be next to run troops south but I don’t know about it. I want you to write all the news when you write and write often. I would like to see you and the children. I was looking in my sack this morning and among the rest, I saw your likeness and on the whole, I have thought considerable about home today. Mother sent me some dried apples, berries, cherries, and some tea and pepper by Norman. I han’t got any letter from Mother in some time. I wrote Leonard’s folks a letter since I saw Wilbur. I have not had an answer from that. In fact, I have not had a letter from anyone since I got yours dated the 7th.

I see when the men get letters from their wives, quite a number get small ones inside. I don’t know what is wrote in them. I think that I look about as I did when you saw me last. I am fleshier than I was two months ago and my whiskers are getting heavy. I keep my upper lip shaved. I think some of letting that grow too. I think that I am alright and about as keen as ever. You know when I am through that I want to stop. Now I am through and I will stop. — B. Merrill

Letter 24

Virginia
January 29, 1863

Ruba, I shant be able to write you a very interesting letter this morning from the fact that I have no interesting ground to work upon. I will go back as far as the time that we left our old camp which was the 21st, I believe, and I will take from that date up to now and glean what I can remember as near as may be. To get at my story, I shall embrace a little ground before the 21st and go back as far as the 17th.

The 17th about 2 o’clock in the morning we had orders to march and have our tents and haversacks and we took our blankets and three days rations and of course we had to obey and we started in the dark and on muddy roads, Our course was up the [Rappahannock] river. By the by, we had to take our guns, cartridges, and belts, and when we had marched about four miles, we had an order to halt, load our guns, and put on our bayonets, and, as I said before, we had to obey, and we did this all in the dark.

Then the order was to march. This was obeyed and we moved through mud until break of day which fetched us about 9 miles from our old camp up the river. Then we made a short stop and then we moved about half a mile or so. Then we were halted right in the woods and not far from the bank of the river [where we] got some breakfast and rested for a while. And about the next thing that we saw [was] one or two loads of axes, spades, picks and shovels. Then we had orders to go to fixing road and we worked at this kind that day and the next, and the next day we went back to camp again. Had no trouble with the rebs then.

Then, [on the] 21st, we had orders to pack up and take tents and we went back where we were before, done more work on the road and two or three nights [more]. Then the order was to march and we move still [further] up the river a few miles and camped, expecting that the river would be bridged there and that we should cross. And what this work was done for where we was, I am not able to say. The night that we camped still up the river from where we made road and the day and night before, it rained quite steady. Consequently the roads was getting almost impossible because the whole army about here were moving and the thing of crossing the river was given up and the troops commenced to fall back. And such a time I never saw. Our artillery and baggage wagons cut the roads all to pieces and such deep mud I never saw. But our regiment were among the first that came back and we came within about a mile of our old camp and camped. And we are here yet so you see that Providence kept the two armies apart this time. Had our army crossed and the two armies have come together, there probably would have been an awful slaughter on both sides. Had this plan been made the first time the attack was made, I think that it would have been successful and it probably would have been now provided it had have been carried out. The move on our side was a large thing.

The next day after we got into this camp, there seemed to be a constant string of men passing, regiment after regiment, all day. And there is another road running the same way for far off and it was the same on that road too. After about two days, the rain stopped and it cleared off and the mud, where it wasn’t deep, began to dry up a little. The weather continued good until day before yesterday [when] it commenced to rain. It rained quite steady that day and it snowed some night before last and snowed all day yesterday and last night and melted nearly as fast as it come until last night it gained. This morning the snow was 4 or 5 inches deep but it is going fast now. Today it is pleasant and quite warm and I think that there is mud aplenty and plenty of mud soon.

I wish that I could have drawn a picture of our camp and things connected with it this morning to you but I can’t do it. But I will describe a few things as near as I can. There is four regiments of us here close together and there is probably 40 or 50 government wagons with us—heavy wagons covered like emigrant wagons, and these are drawn mostly by mules 4 or 6 to one wagon. A few horses are used. These were mostly in last night. When they come in, they have to unharness and hitch the mules to the wagons or a stump as the case may be. [There are] no stables. This morning these mules stood with their hind feet very near their forward feet, all wet and cold. Figure up and you will see quite a number of mules around camp.

Now, about the men. Our tents ain’t fixed only for the present not yet so you see that we were pinched too and had we have had four legs, our feet would have been quite close together too but our tent and Alva’s was near each other and our beds were off from the ground and last night we put on good fires of large wood and at bed time we bunked in and this morning we came out right—all but camp smoke. This troubles me and it is with trouble that I write to you this morning. My eyes are quite bad. As soon as it melts off and dries up a little, we are going to fix up and make another chimney which will be the 4th or 5th that we have made and we have been in about twenty different camps in all. But I guess that we don’t move much more at present on account of the roads. Our rations come within about two miles of us by public conveyance and the teams get them from there.

So much for the present picture. And when I attempt to look ahead, it looks dark. It may be that light will dawn somewhere but I don’t know. I don’t get no news of what they are doing in Congress. In fact, I don’t get much news any way. I did not hear a word from home in a long time. The last letter that I got from you was dated January 7th until night before last [when] I got two letters from you. One had some black pepper and the other some stuff to make ink. So you see that this morning I can make marks that won’t rub out. I see that you complained some of pencil marks in your last. My pencil was too hard for writing on paper but I did the best that I could without ink and poor or no paper, What paper I had was rough and poor. Since I received your two letters, I had one from Leonard’s folks and one from Heman. Your numbers 19 and 20 I have not got and I guess that there has been one or two more along somewhere in there that I did not get. I wrote you a short letter the day before I got your two last but this was done with a pencil and it may be you can’t read it. I wrote you a letter about the first of January with a pencil and directed it with a pencil. Did you get that? I think that I could write with a pencil so that you could make out what it means if your eyesight was or did not fail. I wrote in my last that you had better send one or two fifty cents stamps. If it is convenient, you may do so but don’t take any trouble about it. I think that we will get some pay before long but I don’t know certain when. I understand that the paymaster is at work in the regiments that are with us and it may be our turn by and by. I was glad to hear that you had got so as to ride out. After your confinement, I want you to be careful and not be so smart too soon. You know that such things don’t work very well always. Have you named your babe yet? What makes you think that little heifer will come in the spring? I did not think that the old heifer would come in the spring but I did not think that she would be farrow this winter. Of course, what you have written before.

I would be very glad to come home and see how things are moving and see what is farrow and what has come in and what is coming in. If this could be the case, I know of one thing that would be likely to come in. How do you think Dave and Fannie get along? Has Fannie got over jerking, do you think? Or do you think she haves such spells occasionally yet? I am afraid that you Cattaraugus folks are getting so unruly that you need me there to keep you steady. Seems that I am one of the steady kind. Please ask E. Roberts to keep things about as they should be until I get home. You say that his mumps are well now. I think that I would like to see one handsome good-looking Cattaraugus woman about like yourself. I han’t [seen] but a very few nice-looking women like yourself since I crossed the Potomac river. I tell you that handsome women are scarce down here. Some of the men say that they would give a quarter just to look at one but I guess when this was done that they would be hardly satisfied. I judge from my own feelings. I think that I would like to do one thing more. I would just like to—–kiss one too and this would do me. But I bear my infirmities as best I can. I han’t even had a grist ground by hand as yet so you see that I am all right and I might go off half touched. I made up my mind when I left home if it was my lot to ever get home that I would come home pure and clean as I was when I left. I am of the same opinion yet and among the rest I keep my person clean too, hair and whiskers combed, and my shirts and drawers clean too. But all men don’t keep their clothes and hands and faces clean. Jate Hull looks worse than an Indian and he ain’t the only one in this fix. Some are getting lousy and Jate among the rest.

I han’t had any trouble with a man yet and I have been able to answer to my name every time and han’t been excused a time yet. And a number call me Uncle Merrill. Our new tent mate has been sick and has been to the hospital but he is with us now. His is rather a good sort of a man. Horace and Alva get along first rate. Alva’s boil has got so that he can wear his boot now. How does Nancy get along? Does she improve in her mind and ways? Irvin, I suppose, is stubbing around about as usual. I am glad you are like to have hay enough and that the colts are doing well. Does Doll seem to be steady or does she act a little as though she would like to run away sometimes? Be careful and not let the colts get scared and run. And try to keep them so that they will grow some.

