The following letters were written by Peter Randolph Reamey (1929-1892) while serving as Captain of Co. H—“The Henry Guards”—24th Virginia Infantry. The company had previously organized, were uniformed and given arms in the fall of 1860 so that when the Civil War began in April 1861, they were the first company from Henry County to join the Confederate Army. In June 1861, their company was assigned to the 24th Virginia Regiment under the command of Col. Jubal Early and designated Co. H. They were present on the field at the Battle of Bull Run in July 1861 and though these five letters do not describe the battle, they were were all written in the days just before and after that engagement near Manassas.
Peter was a prominent figure in Henry county, Virginia, where he practiced medicine almost a decade before the Civil War, having graduated from the Medical College at Hampden & Sydney College in 1850. He began his education in his father’s school he kept a diary in his formative years that inform us he by the age of five he was studying English and Latin grammar, besides his other school branches. At seven, he entered Patrick Henry Academy under the late Joe. P. Godfrey, the principal. Here he added Greek, Sacred History and took examination on Caesar and Sallust. Before he was twelve years old he had finished practically all Latin and most of the Greek offered in the Colleges. He was a student at Sullivans College, at Columbus, Ohio, before moving on to medical school.
Biographical sketches of Peter’s wartime experiences are vague but imply that he served in the 24th Virginia until “after peace was declared” but a review of his military record at the National Archive reveals that Brig. Gen. Jubal A. Early accepted Peter’s resignation at Camp Pryor on 13 August 1861, just a week after the last of these four letters. He was succeeded by 1st Lieutenant H. H. Dyer. Those who knew Reamey claimed that he had “charming manners, a splendid physique, and a great vocabulary to display a brilliant intellect that soared beyond the heights of average men.” (The History of Henry County, Virginia.)
Two of Peters brothers served with him in the 24th Virginia and both of them died of typhoid fever near Manassas. John Starling Reamey (1830-1861) died on 6 August 1861 (his death is described in these letters), and Henry Clay Reamey died on 18 September 1861.
Peter’s letters make references to his slaves, some of whom were named Sooky, Perk, Dock, and Joannah. The 1860 Slave Schedules reveals that Reamey owned eight slaves ranging in age from 12 to 72, 4 males and four females.
Letter 1
[Note: The following transcript was found on Ancestry but there were no images of the letter so I cannot verify the accuracy of the transcript. There clearly were more of Reamey’s letters in a collection at one time but where they are now remains a mystery.]
June 11, 1861
Camp near Davis’ Ford on the Occoquan River
Prince William Co., Virginia
My Dear Sallie—dearer to me now than ever,
I know Darling that you and our little ones have anxiously looked for a letter from me, and have felt some disappointment in not getting one, but I know that you will excuse me when I tell you that I could not write. I commenced a letter or so, but the thoughts of home blinded my eyes, & I had to ask Sam Shelton to write. Well! I need no say any more for if I commence it, I shall not be able to write atall.
You have doubtless heard of us as far as Lynchburg at which place we received many flattering notices as a company, &c., &c. and great attention from the ladies. We were quartered in a large tobacco factory in the midst of a terribly nasty population for want of a better place. A good many troops had been quartered there before and left behind them all the evidences of dirt & filth imaginable. Well our blankets were spread and our rolls called, sentinels posted, &c., &c, our provisions of bread & meat, with coffee & sugar & rice were dealt out, and with an unusual appetite all hands fell to work upon them, cooking & serving as a wagoner from Patrick—with your fingers. The captain’s tent was a negro quarter of the factory, occupied by them at the time, where the convenience of a table could be found and our chairs of trunks & boxes placed around it. To this our friends were invited to partake of the luxuries of fried fat meat & bread (bakers) with coffee from tin cups. It was right rough, but most of the boys fell to, with a better will than you would suppose. Our amusements at night were fiddling, dancing, singing, &c., &c. among the younger, & serious thoughts of home, wife, & children among the older. I hardly knew whether to laugh or cry. The fun at times was irresistibly ludicrous. But to see men who were used to a better society, to books, to ladies, to all the comforts of home compelled to eat and sleep as we did in Lynchburg was indeed painful. We couldn’t help thinking of what we had left.
