The following letters were written by Lloyd Benson Hodges (1837-1920) who served in Co. H, 40th Massachusetts from 1 August 1862 to 4 June 1865. He was wounded in action on 16 May 1864 at Drury’s Bluff, Virginia, and again on 4 June 1864 at Cold Harbor. He was discharged from the General. Hospital at York, Pennsylvania, in June 1865.
Lloyd was the son of Elisha Hodges (1803-1865) and Sarah Ann Crowley (1807-1886) of Attleboro, Massachusetts. He married Sarah C. Gleason (1847-1920). He wrote all of these letters to his older sister, Mary Allen Hodges (b. 1830) who married Isaiah Standish Swift (1823-1897) in 1866.
The 40th Massachusetts left the state on 8 September 1862 and was comparatively inactive for some time and remained on picket and guard duty in and around Washington until the spring of 1863. On 15 April 1863, it moved to Suffolk, Va., then under siege, where it was engaged in two reconnaissances on April 24 and May 3. It then moved to West Point, Va., Yorktown, Williamsburg, White House landing in succession, and was engaged with the enemy at Baltimore cross-roads, on July 2. It then passed through Washington on the 11th, and went to Frederick, Md., where it joined the Army of the Potomac in the pursuit of Lee’s army after the battle of Gettysburg. On Aug. 6, it was ordered to Folly island, Charleston harbor, and occupied the trenches in front of Fort Wagner until the surrender of that stronghold. On account of its high repute for excellence in drill and discipline, it was equipped as mounted infantry at Hilton Head in Jan., 1864, and moved on Feb. 4, to Jacksonville, Fla., where it formed part of the Light brigade composed of the 40th, the independent battalion Mass. cavalry and Battery B, 1st U. S. Artillery, Col. Henry acting brigadier. It was engaged at Barber’s ford and Olustee, losing in the latter engagements 5 killed, 23 wounded and 4 missing.
Letter 1
Minor’s Hill, Virginia
October 26, 1862
Dear Sister,
This letter was dated last Sunday as you will see. I wrote one & commenced this but was obliged to stop writing & go to work & stop the water from running into the tent as it was raining very fast.
You have heard of our leaving the fort [Fort Ethan Allen], I suppose. We left there two weeks ago this morning—[which is] October 28th. We went into camp. at Manson’s Hill 4 miles from the fort but we did not stop there—only until the next Saturday morning when we were on our way once more for Minors Hill, some three miles, where we stopped until the next Tuesday morning when we had orders to pack & get ready to leave in a hurry. Some said that we would go to Centerville & I did not know buy we should. We went a mile & a half this side of the Hill where we pitched the tents and went into camp. We got straw & hay for the tents& had put things in good shape not knowing but what we would stay there. The next morning we had orders to leave so we packed up once more & they marched us back to the same place we left the night before. We have not moved since then.
The night before we came back here, that box came. It was all right. They sent over a large box with the paper one inside, the first they let us know anything about it. There is not much difference in the size of the mittens. Henry took the ones with stripes around the wrists. We have not been out so as to use them much yet but if we stay here. we shall soon have use.
Father, I am very much obliged to you for them & for the box too. We came so little ways that I brought just as they give to us in one of the wagons. It will be a good thing as long as we stay here.
I am well now as usual & like soldiers life just as well as I expected too. It isn’t a bit worse than I thought it would be. There is one thing I don’t like about it and that is just as quick as I put my uniform clothes [on], they made me look a good deal larger than my other clothes. They make me look as large as a man & I ain’t a man yet nor won’t be one yet. I am nothing but a boy & that is all I’m going to be at present until I have had a chance to learn something at school or somewhere else. I thought of going last winter. I wish I had have gone to school. I wonder if it plagues others to write letters as it does me. I like to write & sometimes I can write well enough but I don’t know how to arrange them & put together & so I get one half written sometime & then tear it up because it don’t suit me. But I suppose we must live & learn. I’ve only written two letters since I have been here that I have not had an answer to since I’ve been here. I guess that they don’t mean to write me or mind me. I don’t care for I shan’t write to him again unless he does to me first. The other one I shall write once more. Perhaps I did not direct my letter [correctly] and they did not get it.
There, the drums have just beat for he lights to be put out. I can’t write no more tonight. Never mind. I’ll finish it sometime and send it.
Wednesday morning, October 29th, 1862. I will. now tell you something else about this war business so that you know more about it than you now do. Last Sunday morning [October 26th] commenced with a severe rain storm for the northeast. It rained all day. The weather was very cold & windy. Long before night, the tents began to leak through the canvass until we put the rubber blankets on the inside. That did not last long. The water was soon coming through every part of the tents. We put everything inside of our knapsacks that we did not want to get wet. After doing what we could, we threw the overcoats and blankets over us and sat down to watch the storm. We had a grand time, I can tell you. We did [not] have to drill any all all day. There [was] five of us in the tent. We slept well that night.
The next morn [October 27th] we were called out as usual at daylight to roll call. We did not know of leaving the streets when called out but it so happened that there was to be a review some three miles away that day so the regiment fell into line & began the march with overcoats and rubber blankets. As it stormed harder than ever, we could but just hear the beat of the drums at the head of the regiment. They took us two miles out in the mud & water with two other regiments—the 11th Rhode Island & 22nd Connecticut. Then orders came that there would be no review so turned right about face, and went back to camp. It was enough to make one laugh to see such a looking set of men covered with mud and wet all over. We had large fires in the streets close to the tents and dried our clothes.
The review took place yesterday [October 28th] at Hall’s Hill—you’ve heard of it. It was a fine day—as warm as summer—and there were many troops on the field, from ten to 12 thousand. The Review passed off well. Many officers were present—Brigadier General [Robert] Cowdin, who is in command of our Brigade; I think Gen. Sigel was there. It lasted but a few hours. At four o’clock we were home again. 1
We are called up mornings at half past five by the sound of the drums to answer to our names as they are called to see if all are here. It takes but a short time for that, then we have nothing more to do until half past 9 when we drill until 11 o’clock, an hour and a half [and again] in the afternoon from half past one until 3 o’clock. Then [we have] inspection at 4 o’clock when the officers look at everyone’s musket, belts, and everything else they want to see, if they are clean and free from rust. If there is a lot of dirt or stain found on the muskets, it must be taken off by hand—very quick too. The dress parade comes at 5 o’clock & roll call at nine in the evening again. That finishes up the day so you see that the work is not much—only about five hours in the day, but then one must be here just when they are wanted. It will not do [to] be five minutes late & if one is called for anything, one must drop whatever one is doing and leave. One does not have any excuse for stopping any at all. That is the worst part of being so strict in all things.