Well, I guess that I have written about trash enough for this time. Give my love to Maria Roberts. Tell her if I could see her, the first thing that I would do would be to kiss her. I expect to be home some time and I shall feel like a bird let out of a cage. Then I think that I will be my own man. Now I am under the big bugs and men ain’t very popular here unless they can swear by rule and by the by, there is plenty of it here. It is the fashion. Give my love to all that inquire after me. I must close for we are going to work at our tent to rig it up again. If there was anything in your letters 19 and 20 that you wish me to see, you will have to write it again. Plus write often, — B. Merrill

I have wrote the last of this in a hurry and don’t read it over so excuse mistakes. It may be that it would do to read the first leaf of this to some of the neighbors.

Letter 25

Virginia
February 2, 1863

We have got such a comfortable tent and such a nice fireplace to sit by that I thought that I would write a few lines to you this evening. I received a letter from you a day or so ago (No. 25). I believe I have written twice to you within a short time. I don’t know that I have much news to write this time. Our snow storm has passed off and snow gone and the weather is nice again but the mud ain’t all gone yet. There don’t seem to be anything new going on. Our regiment are fixing up their tents the best now that they have either time before. The most of them are comfortable for cold weather. Ourselves among the rest are in good condition for cold, stormy weather now. Ain’t you glad.

Fodder your own cattle and take care of your horses. I don’t so such work this winter. I live in the South. It may be that I will get a farm here yet. I have got a horse but I have only squatted yet. I have made no claim. I and Alva gave drawed our pay up to the first of November, making eighteen dollars each to send home. I thought that I would wait a little before we send on account that a great many are sending home just now. Our brigade did not any of them get pay up any further than the first of November. I don’t know when we will get any more pay. Some say in one month. There is now three months pay back. You may look for our allotments in a few days. I would just like to have you drop into our house and stay one night and try our new bed. Our bed is better than what they were to Jamestown. We take small poles and lay them six or 8 inches from the ground close together across the back end of our tent. Then we lay on pine or cedar boughs, then spread on our rubber blankets, some of them, then one woolen blankets and some runner blankets last and this makes our bed. The foot of the bed, our chairs, the front end of the tent for a door one sie and the chimney the other. The sides of our house is about four feet high made of pine poles split through the middle and the split sides laid inside of the tent and the outside mudded tight and through the middle a man can stand up comfortable. The roof is made of our canvas drawn over a pole through the middle. The pole lays in some crotches, one at each end. They are higher than the sides and this gives the slant on the roof. This is a short description of our house. How do you like it? We han’t no place to keep much provision but Uncle Sam furnishes us our provision every day so we don’t need much room for this purpose and we have plenty to eat now and plenty of coffee and sugar though not a great variety of provision.

My health is good and my appetite is good and I feel quite keen.

Ruba, I have to correct a thing or two. Alva wants to read your letters. I always read them first and sometimes I find little sketches I think that he had better not read so I tell him that there ain’t much of any news and don’t let him read such letters. I like to have some such news myself and I want to tell you how this can be got along with. Just write your letter and leave out the choice news and put that in a slip by itself inside and then Alva can read all of your letters, don’t you see? I saw in your last that you thought that yourself and Nob could do without oats and in another something about my old farrow heifer so you see that i had rather have the extras by themselves on Alva’s account. Don’t understand that I don’t want no such news—only give it to me in a slip separate. I will do the same by you if desire if it would suit you any better. Tell me when you get this.

I drawed two months and two days pay and Alva got a little more so I have eight dollars and some change to keep. You spoke about stamps and about my writing to other men’s wives. I own that I have wrote to other men’s wives and other men’s wives have wrote to me. I want you to forgive me and it may be that I shall do the same thing again. I guess that I will send you a nice new fifty cent stamp in this letter and probably twenty-five cents will cover the expense for stamps that I have sent to other men’s wives and the other twenty-five cents you may pay me when I come home. You know mother sent me a letter the other day and she sent me twelve stamps. She did not stop with one nor two. She put in twelve so you can see her generosity. If you can afford it, you may continue to send stamps and you may put in an extra envelope if you please. I shall send the allotment in the envelope that you sent to me. Give my love to the children and save a large share for yourself. — B. M.

Virginia, Feb. 3, 1863. Wife Ruba, enclosed please find one draft calling for $18. Probably Alva will send his too. I have found out this morning that we can send by Dr. Venorman. He lives in the east part of Cattaraugus county. He will carry them and mail them as near home as he can. You may use some of the money to pay where you think best, maybe to Scovil’s, and use some for yourself if you want and keep a little by you. As soon as you get this, please inform me. I hope you will get it safe. Maybe that Clark will cash them for you or someone to Gowanda. If you can’t do no better, you can get it done to the bank. — B. Merrill

Please write your name on the back of the ruled mark.

Letter 26

Not long after the Mud March the 154th New York was moved to a new camp near Stafford Court House. The new bivouac was christened Camp John Manley in honor of a federal employee from Cattaraugus County known as “The Soldier’s Friend” for his work in Washington on behalf of the county’s soldiers and their families. It was at Camp John Manley that the 154th New York earned the nickname “Hardtack Regiment,” when the men engaged in unscrupulous trading for that army staple with the German members of their brigade.

Camp near Aquia
February 10, 1863

Ruba,

I received two letters in one envelope from you last night (n. o 26 and 27). I was glad to hear from you. I have not got all of your letters. Since I wrote to you, we have had to move. We have moved about eight miles nearer than we was near a station on the railroad. I suppose that the intention of the move wsa to get our supplies handier on account of bad roads. We had just got a good tent where we was and then had to move, We came here last Friday night. Our regiment was marched into the woods a little before sundown, tired and hungry. We made a fire and got some supper and then set up our tents and rested what we could for the night. Then all we had to do was to try again Saturday morning. We went to work and of men ever worked, they have worked here. Since that time, no time lost Sunday. The most of them have got nearly fixed up again. We have got a good tent and a good fireplace. The arrangement is now for us to remain here a while, they say, until the ground settles in the spring.

The Cattaraugus Regiment is the greatest regiment to knock things together that you ever saw. I don’t know whether there will be any furloughs or not. There is some talk that way but uncertain yet. Alva and I sent home some pay the other day. I suppose you have got it before this time. I think that I will have Harvey Hurd make a good, heavy pair of calfskin boots such as is wanted in the army and have them ready as soon as he can. And I think that there will be some way for me to get them. I will send the measure in this letter and you had better go over and see him and get them home as soon as you can so as to have them ready to send the first chance. My boots leak some now and I don’t know how to go with wet feet and it will take some time to get them around and I shall want some socks too as soon as there is a chance. Maybe that I will conclude to have you send me a box by and by if there is no other way to get things.

*“My boots leak some now and I don’t know how to go with wet feet.”*

My health remains good and Alva’s health is good. I did not know as Alva felt hard towards P. W. I have not asked him about it this morning. If you have heard anything about it, I wish you would let me know what it is. All that there was about tobacco at Dumfries was he got a little of the leaf partly dried and twirled up to a house not far off. Some of it I used. It was not worth much and some was given away and he did not get but a little anyway. When I wrote to have you send me a little, I had only a few shillings left and I did not know how soon we would draw [pay]. I had heard about it so long but as it happened I might have got along without sending, but I got what you sent do it is just as well.

You wanted me to write about Alva. I think that he appears about as he did when you saw him.I think that he is a good boy—he and Horace both. They have got them a good tent about done here now. The weather is fine here now and has been since Saturday but we have had a stormy bad time to get here. It snowed the morning we started and then it rained and we camped out one night and that was a rainy bad night. But we are getting all right for stormy weather again now. This writing looks as though you could not read it the ink is dirty and clogs the end of the pen is what is the matter and that makes it bad you know.

About the colt, I think you had better get someone to bleed her in the mouth and then you had better give her two or three quarts of brand twice a day, scalded and put in a little [ ] and cuprous pulverized together and let her eat it warm. Put in about one part cuprous and put in about a teaspoonful of [ ] and feed her a little in this way some time and I think her hide will loosen after a little and she will gain.

Do you think that any bone in Nancy’s foot where she lamed it is out of place that makes her lame so long? I am afraid there is. I don’t get much news here now-a-days. I guess that I had better take a Yankee way to answer your question. You asked me which do you think is the best to have—rather a poor husband around or none at all. Mother sent me a letter the other day and twelve stamps. I did not get any letter from her with any dollar i nit. The mail goes soon and I must close and I will try and do better next time. — B. M.

