The letters below were penned by William H. C. Hall (1830-1895), a native of Saratoga county, New York, who, at the time of his drafting in 1865, was married and farming near Owosso township, Shiawassee county, Michigan. In his absence, his wife, Cornelia (Payne) Hall (1836-1895), and his 9-year-old daughter Caroline (“Carrie”) managed the farm of 80 acres with the assistance of a hired hand. William reported to Camp Blair in Jackson, Michigan, where he was inducted into the US Service on 1 April 1865 and eventually sent to his assigned regiment—the 16th Michigan Infantry in Virginia.

William never experienced battle; in fact, he was never even issued a musket. Nevertheless, he endured the hardships of the field and camp, marching long distances with limited rations and inadequate shelter. He survived the ordeal, while sadly many of the late war drafted soldiers—often in their 30s and 40s—were not as fortunate and never returned home to their families.

William was mustered out of the regiment on 8 July 1865.

Note: These letters were donated to Michigan’s Military Heritage Museum and were made available for transcription and publication on Spared & Shared by express consent.

Letter 1

Camp Blair, [Jackson, Michigan]
April 1st 1865

Dear Wife,

I am well & enjoying myself as well as I can, hoping you are all well & not giving yourselves any fears about me. I am getting used to camp life. I now sit in my bunk writing on a little shelf made for that purpose as every bunk here has. Henry Monroe is writing beside me. I think he takes it very hard, but I give up to it, contented with my lot for I can make it better [even] if I do worry. It is impossible to get a furlough of any kind, or pass out of the yard. I have slept on nothing but the floor with nothing but one thickness of blanket under me & knapsack for a pillow since I left you. There is about two thousand in our yard in the same fix that I am in, so you see I am not alone. I cannot be lonesome—only when my thoughts are at home.

There are all classes of people here, from thieves to ministers, whites & niggers (but few). The yard we are in contains about 10 acres of ground fenced with boards about ten feet high & guarded on the inside day & night. We have the privilege of going where we please inside of that with police all over it to keep order. There are about 30 barracks for all kinds of purposes in the yard. I will describe one of them that I sleep in. It is about 100 feet long, 32 feet wide, 10 feet high, divided with a partition lengthwise. In the room I sleep in, 180 drafted men sleeped in last night and as many sleep in the other room. Sears Johnson is in with us too (he says Orton is dead).

I will now describe our way of going to dinner. The building is of the same dimensions of the rest (as above described). It has two doors. When the dinner horn blows, the soldiers all rush for these doors, two abreast for each door. There the cook meets them at & divides the two files—one on one side & the other. There is 4 tables, 100 feet long. We all stand up at the table. No snatching of victuals is going on for there is none to spare. The cook knows just how much every stomach will hold. The victuals are as good as we could expect. For breakfast & supper we have coffee—a pint; one thick slice of bread [and a] chunk of meat. That comprises every thing in the extent of eatables. At dinner we have cold water and beans in place of coffee.

Our yard is all sweeped clean every day with splint brooms by subs detailed every morning, put in wagons & wheelbarrows [and] carried to a hole in the yard. We are 1 ½ miles west of Jackson. I will give the rest of a description of what is going on some other time. (When you write, direct to Camp Blair, Jackson, Mich.)

I cannot tell when we have to go. It may be tonight and may be next fall. When I move I will drop a line. I do not know what to say about things at home for I don’t know what has been done since I left with things on the farm. Do what you think is best. Get along as well as you can. A year won’t be as long with me as it seems to you. I can draw no money until I leave here. Then I get 33 dollars and two months pay, if I stay as long here. Carrie, be a good girl and mind ma. She is all that can see to you now. So goodbye. May heaven protect you all. — Wm. H. C. Hall

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Letter 2

Camp Distribution
City Point, Virginia
April 10, 1865

Dear wife and children,

It is with pleasure I write this morning. Today is our birthday & I hope we both will live to see another.

