James Rumbaugh wrote the following four letters while serving in Co. F, 76th Pennsylvania Infantry (a.k.a., the “Keystone Zouaves”).. He was drafted into the regiment on 13 July 1863 as a private and was discharged on 23 May 1865. We learn from James’ letters that he was wounded on 7 May 1864 when participating in Butler’s operations on the south side of the James River near Petersburg. According to the regimental history, the brigade in which the regiment was placed, commanded by Col. Barton, embarked upon transports, and headed as if for an expedition to West Point and White House; but suddenly changing direction proceeded down the York, and up the James, landing at Bermuda Hundred. It moved towards the Petersburg and Weldon Railroad, destroying several miles of the track, under heavy fire. The rebels were forced back to Drury’s Bluff, where they were reinforced, and the object of the reconnoissance being accomplished, the brigade was withdrawn. The Seventy-sixth lost sixty-five in killed, wounded and missing.
James wrote the letters to David Henri Dunmire (1844-1901) of Armstrong county, Pennsylvania. He was the son of David and Sarah (Heffelfinger) Dormire.
[Note: These letters are from the personal collection of Don Andrew and were made available for transcription and publication on Spared & Shared by express consent.]
Letter 1
Hilton Head, South Carolina
March 28th, 1864
Well Henry, I thought it time I would write a few lines to you to find out how you was getting along. This leaves me in good health and I hope it may find you enjoying the same blessing.
They have got me on an island down here and if the rebels get after me, I can’t run like I could when I was stealing apples. I haint got so much room to get out of the way.
Last Sabbath a week ago about four o’clock in the morning, they heard boats in the stream and sent in for the companies and the men got out and it is supposed that the rebs thought it was too late for them [to] make an attack, and was about leaving and they challenged them and they gave no answer and we opened fire on them and they were rather far out in the stream but we wounded some of them for we heard them groan. If the moon had set about two o’clock, they would have made landing and give us a hot time of it. There was five boats come up there and about 25 lying back in May River, but our gunboats run up and shelled them back. We are looking for them every night.
The company all along the picket line has to fall out at three o’clock every morning and stay up till daylight. We don’t get much sleep at night for we are on guard every third night. I have been on picket every third night since I came down here and that is about five months. They come over in little boats to capture a picket post nearly every night but we always see them before they get landed and they are on the water and we are on land behind a tree and they have a poor show. There never was any of this regiment captured yet until the other night and we have pickets out in little boats—five men in a boat—and the rebs captured one of the boats the other night. [It] is the first ever was captured on picket. We are expecting them to make a raid soon.
Well Henry, we have very nice and warm weather. Everything is green here—only the niggers and they are black as you please. There is towns of them here and they have a few chickens now but not many. If a chicken wants to live out half its days or have good health, it musn’t crow before daylight or it will lose its feathers. We have stole all the chickens, all the ducks, and sweet potatoes that we wanted and that ain’t all we got. But the other I won’t tell you about.
Well Henry, I am tired writing till I see whether you get this or not, and if you get this, please answer it, and then I will let you know more about things the next time. Excuse bad writing and spelling. So l will close by sending my best respects to you and all enquiring friends. Please answer my letter. Tell me all the news. Henry, write soon. — James Rumbaugh
Direct your letter to Hilton Head, S C., Co. F, 76th Regt. Penn. Vols.
Letter 2
General Hospital
Hampton, Virginia
June 3, 1864
Mr. Henry Dunmire,
I seat myself to answer your letter which I received this morning and I was truly glad to hear from you to hear that you was well. I hope that these few lines will find you still in good health.