I suppose you would like to know what we have to eat. All companies draw from the quartermaster a certain amount of bread, both hard and soft. It is as good as you get from the bakery. they draw meat, both fresh and salted, rice, tea, sugar, coffee, molasses, candles, and sometimes potatoes & beans. We generally have salt beef for breakfast & bread with tea or coffee. I do not eat much salt meat or tea or coffee either. I don’t like the way they make it. Yesterday we had baked beans for breakfast. We had them over a week, sometimes fresh meat boiled & sometimes fired, boiled rice once in a while. There is always enough of it but molasses & sugar is do scarce that they do not have enough to eat it with so they throw large quantities of it. They have fresh meat soups once a week. After all that folks ay about the poor living, we think it not bad at all. There is always good bread—all one wants if he does not get the other things always. He will not suffer much for the want of something to eat.
The weather is the same as it is at home so far—cool nights and warm days. I have not time to write more. It is nearly 9 o’clock.
1 According to the regimental history of the 11th Rhode Island, the review “was not so grand an affair as we had hoped. Probably less than three brigades were present and passed in review before Gen. Abercrombie, whose headquarters were at Fort Ethan Allen. It was an imposing sight, however, to see even eight or ten thousand men march in review.”
Letter 2
Minor’s Hill, Virginia
November 25, 1862
Dear Sister,
It’s been a long time since I have written to you but I have been sick. That is the reason. I’m well now. I took cold & that brought on some fever & I was pretty sick for a few days. It has been three weeks today since I have done anything.
Henry is well. Such miserable weather I never saw as it has been until within a few days—cold, stormy and dreadful muddy. if you stepped out of doors, you would sink into the mud almost over shoe [top] and the sharp. wind & rain would take you in the face. The 8th of November the snow fell all day. It was on Saturday, I think.
There is a great deal of talk about our moving. We may go tomorrow & we may stay here all winter. Most of the regiment have fixed up their tents with a fireplace in them. They have torn down buildings to get boards and timber and bricks. If they do not stop here [for the winter], they will [be] disappointed after taking so much pains to get ready for winter. We have not been yet, though the time has been set many times when we should get paid. The most of the boys are out of money & they would like to see pay day. We are getting cold weather now. It seems to me about as cold as it is at home. The weather is dull and cloudy—the sky gray and cold-looking. We have not found the “Sunny South” yet.
There is many boxes coming every few days. I think their pies and cakes high. If they only knew it, a dollar and a half will not bring a very large box from Massachusetts. I have not sent for anything yet I should like to have them. Still I think it costs too much to get them here. I know that the boys don’t think about the cost. If they did, they would not have paid 20 and 25 cents apiece for pies as they did three months ago because they had 30 dollars in their pockets after they had been paid. They used money as if there was no end to it, buying everything they see. They lived high for a while. It cost some a dollar a day as long as they had money. At last they were out of money so that they did not have 5 cents to but tobacco. They they had to come down on hard bread and salt meat. I don’t know whether that is the best way or not. I think I shall wait before I send for any boxes & see if I can’t get along without them.
We have no business here & I don’t know but it good enough for me. If I don’t get what I want. I had a letter from Mother last week, I think, with a letter in it from Emma to her. Her school is almost out. Did you get the letter inside? I don’t know as I want anything in the shape of clothing. I will tell you why. The government allows each one 45 dollars a year for clothing besides their wages. If they take more than that amount, all they take over 45 dollars, they say, is taken out of their wages when they are paid. They say too that if you draw less than that amount, it will be made up to us. If we do not draw more than 25 or 35 dollars, the other 20 or 10 dollars will be paid us. But I am afraid they won’t get it, that is the reason I don’t want to get clothes anywhere else—only from the government. If I knew that we should get in cash what we did not take in clothing, I should get some other places but there is so much deceiving about this army business, that one can’t tell much about it.
The Lieutenant told us when we got our first suit of clothing that it would not cost us a cent. He said the State furnishes every man with a suit free of expense. We find on looking at the books that 27 dollars out of the 45 is hcarged for the first suit so if I should buy ten or 15 dollars worth of clothing thinking to get that amount from the government & not get it, I should not like it. I think that I had better draw the clothes & be on the sure side. I have not worn out my first shirts yet. I think I shall draw undershirts now.
I thought before I came into camp that I was coming to a place where I could not get anything like a piece of cloth or anything, but it is not so bad as there are many things [thrown] away and lost—stockings, pocket handkerchiefs. Sometimes you would see half a dozen in a day lying around. I have picked up some when I wanted them and just washed them in warm water & they look as well as new, only I don’t suppose it is a good plan to pick up such things much. But when I know when they are nothing but a little dirty, I am not afraid of them if I want them to use. You could not go anywhere without seeing half worn-out uniforms thrown away. They would make splendid mats for folks that cut old cloths to braid.
When men move, they often are obliged to leave things that are good but can’t carry….We can get anything we want on the ground or nearby by paying for it same as we could at home. Some costs more. There are two officers here with their families. I was down to Falls Church the other day—a small village store by here. We have been out on picket two or three miles several times. The people are all very good—all we have seen. One can go into their houses and talk with them. They will do anything they can for you. Once when we were out, when I went to a house to get sweet potatoes and peaches, they sent me down to their orchard and told me to take what peaches I wanted. I eat what I wanted and carried back a haversack full. That is the way we have lived since we went into camp. I think we have lived very well. We came out here just in time for such things. we have been in camp for three months. The next three will be much harder as the rainy season will soon commence.