One week ago today, I was called out on roll call at Jackson at eight o’clock a.m. & there told to shoulder our knapsacks, where to go or when we did not know, but at noon found our way on to Baltimore. Thursday, took the ship Daniel Webster for City Point, 25 miles below Richmond. 175 men come with me. At Baltimore, some 400 more come on with us.

I have not undressed myself yet and probably will not—only to change my clothes. I have a very snug little house to live in, carpeted floor, but no straw under the carpet. I will describe one room that two of us have sole possession, and how we got possession of it. Yesterday we were turned out on a camping ground just left by the other soldiers. The sun was burning hot, not a tree to be seen, nor a board to got hold of. So we got two crotches that stand about as high as the table that Frank often gets under while you eat. Then put a pole on them, then stretched a soldier’s blanket over it, pinning both ends to the ground. I, being lucky, got a deserter’s blanket, coming down here, so that I am a good deal better off than a good many others. Two of us have three blankets to make our roof & carpet & cover us up. The night was very cold. Rained all night & still rains.

Last night 100 guns was fired on our grounds & this morning 600 cannon were fired and some two hundred steamboat whistles blew steady for an hour on the arrival of Lee’s army coming in to our quarters. Some of them were hard looking sights.

We are on [the] James River in Virginia. I have been well most of the time & think I can stand it as well as the most of white folks. It is tough but most put up with it. I do not know as I can get a letter from you till I get to the 16th Michigan Infantry. The talk is now we will not go any further, but be discharged, but I fear that is too good luck for me. You may send a letter to me directed to City Point, Camp Distribution, Va.

We have hard tack, coff[ee] & pork, dealt out once a day. The hard tack is not as hard as I expected—about like soda crackers. About 400 more has just come in from New York. I have no chance to write more so goodbye. My paper gets all wet & dirty writing, part of the time out in the rain. I have got a great deal to tell you when I get home, if my life is spared, which we will continually hope and pray. Goodbye all, including Carrie & Grandmother.

If any change is made, I will write. — Wm. H. C. Hall

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Letter 3

Burkeville, Virginia
April 19, 1865

Dear wife & Carrie, Mother & all,

This morning finds me on a side hill, somewhere in the south side of Virginia near Carolina At. Gen Meade’s headquarters called Burkeville. Last Friday, 30,000 soldiers of us were marched out of City Point to go to headquarters. We walked 75 miles. Got here last night. Don’t know what we are going to do. The talk is we are to be discharged right away, but fear not. I am growing poor but feel the best I have since I left Flint. In all of our march, we did not go ten miles in road. It was across fields, woods, breastworks, creeks without bridges, wading streams & mud all of the way—men dropping out by the way all along. But I come out as good as the best. They can pick off the whole mass of us at City Point. I help[ed] carry six of our squad of 154 men that left Jackson with me to the Hospital. They were of the ruggedest men we had [yet] they seemed to give out first. Some had fevers, measles, small pox, mumps. I’ve had a chance at all of them, but guess I am fire proof. Was vaccinated at Jackson, but would not work.

Did not see a dozen white women from City Point, or Baltimore, to here. Not a white man’s dwelling left on our march—only those occupied by our officers. Have seen hundreds of two-story chimneys, but no house around them. Seen houses on fire, regiments walking away from them in good order.

Our march was through Petersburg where Lee surrendered his army to Gen. Grant. Petersburg is three miles through it. Most all the buildings have marks of balls of shells and fire in them. The best houses that were left [are] occupied by niggers & the streets filled with them and union soldiers, fed by our government rations. We are not armed yet. Don’t know what regiment I will be put in. Expect 16th Michigan.

Met on our way Sheridan’s Cavalry, 30,000 strong, and as many regular colored troops going home. Divided hard tack with some of them. Said they had had nothing to eat for two days. There is nothing among us to eat today. Expect some tomorrow. There is no village here—nothing but a railroad station. The railroad is used for bringing provisions and carrying prisoners to City Point. Guess I will quit.