Letter 27

Camp near Aquia Station, Virginia
February 12th 1863

Beloved wife,

Although far distant, I take a little time this evening—it is now nine o’clock—to write a few lines to you. It has not got still and quiet in camp and it is a good time to write. And what shall I write? I would be glad to write something that would interest you. In the first place, I will describe to you how our new home looks inside. This evening I sit on the foot of the bed with a gun bayonet stuck unto the ground just before me, point down, and the other end serves for a candle stick, with my ink to my right on the foot of th bed and my writing on my knee. Calvin—a little to my left, tossed over backwards on the bed and one foot up on the pile of night wood fast asleep Charles fashion. [Bornt] Shelmadine is washing his clothes before the fire. This makes our family. Our other tent mate is nursing to the hospital. His health is not very good. We have got a good fireplace, comfortable tent, and comfortable bed. I said our new home because we have just moved into the woods and put up a cabin or house and it is all done but the painting. We had just got fixed all comfortable to our last camp and thought that we were to stay awhile and about the time you wrote to Alva—he got a letter last night—we had orders just at daybreak to be ready to march at half past eight which was rather a short time to pack up and get ready to move but we were on the move in time before this time. It had been quite cold for two or three days and that morning it commenced snowing and it snowed all the forenoon and rained all the afternoon. We marched about half our distance that day and were halted a little before night and turned into a large flat meadow to curry for the night. It still rained and rained all night and it rained the next morning but we had orders to move at nine o’clock. Consequently we were ready and there was a stream of water just ahead and that had rose so high it could not be crossed without a pontoon bridge and they were back about two miles. Still raining and we waiting all packed up so we were ordered up on the side of a hill into some woods. There we made fires and dried some and made coffee and about noon the bridge was in and we started and landed a little before dark into the woods and no shelter. But we struck tents and eat a little and rested as best we could.

*Log Houses occupied by the 154th New York near Stafford Court House. Sgt. Marcellus Warner Darling Memoirs.*

And now the woods are gone and we have comfortable quarters—log bottoms and the canvas over. Bottoms mudded and fireplaces all done since last Saturday morning. Such is a short sketch of soldiering. How do you like it now? While we lay in camp we have it rather easy. We are still in Sigel’s Corps. We have done considerable tramping but probably we have been in camp half of the time and maybe more since we crossed the Potomac. I think that I stand it very well and I am now quite fleshy.

I wrote a few lines to you a short time ago since we came [here] but we was not quite fixed and I did not write much. I have written a number of times within two or three of the past weeks. Probably you have got them before now. Among the rest I sent you one eighteen dollar draft. I hope you have got that. I forgot to write in my last letter about the price of that dress coat. That coat cost six dollars and seventy-one cents. Probably you had better take off one dollar and maybe a little more since the first day of January them coats cost more. I am sorry that I don’t get all of your letters. I would be glad to hear from home at least once a week. Our mail comes now every night and leaves every morning. I sent you in my last letter a measure for a pair of boots. I want a good pair and taped and well heeled, and heel plates on. i want them made of heavy calfskin and I want a pair that is worth six dollars and I think you had better get them ready as soon as you can and I think there will be some chance for me to get them. If you don’t get the measure. I think that large sevens or small eights would be the thing. One of my boots leak some now and I don’t know how to go with wet feet.

The weather here now is pleasant but rather cool. No snow nor no frost in the ground. We have had considerable rain of late. I think from the present appearance that a part of the Potomac Army will be moved south and a part left and no more fighting in Virginia. Whether we go or stay, I can’t tell. I would like to stay but I can’t have my choice in this matter. I rather think that we stay for a while. At any rate, I think that it will all come right in the end. I think that I shall come home again sometime—the sooner the better to suit me. I think that some time in March I shall get two months more pay. I think the design of the government is to keep two months behind in pay at least.

Does our cellar freeze any this winter? And how does the potatoes and apples keep. I was glad that Alva got his last letter from you for he was getting out of patience. He said that he would not write anymore until you wrote to him. I done my washing all up nice yesterday and changed my clothes. I have got so that I can wash or cook quite well. I am glad you have sent some things. I hope that I shall get them. When you send me another letter, you may send me a little woolen yarn to darn socks and a few good pins. When I sent back that little bag I ought to have taken out the yarn but I sent in a hurry and did not have time to think what I wanted. I only thought that I wanted to get my load as light as I could. I will close by signing, — B. M.

Please write often and write all the news.

Letter 28

Virginia
February 21, 1863

Ruba, I received your letter last night and was glad to hear that you got allotments safe. You sent a nice little envelope and stamp on it all fixed up. I suppose your envelope a specimen of all you have around—everything small, snug and nice.

The prospect here is now that George Real will be home on a short furlough next week. I want you to have my boots ready and I guess he will bring them to me and I guess that Horace and Alva intends to send for a box and try to have the box start a couple of days before he does and maybe he can see to it in Washington. So you can be getting his things ready and I guess that I will have a pair of socks and my hat and some paper, envelopes and ink. I han’t time to write now. Be getting things ready as you think he will want and you will hear from me again soon maybe when he comes.

Short and sweet, — B. M.

Private

Ruba, you can see by this writing that my pens are worn out. My pens that I brought from home have all failed but one and that is too course to write fine hand. It is a course hand pen and in god order for that use so I don’t mind it and I guess you had better send me some fine hand pens.

How do you like sleeping alone his winter? I suppose you like it for you don’t have anyone to disturb you or keep you awake. Or do you feel a little sometimes as though you would like to be woke up and crowded a little tightly? I feel as though I would like just to do that thing for you. I am as keen as a brier and as good as new and clean enough to get between the sheets with you. I would like to see home and see the children and see the inside of that old meeting house. You that are at home don’t prize the privileges that you enjoy as you ought. I han’t seen the inside of a meeting house since I have been in Virginia or hardly the inside of a dwelling house. I sojourn in a strange land—a land of all men and no women. I think that the thing won’t work to keep them apart long but I see that some of our big officers have their women along.

I was called down the other night to guard the Brigade Headquarters and I heard a strange noise in the night inside. Thinks I, that is the advantage the big men have. So the world goes well all towards twenty-one. Well, I guess when I get home I think I will make up lost time. Try and keep your health good and be all nice. I feel somehow queer now, you know.

Harvey Inman is quite unwell. I don’t know what ails him. I believe that the regiment are generally in tolerable health. There is a man here from Rutledge. He come into camp last night. He says that he don’t think much about the women. Some of the men told him if he had been down here five months and eat hard tacks, he would. The men here say that calico would look good to them now if they could see it but I suppose that they mean something else. I can think of other things that I would rather see than Calico. Sometimes I think that I just must go home and then I think that it would not be best so I bear my infirmities.

Well, I guess that I will live through it and see my wife again someday or night. Sometimes I think, well, what a fool I was for coming off down here and at other times I take a little different view of the thing. Sometimes I think it is my duty to be here and at other times I see things that I am disgusted with. Then I wish I was out and home. So I have my trials about it. When I look back, the time seems long. I hope that Providence will so arrange that I can go home soon. I would like to see old Cattaraugus and its inhabitants again. I think of our neat little home, the front bedroom, and the warm kitchen and wife and children daily. But I keep up good courage and hope for the best.

Virginia would be a pleasant place provided it did not bear the marks of war. The climate is good—first rate, but the soil is such that when it is wet, it is very muddy. But it soon dries off.

Well, I guess that I have scribbled about enough for this time. Maybe when you read this, you will want to blow out the light before you read if you want, or would like to give me anything that has a barren in this direction. Please enclose on a scrap by itself. I would like to have a little of this stripe.

Yours, — B. Merrill

I will try and send you a daily paper printed at Baltimore. You can see the difference.

Letter 29

Virginia
February 21, 1863

We ain’t doing anything no-a-days and the weather is nice and for me to lay idle, it makes the time seem rather long. So I seat myself to write a little to you. I think that it may be that George Real will be home on a ten day furlough now soon and if you got the measure for my boots, I would like to have [you] see that they are made and I guess that he will bring them when he comes back. Horace and Alva thin of sending for a box and I thought that I would send for a few things too but I rather not risk the boots to come in a box. I want him to bring them right along and I will pay him for the trouble that they make him.

I would like to have you put in their box for me my hat if it is good as when I left. If not, get me a new one. And I guess one pair of socks, some dried fruit—mostly dried apples, and some butter—not a great deal, and a piece of cheese, one quire of paper, and one or two packages of good envelopes, and a bottle of good ink, and send by him fifty cents worth of stamps. And I want a coffee pot, tin cup, and a small knife and fork. I have wrote to John about these. I guess you may pay John for them and he will pay to Gowanda.

I would like a little woolen yarn and I hardly know what to say about tea and tobacco. I han’t got what you sent yet. There is a lot of boxes coming soon. Maybe I will get it with them. And I would like to have you send a little maple sugar and a small bag of flour. I think you need not send any tea nor tobacco now. Maybe you will think of some other little fixings that you will think that I will want that you can send. There is one thing more that I would like but I think that it would not be convenient to send it and I will have to do without it.