What I mean by saying I like camp life as well as I expected too is that I knew all about it before I came. I do not like war and never intended to come to it & had waited 18 months for it to be settled before I did come. And after I got into camp, I was more surprised to find myself there than otherwise to know I was there because no one that knew me thought I ever would go. I knew it was a hard life & I knew to what the men were exposed to—everything worse than death—and knowing that I had not nor shall be disappointed in finding it hard, it is no reason why I should stay away because it is hard. Others have gone. I had two friends that went last fall. One of them now lies beneath the sands of South Carolina. Is it any worse for me to go than others? Others have gone as good as I am & I don’t know as I should stay at home idle. I do not think it the worst thing than can happen to one to die on the battlefield. I for one had rather die there than live the life of some I know. It would require less courage. There is nothing there that I fear but I won’t say more about that,
We do not expect it is going to happen. If you were here, it would seem more like the 4th of July than anything else. Folks get deceived about camp life. It’s not half so bad as they think. I have just been to supper. We had fresh meat soup. You spoke of my sending by the Cape boys a few lines to you sometimes. I might but neglect to do so.
— Lloyd
Letter 3
Minor’s Hill, Virginia
December 12, 1862
My Dear Sister,
I am alone again today. The company has gone on picket this morn. I went only to carry some things for one of the lieutenants [and] have just got home as I commence this letter.
You say you are going to send a box. Put in what you think best. You know what we want as well as we do. I asked Henry this morn if there was anything particular he wanted sent. He said he did not know as there was. We can cook the sausages well enough, or potatoes, or any other such thing, so you may not be afraid to send them on that account. You can send the cranberries. We can get molasses close too but do by all means put in a loaf of brown bread & some meal too so I can have some Johnny cakes. I want them if no one else does. You might put in a little rye with it. We have white bread pretty often. It is not so good as yours….
Henry says he wants another pair of mittens. So do I. I have got the same towel I brought from home so we won’t need any. You know two can use one as well as not. Be sure and send the two pillow cases you spoke about a while ago, no matter what they are made of. Any kind of dark or cheap calico will do to fill with lay or leaves. Don’t work too hard getting things ready so as to make yourself sick. Henry wants his mittens a little larger every way. I guess I’ll have the fingers of mine a little loose & the thumbs are a little larger than they need to be when I put them on. The thumb is quite loose on the underside & I should think a quarter of an inch too long but that don’t do any hurt. They are good enough, only I thought if you were going to get more knit, they might as well be a little different. But don’t make too much alteration. You may send me one of them caps to sleep in. Henry, I guess, don’t want any by what he said. When you write, tell what them mittens cost or what they are worth.
We have taken down the tent and fixed up for winter. We have dug down into the ground a foot and a half, then built up with logs two feet and built what the boys call bunks, two on one side for two to sleep in each one and one on the other side for one as there is five in the tent. We keep a fire all night sometimes. We sleep warm enough. I have not known what it was to sleep cold. I don’t always sleep well. Often times I dream all kinds of strange dreams—things no one could ever think and that never could be. I am pretty well now, only I cough a good deal. It will be six weeks next Tuesday morning since I have done anything. Today I have eaten a loaf of bread and two pieces of meat.
When the company goes on picket, they give a loaf of soft bread apiece to carry with them. So this morn when I went to the cook house, I got a loaf which was all I could have for one day. It was all I wanted too.
The weather here is quite warm. It has been very cold but for two days the sun has shone like summer. The regiment has not been paid yet. There is already more than four months pay due them now. There is no money here unless some send home for it. I used a good deal when I was not so well as now in trying to find something to eat. One of the Taunton boys in the tent had a box night before last filled with pies and cakes. The pies were very nice for he gave us a piece. I don’t think it so pleasant to have so many in a tent where the boys have boxes. This fella had a large quantity of cigars and tobacco. I don’t want wither of them. Hen chews tobacco, I guess. You don’t like to have one chew such stuff.
Henry got a half peck of apples a few days ago that had been touched by the frost & the most of hem were bitter. He said he was going to make some sauce, he guessed. He said the bitter taste would all stew out of them but he did not make it. When they were half gone, I took the rest, cut them up, cut out what bitter I could, and made the sauce. It was bitter then so I sweetened it with some syrup he has. I put one side to cool. He tasted of it when he came in and said I got it too sweet, but the bitter taste was there. He would not eat any of it, but I liked it if it was bitter.
I cannot write well lately. I don’t [know] what the reason is. I don’t know whether you can read this letter or not. The last one I sent home last week was written miserable. I told them to burn it soon as they had read it. I guess you had better so so by this. Our Captain was the 1st Lieutenant in the Chelsea Company. I don’t know [how] he happened to be Captain of our company. He is little but seems to be pleasant. His name is Jenkins. I have not drilled and since he has been here.
When you direct now, you might leave out the Capt. Rogers for we have got another captain & they come just as well as with the captain’s name. I don’t know as Rogers ever meant to be our captain. He has never been near the company.
I must close for tonight. My candle is nearly burned out and I must fix up my bed. It makes me think of sleeping in a steamboat for their bunks are the same as they are in the cabins. There is more room since we fixed the tent. We can put wood in the last three days & not have it in the way. My mouth is sore on the inside. I wonder what makes it hurt but I must close now.
Saturday morning. Send me a little bit of ginger in the box if you have it. Two men were discharged from the regiment and left here for home last Monday morn. There was a good many sick once. Now I never would go to the hospital if I were sick. I don’t think it any place for sick folk such hospitals as there are here.
Letter 4
[Minor’s Hill, Virginia
Approximately 20 December 1862]
…Cotton cloth in Attleboro I hear is worth 53 cents a yard. I should not think it could be so high as that.
I do not think this war will close at present. I should not be surprised if it lasts until Lincoln’s term in office closes. That will be two years from next March. It will not be closed in a hurry, I can tell you. It must be many months first, if not years. I do not think we can ever whip the Rebels. We certainly never can unless there is different management among our officers. The Rebels are strong & at home. They are in earnest & never will give up until they get what they ask. The government must transport men and arms two thousand miles to fight them. I thought when we came out here the government would do something towards trying to close the war. They seem to be satisfied to let it drag along without trying to close it. Neither the government or the officers have acted to me since the war commenced as if they wanted to whip the Rebels. It is strange [that with] all the men and money we have had that we could not do it. It is something I know but little about so I will not say anything [more] about it.
I suppose you [are] pretty busy now. It is getting along towards Christmas & New Years. Two years ago this Christmas, I think it was, I was to Cape. I did not think then that two years would find [me] out in Virginia. We had roast beef for breakfast this morning. I don’t think we live well at all. We have too much salt meat & hard bread.