Cornelia, if you are all well, try to get along as well as you can. Thinking you are as comfortable as I am. I cannot hear from you yet, nor do not expect to till I get to some regiment or home. If you are in the old brick house, try to suit the folks you live with if possible & keep mother with you all you can. I am out of money and can get along without any if not sick. I must close so as to send this by the sergeant of the guard. Give my respects to all that inquires after me and my welfare. So goodbye Cornelia, Cassie, mother & all. — Wm. H. C. Hall

I write this on my knapsack, my pillow, &c.

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Letter 4

U.S. Christian Commission [stationery]
April 25th, 1865

Dear Wife & Children,

I can now write to you with better spirits than when I wrote from Burkeville. We had but 9 hard tack to eat since the day that I wrote to you up till yesterday morning—making 5 days, and the last day we marched 28 miles with nothing in our stomachs but poor water & a few kernels of corn that the mules left on the ground. Yesterday’s marching got us to our regiment—16th Michigan, District of Columbia. Direct in that way every time & I will get your letters.

Since I continued to write, we have got orders to march towards Petersburg in an hour. We are within nine miles of it now. I was very sick yesterday, but am most well today. All I want is rest. We have the best of usage now—go where we have a mind to, only when on drill.

If mother is there, I wish she would send me a few postage stamps so that I can write when I want to. I have a two dollar [bill] on the state of New York. It will not pass here, but is good at home. Nothing but greenbacks will go here. Henry Monroe is about the same—situated as myself. But I guess he will get along. So you see we have no time to write anymore. I will write when I hear from you. Our colonel said this morning we would all be home in a few weeks. Goodbye. — Wm. H. C. Hall

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Letter 5

Washington [D. C.]
May 15th, 1865

Dear Wife & Children,

Yesterday, I received yours of May 4th—the first word I have got from any of you since I left Flint. I was glad to hear you were all well. H[enry] Monroe received a letter yesterday too. We are now in sight of the [U. S.] Capitol & expect to start for home as soon as three or four days. It may take two or three weeks to get home—maybe less. There is so many thousands here that it takes time.

We came through Richmond a week ago yesterday. We have marched about 300 miles in all. Had to throw away all of my clothing, being sick & the weather so hot. Have not been to a table to eat till this morning. I went out to get something to eat & the first house I stopped at happened to be an old neighbor of Sager Pintless and Perkins. They invited me to eat breakfast at a rick table. We talked & I eat some, I guess! Their old cook baked me a loaf of bread & [I] thanked them as well as I know how & went back to camp. I will wait till I get home for the rest.

So goodbye. — Wm. H. C. Hall

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Letter 6

U.S. Christian Commission [stationery]
Near Washington May 31st 1865

Dear wife,

It is with pleasure that I write you for I am well at present, or nearly so I hope. I have been very sick for some time but stayed in the company. I was taken with diarrhea on the way from Michigan & have not been free from it a minute since—sometimes very bad, then easier. They say I am very poor but feel the best today [since] I have been in Virginia.

Today I sent my overcoat home by express & Henry Monroe’s dress coat too. The rest of the bundle is mine. Tell Geo. R. Mopes to let you know when it comes so that the clothes will not mold. Henry’s coat has got a card in it with his name on it. There is two rings in one of my coats made from laurel on the land belonging to Gen. Lee—or used to. That is all they are good for. I live in his orchard now. Have not moved since we came here—that is most three weeks. Apples are most large enough to stew. The most peaches in Virginia I ever saw all put together and large as hickory nuts now. I think I would like to live here bye & bye.

I was very glad to get that money. It did me good. The most I ever had five dollars do me in the world, but will soon be out. If I stay here long, we have not got a cent yet & the rations are very stunted. A well man cannot live on what little the soldiers get. There is a great many troops going home now. We may have to lay here a month yet before we can go to Michigan, but be patient. We are building bunks in our tents to sleep on now. That don’t look much like moving very soon. Don’t look for me until I write you that I’m coming. If you write, the letter will come to the regiment anywhere we go—if we go to Michigan or Texas.

Last Sunday, Henry Reableman came to see me. He is well and tough. Fred Tick too & Pat Watters. They are in sight of us. Fred is as fat as he ever was. They are the only boys I have seen that I am acquainted with. We can find out nothing on [our discharges]. Job Crapo was here yesterday and told us to be patient as the time would soon come that we would all be home.