I have good health but on the 7th of last month I got wounded through the left leg just above the knee. It is mending slowly. I am not able to get out yet, I got wounded near Petersburg. They were fighting all day and Friday and our brigade didn’t get into it till Saturday and we went in about 11 o’clock and I got wounded about 3 and our brigade fought till 5 o’clock in the evening and then firing ceased. We tore up about 40 rods of the [Petersburg & Weldon] Railroad. It was a hot time for a while. We had a crick to cross and it was about 6 foot wide and about 5 foot deep. There was about 3 foot of water in it and when we jumped into it, the Rebs opened on us and they just piled the crick full of us. We got out of that as quick as possible. The Rebs was in rifle pits at the foot of a hill and had their big guns on the top of the hill and they played right down on us.
They may talk as they damn please about the Rebs losing so many more men than us but I can tell you it’s not the case. I wasn’t so damn bad excited but what I took notice what was going on. If you was at this hospital, you could see some of them. They are shipping them away from the hospital as fast as they get able to and it just fills up as fast as they leave. They are dying very fast too. I will tell you a few things if I ever get home and I have no other idea but I will.
When I get home, I will tell you something about gathering mountain tea and I will throw that anvil away. But my jumping is played out I guess. I guess I can kick the pole yet. Well, Henry, I must close for the present. I will write more the next time. I have to sit on the bed and write this so please answer this as soon as you get it. Tell me when you heard from William. I wrote two letters to him and have got no answer yet. So I will close by sending my best respects to you.
So goodbye/ Write soon. — James Rumbaugh
Letter 3
Ward 19, Chestnut Hill Hospital
Philadelphia, [Pennsylvania]
September 11, 1864
I take this opportunity to write a few lines to you to let you know that I have got back in the hospital again. My leg is still sore yet but getting better. I guess I will be around the hospital about a month yet and then I guess I will leave it. I am sorry that I didn’t get down to see you but you know that I couldn’t walk very well and I couldn’t get down. You mustn’t think that I didn’t want to come down there for you know how I would like to gather mountain tea. I guess I can’t tell you who gathers mountain tea when I do till I see her again and then I will tell you. I heard from her yesterday and she says she hasn’t been out on the hill since I left not didn’t intend to go out till I came back. And you needn’t try to get her out.
Well, Henry, I just thought about the draft and that you might be drafted, and I thought I would tell you what to do if you were drafted. If you are drafted, just shoulder up your farm and take a drink for me and start, but write and tell me who all is drafted before you leave.
Well, Henry, I guess I will close for this time, not having much to write but hoping to hear from you soon. So please write as soon as you get this and tell me all the news. Don’t forget. So I will close by sending my best respects to you and I will write more the next time. So goodbye. Write soon. Nothing more at the present. Direct your letter to Ward 19, Chestnut Hill Hospital, Philadelphia. — James Runbaugh
To Henry Dormire
Letter 4
Chestnut Hill Hospital
Philadelphia, Penn.
January 31, 1865
Dear friend,
I take this opportunity to answer your welcome letter that came to hand this morning and I was truly glad to hear from you to hear that you was well. This leaves me well and I hope that these few lines may find you enjoying the same blessing. I am still in the hospital yet and I don’t know when I will leave this. They have sent a great many away from this hospital in the last week. There is only about 18 hundred in this hospital now and Oh God, how I am waiting to be paid off and then I am going to have a big spree or die on the way and I don’t know. It may be I will take a furlough and come home to see how many of you fellows is drafted.
Well, Henry, I got right up in dust when I heard that Bill McClellan was married. I suppose he didn’t make her say quack, quack like he did the goose but he would hold so tight to her as he did to the heifer, only the tail hold wouldn’t be as long. I expect he felt as big as Old Bob Townsend. I don’t hardly think he felt as big as Old Hunter.
Well, Henry, the next time you get your hands on them again, I want you to do more than that or let them be for you will just put them in the [ ] for somebody else and get them spoilt for they will et someone at them and they won’t know when it is done well after that.
Well, Henry, you must excuse me for this time for I have a pass to go to the City and the train will soon be here and I will have to go on this train or not get going this day. Well, Henry, please excuse me for his time and write soon. Don’t forget to write. I will close by sending y best respects. From your friend, — James Rumbaugh
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