To add to our distresses, our bowels were affected, and the greater part of us sick from one cause or other, mostly from the water which being limestone, and well water which percolated through the filth of the city before we drank it. We were greatly rejoiced therefore to receive orders to march to Manassas Junction, or rather to this place which is six miles in advance and to the right or east, immediately in a line between Acquia creek & Manassas. So out we marched Saturday morning to the depot, but in consequence of something on the part of the railroad officers, we had to be marched back to the Factory and didn’t get off until Sunday. We passed through Charlotteville, Orange CH, Culpepper CH, Gordonsville &c., and all along the road were cheered by the waving of handkerchiefs & flags & every demonstration of patriotism. Water was furnished us, bouquets given, &c., &c. At Gordonsville, our baggage car was detached and Holt & Buckner left as a guard, & we proceeded to Manassas Junction, at which place Gen. Beauregard is in command with some 10,000 men. Fortifications have been thrown up and are being thrown up all round for several miles. The Danville companies are there, several of whose members visited us and we them.
We stayed all night at Manassas, sleeping in a meadow of clover, in the open air, eating crackers and boiling meat (beef and bacon) on sharp sticks in the fire, our baggage tents, cooking utensils, &c. not getting in in time. Well, some few fellows, though who had no coffee nor could get any for love nor money, felt pretty blue and down in the mouth. On yesterday, we marched to this place through the hottest sun I ever felt. Our Maj. [J. P. Hammett] being on horseback it seems to me never thought of our being on foot & forced us very (unnecessarily too) fast, resting twice only by the wayside. The Henry Guards stood it better than any other company, Companies from Patrick, Mercer, Giles, Montgomery, &c. gave out, their men growing sick & faint & dropping by the roadside. Ah! It was awfully hot. Finally, we reached here and commenced work. We drill several times a day, & call the roll and report the sick & cook & eat and throw up fortifications, &c., &c. And this morning I believe most every man feels better than usual. The water here is pretty good but right scarce from the spring while at Manassas they had to dig wells & the water is miserable and very scarce. We had to beg for water at times like starving men for bread. Near this place there is small stream which is perhaps half as large as Smith River which is said to have a great many fish in it. I think I shall try it soon if we can remain here long enough. The country about Manassas is flat & level rather poor, but about this place it is rather more hilly & very full of pines.
I do not want you to think that we are dissatisfied. We are all pretty well and in right good spirits. Sam, Harry, John, and all are enjoying themselves, and Sam says he will write home this evening or tomorrow. He says that “he’d come back again if he was at home now.”
I have no time to write any more. The courier is about to start. There is heavy firing within hearing—perhaps within or near Fairfax C. H. 12 miles off & this letter may never reach you [but] perhaps it may. If so, it brings to you, Darling, & the little children, all the love a husband & a father can send to his family- Kiss the children & Dearest wife, remember me as always yours, P. R. Ramey
G. H. & the “boys” all send love to you, once more adieu, P. R. Reamey
Letter 2
June 20 1861
Camp Pryor 3 miles from Manassas Junction 1
My dear Sallie,
Your hastily written letter of the 17 arrived here about 10 minutes ago, together with several others from Henry Co. to the Henry Guards. I am sorry to find that you have once thought that “I have forgotten you.” Forgotten you Sallie! surely you never thought what you were writing when you penned that expression! I had tried to write to you, but I could not, from Lynchburg; I had asked Sam Shelton to write for me & he told me that he did so; I had written to you as soon as I arrived at Davis Ford (3 miles below here). I sent you a postscript in my letter to Mrs. Thomas, which letter I supposed you would read, and also wrote about you in my letter to Web. How could I forget you? Can a mother forget her baby? Can a father forget his children? can I forget you—the only woman I ever loved? Oh! that I could forget you Sallie until this war was over! Dearest Darling, I never can, I never will, I never, never forget you. The love pledged you 12 years ago at our bridal, is as yet entirely yours—only yours; the flame burns more brightly than ever in your husband’s breast. Don’t let the thought ever once enter your mind that I have forgotten that motto of our early love, “years change me not.” I ought to have written from Lynchburg, but if you only knew the thousand questions I had to answer each day, or the thousand things I had & have to attend to connected with this company; if you only knew the weakness of my heart whenever I begin to write—if you only knew half of the anxiety I feel about you and the children, you could never suspect me of infidelity to you. Sallie you never knew how intensely I loved you. [If] you can’t tell now, you never will know. Rest assured, however, that I am “yours only.”
I have written to [sister] Mary Ann 2 & have given you all the news of our moving to Occoquan town & back to camp near Davis Ford, and from there back toward this place &c., &c. We have had no fight as yet. Look for one shortly at Alexandria (27 miles distant). Our present camp is called Camp Pryor, I suppose after Roger A. I have not seen Beauregard yet, though he was and is yet at Manassas. I was at the Junction on yesterday. It is a horribly hot and nasty place. I dined with Col. Withers, Capt. Graves, Lieut. J. Smith, & Buford of the Danville Blues & Capt Claiborne of the Greys. Chas Irving has just left our camp for the Junction. He belongs to the Danville Greys. Maj. [Jubal] Early arrived here last night. He is Colonel of the Regiment now.