I must close now. Henry has just gone to drill & wants me to sew a button on his coat, I do not drill. Give my respects to Julia. Write when you can. Goodbye till I write again.
From Lloyd
Letter 5
[Minor’s Hill, Virginia
Approximately January 1, 1863] 1
…loaded in line ready to leave. It was that Gen. Cowdin had ordered us to report at Fairfax Seminary early Monday morn. Then I believed we should march. We had orders to be ready to fall into line at once. As no one expected to come back again, a great change took place in camp in a few moments. We packed up a few of the best things in a box that we could not carry. Many threw & gave away provision of all kinds. We went to the cook house. They put out the boxes of bread, meat, and lots of apple sauce for us to help ourselves. We filled our haversacks and were soon on our way to hunt Rebels.
We marched 7 or 8 miles through swamps, fields, and woods. We arrived at a place called Mills’ Cross Roads where a lot of rebels had been seen. We arrived there at 5 in the morn. No sign of rebels so we lay down, pulled our blankets over us and slept until daylight. No sign of rebels then [either]. We lay around all day waiting for orders to move on. It was another fine day—war and bright. We lay around on our blankets all day & had a fine time. Though the march the night before had worn us down, we had time to sleep it off and get rested.
Monday night we made our beds close to our muskets and lay down expecting every moment to have orders to move on but I had been thinking all the afternoon that we should not go farther but they all said we should go on. There were seven thousand men there besides artillery and cavalry. At seven o’clock the order come to pack up and be ready to march. Soon after General Cowdin gave the orders to take his men back to Camp where we arrived about midnight covered with mud and water, As near as I can find out, what caused the march was that three thousand cavalry had been seen at Mills’ Cross Roads and they were afraid they were going to attack us somewhere and Cowdin, thinking to surround them & take them, had orders out to his brigade & when heard it, they must go. But when his men got there, there were no rebels and the whole movement was all nonsense.
The next morning I could not help laughing to see how we left things & how we went away never expecting to get home again. But there was no one to blame. Our officers knew no more about what they should do than we did. They all wait on orders from Cowdin.
Tuesday and Wednesday nights the long roll beat, the regiment was called out, everything got ready for a long [march] in a hurry. After we had been drawn up inn line, we were dismissed to our quarters with the order to be ready to fall into line at any moment but were not called upon to turn out & I guess we shall not again at present.
Falker was here today to borrow the White Slave, He sends his respects to you. I had a letter from Mother tonight.
We go on picket tomorrow again. We are very busy now. We do not get time to do much. I am glad we did not move on account of the box. I think the ladies were very kind to send things as they did. I am very much obliged to them and to the one who sent the books too. I think a good deal of them for before long, will come stormy days when I shall like to read them.
I do not think of anything I want now. I am well as ever. So is Hen[ry]. He did not say much about the box but I know he was glad to have it & it was very kind in you to think to send it for us. The weather here is quite warm. I have written this in a hurry. I will write again soon if I can. From your brother, — Lloyd
1 The beginning of this letter is missing but from the contents we know that it was written just after the march to Mills’ Cross Roads and returning to Minor’s Hill. The march to Mills’ Cross Roads is conformed by the Regimental History of the 11th Rhode Island, another regiment that made the trek. Both regiments left for Mills’ Crossing on Monday, 29 December 1862. That history describes the trip as follows (p. 76): “The route was over roads in a horrid condition, through mud and water, through woods and briars, over fences and broken bridges, double or single file, picking and threading our way, half moonlight and half darkness, for three hours and a half. This, in heavy-marching order; some knapsacks were very heavy, and the mettle of the. men was severely tried. The mud holes were nearly or quite knee deep.”
Letter 6
Minor’s Hill, Virginia
January 4th 1863
Dear Sister,
I write today not knowing when I shall have another chance to do so.
The box arrived here on Wednesday eve last, safe & sound. It was all right. Had not been opened on the way, I guess not. I expected to see a large box but not so large as this is. Falker came over the next day and took his things. Also Cals and Nickerson’s. You sent just what I wanted and lots of it too. Henry said the pieces of cake in the wooden box tasted like wedding cake. Those biscuits & doughnuts were very good. Hen carried two or three of the turnips to one of the houses where he was acquainted and got them to cook them & make them into a sauce though he might have done it himself as well. You did not know as I liked onions. I do like them. And turnips too—when they are made into a sauce. And we have seen so much cooking done here that almost anyone of us can cook such things.
We had baked beans for breakfast this morning & I cut one of the loaves of brown bread and had brown bread and beans for the first time since I have been in camp. I was glad to get a piece of white bread once more from home. That did not last long for I could not help eating it & Hen, I guess, liked it pretty well. The cake, pies, sauces, I shall try to keep some time. The books are very interesting if I can get time to read them. Some of them I mean to save if I can and carry them home for the White Slave, I liked too well to throw away, and them others too—I forgot the name of them—such ones as you have taken so many of them.
Have you heard what a time the 40th Mass has had for a week past. If you have not, perhaps you. would like to know. Last Sunday morning 5 companies of the regiment went out on picket. The day was pleasant and almost as warm as summer. We filled haversacks with bread, tea, coffee, sugar, & shouldered our knapsacks and muskets and blankets and marched out some three miles. There were six on the post that I was on. There was not much to do through the day—only one being required to stand guard. At 6 o’clock two go on guard and remain two hours; two sleep in before they go on again. I went on guard at eight o’clock with another fellow and off at ten and such an evening as it was. I never saw but a few like it here. It was almost as light as day. The full moon shone upon every shrub and bush and made me start more than once. They looked so much like a man that I thought some rebel might be near. I could hear bells ringing in some distant city or village and that, together with the loud barking of the watch dogs who were guarding their master’s property to prevent its being taken by some soldiers who are roaming around nights ready to take whatever they can lay hands on that they can make use of, and the rattling of the cow bells around us, made it seem more like home than anything else. A train of cars would sometimes pass near us and they looked quite natural. At such times I forget we are here engaged in war for it does not seem hardly possible that we are.