*Corp. Job B. Dawley of Co. K, 154th New York.*

I think if James Rich wants to buy the kettle and is willing to pay what it is worth, you may sell it to him. I think the prospect slim for me to use it to make sugar this spring. I think that the kettle is worth thirty or thirty-five dollars. I don’t exactly know how much myself. I think that it is worth more than the new ones they buy now and it han’t been used in the arch enough to injure it at all. If you could find out what they were worth in Buffalo, you could tell something about it yourself. I guess that it would be best to have it sold if it can be sold for what it is worth….[more instructions for managing things about the farm and home follows.]

I have had my hair cut and whiskers trimmed and on the whole I look about as good as new and think that I would like to see you now and measure legs. I guess that mine are the largest. I wrote two letters, one to each of the children and put them both into one envelope and directed them to you and put in a twenty-five cent stamp in each of them as a present. Have you got them? ….

I spoke with the Captain a day or two ago about my having a furlough to go home. The present arrangement is is for one out of each company to have a furlough of ten days, one at a time, and there is one in our company that is sick that wants to go home now. Probably he will go, and there is one or two more than have spoke before me. If nothing new should turn up, I guess that I could get a ten day furlough some time towards the last of March. What do you think? Do you think that it would pay? It will cost me twenty-five or thirty dollars to go and get back and about three days each way. If I should have good luck, I could stay three or four days and nights at home. What do you think? I would be very glad to see you but I don’t see how I can figure up so as to make it pay. If I could get a furlough for twenty or thirty days, it might may. And I see nothing to hinder quite a number out of each company now from having furloughs at a time and go home and see their families. We ain’t doing much here now and probably won’t move from here until the roads get good in the spring. It may be that there will be different arrangements about furloughs soon. I don’t know. You had better not look at all for me and then if I don’t come, you won’t be disappointed. I think that they don’t like to let many go for fear they can’t get them back again. They know about how the men feel there is a possibility that George won’t. His papers are not yet in his hands but that is the present arrangement for him—to have them and come. Calvin, Shelmadine and I talk of sending for our women to come down and see us and we find one difficulty to get along with and that is we hain’t sleeping rooms enough in our house to lodge three couples. I hardly know whether we will send on that account. Can you contrive anyway how that thing can be managed? If you can, let me know in your next.

Sunday 22nd. It continued to snow here last night about ten o’clock and it has snowed ever since. Today it snows and blows, not very cold, but rather blustering….We have but a very little cold weather here yet but considerable rain of late and plenty of mud. our tent is very comfortable and a good fireplace and the chimney don’t smoke and I don’t hear wife scold. We have to bring our water about eighty rods and we have to bring our wood about the same distance and you see that I am alright—only I want a woman to wash my shirts, that is all…

When I look back, it don’t seem as though it has been five months since i saw you. I often think of the last time we spent together. The time looks short to look back but to look ahead, it looks long and the weeks pass swiftly by. Ruba, sometimes I get to thinking about home and it seems as though I must come and see my family. It may be that Providence will so order it that I can come but unless the way opens tolerable fair, probably I shall wait awhile. I try and keep as quiet as possible but I see things here at the head of management that I call perplexing and that don’t make me feel any more patient. So far as our regiment was concerned was a blank. Our men are—some of them—sickening and some dying off and probably our regiment is full one-third smaller now than when we left home. I believe that fifty-six or 7 men is all that our company draws rations for now and when we came down, it was eighty or over. But I have been wonderfully favored on all and nearly all sides since I came here for which I feel thankful. I have not had hardly a bad time to go out on picket or guard duty since I have been down here.

I don’t know as I have been healthier or tougher or weighed more since you have been acquainted with me than now. I can lug around and carry luggage like a horse. I did not think that I could begin to stand what I have. Sometimes I get tired but I can lay down and rest and it don’t make much difference what the bed is if it is out of the water. I have had quite a number of different beds to sleep on since I saw you—sometimes in a tent and sometimes with the heavens for a covering. I guess I will mention a few of the different materials that I have made my bed of since I saw you—oak leaves, pine boughs, cedar boughs, corn stalks, haw, straw, and when I could not do any better, I have spread my blankets right on the ground and they make quite a good bed. It has seemed to me that the Lord has been with and blessed me and given me strength a great many times which I feel thankful, I assure you, but I have been blessed with good health and I hope and try to pray that the Lord will hasten the time when I can again return to my home and family and there I let the thing rest.

I have written the most of this sheet in a hurry. Probably the whole thing has been done in about two hours. Maybe you can’t read all of it. My pens are poor and ink about gone and probably some mistakes. Pass all such by and please write often to me. I have had no letter that brought any news about your visit and Miss Shannon’s. I am sorry that I don’t get all of your letters but I know of no way to help it—only for you to make calculation on having some lost and send a little oftener…

Ruba, sometimes when I write, I try and feel as keen as possible and sometimes I do. At other times, before I close my letter, I almost feel as though it would be a kind of relief for me to drop a tear over my writing. I have made up my mind since I have been down here that probably I think as much of my family and home as any man ought to and I feel anxious to see home as soon as convenient. I often feel that I wish that I had been a better man and a better Christian and had taken things more patient. On a review of my past life, I see many things that I could wish were not so, but the past is gone and gone forever. It can’t be recalled. I intend to try with divine help to live a Christian man for time to come and it seems to me today that I can look beyond the musty trash of earth and behold a mansion prepared for me. Yes, and the time is coming when I shall step in. Ruba, my mind is as clear as a bell today and I wish that I could enjoy the privilege of attending a class meeting on this holy Sabbath day in the old church at home. But these are privileges that I don’t enjoy.

The orders were last night in camp that today at half past nine this morning there would be a general inspection but the storm came on and no inspection and this is about the first Sabbath but what there has been something wanted and I am heartily glad that there is a God in heaven that overrules. And sometimes it seems as though it would be wickedness that is practiced in the world. It is an awful wicked place here and sometimes I feel heart sick.

I don’t know but your patience will be wearied on studying out my scribbles but somehow I feel a little like writing and I have only to pen what comes into my mind….Give my respects to all that enquire after me. From your husband, — Barzilla Merrill

I don’t want you to say anything to anyone about my coming home for it is very doubtful about coming.

Letter 30

Virginia
February 25, 1863

Ruba, I received a letter from you and one for Alva night before last, both in one envelope. I was glad to hear from home. It may be that you have seen George [Read] before this time. I hope you have. You will have such a good chance to hear from Alva and I and I gave George two dollars and tolf him if you wanted to use that, he might let you have it. If not, he might bring it [to] me again. I was informed yesterday quite credible that we would have two months more pay some time in March and I have five dollars and some change by me now. Alva says that he has four dollars and I want you to keep the two dollars anyway and I think that we can get along without it very well. Use it as you think best.

I don’t know that you will think that I am extravagant to put on a stamp to a letter sent you by private conveyance. I thought that I would have to send by mail after I wrote. I thought that George would not get away as soon by a day or two as he intended on account of his furlough and I wished you to have the letter as soon as you could, but he went as he intended so I sent by him. Be sure and send me some stamps when he comes back. You need not send envelopes unless you can send larger ones. I want envelopes but I don’t want such small ones. I am quite a hand for large things you know. Paper and envelopes I can get, but not very handy. But stamps, I can’t get here unless they are sent.

Alva uses rather more money here than I think he ought to. He had nearly two dollars more when we sent home our money than I had and now he has a dollar less and I have sent three dollars since a fifty cent stamp to you…I thought that I should have sent you more money before this time and Uncle Sam hain’t hard up as I expected so you see that I have done the best that I could in that direction. I did not know but you would begin to think that I was calling quite often on you. Well I was, and am still, but I don’t call on you for all that I want you to furnish me by no means. And I don’t expect to have you supply all my wants while I stay here.

I would like to say a little about the war but when I undertake this, I hardly know how to begin or where to stop. I just would like to draw you a true picture of what is around where I am stopping now. In the first place, I will say that we are a part of Sigel’s Corps and Sigel’s Corps is the 9th [11th] Army Corps of the Potomac and I believe that his whole corps lay around here as near as may be except his sick and they will be here within a day or two. The hospital tents are nearly ready now. And we are in [Adolph Von] Steinwehr’s Brigade which is four regiments in all and the whole corps make rather a large thing. And this is but a small piece of the hydra headed monster. And I wish that I could manage to help you to form some kind of an idea about what it costs to run this piece of the Devil’s intention but I can’t—enormous.

I don’t know as I have much news to write today. I have been on guard for the last 24 hours—two on and four off—and today I have nothing to do so I thought that I would write to you a little. Do you think that I had better write to Alden and Howlett about what money you had ought to have in that direction. Please tell me when you write. I have not said much to Alva about paying out his money here. Perhaps you had better write a little to him about it. It is a fine place here to use money and everything is very high. Our rations now are a plenty. All there is. It is the same kind—too much [and] not quite enough of a variety. If you think that I had better talk with him about it, tell me in your next.