Dr. Semple is a sort of Hospital Steward, attends the sick to some extent, and superintends the medicine department of the Hospital which is as yet a mere pine bush shanty. John is the Quarter Master of our company, talks & “rips & rears” about wasting food, &c., &c., &c. much as usual. Harry and Sam and Buckness, Eli, & Bob, Barrows, Bullington, West, Gregory &c., &c. & Bryant are all well.
John Reamey, [William F.] Bullington & I have all been a little sick today—not much however. I am sort of afraid of the sun, it is awful hot here in middle of the day, but cool at night. The land here is very poor, & the people very far from feeling much interest in the war. We see but few people and those few very common stock. At Manassas there are about 15,000 men, well drilled & ready for a fight. About 200 were killed or disabled at a bridge near here the other day. You will see some recount of it in the papers, I suppose. Instead of 7 killed as reported at first, there were 200 of the enemy. Great rejoicing in camp about it!
Dr. [James] Semple sends his love to you & Mrs. Thomas. Says his spirits are better than any man’s in camp, he believes. Sam Shelton also. John [T.] Hamlett says he has written to you about the ring. [Brother] Harry got a very affectionate letter from Web a day or so ago. We both wrote back to him yesterday. Poor Daniel. I expect he is very lonesome. How is Ed’s practice? I hope he may do well. Tell him to read and study and think much—stay in his office and go to see any sort of a case that sends for him—to keep my books and journals all straight & write to me. Tell Aunt P[atsy] and Uncle S. and Obe & Sallie, and Mr. Putz & wife, and Old “Critur” & all the folks that I am well & often think of them. Respects to all who enquire. Love to Web & Mary and Kate if she be with you. Kiss our dear children. Make them say their lessons every day. Tell them to be good and kind to each other & to obey their mother.
Darling, what more shall I say to you. Think of me as still in every respect your own. Think, that while mountains may rise between us & rivers divide us, our eyes may watch the self same star [and] our prayers may ascend to the same “Father in Heaven.” Pray for me Sallie, that I may be spared to see you all again. Oh that I could this night clasp you to my bosom. Oh that I could see our little “darlings.” Does Johnny ever muster now? Kiss him especially for me. Give my love to Sooky, Perk, Dock, Joannah and all the negroes. Bill is fat & fine and sends his love. He wants to hear from home. Darling, good night. — P. R. Reamey
1 Camp Pryor was located at the junction of Davis’ Ford Road and Spring’s and Bland’s Fords Roads, three miles south of Manassas Junction.
2 Mary Ann (Reamey) Thomas (1834-1911) became the wife of Christopher Yancey Thomas (1818-1879) in 1858.
Letter 3
Prince William County, Va.
June 27, 1861
Dear Sallie,
From the hills of the Occoquan, whence the noble Potomac is in full view, I seat myself darling to write you a few lines. We are now encamped near the same spot at which some 10 days ago we were located. It is upon the hills of the Occoquan River, immediately above the town of Occoquan which I am told was once a flourishing village but which now, in consequence of the war, is almost deserted. It is a noted resort of the Lincolnites as it is only three miles from the Potomac, and is visited occasionally by small boats, or sloops, on trading purposes, As a village, it is low down at the foot of the hills, immediately upon the river and inhabited by a most ordinary population, as far as my observation has extended. In the last Presidential election, it gave Lincoln a considerable majority, but since the approach of the Southern forces to the neighborhood, the friends of the Federalists have fled to parts unknown—though last night it was reported that there were spies around our camp.
Our march to this place was not disagreeable as it was when we came here before. The weather, though hot, was not so warm, nor did we travel as fast. And besides, we were allowed more water. You can scarcely imagine how we sigh for the good free stone water we have left behind us, for while the water here is not exactly limestone, yet it very impure and milky in its look, warm, and I should suppose 9from its appearance) abounding in animalculae! By the way, do you ever microscope it now? Have you found any new animals this summer?
This is one of the poorest counties I ever saw. The soil is white and sandy and vegetation is very far behind us in Henry [county]. Corn here is nothing like knee high upon an average. Clover and “hay grapes” are very indifferent and oats by no means good. Wheat and rye are better. I should suppose that they use guano upon their wheat.