I cannot say what about shaving the wool. Most likely will be there in harvest [time]. I guess Mr. Byerly will get somebody to do it right if I am not there. The mail horn is blowing now. I [hope] there is a letter for me from some of you. Laying here so idle makes me think of nothing but home & friends, wife and children. Tell some inquiring one to write me a letter. — Wm. H. C. Hall

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Letter 7

U.S. Christian Commission [stationery]
Washington [D. C.]
June 7th 1865

Dear Wife & Children,

Today I feel pretty smart so I went down to the Christian Commission & got some medicine that is helping me. Tomorrow we start from here, they say to Louisville, Kentucky, but the most of us think we are going to Michigan. Perhaps you know more about where we are going to than we do here as we are not allowed to know anything until the order is given. By the time you get this, you can find out where we are probably in the Detroit papers. Some say we are going the southern route on account of the pressure of travel on the other railroads. It will be a good ways out of our way unless we are going to stay there some time.

We have not been armed yet nor paid anything, and our rations cut shorter every day. I have not got any letter yet since I wrote you requesting more money. I expect to get one today. I do not feel strong enough to write a very long letter. I will let you know as soon as we stop where we are. [Henry] Monroe is well yet. We start tomorrow for sure and I am glad to get out of here for the air and water is so filthy, it being covered (the country) so with soldiers. But it is nearly half thinned out now. The Pennsylvania & New York & Maine troops have left here mostly.

Direct your letters the same as you have and I will get them. So goodbye Cassie, Grandma & all. If there is anything you want to know about things at home, you write & not wait for me to get home. It only takes three days for a letter to come to me. Once more, good bye. — Wm. H. C. Hall

Sears left us in Richmond for Alexandria Hospital. I have not heard from him but once since we have been here. He was sick then.

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Letter 8

Near Jeffersonville [Indiana]
Midnight, July 5, 1863

Dear wife and Carrie,

I am well tonight. hoping you are all well. I write to keep you from looking for e every day. Tomorrow night our papers for mustering out of service will be done & expect to be mustered out Friday morning and expect to start Friday. But some of the officers want to wait till Monday and have the 5th, 7th, 16th & 1st Regiments all go home together. The 5th and 7th talk of going tomorrow. They are all ready. Our officers have tried to keep us in service [until] our time [was] out and found that would not work. Now they dally along to keep us here as long as they can to draw all the pay they can. We came very near [going] to Arkansas but our regiment rebelled and said they would not go & threatened the colonels’ lives if they took us there. I am so up in end about getting home that I cannot sleep so I write at this hour of the night to kill time.

A great many have deserted & gone home. I could just as well or not but for the name of it, & strength to walk. One of my tent mates—three of us in it, went home a week ago. About that time some 20 or 20 left every night. Now, by waiting a little longer and getting an honorable discharge, it will be a great deal better for me & my family in after years. I have sufferd what no one could expect to endure, have seen great sights, and a great deal of Southern country. I have been through Michigan, Ohio twice—north and south ends, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Chesapeake Bay—the whole length, Virginia, District of Columbia, Washington [City], Kentucky, Indiana, swam in the James river, Potomac [river]—been the whole length of it from the mouth to its source, in the Ohio [river] now every day.

We are in the pleasantest place now we have been in for soldiers since we left home. I manage to get enough to eat here. The farmers are very hospitable to us that behave well & treat them well. I will be glad when I can lay down on a bed of straw again. I have not laid on straw since the night I told you that I probably would not lay on a bed again in a year, but I guess next Wednesday will bring me back to it again if the Lord spared my life which I pray for every night on lying down to rest under my little canvas [shelter], the size of a bedstead now for Henry & me. He wrote to his wife today respecting going home but got it a little too quick. He got a letter today from his wife but I have not got any from home since the 15th of June. It seems a good while. Hope I will get one before I leave here.

Do goodbye for now as it is one o’clock. Do not look for me till you see me a coming and I shall throw off my budget when I go by. — Wm. H. C. Hall