But I was going to tell you what we had been doing this week. I went off guard at ten o’clock, spread down my blankets before a blazing fire built in the center of the tent & after eating some hard bread & drinking some coffee, I lay down for a four hours sleep. I had slept but two hours when I was woke up & told we had orders to pack up and march to camp as we were going to break camp and march. You can judge perhaps what my feelings were when I found we had orders to leave the comfortable winter quarters. At first I did not believe we should go but we went to work to pack up and in a few minutes the captain came along with the rest of the company & we fell in to the ranks and marched to the camp in a hurry through woods and fields to camp. There all was confusion & hurry. The teams were already… [rest of letter missing]
Letter 7
[Note: I did attempt to transcribe this letter due to its being so faint as to be almost illegible.]
Letter 8
[Note: The 40th remained in the forces besieging Charleston until 16 January 1864 when relocated to Hilton Head, South Carolina, on 18 January. On the island, the regiment joined the 2nd Battalion, 4th Massachusetts Volunteer Cavalry Regiment (operating as the Independent Massachusetts Cavalry Battalion), and Battery B (Horse Artillery), 1st U.S. Artillery to form the Light Brigade attached to BGEN Truman Seymour’s Jacksonville Expedition forces. The 40th received horses and cavalry equipment and drilled as mounted infantry until its embarkation for Jacksonville on 4 February.]
Jacksonville, Florida
March 3rd 1864
I received your last letter written January 26th some time ago. The paper with the handkerchief & yarn & other things in it I received, and I guess I got all of the other letters you sent after a while. Henry did not say anything about Gil’s being married. I did not think of her getting married at present, if ever he did. I did not think he would go to war, either but he seen a chance to make a lot of money out of it, else he never would have gone.
You need think no more of sending a box now. When I spoke of having one [sent], we were in camp & expected to stay there, but we can’t have a box no more until we get settled and in camp again and it is not likely we ever shall see that time. I am glad that you did not send me any more things. We can’t carry anything now—only an overcoat and blanket and not always that since they have taken our knapsacks.
You wanted to know if I would take a furlough if I could get one. I will answer by saying no matter how bad I want one, it would be impossible to get it. A few have had furloughs from the regiment but unless some officer will use his influence, a private cannot get a furlough. And it’s only a few favored ones that the officers will trouble themselves about for they, the officers, can do as they have a mind to and go about when they want with what strictly care for others. But one thing you must understand and that is that those away from the regiment who have been sick like Falker can get a furlough where they could not had they been with the regiment. During our marches last summer we left fifteen of Company H in different places in Virginia and those that went to the hospitals all got furloughs when they could not have got them in the regiment.
Had a letter from Emma last night. She said Ed’s wife was there on the 7th of February and started for Washington next day. She said a while ago that she wanted to come and learn to sew straw. I should think that Em and Mother would like to have her for company. She & Em might sew straw & do the work & they three keep house & have good times. I should think I suppose Edwin would be willing to pay Em something. Ed says Edwin wants father to come out there. Will give him $110 per month but I suppose he would not go for $140 for fear he might be in danger.
I suppose you will go home very soon. If you think father needs any money, give him five dollars, but don’t let anyone know it. The 10 dollars I sent you for Henry, he wants me to take so you may call it the same as though I sent it. Last Monday we were mustered in for $52 but we don’t see the money yet.
On the 5th of February we left Hilton Head. We packed up at midnight and went aboard the steamer E____ and a sadler with us. Since that time our soldier life has begun in earnest—riding night and day, through swamps and forests, river and brooks, without sleep, blankets or provisions, until our horses could go no further. Nearly all the horses of the regiment are worn out. Many have fallen dead with their riders in the saddles and others are broken down, too. worn out so as to be unfit for service horses. I ain’t but a short time in this business.
Friday 4th [February]. When we first landed at Jacksonville, it was said that that we should go as far as Tallahassee, the State capitol of Florida. After going about one hundred and fifty miles towards Lake City, we stopped at a place known by the name of Barbersford, reaching there on the 17th of February. We were now in the Rebel’s country 150 miles farther than any of our troops had ever been for they never had been farther than Jacksonville & they only shelled that place from the gunboats that lay on the St. Johns river. All our troops done was done without landing so that when we came here, we came into what to us was a new country.
At Barbersford, February 20th. So far all is gone well. We’re now within a day’s ride of the Gulf of Mexico. A few miles from us at the village of Baldwin were roads that ran to the Gulf, roads that branched off from the great railroad that ran fro mJacksonville to Tallahassee to Lake City. At Barbersford on the 20th, everything so far had fallen into our hands—Rebel troops, cannon, military stores, cotton, turpentine, flour, corn, roce, lots of artillery to the amount of more than two millions of dollars without firing a gun or any fighting. When we had met the Rebels, they had surrendered & given themselves up without offering to fight. During our marches through the long, dark nights, half did I expect to have a volley of shot & shell fired into our ranks, but nothing of the kind panned though.
We have pretty good proof that a large force of Rebels were drawn up in line at Camp Finegan and they were in camp but it so happened that we did not go the way they expected & when they found out we had passed them by another road & got in front of them, they left Camp Finegan in a hurry, Had our general known how the Rebels were situated & where they were, I think we should have had to fight that night for I think that we should have made an attack on them as they intended to on us had we happened to have gone farther to the left by a mile than we did. We have got some officers now that had as soon fight as go to dinner and sooner. That is as near as we come to getting into a fight on the night of the 9th of February.
This cavalry business was too much for me & I was not able to stand it—neither myself or my horse. They left me behind to run my own risk of being picked up by the Rebels but I did fear that. I kept up with them until the 10th of February when I could go no farther & stopped at the village of Baldwin, but after resting a few days, I went on.
On the morning of the 20th, our troops advanced towards Lake City. By that time I was at Barbersford & did not know what to do about going on. First I decided to go & then I thought I would not. I wanted to go but my horse was not able. Well, I did not go. About four o’clock on the 20th in the afternoon, I had begun to get hungry. I was getting some supper when I heard the roar of artillery. I knew of course too well what it meant—that our boys at last, of all their good success, had met the rebel army. The sound of cannon continued for two hours 14 miles away & then all is still. Our force of five thousand met 15 thousand [in the Battle of Olustee] & finding them too strong, retreated back to Barbersford after fighting a few hours. They reached Barbersford about midnight.
It was reported that the rebels were following us with a large force & now commenced our retreat on Sunday morning the 21st. The news spread that a great battle had been fought, that we were defeated, & that a rebel army was close to us pressing us on and much more of the same kind. Of course a great deal was added to the reports that was not true but every place was evacuated where we had troops. They made their way to Jacksonville where the gunboats would protect them.