We have seen but few ladies about here occasionally and but very rarely, some one of the fair sex wave us a handkerchief. But as large majority of the men and women too view us with seeming indifference—-
(Just here I was interrupted by a general cry of a ship upon the Potomac and when I stepped out, I was amused to hear the comments of our country fellows upon her passage—speed, business, &c., &c. “Boys, if we had a cannon, couldn’t we give her fits” &c., &c. “That’s a ship going up after a load of Yankees” says a fourth, &c., &c.
We are to have a sort of holiday today (I hear). We will have no drilling & I am glad of it for I am rather tired of the monotony of the camp. I long to be with you darling at times, and with those dear little ones who call my name so often. Duty alone brought me here and duty keeps me here else I should long since have flown to the arms of her whose
“Whose love is more than life to me
And the one treasure that I prize above
All else that earth can give—the one rich boon
So dear, that if I lost it I should soon
Lie in the grave’s cold bosom, is thy love!
Love me then, ever, for I fain would be
All unto thee love, that thou art to me.”
I wrote to you on yesterday as we were leaving Camp Pryor and I placed my hasty note within Sam’s letter to you. I do not know how it is that some of our letters go home & others do not, unless it be the fact that whenever we send our letters & postage to be mailed, our messengers destroy the letters & use the money for other purposes. From the Colonel down to the humblest private there has been a general complaint of the mails. I subscribe to the Daily Dispatch & have received but one number. I have written to you again and again, not less I think than six times, but I discover from your letter to Sam that you have received none or but one, and that you are disposed to think me neglectful of my promises! I can appreciate your feeling when others get letters & you do not, for I have experienced the same even here in camp. You may rest assured that so long as I am from you, I will endeavor to write every week at least. But if the mail fails to bring you a letter, don’t think that I have forgotten you so soon.
Well, taking all things into consideration, this rough roll & tumble life I think will suit me pretty well, but the weather is very hot and I suffer very much from the heat at times. I frequently wet my head, or wear green leaves in my hat in order to avoid sunstroke. This morning my throat is quite sore—perhaps from being caught in a slight shower on yesterday evening, but mostly from the fact that I stuck a fishbone in my throat in Lynchburg & it has been slightly sore ever since.
We have a prayer meeting every night, either in my tent or somebody else’s and I assure you, you hardly ever attended more quiet and orderly meetings than these are. I hope they may be productive of great good and result in the salvation of us all. I am trying to serve God, Sallie. I feel the need of all the religion in the world and I do hope that you will pray earnestly that all of us may be both valiant soldiers of our country but especially of the Cross of Christ.
I should be glad to hear from you oftener. Try and be cheerful and contented. Be resigned to the will of God in all things. Pray earnestly and constantly for that faith and confidence in Divine Providence that will enable you to say, “Not my will but thine, Oh Lord, be done.” Teach the children properly and teach them regularly. Take time for it. Don’t fret, don’t scold, be calm, but firm, gentle but inn earnest. Let them know that you mean what you say. Don’t hurry them over their books too fast. Let them learn well, whatever they do learn. Teach them, Sallie, to love each other, to be kind to each other, more particularly to Florence whom I think the boys are disposed to slight. If Johnny is still sick, tell Ed to make Condie’s powder eactly after the formula in his work on children. Don’t give him too much physic. Be cautious in his diet and make him wear a flannel bandage by belt around his bowels. You will find it of great service I think. I shall reserve the balance of my paper until I look around & see what can be seen about here, or until I get a chance to mail this letter to you safely. So now I bid you farewell. — P. R. R.
I have just walked some eighteen miles from Occoquan to Camp Pryor and the first duty I shall discharge after fixing up my tent is to write to you my darling “wifie.” I left Occoquan this morning (28th) and had a very pleasant march. On yesterday when I left off writing, I went down to the village a few hundred yards off & we caught a great many little catfish & perch & with good coffee and cornbread, we made a most capital dinner. Just above Occoquan village, the hills are very rough and full of the finest stone which has been quarried in order to furnish Washington and other places with materials for building. The Occoquan above these falls is but small. Below these rocks, however, the tide flows and it is navigable for small boats. It is quite a picturesque place. There is a cool spring, a dense shade, and thousands of rocks all over the river, with thousands of fish swimming around—perch, catfish, &c. The water is clear and very deep and you can see them swimming around everywhere. I should think it a delightful place to spend a few weeks and I was really sorry to leave there so soon. The Potomac looked really grand and our boys enjoy the sight as those wanderers through the desert enjoy the Nile to which you know I have eloquently alluded in days of yore.