Have you got any shoes on that light sleigh this winter? I guess you had better sell the Roberts’ cow this spring if the little heifer is coming in and maybe the calves. Probably you will have to hire them pastured if you keep them. Maybe you can get 25 or 30 pounds of sugar for them troughs and [ ] and maybe a little more. If you can, you had better let them go. Try and manage so as not to be short for fodder. This would be bad for you. Did the children get their letter from me? — B. M.

Please write often.

Letter 31

Virginia
March 1, 1863

Mrs. B. Merrill,

I concluded to spend a little time this afternoon to write to you. I have just come in from a 24 hour picket duty. No sleep last night so you see that I am in good trim to write. My head is clear and thoughts quick and discerning. I have been along near the lines since we came from Fairfax and conveniently this kind of work haves to be done and the way the thing runs, the cavalry picket between us and the enemy and this morning [ ] were relieved…

Alva received a letter from you Saturday night and I found one from Irvin. I was glad to have him write. Why did not Nancy write too? I don’t notice as you or Irvin speak about anything that was in the letters. I put in a twenty-five cent stamp in each letter. If they got them, it seems as though that they were worth mentioning. Irvin wanted me to tell you what I thought about your having the clots to go to spelling schools. I don’t think that it would be best. But I expect you to do as your ma thinks best about it and all other matters of course. And I think you will, won’t you? I know you will be a good boy, Irvin….

Our regiment was mustered in for two months more pay last Saturday which makes four months pay overdue now. I think that we will get some pay soon.

[Quite a lot not transcribed in this letter but it is faint and difficult to read. It also appears to be mostly home front news.]

Letter 32

Virginia
March 7, 1863

Wife,

I have a desire to write to you a little today seeing that I am situated in such a fix that this is all that I can do for you. I am a little short for timber or in other words, short for news. All is quiet on the Potomac.

George [Read] got into camp Thursday in the forenoon. I think that it made him look just fresh to be home and sleep with his wife. He brought my boots. They are a good pair and fit well.

Well, Ruba, I feel rather keen today and I…think you would hardly know me if you should see me now. My face is plumping up, my joints are getting limber, my hands are getting smooth, and while inside I think if I had a little of your hair dye to give my hair and whiskers a little brush, that I would answer as good a turn for any kind of business as I would twenty-four years ago. And I think that I could do some things better.

There seems to be quite a stir or considerable conversation with regards to men that came into the army on the last call and there is talk that they will be considered nine-months men. Do you get any such news? I don’t know whether what we hear about this matter is camp rumor or whether there is something to it. Time determines nine months matters you know. It seems as though it was not right for me to spend so much time doing nothing and you have so much to do and look after and I have wished that I was near enough to there so I could come and do your chores a part of the time. It might make it easier for you but I am so far off you will have to do the best you can, and when you csn’t get along any longer, call on Roberts.

You wanted I should write our position in the army. Well we are in the 11th Army Corps, Second Division, First Brigade of the Potomac Army, 154th Regt., N. Y. S. V. This I believe, is correct. You wanted to know why Alva and I did not tent together. I know of two reasons. Further, the boys like to be together and old steady men. I had Shelmadine arrested yesterday for making what I believed was a false statement and the trial went off closed about dark last night but I failed to get my point on account that my complaint was not dated and he was released by the court with a charge to be very careful what he said. After this I think that I will give you the false statement that he made on [separate] slip.

It is a general time of health in our regiment and we have a very good campground, probably about halfway between Washington and Richmond. What will be our next move is more than I can tell. My health is good. I asked George [Real] how it looked around Slab City—if it looked natural? He said it did. I asked him if you looked fleshy. He said he thought about as when I saw you. I thought perhaps you had fleshed up considerable by this time. He says the cattle and colts looks well. My ink is poor and paper dirty. It is paper that I have had some time but it is about gone.

I noticed t=in your little book paid Henry Darbee fifty cents that husband owed him. I paid Chester that part when I settled my note that he had and the balance was made some way in work it was talked over and settled between Chester and myself. Did he ask you for the money? You may do as you think best about speaking to him about it. It is but a small matter. I understand that neighbor John Rice has moved away. How do you get along without him? I wish that I had some news to send but the mail goes soon and I will close. — B. Merrill

Letter 33

Virginia
Sunday, March 8, 1863

Ruba,

I will try and write a few lines but short for news. I am getting tired of not having much to do some days. I have the blues a little and I know that his won’t do and I get out of this train of feeling and some days I feel lively and bouyant and some time my mind is clear and sound and sometimes I think what a fool I was for coming down here. Sometimes I feel tired and perplexed so you can see that I have ups and downs and I think that I am right positive to pass through these scenes. But along with all this, I find some sunny spots and have done ever since I have been this side of the Potomac. I have seen some as happy seasons since I have been here as I ever experienced, and probably some as sore trials as ever and passed through within my life. Sometimes it has seemed as though God has forgotten to hear prayer and turned a deaf ear to our calls. When I let my eye glance around and see what has been done, I sometimes wonder why it is God suffers things to go on in this way. And when I look on the other side of the leaf and see the wickedness that is practiced in high places, I make up my mind that we as a Nation need punishment.

But there is one thing that I can hardly solve and that is why it is that so many noble men are suffered to fall and others away from home in camp and weathering the storms of such a life all for the wickedness of others. I don’t wish you to understand me that I am embracing skeptical views with regard to duty. I was only saying that i was not able to solve this question. Maybe you can help me on this point. I want to be understood that I still hold on to the promises of God and another thing I want to say to you, I think that I am learning lessons here that will be of use to me after I get home. I try and glean when and where I can get knowledge. It is a good place to study human nature and see some men that are men in mind and body, and a great many that are only men in body and a well developed mind looks better to me than it ever did before. And some that are placed over us, their minds are very small, but their bodies are very large—especially in their own concept. All such passing events I observe and try and gather useful knowledge from the same. And the principle of selfishness is very fully developed here and this is one of the meanest traits of all for a man to be glued over with selfishness. I like to see a man that is a man in mind and a man in acts. Probably I might say the same with regard to the other sex.

*A post war image of Horace Howlett and his wife, Mary Beebe. Horace was a tent mate with Alva Merrill in Co. K, 154th New York.*

I feel as though I would like to say a word with regard to Horace Howlett. I have probably seen him every day since we have been down here and he has proved to be a man throughout. He is a man that I respect and love. He is a whole-hearted man and has reputation that is good here and I think that I can say the same of George Newcomb.

But to return to what I was speaking about a little while ago, I still feel that this trouble that we as a Nation are involved in will be overruled for our good and the clouds will disperse and God will show a smiling face. I hope that we as a Nation will be cleansed and be left to stand on the broad basis of the government unimpaired as it was—only rid of wickedness.

Ruba, I want to give you [give me an answer], why is it that the innocent suffer with the guilty in this war? The getters up of this melee are the leading men and get big pay and a great many of the soldiers have come with a good motive but have been deceived to a great extent. I expect that this will come [out] all right but why was this suffered to be? I can’t write all that I could if I could see you. I have endeavored to give you all the information that I could but things come and my observation that would be too lengthy to write. When I get home, we will talk. — B. M.

Letter 34

Virginia
March 14, 1863

Ruba,

I have not received a letter from you since George [Read] came and I thought that it would be no more than right for me to write you a little this morning. We still stay in the same camp. We don’t do much but picket and guard duty and we have plenty to eat and a comfortable bed and a comfortable tent and a good fireplace and it don’t smoke. And there is a few things that I don’t have that would be very agreeable to have.

Alva had a letter from you a couple of days ago. There was a couple of sentences in that I thought you must have used some head work about in order to give your opinion about, or in other words, advise. One was to caution Alva about using money. This was done middling nice. The other was your advising me not to come home. This was done extremely nice. There must have been a large share of exertion used about this in order to get the thing out and leave a very smooth face to it. Why did not you just come right up to the rack and say, “Alva, I don’t want Pa to come home.” I don’t know as I can come anyway but if I should happen to come, I might call and see the rest of my friends and return. I don’t happen to want quite so much courting. I am ready now to say that I would like to see you and the children and some of the rest around there.

My health still remains good. Alva’s health is good but he has had another boil on his knee lately but it is about well now. I shall send you a two dollar bill in this letter you your use as you may think best.