The village of Baldwin was deserted by our troops where they had began to build fortifications. Every family [deserted], both black and white. The citizens were frightened to think the rebels were coming, expecting there would be fighting [so] all left the place.
Since the 21st of February, we have been retreating until last Tuesday night close to Jacksonville & have…
The weather here is fine. Peach and plum trees are in full bloom making the woods and fields look like a vast flower garden. the orange and fig trees grow in clumps around here. We are here now. What our next move may be, I don’t know. I know this, that we are liable to get into a fight anyhow. The rebels are only a short distance from us. Must close for tonight. Roll call.
On the night of the 9th of February we took a Rebel battery, a large lot of clothing & everything they had to the amount of many thousands of dollars. The 1st Mass Cavalry took them by surprise, rushed on to their camp with cheers and yells before they had a chance to fire a gun. This was at a place known as the Ten Mile Station.
In our retreat from Barbersford on the 21st, we halted at Baldwin all night, then on the 22nd marched to Ten Mile Station and stopped there another night. On the 23rd, we [came to] Camp Finegan where the rebs was going to fight on the night of the 9th. Here we stopped until the 25th when the news come that the rebels were advancing. We left the place in a hurry. Some things were taken and the others burned. A lot of hay we had for the horses was set on fire which was foolish for it might have been got away. The camp was set on fire when we left. Our folks you see are very fond of burning things up.
On the 25th we retreated a few miles & again went into camp. On Saturday night, 27th, I went on picket but about dark we were called into camp again as the rebels were advancing. We had to run our horses in. Our troops did not leave but I found them drawn up in line waiting for the Rebels but they did not come and some time in the [morning] went back on picket & came in Sunday night & found our troops had moved nearer Jacksonville but we found them. We lived in peace until the 29th when we went on picket again.
On the 1st of March, heavy firing commenced in the morning & the rebels were now advancing in earnest. The pickets were driven in or taken prisoners & at last we were ordered in and had to run the horses for miles. Had I been alone, I don’t think I would have rode so fast to be kept from being taken prisoner but as it was, I had to keep up with the other boys. We come to Jacksonville & had to look again but night come on and brought the fighting to a close. Our regiment lost but one killed that I have heard of Co. A, had five or six men taken prisoners, and others had some wounded.
That is the way we have been marching for the last two weeks. The 40th has lost men several different times. One of the Attleboro boys is wounded & a prisoner. Another was sent on picket & has not been heard of since. Some lie buried beneath the pine trees at Barbersford. It’s said that a flag of truce has been sent in by General Beauregard saying he would give Gilmore five days to evacuate the state.
On the night of the 21st, more than 20 thousands of dollars worth of provisions & hospital stores were burned. They were foolish to do so for it might have been taken away but our officers were frightened & they sent off the wounded in the cars & poured turpentine over large store houses of flour, rice, sugar, molasses, meat, coffee, apples, and large quantities of bread, piles of knapsacks left by the troops in their hasty retreat full of clothing. They were set fire, lighting [up] and wrapped the ruined village in flames, sending up vast columns of smoke that darkened the moon and stars.
So one month has passed since we came here & it has been a month of war. True, we have marched through Rebel camps and captured millions worth of their property everywhere. We have been in every village & camp. Things were not used very nice. You may guess what became of them when the troops had full liberty to do as they pleased though they did not always trouble poor private families, but government property had to suffer. Cotton is very valuable but tons of it has been burned where we have been. Tis a great place for cotton here. They talk about starving the rebels out but if you had the provisions we found when we took Baldwin, it did not look like starving. Our troops lived [well] while they stopped there and had the whole village covered with everything strewn around. All this belonged to the Confederate government. But when we came back and burned the place, we burned the place [and] we burned our own provision & military stores.
I looked upon all this & knew it was war and [am] hoping you may never see in old New England as I’ve see in this beautiful land where the frosts and snows of winter are unknown, trees, flowers are in bloom, & where the orange and fig and plum trees are budding with fruit.
— Lloyd
P. S. James Field has reenlisted & I owe him $7.25. I don’t like cavalry.
Letter 9
Jacksonville, Florida
Sunday, April 17th 1864
Dear Sister,
As I suppose we shall leave here in less than 48 hours more, I will write now. The paymaster was expected to make his appearance today to pay the 40th Massachusetts. He has not come. There is six months pay due the regiment now.
I think I wrote you on the 26th March. Nothing of importance has happened since then that I know of—only one thing [and I’ll] tell you what that is. On the 12th, the regiment was ordered to move. It was reported in camp that we would cross the St. Johns [river] & land upon its opposite shore & by land go to Fortress Monroe. On the 12th, Companies H & D left camp and went to the city to take transportation across the river but steamers not being ready, they came back to camp about dark. The other company did not go. I did not go. On the 13th, the whole regiment broke camp and crossed the river. I did not leave camp until the last one. Pet and myself waited in city until about midnight before the boat could take us. We landed on the opposite side of the river, climbing up a steep bank, landed safe. Large fires had been built which lit up the place. Saw several houses, half in ruins. Standing in among the groves of trees, I lay down at the foot of a large live oak, spread my overcoat over me and sheltered by its thick branches and leaves, slept until daylight. Pet, I don’t think, slept any. I lay near him. We fitted up a camp on the 14th at the Empire Mills on the bank of the river in a splendid place overlooking the St. Johns. On the 15th, again we recrossed the rover in boats & before midnight were back in our old camp—horses, wagons, & all the baggage. What the move was made for, or the object of it, I can’t say. A great move, wasn’t it?
There are but two families living in the many houses that remain around the ruins of the Empire Mills & the people in that part of the country are reported to be in starving condition almost.
On the 15th, a man was shot [executed] for trying to desert from the 3rd New Hampshire Regiment. There are several [of them]—we don’t know if its true. Don’t think it is. One of our boys said the other was to be hung & the others to be transported for life. I did not go to see him die. I have no fears but what I shall have the opportunity of seeing men shot & perhaps shot myself within the next 18 months too without going on purpose to see it. The 3rd New Hampshire is Mounted Infantry in camp side of us. Everything has been quiet here for some. time. Tis like a calm after a storm. Since the Battle of Olustee, things have been growing more quiet until things have settled down as quiet as before we came but the rebels still hold their picket line near ours. No one can tell how soon things may take a different course.