Ed’s letter to Sam has just reached here. I am very glad to hear as favorably of Ed’s practice. Tell him to read and study and he is bound to succeed. Never mind who employs him and who does not, it will all come right after a while if he will do his part. He promises to write to me which I hope he will. He must excuse me if I do not always write back to him. My letters are I suppose generally read by the family and friends and as paper is very hard to get, and postage obliged to be paid in change, I really can’t afford it, even if I had time which I have not, for I assure you that I have but few moments to spare. I am applied to for everything and almost at every hour night and day. Indeed, to be Captain of a volunteer company is a post by no means desirable.
Poor C. I am told has lost nearly half of his men. Joe A. Allen has just landed here. He joined Capt. [William W.] Bentley’s company from Pulaski in Lynchburg. He is a very sober & I am in hopes he will make a good soldier. I got a very affectionate letter from Jimerson this evening. He writes as if it was very lonely about home. He says he can’t see my children without shedding tears! I hope you will send him by Ed or Web my kindest regards for his letter to me & John. George Jimerson stands it pretty well considering his fat. He is in pretty good spirits. Hardin [H.] Hereford is about as independent as a wood sawyer. He stands it right well but is awfully lazy. Sam Waller has never been sick atall since we left. John Hamlett is sick today. Also Bryant Charles & B. Rolin. Rolin is right sick. The hot weather is the cause of it I think—diarrhea mostly. Hale is yet sick. Bob Dandridge right sick last night but is out today.
Tell [sister] Mary Ann that her letters to Harry and me and John came through in due time [and] that I will try & write to her shortly. I should feel better if you would write. Surely I shall get a letter from you tomorrow night (Saturday). You have no idea how glad I should be to hear from you directly. I am very sorry that you have an idea that I am neglecting you, or forgetting my promises. I know that I have written to you frequently, and long letters generally, but as yet I have had but two from home. Rest assured that as long as I am able to write, or can mail a letter, that I shall write to you. This make a third letter to you in four days!!
My health is first rate today except a sun burnt neck, which pains me some. The country around here is extremely dry. There has been no rain about here for several weeks. The dust and heat are of course very oppressive for the soil is white and sandy & I think very poor. I met with the Prince William Cavalry today a a well some 10 miles below here. During our stop at that well on the day before yesterday I met a very intelligent lady who treated us very kindly. Today I found amongst the cavalry her husband who was a very clever fellow. The ladies hereabouts are very scarce, not much admired by our boys, as nice women are not often seen. Occasionally at our dress parade at 6 o’clock p.m., or upon our march to and fro, we meet some very nice ones who ride their horses admirably.
I suppose from all accounts that the crops in Henry [county] are very fine. I hope so. It seems to me as if Providence is evidently upon our side in everything. In the last fights heard of, it seems that the Yankees have been defeated again. I heard today that Maryland and Kentucky have both wheeled into line and that the Lincolnites are withdrawing from the State of Virginia. I hope it may be true but I am afraid it is too good to be true!! You all at home can form a better idea of the probable events of the future than we can. We get a dispatch once in a while and it is rather amusing to see the fellows sitting around to hear the news—to hear their comments, &c. &c.
Sam and I subscribed to the Daily Dispatch between us and at this moment, Sam is reading out here upon the grass, and Bob and Eli & Gregory & Sam Fontaine & Sam Sheffield & John & Isom are sitting around to listen. Bill Harris sends his love to his wife and children & to George & Starlie. How does Perk & Sooky & Dock and all of them come on! Do they seem to feel any interest in hearing from us? Except our own negroes in the regiment, I hardly ever see any negroes about here.
I hope you have a good garden. Oh! Sallie, how I could enjoy one of your dinners—a few snaps, a few potatoes, and such other vegetables as you have at home! I don’t know why it is I have never got a potato since I have been about here. I had a few snaps a day or so ago at Manassas. I get a few onions once in a while, and I tell you, I never knew how good onions are until here of late. And then I don’t have anybody to complain of my breath! A chicken is hardly in camp before his head is cut off and he is cooked in a “jiffy.” Our boys will all learn to be pretty good cooks during this campaign, I guess, for they have it to do every day three times. Bill Harris makes us splendid coffee for our tent, and so great is his reputation for good coffee, that we hardly ever eat a meal without company. James Waller of Patrick has two [illegible due to paper tear] in the Patrick Co. (Capt. A. M. Lynbrook). I have only seen one of them as yet. He seems to be a pretty good fellow.