I have a good dress coat that I had given me when we were at Dumfries so you see that I am provided for a coat and have been about ever since I sent that home. I wear the one that I have every day. We are getting rather cold weather here now but no snow. I shall look for a letter from you when our mail comes on tonight. I would like to have you let me know particular how your health is and particular how you are getting along. We have to keep our guns in good order ready for use any moment. That rule works well. Always take good care of your health and be ready for use any moment.

Don’t infer from what I have wrote that I that I am coming sure. I shall be just as likely not to come as I shall to come so don’t make up your [mind] any other way, only not to be disappointed at any rate. I have been in the army long enough to learn to take things as they come along and not be disappointed and not make a calculation [more than] one bet ahead. — B. Merrill

Please write often.

We don’t get that box yet. I am sorry that I did not have you send me more tobacco. That you sent is good—the best that I have had since I have been down here. And the tea is good. I think that that last box will come safe. My boots fit well and they are a good pair. I feel a little dull and thick-headed this morning and time is short and please accept a short letter. Please look the under side of the bill and find a kiss send from your husband. So I will say goodbye for now. — B. Merrill

to his wife R. C. M.

Letter 35

Virginia
March 17th 1863

Mrs. Merrill, I sit down to write you a few lines. I am about out of timber but I will try and glean a little.

I received a letter from you Sunday evening and I am always glad to hear from home. Sometimes I think perhaps you might write a little oftener but I know that you are generally behind a little so I might make some allowance. My health still remains good. I am as tough as a pig and am getting quite fleshy. I used to think perhaps if you did not have a man to bother you, perhaps your health would be better. But I don’t see as that makes much difference with you. It seems as though you might flesh up this winter. You have nothing to do nights—only to go to bed and go to sleep. No one to bother you or keep you awake. But by some means your health is poor.

I have hardly seen the inside of a house since I have been down here. Sometimes I have a tent and sometimes only the heavens for a covering. I han’t seen a sick day yet and can endure like a horse. Hard tacks and coffee are healthy for me. I find that I yet have a constitution like a horse. What do you think now about my having too much meat when I was to home? Well, I feel thankful that my health is good.

Alva is getting to be a great stout fellow and he weighs more than i do. I rather guess that I could not handle him now, I think that there is considerable Cole about [him] by some means, I hardly know how it happened. Can you tell anything about it? His hair is a little curly and he is getting heavy boned. He is troubled some with boils. He had one a short time ago on his knee but it is well now. I would like to see my nice little delicate wife about now very well. But I must wait. And I hope your health will be good when I come. You know that I shall expect you to be quite willing and able to do about all the work for a while because my hands are getting quite tender. The callouses are about all gone on the inside and they don’t look as though I could do much work.

About coming home, I am afraid that I can’t get a chance to come but it will depend on the movements of the army. If we should stay about here, I think that I shall come home some time in April. But if we should leave, probably that I can’t come. There is two or three that will go before I can come. Supposing the thing runs as it now does, I can’t tell any ahead what I can do. We are not our own men now so don’t be disappointed anyway. We may lay here some time yet and we may leave soon. We are just as likely to go as stay and stay as go so don’t worry nor fret. Take all quiet and I think all will come right in the end.

Ruba, that cheese box found its way to our camp yesterday all safe. It came a little sooner than I expected. We are glad to get the things, Nothing injured at all. Shelmadine had quite a share in a large box come a few days ago and now we live on the top shelf. He had a can of nice strained honey and we get some soft or light wheat bread now. Our rations now are more than we can use. We have now plenty of rations to last a week on hand. We han’t but one thing to hinder us from having things about as we want it just now. What do you think that is. Guess and tell me now in your next [letter]. Well, on the whole, I feel a little keen. Plenty of hair on my face. Well, I am all right and clean as a penny. No lice. No sores.

A great many are thinking now that the 154th [New York] are nine-month’s men. Do you think or hear any such news? We hear a great many reports and I can’t tell much by what we hear. But one thing I think—that things are moving more favorable than they were two months ago. Our folks are having pretty good success about Vicksburg now. One of our brigade, their time is out in about two months and there is quite a good many in the same fix. It seems as though the army must be strengthened when they leave if the thing continues to be carried on.

I have quite a good many anxieties about the matter but I try and keep as cool as possible. But I heat up sometimes about it and wish the whole matter was back to the father of it. I long to see this Nation rid of this trouble and the men go home to their families. But if my health will admit of it, I expect to stay and help pick the bone if it is to be done and if not, I would like to go home. I think that I could not do justice to the town to which I belong. I expect to do as I agree and I shall expect the town to do by me as they agreed. But I hope that there will a way open that will release me and all the rest of us, I came with the regiment and I want to go with the regiment & love my country now just as well as ever. And I was just thinking what a warm attachment some seemed to have for their country and how soon they manage to get out and back and leave the rest here to hang to.

My spunk is good yet. It makes me disgusted to see men sing another tune so quick. I was thinking about hearing a certain man say farewell Sunday school scholars, farewell brothers, farewell sisters, farewell all. Please keep shady and private about this letter. I think that I am making some advancement in the study of human nature as we call it…

Tuesday evening after roll call. I have a nice time to write a little o you this evening. I am keeping house for Alva and Horace. Horace is out on picket and Alva is on guard so you see that I am alone. I sit on the fore side of their bed by their cozy little fire with a little strip of hard tack board on my knee and my writing on that so I am all alone and I will write you a little letter to go with the other. And I suppose you will read it alone. I have lived a kind of widower life for five months and over so you see that I can do it but I begin to think considerable about wife and would not grudge a V if you should spend the night with me tonight…I would like just to put my arm around you and give you a good hug and a sweet kiss. I remember the first kiss that I ever put on your cheek and I think back and can think of many pleasant seasons that we have had together and I see some changes that I wish had not happened. But I let this all pass. My affection for you is probably as strong as it ought to be for I have had a trial of this during the past five or six months. I can see just how you look and when you write please—inform me if you have any different feelings tonight from usual. Somehow a great many scenes that have transpired with us in former years come up before me this evening. I can think back twenty-six years to the time when you and I stood out by the end of the rain trough to the back door to your father’s house and had a talk and so along down and I can think of almost any circumstance that has happened that is of any account up even to your sitting by the front window and I can think how you used to look when your name was Cole and you used to have your hair cut off and a black ribbon headband around your head and that white cape about your neck. And I can remember how other things look that you have got and on the whole all is right.

Well the officer of the day has come along and says that candle must be blowed out so I will write some by fire light. Probably I will drop a number of thoughts here but I don’t know as it would interest you to read it….

Letter 36

Virginia
March 20 [1863]

Today is a very snowy day. Nothing going on and I hardly know how to idle and I thought I would write a few lines to you but I am most ashamed to write anymore until I hear from you. There is quite a number ahead of this that I have had no answer from. I suppose tomorrow at seleven o’clock I will have to go out on a three day picket tour and I may not have a chance to write again until I come in. This is a new move for us—three days at a time. The rebels made an effort to cross the Rappahannock the other day and quite a skirmish ensued but they were driven back. The cannons rattled pretty lively for a while. It was not many miles from us but our brigade was not called on. The report is that quite a number of prisoners were taken.

The health of our regiment is good now and there seems to be a better feeling in the army than there was right after the Fredericksburg battle somehow. That was a great dumper on the army. But for a while back there seems to be a different feeling and not so much fault finding among the soldiers. But how the thing will work when we commence to move is more than I can tell or what will be the policy to work upon is more than I can tell. Judging from appearance, it looks as though our troops were intending to take the defensive about here and work south and southwest from the fact that there has been a great many men sent from this direction south this winter and our Corps are gathered together here as neear as may be and they have been scattered some and the Corps that Wilber [Merrill] belongs to lays next to us towards Fredericksburg. But it ain’t much use for me to try to plan or calculate ahead. All the guide I have is to watch the moves. But I do think in a few weeks we will know more about what the move will be. The reports here are that the rebels are running very short times for something to eat now.

We are laying not far from the lines and there may be such a thing as an attack, I guess. They are getting considerably cornered up about now. The Rebel cavalry made a raid on Fairfax a short time ago and captured a number of our horses and away again. This is the report here, There has been a number of times since I have been here that the cannons have rattled pretty briskly but our brigade have escaped so far. The rest of our brigade are some old regiments that have been out ever since about the commencement of the war and they are small now and ours was never full and probably about five hundred is all that we could muster now. Almost all the captains that came out first are resigning and going home and some lieutenants you know.

I think that the Potomac Army is not near as strong now as it was last fall and quite a number of regiments time are out this spring. There is a report that we are nine month’s men but I guess that it will take us three years to get out of our scrape. I have heard of women getting out of scrapes in nine months but the men are not so smart. I guess it will take the men about three years, maybe not. Can’t tell yet. We are growing large.