I received your letter some time ago. Henry is well and is about the same as he used to be, I guess. I don’t know whether he has ever sent any money away since he enlisted or not. He don’t use much, I don’t think—only what he lends in the regiment & that is a good deal.
I am well. Am nearly as well as far as health is concerned as ever I was & certainly have as good a spirit as one needs to have. You spoke in one letter about its being the coldest day on the 17th and 18th of February that there was last winter at home. We had the coldest weather we have seen in Florida that week. It was very cold. We had just turned in our woolen blankets & had them sent to Jacksonville. The night of the Battle of Olustee was very cold. As our army retreated, the moon shone calm, clear, and cold and the wounded as they lay upon the field deserted by all must have suffered for days after. I saw them slowly walking toward Jacksonville having walked many long miles. You could see the holes through their coats and pants where a ball struck them. Our wounded, it is said, were taken good care of by the Rebels which I believe.
Do not be deceived about the war. I wish as you think the war would be over in a few months but if there is no way to settle it only by fighting, it will last for years yet for they can’t be starved out. We can make the people of the South go hungry, cold and without clothing. The government has already done this. We see it wherever we go. Their villages and cities have been burned & torn to pieces, their fences, plantations, woods and crops have been destroyed, families broken up and their people killed by thousands, and today they are more earnest in what they are fighting for than they were three years ago. I say it will last a long time if it must be settled by fighting. But when we have another President, some other way may be proposed to stop the war than by fighting. Some other terms may be found to secure peace. Though if Lincoln should be reelected or some others, it could not help the war any but there are those which if they should become President, we should see a change in things. The people of the South are waiting to see who is the next President. Some think and I suppose many more of them hope McClellan will be elected.
I know that in three years of war, we have gained much, for then the Rebels held the Potomac & the country about Norfolk, Suffolk, Fortress Monroe, & Yorktown. They were even swarming with their armies around Washington & even threatened the Capitol to lay it in ashes. Now Washington is secure. The Rebel armies have been driven into the interior of the Gulf States and we have gained possession of two-thirds of their territory. But it will take a long time and a good many lives to drive them from Richmond, Savannah, Mobile, Charleston and Tallahassee. They can’t whip us nor we them at present.
I would like to see the Rebs whipped & the country restored to its former power under one government, but one might as well look at the things as they are. In fact, they can’t help doing so when they have seen them as I have. I know the Rebels must be whipped. The Government will conquer them if it costs thousands of millions of dollars & lives—if it can, I mean. But if it can’t, there’re some who say there is no such thing as can’t, but there is. And they may. We can’t stop the sun from rising or setting or the tide from rising or falling neither. Can a government make a people who despise & hate it, had rather die than live under it, such a people can’t be made a good, loyal people though may be subdued after long years of war.
The fact that we may yet have a long war does not keep me awake any nights, nor does it take away my appetite. I’m too hard-hearted for the thought or sight of pain & suffering to trouble me in that way much, though of course I had rather it would not be. I can lie beneath a cannon with a cannonball for a pillow & sleep on the soft side of a board. More than once I have laid beneath the smoking cannon while over our heads they send showers of shot and shell. But they did never hit me yet & if they ever do, I’ll not complain, let come what may. Years and years ago, men with white gloves & good clothes and delicate looking hands would stand up in our lecture rooms & halls and tell us that one of us could whip a dozen rebels & that they war would last only a few months all of which has proved [false].
Letter 10
White House Landing
June 6th 1864
Dear Sister,
Don’t write to me until you hear from me again and tell you where to write. I have not received any letter from you for a long time and it has been some time since the regiment has had any mail at all unless it they have it since I left it two days ago. I left the regiment two days ago and came here Saturday morn and got here sometime around midnight.
I am wounded with a ball through the left side but not dangerous at all—only a flesh wound. The Rebs hit me at least five holes through my pants but only one ball hit me. Henry is hit in the right foot. He is here [too]. The 40th has only men enough to make about half of a company—70 men in all. All the Massachusetts regiments here are all cut to pieces. The 23rd has fifty men left. The Massachusetts 27th and 25th are all gone nearly.
We left Bermuda Hundred for Drury’s Bluff on the 29th of May. Crossed the James river on pontoons. The night was dark and stormy. We halted at midnight, rested until daylight, when we rook transports at City Point and sailed for Fortress Monroe. From there [we went] up the York river to Yorktown and West Point. Then up the Pamunkey river and landed at White House on the 31st.
From White House, we marched to the front and arrived, after a long and tiresome march, at Gaines Mills where they pushed [us] right into a fight which lasted until midnight. Henry was hurt that night, the first of June. Lieut. Colonel [George E.] Marshall was killed of the 40th before the battle fairly began. Lieut. Wier [?] of Co. H was wounded with several other officers.
On the morn of the 3rd, I left Henry at the hospital two miles in the rear of the battlefield. He was coming away with a lot of the other wounded. I give him some things to send home that I could not carry & left him to go to the front where the 40th was. I did not expect to see him again before I got where the regiment lay. The fight of the day before again began long before I found the regiment. The woods was full. of shot and shell. The road was full of wounded coming from the the field on the morning of the 3rd after the fight was over.
I was struck by a ball after which I started for the hospital, getting there in time to come in the train with Henry and others of the 40th. Company H went into the fight with 27 men and came out with 7. Again they charged on the rebels. [Company] I lost every man. Company E lost heavy. Company H lost killed L[ester A.] Perkins and [Gideon C.] Slade of Attleboro. J. C. Wilmarth of Attleboro missing. Capt. [Horatio] Jenkins of Company H a prisoner, & Lieut. Weinded [?] of Co. H. Almost every one of the Attleboro [boys] are wounded and in fact, all the regiments are as bad as ours. The New York Regiment lost all of their colonels and officers.
Don’t trouble yourself about us for tis impossible for one to get any better care at home than here. The Sanitary Commission is not idle day or nighttimes on the battlefield and in the hospital. There are men and women here to do anything. The wagon train that I come in from the front reached more than five [miles] in length loaded with wounded. Such trains are coming in all the time—thousands of them, the wounded, every twenty-four hours. [They are] wounded in all ways—hundreds have lost arms and legs. Tis almost impossible for a man or officer to go into the battles up in front twenty miles from here without any man getting hurt. I don’t know what they will do with us but where we shall go. When I find out, I will let you know.