Well, it is growing dark and I have nearly used up all my paper. I must close. You must be sure to remember me to all the kinfolks—to Mrs. Henry, Yencey, Putzel, Dillards, Smith, Meade, Joyner, Griggs, Bullington, &c. &c. &c. Tell Uncle Smith to write to me. Tell Web that Harry is a splendid soldier and has received high compliments from the Colonel. His health is very good. I don’t think he has missed a single drill unless he was on guard. We should like to see Daniel or Ed, or Jimerson or Jim Dyer down here. Send my respects to Dyer, Patrick, Putzel, and all my friends about there. Kiss the children for me darling. I love them more and more every day. Can’t you write a letter to me from them all, just as they dictate it? Sallie, farewell. Remember me as your own, — P. R. Reamey
Letter 4
At Mr. Brawner’s 1 near Manassas
July 29, 1861
My Dear Sallie,
Your hasty letter of the 24th has just been sent to me from Camp Pryor where our regiment is again stationed. It finds me neither killed nor wounded but safely housed—and as well as you ever saw me—living like a Lord off the good things which Mrs. Brawner sets before me daily, three times! My being here is, as you are aware by this time (for I suppose you have my three last letters) in consequence of the illness of [brother] John 2 and Hale Fontaine, both of whom are yet very unwell. Hale had nearly recovered but relapsed. John, I think, would have been well if the Brawners could have remained at home during the late excitements but they were forced to fly, though as it turned out, not necessarily, for no Yankees came up this way. I hardly know what to think of John’s case. He spits up very freely, coughs not very hard, bowels tolerably good, tongue moist, and skin perspiring freely, kidneys acting well, yet his mind is confused & delirious & his pulse keeps too quick. This too is pretty much Hale’s case for I scarcely ever saw two cases so nearly alike.
I have just given John a letter from his wife to read but I do not believe that he can understand it. I am giving him quinine, a little morphine, and whiskey punch or julep occasionally, and feeding him pretty freely. I sent you word by letter to Girard that John was better but I don’t think he is well this morning. He is very feeble. Bill Harris & I stay here now. I don’t know how long I shall be permitted to do so, nor when we may have to move—perhaps not before fall—yet I know nothing about it. These people are the kindest I ever saw. Nothing too god for us, send anywhere, do anything for us, &c. &c. [They] will wash and mend for us in spite of our protestations!! I don’t think we could wish John in a better place. Mrs. B[rawner] is and has been emphatically our sister & our mother! When she heard of the battle the other day, she went to the hospital to enquire if any of the Henry Guards were wounded and fully fixed to bring them home with her! I think the Henry Guards will give her a piece of plate as a token of their appreciation of her kindness to them. Nor is it confined to the Guards for she has bed and feeds others every day almost.
I have written you so many little battle sketches that I will forbear at this time. Report here says that we have captured 67 pieces of artillery, and these certainly counted. Besides that, we have taken something like 3,000 prisoners! I have no idea when or where another battle will be fought—not shortly I presume! Col. [Jubal A.] Early has been promoted Brig. General! I am sorry that Bro. Joyner has lost the Chaplaincy. A Mr. Jones who preached at camp yesterday has been appointed I hear. I received a long letter from Joyner today. He speaks of coming down to see us anyhow. His letter gave me the first news of Web’s arrival at home. What sort of a tale does Daniel tell about the war? Harry was here on yesterday and says that the sick ones at the hospital are getting better. I suppose Jimerson will start home shortly as George is better. Charles B. is going about & nearly well. John Hamlett has been at the hospital for a week. I believe he is about well. I never thought that he was sick much.
Poor John. I feel sorry for him, Detested by everybody in the company, he is without friends & without means. He tries to some extent to ingratiate my favor but loses no opportunity to injure me and sow disaffection among my men. I understand he has written a piece about free negroes, &c. in the Whig. Have you seen it? He is meaner, Sallie, that I ever thought he was, unprincipled as he can be I am afraid. But I can’t help feeling sympathy for the poor fellow. Yet I scarcely think him deserving any. Just here I was agreeably interrupted by the appearance of Carter France and Col. Hughes from Stoke’ company who has a son in [A. M.] Lynbrook’s Company. Mr. Armstrong & Bill Bouldin also came up here today to see us.
Today (July 30th), John is very had. He lies in a dull stupid condition with a muttering delirium. I hardly think he will live without great change 24 hours! Perhaps before I close this letter his death may be announced. It is a mournful thing to die away from home but his condition with so many of his friends around him is infinitely better than two-thirds of the sick men. I neglected to tell you when speaking of Hamlett that he told me that his sister Julia had your ring & to tell you to apply to her for it. I told Web to tell you & told Sam to write to you about it. I have forgotten it whenever I was writing.
