The following letter was written by Richard F. Edwards of Co. I, 90th Pennsylvania Infantry, to his parents. It was datelined from Sharpsburg shortly after the devastating Battle of Antietam. It is unique for the sketches that have been drawn presumably by the author to illustrate some of the descriptions of dead and dying Confederate soldiers. 

He recounts the fortitude and courage of his regiment: “Our Flag is full of bullet holes. The smoke of battle has soiled its snow white and crimson folds, but letters of gold will ‘ere we return record the actions of Thorofare Gap, Bull Run, East Mountain and Sharpsburg, through which the gallant old 90th has passed triumphantly and won golden opinions from all by its spartan courage. I am proud of my Regt., the National Guard both as the 19th and as the 90th. I wish that I had been in the Sharpsburg affair, for there will never in this war be another like it.” We learn from the letter that Richard was not actually in the battle himself but came to the field shortly afterward. He doesn’t state why he was not with the regiment. My hunch is that he was on detail with the baggage train or some such other duty.

This letter is currently (April 2025) up for auction at Fleischer’s Auctions.

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T R A N S C R I P T I O N

Battlefield near Sharpsburg
September 24, [1862]

Dear Parents,

Again I write to you. “le mors de September touche a sa fir” — the month of September touches its end as [ ] beautifully says in his “[ ] Errant.” All things herald the coming decay. The cornfields are withered stalks. The distant breath of winter reaches us; involuntarily we are shivering here. the leaves show a faint change. The orchards groan under their heavy burden of ruddy apples. The heat of summer has departed. We are invigorated by the cooling winds that tell us of the North. All things tell of appriaching winter.

We are poorly prepared for the coming season. The regiment is nearly bare of shoes and underclothing totally, destitute of blankets adn tents, and the poor fellows have little prospect of bettering their condition before the cold weather is upon them in its vigor. The men are covered with vermin and in a most pitiable condition. But our flag is full of bullet holes. The smoke of battle has soiled its snow white and crimson folds, but letters of gold will ere we return record the actions of Thoroughfare Gap, Bull’s Run, East Mountain, and Sharpsburg through which the gallant old 90th has passed triumphantly and won golden opinions from all by its Spartan courage.

I am proud of my regiment—the National Guard both as the 19th and as the 90th. I wish that I had been in the Sharpsburg affair for there will never in this war be another like it. Still I have seen all the horrors without positively being in the action. The dead and dying, Long lines of dead fallen where they stood marked the Rebel lines of battle—all positions—some kneeling—others on their hands and knes—some peacefully laying there on that bloody field as if on some rose strewn couch.

We still remain at this stupid place. No sigs of the enemy. The daily thunder of cannon that for the past two weeks has been a familiar sound has ceased and all is quiet. We will move shortly it is expected to Harpers Ferry. I wish they would leave us there all winter but time will show.

There are two things I neglected to ask you to send in my last. One is very wicked I know but I can’t help it, must ask—
1—knife spoon and fork—my other one was stolen long since.
2—Penknife
3—! ! ! ! (just a small-l-l) box of cigars.

Please pay for all these things out of my money, if there is any left. And for mercy’s sake, do send me just a little change in a letter. But for goodness’ sake, don’t register it. I never can get it without a great deal of trouble when you do. It’s just as safe the other way (in small sums). I am still pretty busy—everything goes on smoothly and I am quite satisfied with my position. There is nothing more of interest to relate so I will close. My love to Aunt and Lizzie, and to the ladies. Regards to all enquiring. Write soon and direct as usual to your affectionate son, — R. F. Edwards