Well, I guess that I will write a little about Old Virginia. The improvements here looks very much like the reservation improvement and some such timber—oak, pine, hickory, some cedar, and such like. the pines are about all burned up and a great share of the building are gone. Once in a while one left and occasionally a family. Such families are seeing tough times for something to eat. Some have their slaves around them but I have hardly seen one that is full-blooded. Some are nearly white.

I was out on picket a while ago and the picket line run nearby where a family lived and he had some slaves and a house not far from his where they lived and the men on that post near his house had leave to go into that house where the slaves stayed to make their coffee with the rest and see how things looked inside. They had a large old-fashioned fireplace—something like the one in the Perry house—and about as good a building as that. It looked quite clean. There was two youngish mulattoes men there and two mulatto women and about a half a dozen little fellows. One of the women was nearly white—more so than the other, and her hair combed straight, and if she was up to Dayton and dressed up nice and no one knew where she came from, she would pass quite well for white. And she was good looking. I concluded that them little fellows belonged to them two women.

When we are on picket, we can see a few of this stripe or class of folks. Generally their masters live in a house nearby. Some have quite good houses and some not so good. Sometimes there is a stoop goes from one into the other but there ain’t but a few left and what are left, their houses are guarded and I find that it is for the purpose not to get news into the rebel army as far as I have seen. One man [is] stationed to a house and he is called a safeguard. Our picket lines are thrown out about two miles around camp, some of the way through clearing and some way through woods. There is considerable of the woods that have been old plantations and have grown up to small pines large enough for a fence pole and some hickory and some oak second growth stuff and the ground is smooth.

Uncle Sam has got a bakery started a short distance from our camp and the way they make light bread there is a caution. We get soft bread now part of the time. They mix in large vats and a man goes in up to his elbows. The dough is weighed and made in pound loaves and our bread ration is one loaf a day.

Evening now and the boys are singing about camp this evening and it sounds like camp meeting singing. They seem to enjoy themselves well. I wish you could look round here and see how things look. Up on the knoll above our camp is a battery of fifteen cannons planted and it takes three span of horses to draw one cannon. They look savage. Things about here look very much like war. If you could leave home and had the means, I would be a mind to have you visit our camp. Some men have their wives come to see them occasionally. I see a nice Yankee woman in camp and that does me some good. What do you think about coming? You don’t think best for me to come home. I have tried a widower’s life for the past six months and I begin to feel somewhat uneasy now. What is to be done? I feel as though something should be done some way for me soon. Please advise me what to do.

I a, detailed for a three day picket tour this morning. Don’t infer from what I have wrote that I can’t stand it any longer. — B. Merrill

Please write.

Letter 37

Virginia
March 24, 1863

Ruba,

I wrote in my last letter that I had got to go out on a three day picket job. Well I have just got back into camp. While I was out, Badger returned to camp. He brought me a letter from you. I was glad to hear so direct from home and was glad to hear that your health was good. Now I don’t know as I can write much today for I have had but very little sleep for three nights back. I feel rather thick headed this afternoon.

We have more picketing to do now than usual. [J. E. B.] Stuart’s cavalry have been raiding around some down back so we have to strengthen our pickets. I had to picket long side of the Rebs on the Rappahannock river a while but I don’t know how near they are now. We each have to be on post two hours and six off and that makes quite a number into a time and we have houses made of pine boughs throwed on the ground, our rubber blankets spread on top of them, and our woolen blankets over us makes our beds. And when we are off from post, half have to stay up three hours at a time so you see the chance is small for sleep. About three o’clock this morning, Whang! went a gun on the picket line and we were all called immediately to our arms supposing that our lines were attacked, but it proved to be a man saw—or thought he saw—a Reb, ordered him to halt but he did not, and he fired. No man could be found. Some said they had seen a large dog a number of times about there. Probably this was his Reb. This makes the third or fourth time that I have been called immediately to my gun and no bones broke yet.

I am all right and tough as a pig. I expect to sleep sound tonight. What is to hinder a good brush bed and no one to keep me awake. I gave George one dollar for bringing my boots. He left it for me to say. He said he had to hire a team in Washington to move his baggage. I felt as though I ought to make him good. He said he would pay me some back. I felt afraid to have him come in a box such a pair would cost twelve dollars here.

I think if you could get ten or fifteen cords of wood for 6 shillings per cord and have it so as to have a season and get good wood, perhaps you had better get it. I guess it is as well as you can do. Are you like to have plenty of hay? Is the red heifer coming in this spring? I don’t know but you can keep Irvin’s steers now. The cow is sold but I guess if they can be sold so as to have it do, you had better sell them some time this spring. I think if I can get a furlough, I shall be home before it is time to do spring work. But this will be uncertain. I can tell better as soon as I learn what kind of a move the army makes. You had better have the colts have a very little grain from now out and maybe that Irvin can earn a little dragging in the spring with them. I don’t want you to let them out to work. Perhaps Resign [?] will sell his drag so that it would do. I see no prospect now of my being home to do spring work. I think there is a better aspect (is this a proper word) in the army now than there was two months ago. There is more oof the men that appear more loyal and they show less sympathy for the South. We have southern sympathizers here. Some don’t feel afraid to advocate the doctrine here. I suppose the reason that W. R. got a furlough was he wanted to see to his bees and another thing—he is a officer, but it seems to be hard work to get much of a promise of a furlough. Things may work a little more favorable in this direction and it may not work at all. Can’t tell yet.

I don’t get much news here about the war. Report says that the people are nearly starving in Fredericksburg now and that ain’t very far from us. Report also says they are seeing tough times in Richmond. All eatables are very high there. I don’t hear from Vicksburg lately. The last news was favorable from there…I don’t get much news now days for there don’t much of anything now happen. We are here yet. When or where we will go, I can’t tell. There is talk that we move soon but I don’t know how that is. I shall continue to write often as long as I can send. If we should have to march, there won’t be much chance to write until we get settled again. I think that the roads won’t admit of a move—not yet. I think that we will get some pay before we leave this camp. I understand the paymaster is in this corps now. If you should get something from the town, I would like to have you get yourself a good black silk dress and use all that you get from that source for your convenience. I have had a talk with the Colonel this afternoon about a furlough. He tells me that there is talk about arranging the matter so as to grant thirty days furloughs but it is unsettled yet. I shall wait a spell and see how the matter shapes. I want to come home if the thing should work so that I could think that it would be best.

I did calculate to write some more in my last letter but I had not the time. I don’t get as much time now as I had a while ago. I have to do my own washing and mending and some other house work and do my duty in the regiment and guard duty about camp and my gun to keep in order and all take up time. I took my old blouse and furred them pants before and behind that I drawed to Jamestown and they are quite good now. I done it good but I had a job to fit the sit down pieces. I made two pieces for that place. Was that the right way? I have a new pair f blue pants now that I put on occasionally.

You told me that I might look for a small letter next time. I got it and it was small enough. I want one leaf filled occasionally with matters that we would not talk about in company. I don’t know but you think that I write improper or impolite, but I write about as I happen to feel when I am writing. What do you think about what D. P. read in class? Do you think that the church was glad to hear from me or not? Did the writing sound proper? Did D. P. seem to act as though he would treat the letter rather cool or did it seem to please him to hear from me? I felt a little delicate about writing. I did not know hot it would suit.

We are getting a very rainy evening here. We have just been to supper. We had for supper light wheat bread and butter, molasses and coffee. I am very glad that I am in from picket before this rain came on. It would be a very bad night to be out tonight. It seems as though the men would suffer. The rain is cold and falls fast. I am sorry to have to call on you for so many things but I can’t get along here and keep comfortable without using some money and I shall try and take good care of my health. I am thankful that my health is so good. I am some fleshier than when you saw me but I don’t flesh up like some. Calvin is so fat that his eyes ain’t very large. Have you got the two dollars I sent you in a letter and I sent two ten-cent stamps in another letter. My love to the children. How old is Dane? Please let me know. From B. A. Merrill

to R. C. Merrill

Letter 38

Virginia
April 2, 1863

Ruba,

I received your letter of the 26th last night. Was glad to hear from home. I don’t think of much news this morning.

Yesterday morning we had orders to pack up and be ready to fall in at a moment’s call but we are here yet and probably will be until the roads and weather is better. We are [having] rather cold weather now and occasionally a little snow. When we do move, I think that our move will be south. Whether we cross the Rappahannock here to Fredericksburg or not, I can’t tell but I think that the move will be similar to the last one….I think that our field of labor this spring will be between here and Richmond. Some think that our brigade will move towards Washington but I think that we have more to do first. I have my doubts whether I can come home this spring but can’t tell yet. It looks as though they would hardly consent to let or give furloughs for a spell at any rate.