The weather here is extremely hot and we have a shower every evening or two. The crop of corn here is growing very fast, I am glad to hear of the fine crop in Henry county. I hope you are economical with your grass. You ought not to feed it away very fast. You ought to get rid of some of your cattle as you have too many. I doubt the propriety of more than one horse on the place as I think one will do all your necessary hauling. It would give me great pleasure to visit Martinsville even for a few days. Often indeed in imagination I am there & can see things just as I suppose they are. But htis pleasure must be denied until peace is declared or we are disbanded.
You can’t imagine what pleasure peace would give us. We are all sick of war and its horrors, although we are victors. Nothing but duty keeps us here. I have sent to the Examiner a reply to Mr. Wootton’s card. You will see it perhaps on Wednesday 31st, or in Saturday 3rd August. Please preserve it for future use. Show it to my friends that the reply may be as public as his attack. I don’t think he has made much out of the “flippant Captain” do you? If you should see it, write me word how it takes with the people generally. I can’t imagine what has become of Thomas? Why didn’t he write a card too? Hamlett’s card is signed “Taylor” I understand in the Whig and dated from Henry [county]. I shall stop here and await John’s case before closing my letter. I have written you three letters and Girard Jone since the fight. I hope you all are & will keep calm and quiet.
[July 31st] I have purposely kept my letter open until this morning in order that I might write you more favorable news about John. I am sorry that I cannot. Last night I thought he would certainly die before day but he is still alive though but little if any better. He lies in a stupor, muttering constantly about home. The C. H., and scenes in Henry [county]. His pulse is very feeble but I have hopes of his getting well as long as his bowels keep quiet. His condition is one of extreme danger however and I am afraid that before I can start this letter, that I shall have to speak of his death. The issues of life & death are with our Heavenly Father & I earnestly pray that his life may be spared, but not my will, but Thine oh Lord be done.
Hale Fontaine is considerably better I think. If he is prudent, he may get well. I entertain strong hopes of his recovery today. The rest of our sick at the Hospital are I hear improving, but I am sorry to say that one of the Henry Guards died last night. Tis [Peter Lane Creasy], a grandson of old Dutton Lane Norman from Irisburg. He had been laboring under pneumonia for several days I learn from Harry & Semple, the last of whom has been attending him. Harry stays here with me & John nearly very night & makes a good nurse. Bill [Harris] is also with us & John has everything in the way of attention that he would or could have at home. I buy ice for him every day and Mrs. Brawner cooks anything for him that he needs. I cannot do justice to this good woman. She is a thoroughly business lady with as kind a heart as ever beat and her husband is almost exactly like her—attentive to our every want. Our boys frequently come up to see John and our friends from Henry [county] have called several times to see him but he has never been well enough to enjoy their company. He barely recognizes them & drops off with a stupor again.
I received a letter from Mrs. Joyner with yours. I wish you would express my acknowledgements for the favor when you see him and tell him that I will try & write shortly. Say to Mr. & Mrs. Putzel that if I had my pen, ink and paper along, I should have written to them before now, but that while on the march our tents, trunks, knapsacks, and all were left behind and we could not write even when we had time for want of these articles. There are a good many to whom I should like to write but I am really unwilling to discriminate and have but little opportunity to write to anybody—not even to you. I steal the time, however, to do this as it affords me always a pleasure (a melancholy one though frequently) to write to you. I feel much disappointed too when I fail to get a letter from you. How much pleasure would it be to see you darling. Remember me to all my friends in and about town—especially old C. folks. I am your own, — P. R. R.
1 John C. Brawner and his wife Jane (Clark) Brawner were tenant farmers on the property which consisted of approximately 160 acres on the turnpike near Groveton. The farm was actually the property of George Douglas who purchased it in the late 1840s but who died in October 1855 at the age of 36, leaving it in the possession of his wife, 20 years-old Augusta Gaines and her father, Thomas Gaines. Augusta moved in with her mother in Gainesville and began to rent to the Brawners in 1857. It is common knowledge that the Brawner’s were forced to leave their home during the fighting on 28 August 1862, but it was not known they also vacated the house a year earlier at First Manassas. The property was referred to as “Bachelor’s Hall” in land tax records in 1851. It has been described as a two-story, four-room Georgian-style house.
