This letter was written by Irish emigrant Thomas Clancey (1838-1862) of Co. H, 17th New York Infantry. Thomas was 22 when he enlisted on 3 May 1861 at Norwich [Chenango Co.] and mustered in as a sergeant on 24 May 1861 to serve two years. A notice in a NYC newspaper announced that the “Westchester Chasseurs” [17th NY] were billeted in the City Hall Barracks on 28 May 1861. They were later transported to Camp Washington, Long Island, and then left the state for Washington on 21 June 1861.

Thomas was promoted to first sergeant of his company before he was severely wounded in the Battle of Fredericksburg. He died of his wounds on 16 December 1862.

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

City Hall Barracks, New York [City]
May 31 [1861]

Miss Lib Tiffany,

The shades of night have enshrouded me, the dews of evening are falling and I find myself seated in a room sufficiently commodious to seat 700 men at table, writing to your Majesty & as I write, the fire bell is pealing forth. The alarm of fire [is] in I some part of this large and populous city. Men & women, bootblacks & city fops are rushing in every direction, striving each in his turn to outdistance the other. There are some queer characters in this town, some of which are within seeing distance of me as I write these disconnected ideas—the more disconnected on account of their presence.

I was somewhat surprised, happily however, at the promptness with which you answered my letter, ill deserving as it was and I think you will be equally astonished with my own dispatch. I have written quite a number of letters since I left home and have received quite a number. Not as many, however, as I have written. I have written to Frank B. & Bill Ransford but have not as yet got any reply. Hope to soon. Received a letter from Ellen which should have been answered before this of yours, but she never will know it unless you choose to tell her. There is also a letter due of me to Lib Buell which should have been written before this but they are not and so it is.

You asked me in your modest epistle to inform you whether I had anything to eat or not. Now I can inform you in a few moments upon that point. I have just as I expected the fare of a soldier—viz, Bread, Beef & coffee for Breakfast, Bread, Beef & soup for dinner, & Bread Beef & coffee & sometimes eggs and sauce for Supper, without butter, pie, or preserves. The coffee is served up in pint cups made of tin. The plates are also tin about an inch and a half deep. The knives & forks are of the most durable kind and are continuously used without being scoured & those who are desirous of eating with a clean knife and fork scours their own just before using with a quantity of pepper & salt, which is always on the table for other uses besides scouring and burnishes knife & forks. Now the manner in which these victuals are served may strike you as being somewhat strange. This room in which I am writing is filled with tables and in the center of this room and just adjacent is a cook room where all the victuals are cooked & prepared and measured out into rations. Then the companies form in single file and each man takes his cup of coffee or soup as the case may & his dish of meat, bread, potato (the latter, however, we only get once each day and that for dinner) and walks off and sits down at table, &c. This description I presume you will rapidly understand without further comments.

I am glad you have so many educational privileges & hope you will improve them to your own good. We have witnessed three very splendid military funerals in this city of late—viz: Col. [Abram S.] Vosburg, Col. Ellsworth, & Sergeant Butterworth. I communicated upon them quite extensively in the letter which I wrote F. M. Buell but cannot indulge that opportunity in this. I wrote Ametia Tiffany a letter yesterday & when you see her, you must ask her to let you see it & if you will read it as I intended it should be read, I will give you a penny the first time I meet you.

Correspondence from you will always be welcome & the letters which I receive from you will be read with interest. Yours &c. — Thos. Clancy