We were in the 16th Army Corps in the Army of the Potomac on the Left Wing of Grant’s Army. The fighting where we were was at Gaines Mills six miles from Richmond.
From Lloyd
Letter 11
York, Pennsylvania
July 7th 1864
Mother,
I am not so well as I have been. My leg has been growing worse and has pained me dreadful at times, but for a day or two the doctor says it looks better.
I don’t see what should make you think we didn’t get enough to eat because I said I had milk twice a day. I did not say we had nothing. I have not left the room for my meals at all but had them brought to me. We always get fresh beef for dinner—all we asked for, but I did not think it best lying in a hospital on a bed to eat like a man doing a hard days work. After eating any reasonable amount, I would still be hungry. The doctor makes us eat all the meat we can. I soon found there was no need of getting rid of my appetite for it deserted me altogether & now I can’t eat anything hardly. The doctor gives me anything I ask for that he can give me—a few peas for dinner yesterday. He has sent me in potatoes, beef steak days until the sight of it made me sick. At last I told him I could not eat it.
I feel better this morn for the doctor gave me sleeping powders last night and something to kill the pain. While that lasts, I feel better.
I have not written Kelly. I know they don’t think I was able to go on a furlough and I don’t know as he could get me one if they did think me fit to go here but I can find out. I asked the doctor for wine but he give me whiskey. That is better than nothing though I don’t like it very well.
When you write, send me a little bit of cherry bark in the letter and if I want to use it I can. W won’t write anymore. It won’t do any good & I’ve nothing to say. I guess my leg will not be any worse. — Lloyd
Letter 12
York, Pennsylvania
July 13th 1864
Dear Sister,
l am still here and am likely to be for the present. Since I last wrote I have been sick and my leg grew worse but I am better now. My leg grew worse until I could not walk on it though I never have walked on it much. I have not walked or been out of my room for some time. I suffered a good deal of pain at times but I do not feel much pain now and my appetite is coming back.
Emma sent me a letter a few days ago. It was from you, written the 27th of May about the time we left Bermuda Hundred for the Potomac Army. She said it came directed to me. I suppose it went to the Regiment and they sent it to me directed to West Mansfield. There were two stamps in it. You said you hoped that we were not wounded and that your letter would find us all. We [were] both well at that time though the Regiment had seen very hard fighting. In the letter you told me if I got wounded to come to you and you would take care of me if I could come. I would like to but they will not let one do as they want. Tis not often one can go home and stay for they will not let them do it. Tis but little one can do. I have lived long enough to learn that since I had more confidence in myself and in the world than I have now, how little power one has sometimes to make themselves happy or to have things as they would like to have them in order to be happy. When one is happy and everything is as they wish, all is well. But when dark days come and one is disappointed in almost everything, these cherished plans and ideas of happiness leave them. How little power to change things in the course they would have them they possess. It is then that I feel how little one can do. But then I know no one will understand me unless they have felt as I felt. I fear I was born to be miserable yet happy.
The weather is fine here and there has been great excitement about the Rebels coming here again this summer. A large number of the people in the city have turned out and been armed also a great many from the Hospital have been armed and sent out. All kinds of reports about the Rebels being in certain places within a few miles of here and about their tearing up the railroad from here to Washington. All these reports have been circulated, many of them without any truth. The Rebels are said to be in large force in Maryland and a large force has been sent down to guard the Railroad bridge between here and Baltimore. There were some Mass. boys transferred a few days ago but the doctor thought I was not able to go, else I should have gone too. I don’t know whether I shall go or not. Write soon if you have not. — Lloyd
Letter 13
U.S. Gen. Hospital
York [Pennsylvania]
Feb 11, 1865
Dear Sister,
You people think I am not well by my not writing some but I don’t always feel like writing. I am well as usual, and will soon be well. I think you spoke about being detailed here to work but do not know as it would be easy to get detailed. And I am willing to [return to] my regiment again, I think. I have no longer three years to serve! only about six months and will be home by that time if I do not get shot again, and if I do. my life is worth no more than many others that have died. And if there is anything worth fighting at all, it is worth dying for. And if there should anything happen to me of that kind, I should die happy knowing there is a better land where we meet again but days as this are rather dark. There was a lot of boys went away to the front.
There is plenty of sleighing here now. I have have not been to S. for a number of days but I would go more if I felt as though I would be welcome for they are good folks and I like them but perhaps they think I am too cold, distant, reserved and they do not appear sociable. I know I am and I try to throw off such feelings and thoughts. I don’t think I succeed—not very well. You must know I never had a chance to cultivate the art of being agreeable very much. This town does not bear a very light, moral reputation, but there are lots of nice folks here.
I have not heard from home for a long time. I had a letter from Louisa a while ago. What do you think of making a theater out of a chapel or church dedicated to the worship of God? Our new chapel is finished at last and by orders of Dr. Mintzen, it has been fitted up as a theater. And many concerts have been given in it. It is used for a church on Sundays and it looks more like a theater than a church. It [been] used as church, theater, school room, lyceum room and various [other] purposes. These entertainments we suppose to be given for soldiers, but citizens come in from town.
I want you to send me fifteen dollars until we get paid which will be in March. There is ten months of pay due.
There was one of the Ohio boys transferred 2 days ago and he owed a woman here (who keeps a small shop) fifty-two dollars and went away without paying it as he had not any money and he had accumulated this bill in a few short weeks spending more than his pay. Another one of the boys lost 1.21 dollars in town! He had been drinking! Now that is the way the boys do most of them and you know there is but few people that think of saving money, and indeed I don’t think much of it for when we die, we leave all and it will do us no good, but it might do some others good.
Do you know that I have sometimes wished I was like Ed Ruyler and you know he can’t keep any money and I have [heard] you call him a fool, but though some say I have done well, yet he would be liked better than I and would feel more at home and at ease at all times and everywhere. You know that I have paid more attention to making money and saving it than I ought while neglecting often things of more importance. I think I have been most too good and honest. The world does not recognize such as me, I find, as well as others and I can’t blame people like those who are lively and possessing the act of being agreeable.
Write at once and send me the money if you can and I will send it back again. Write home. — Lloyd Hodges
Spared & Shared 23 