2 John Starling Reamey (1830-1861) “had the reputation of possessing more native talent, the strongest sense, and keenest insight into character, of any member of his family: was ordinarily intelligent, a pleasant companion, impressing strangers favorably, and, in his family circle, much beloved. When in 1861, the war broke out, he was, like all his brothers, conservative, and anxious to have the Union preserved, but, having a great deal of sectional feeling and State pride, when Virginia went out they went with her. When his brothers and the friends and companions of his youth started for the army, John would not remain behind, yet was strangely impressed with the believe that he would never return. The hardships and exposures of camp life soon told upon his health, and he was prostrated by that dreadful typhoid scourge which destroyed so many young men upon that fatal Manassas ground. He lay sick in a private house which was betwixt the two armies, and too sick to be removed to the general hospital, on the day of the first Manassas battle. His brothers, by military necessity, were obliged to leave him and assume their own positions. The house, being in range of the battle, was deserted by all its occupants save an old negress, who remained with John. What were the feelings of the poor fellow as he heard the quick artillery and the bursting shells as they flew around the lonely house in the roar of battle, the cries of the wounded and dying, the whirling, mingling, sounds and shouts of the victorious or the vanquished, will never be known, for when, after the battle, his brothers Peter and Henry hastened to him, he was in a raging delirium and knew them not. Death soon released him from his sufferings, and on that famous battleground, “He sleeps on in the grave where his comrades have laid him.” He married in 1853, Mrs. Elizabeth Harston Dillard, by whom he had four children. [A Genealogy & Family Memorial, page 214]
Letter 5
Brawner’s near Manassas
August 7th 1861
My Dear Darling,
You have no doubt been somewhat prepared for the sad announcement I have to make of John’ death! He died on yesterday, Tuesday morning, Aug 6th, about half after six o’clock. He had scarcely been conscious except for a few moments at a time, for a week, and even then hardly to be called so. There was no opportunity therefore to “send a message to friends” nor to make any preparation for Eternity! His only expression in regard to religion was that he was willing to die in his Universalist faith, but this was made I fear without that reflection which men would like to have at such a time. He had become seriously inclined & no doubt prayed during his illness often for he was a man of prayer as I know from various remarks in camp. This barely affords a hope of his salvation. God alone can tell the result. I had been with him for the past 10 days, and Harry much of the time. Dr. Semple & [Surgeon Sterling] Neblett also visited him frequently. I think he died from gangrene of the lungs, as a consequence of the fever. You may rest assured that we used every exertion to save him, that he did not suffer for anything we could obtain.
The family as I have written you before were remarkably kind & attentive, supplying everything in the way of diet &c., &c. I sent to Richmond for a metallic coffin and have just received a telegraph dispatch that it will reach here this evening. He will be buried in Mr. Brawner’s family ground and when we can remove him, we will bring him home to be buried at Marrowbone [Plantation].
George & I tried to get Gen. Early to let us carry him home, but he wouldn’t consent, I suppose for the reason that too many applications similar might be made & it takes too many healthy men to go with a corpse home! & they need the soldiers here. Some of these times, I hope we can remove him. It may fall to others to discharge this duty after the war is over, and it may have to be done for us; I hope not however. I hope we may live through the war. We have just lost another one of the [Henry] Guards named “General Purdy”—this makes three. [The] Franklin [Rifles] volunteers [of Co. B] have lost several. I believe ten in all. We shall perhaps move from here in a day or two, but I don’t know where—perhaps over towards the battle ground again. I will let you know when we move.
It is very hot and the health of the regiment is very bad. I think that a Mr. Fair of our company is likely to die. I hope he may recover, however. I got a letter from Bryant last night full of good wishes, &c. Charles Bryant came over to see us from the hospital a few days ago. He looks thin, but is much improved of late. Sam Sheffield also was here.
Tell Ed I suppose he can join our company but I advise him to stay at home. Henry [county] will furnish enough volunteers I suppose without him and his presence at home is or ought to be needed. He would soon get tired here for at best, it is a hard life—full of dangers in camp or on the field. Say to Mrs. Ballington that B is very well. Also to Mrs. [James F.] Gregory, Mrs. Holt & [Thomas L.] West their husbands are well. Sam & Harry & I are all very well. Hale F[ontaine] is better. George is a little complaining—better this morning he wrote me word Bill Harris has been a very faithful nurse for John Green has been sick, but has got well I believe. Sam Shelton has been appointed post master temporarily, excusing him from drill. It suits him first rate.
Please assure Mrs. [Elizabeth Hairston Dillard] Reamey of our attention to John and all else I have written about him. Did Mrs. Thomas, Mrs. Putzel, and Aunt Patsy get my letters to them? Excuse my short letter. I feel very melancholy about John, and have nothing to write. Kiss our dear children, Darling, and always think of me as yours only. — P. R. Reamey
Love to all.
Spared & Shared 23 