The health of the army is good now and they seem in good spirits and I think if we have good leaders, we will succeed. I think that light begins to dawn and I for one would like to have matters close up as fast as possible.

Ruba, I have not laid up anything that has happened and I hope you won’t. I am very sorry that we have ever had an unkind word and there has been no need of any such thing but the past is gone and can’t be recalled. It may be so ordered that we shall never meet again on earth but I expect to meet you on the other shore, I expect, should Providence favor [me] to come home.

I don’t feel any depression of spirits and I think that all will come right. I look for this and expect it. And I feel as though it was my duty to help. I hope you will keep up good courage. I noticed one statement in your last letter that I think was not correct and I will take the opportunity to correct it. You stated you thought if I was at home the night you wrote we would have a good sleep. I don’t think that I would have slept at all. We would want to visit, &c.

Ruba I have sent my overcoat and dress coat in a trunk directed to Rice to the Summit and you will want to see about them and pay your share of the freight if they come. I don’t want them here any longer. I put in one hard tack. They are in that leaf you sent me marched with red chalk. I would have been glad to have sent a few other clothes I had I shan’t want this summer but i could not get them in the box. I left one nice little article when I came that I want but I don’t see how i can have it unless you should come and bring it to me but I suppose that it ain’t convenient for you to leave home so I will have to do without it. I suppose will self denial is quite a lesson to learn.

I think when we pull up here, Shelmadine and I will tent alone. I think that it won’t be healthy for too many to tent together in warm weather…My doctrine is to do by others just as I agree and then I want others to do by me as they agree and this is right and this rule will wrong no one. I agreed to come down south and help put down the rebellion on certain conditions and consequently I have come and if my health and life is spared, I calculate to do just as I agreed and not play sick. I intend to help ick the bone. And I want the friends at home to do by just as they agreed. Until then, all will be right. This is all. A word to the wise is sufficient. You may read this last sentence to W. H. when it is handy for you to do so…

When we lay in camp week after week as we have, there son’t seem to be much news to write about so I write just as I happen to feel and I don’t expect that anyone will read my letters but yourself. When anything happens to give a foundation for a letter, I will write on such occasions in such a manner that you may read them to other folks if you like. I suppose that a man and wife have a right to write or talk a little on nice points if they choose. Don’t you see that I have tried a widower’s life for the past six months and it would be a matter of course that I would begin to think a little about the finer sect. But I have got along better than I expected on this point. But I have occasionally thought in that direction. I don’t hardly know how it happens…

My boots appear to be good ones. They fit and sit airy on my feet. I like a good fit, you know. I think that we never enjoyed the privileges that we enjoyed as we should when I was about home and the children [were] to school. I could come in and get some water and a little lunch and have a nice time with you. Now I am placed where I think about these things but I suppose you are too old to have fine feelings or do you have an occasional flit in that direction? Maybe so? Maybe I could help you a little in that direction. Mother says that I ain’t weaned yet. Well, I am about the same old coon. Please excuse the abuse received by me that night you went and sit by the window. I am very sorry you did so. Please forgive. — B. M.

Letter 39

Camp John Manley, 154th Regt. N. Y. Vols.
Near Stafford Court House, Va.
April 9, 1863

Beloved companion,

I take a little time to write to you this morning. My health is good. How is your health and how do you get along with your matters? You have to have the mind taxed with matters in the house and out doors and I am afraid that it will be too hard for you. I hope that you will try and be careful of your health and take matters as quiet as you can and keep up good courage. And I am in hopes that the time will soon come when I can again come home to my family. I think of my wife and children daily and I am not without my anxieties about them. It has been now a little more than months since I came down here and on the whole, the past 6 months have been six months of toil and anxiety with me but amongst the rest, I have enjoyed some happy seasons. I have had a friend that has taken me all the way along thus far safely and I have been shielded from harm. And I still feel like exclaiming praise the Lord for his wonderful goodness to me. On taking a review, I can see that the Lord has had a watchful eye over me ever since I left home. I have not had an accident of any kind nor have I been sick a day and my appetite has been good all the time. And I have rested good nights when I have had a chance so you see that I have been wonderfully favored and I feel like trusting Providence for time to come. And I think that I shall be taken safely through and I shall again enjoy the privileges of our quiet home. I think much of home and loved ones that I have left but duty calls for me to be here. Yet as soon as I can see that it is duty for me to go home, I shall feel thankful.

I have no news to send you about the war. We are still in the same camp and I see no signs of a move just yet. General Howard reviewed this Corps today. Review went off nice. Probably you northern folks would like to behold such a scene. I think about thirty regiments [were] present and a great deal of nice music. We don’t think much about such scenes here. Yesterday General Hooker reviewed four corps of men near Falmouth about seven miles from here. This corps was not there. Falmouth is near Fredericksburg and so it goes. Figure a little on the number of men here.

We laid one of our boys in the grave today—a young man that you did not know named Adelbert Rolph. Disease, inflammation of the brain. Wasn’t sick but a few days. Had a decent burial. Put in as decent a coffin as the circumstances would permit of. Alva received a letter from you last night and a memorandum for March. I looked the letter and memorandum over. Was glad to hear from you. When I came down here I thought that we would get through and go back this spring but I think now that we will have to stay longer so you must make calculation to run your one horse team a while yet. I suppose you like it. I suppose that you are making your calculation about your spring work. What I left for you to live on will be used up after a while. You know that a word to the wise is sufficient. You will want bread, potatoes, &c. and I suppose that you will want your garden plowed so as to raise a lot of things.

The news comes almost daily here that they are seeing very short times for eatables now. Last night we had news that there had been quite a riot in Richmond with the women on account of the scarcity of food. Shops [were] broke open and the like. And according to report, it is an important crisis about now to Charleston. I hope that things will work favorable there. I hope for the best. I think that this matter is moving rather favorable of late but slow.

Perhaps you will like to know how I came by this sheet. I will tell you. Our new captain made each of the boys a present of two sheets. I noticed that you complained about your ink and about different shades all out of the same ink stand. How does this happen? It may be so.

A little about your dress. I think that you would look very well in such a dress. There is quite a similarity in the color. Do you color your hair a little occasionally? Presume you need to. My hair is all right combed nice and but very few gray hairs. I’m sure you would not exactly like the looks of my face now and around my mouth but as long as you don’t see me it is all right.

Well, I can’t write no more this time. Please give a variety of news when you write and keep all right. You know that I have been down here six months and I want all the news of course and a little about all. My love to the children. — B. Merrill

I am most out of stamps.

Letter 40

*President Lincoln at Grand Review of the Army of the Potomac on 8 April 1863*

April 10, 1863

Ruba, I would like to send you a picture of what I have seen today but this I can’t do. But can write a little about it. The eleventh and twelfth army corps were reviewed today by the President about one mile from our camp and of course your husband made one among the many of that number. You probably will see an account, of this review in the papers. It was a grand thing. Maybe if you can get one of Frank Leslies papers—the right number—you could see an engraving or picture of the same. I could see a man to work on the other hill in front of us but he was so far that I could not see what his business was. If you should see a picture of he same, the man that rode ahead of the gang of horsemen passing amongst the troops will represent the President. He had his hat in his right hand about as high as his breast. He rode a dark bay horse and a very good one. There was four or five women rode in this gang all dressed in long black riding dresses and black has some like Nancy’s. Do you think you could manage a horse in such a spot? They done it nice. If you could get a picture of the thing you would get a nice picture.

A few words about the President. His portrait don’t do him justice. He is a smarter looking man than that represents. He has a very good shaped forehead and an intellectual looking man but he looks careworn and palid. His hair is dark gray. He is tall and slim built. Te next to him is General Hooker. He is a man about the same age and smart looking. Next is General Howard. His right arm is off about to the elbow. He lost his arm in some of the battles. He looks like a smart man. He commands our Corps now i place of Sigel and there were lots of big men present. Our corps was reviewed by Howard on the same ground yesterday. When you see this print, you will get a better idea than I can give you.

A little about the soldiers. I don’t know how many was present but I would think that they occupied a piece of ground as large as Blodgett’s clearing on the south side of the road supposing fences and buildings ere all out of the way…The soldiers were well clothes and in good condition and they made a fine appearance and when they marched in review the scene was sublime and in order and it takes men that are drilled to do this. They march in double columns at half distance when they passed the President and the rest of the big men. Probably you don’t understand what the command double column at half distance means. I han’t room to explain.

There was very nice music to march by and the men marched nice. Our regiment knows more now that when they left Jamestown but the old regiments that have been out ever since the war broke out puts us into the shades yet…. — B. Merrill