This letter was written by William Henry Mix (1840-1922) of Warsaw, Wyoming County, New York. His parents were Charles Knight Mix (1814-1877) and Caroline M. Worden (1817-1855). In his lifetime, William was employed as a dry goods merchant, a farmer, and a real estate agent. Mix wrote the letter to May Evelyn (“Eva”) Knapp and her mother. Eva was born on July 9th, 1844 to Charles Harlow Knapp 1803–1894 & Roxcynthia Matilda Worden 1811–1894. Though Mix called them “mother” and “”sister,” they were actually his aunt and first cousin. Eva married Alvah C. Manson (1841-1922) in December 1866.

William H. Mix enlisted as a private in Co. K, 2nd New Hampshire Volunteers on 21 April 1861 serving with the unit for over two years. He survived a chest wound received at the Battle of Gettysburg in July 1863. He was later offered a commission as Lieutenant in Co. I, 19th U.S.C.T. [Colored Troops] and mustered in at Camp Stanton, Benedict, Maryland on 9 January 1864.

See also—1864: William Henry Mix to Eva Knapp and 1866: William Henry Mix to Eva Knapp.

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

Opposite Fredericksburg, Virginia
Sickles Division
Co. K, 2nd New Hampshire Volunteers
December 6th 1862

Dear Cousin Eva,

I received your welcome letter of the 27th ult. a few days since with the stamps, Electa’s letter & Alice’s, all unsealed, and open to inspection for the public! Surely “John” [?] must have called the morning and sent it off, and taking so many kisses from your dewey lips, there was not enough moisture left to dampen the muselage [?]. I shan’t allow any such proceedings! You must do up all your hugging & kissing at night and bound up early net morning, fresh and rosy to meet the “king of day.” You seldom catch a peek at his lovely visage before 8 or 9 o’clock the time of year.

Wesley is much better now. He can chew now and the smelling has gone down that was on his neck. He will get his discharge probably in about three years from the time he enlisted. Ditto here—if I don’t get a “life discharge” sooner. I thought he would be sent back with the sick, but her got better and has nearly recovered. I saw him, Anson, and Alvin about a week ago. Also Sheffield who, poor fellow, has been unwell some time.

You’re a smart girl! He sent his regards to you some time ago. You thought we might at least return the compliment. In my old diary, I had the address of Heman and this everlasting Denia [?] please send the regiment, company or battery, Division & Corps, again and perhaps I can find them. I’ve got the “Raven” at last & no thanks to Miss Eva either. A charming (of course) New England lassie wrote it for me. And because I said nothing about receiving it when I wrote to her Uncle Mr. Weeks, she again wrote it off for your humble servant & said as I wrote nothing about receiving it, she thought it did not reach me, which was true. Mr. Weeks, not hearing from me in over two months wrote to Col. Munston & received his answer but a few days before I wrote.

I am glad you enjoyed yourself we well Thanksgiving! We were on a long march to this place & when it came noon, we sat down to eat our Thanksgiving dinner which consisted of not roast turkey, plum puddings, chickens, pies, cakes and other fancy fixings, but it did consist of four hard bread and a small piece of bacon! As I say munching my hard bread and chewing on the bacon, my mind wandered back to the comforts and luxuries of Thanksgiving at home. For a moment, I was tempted to repine at my lot. Yet it was but a moment for in glancing around, I saw not the happy faces & manly forms of many brave fellows that were with us full of health & life one year ago. They have fought their last fight. Ah yes, I have many things to be thankful for this Thanksgiving—that I enjoy good health and my aimless life has been spared, while Oh! too many of my comrades are no more!

On the “front” again a chance to talk with the little rebs & big rebs, uncouth & ragged specimens of the southern bipeds, with now and then a partly decent looking gray back; pickets a few rods apart, arms stacked, looking as unconcerned as though on fatigue duty.

How silent and gloomy the town. It seems like a city of the dead! Now & then may be seen a squad of the regiment on picket, promenading its once dense, crowded streets, an army wagon or two, or cavalryman dashing through with “orders” are now all that’s left of the millionaires carriages & hosts of drays that once thronged the streets & make the [ ] of palatial residences which resounded back to elegant churches. Suppose dim and silent ailes now feel not the tread of the gaily dressed throng & walls near not the edict that buys and sells—aye, shackles the limbs—of our own race in sennitude! [?]

Eva, be careful how you raise the hopes of a certain Mr. D [?] that can never be realized. You will repent it. You marry an old Bach! Twill be time enough to talk about it when you get to be an “old maid.” By that time, I’ll be an “old Buck!” Then according to your promise when I was at home last, we will settle down together. Oh! by the bym if I should lose an arm or leg, why I’ll release you from your promise. Ain’t I magnanimous, eh! fair Coz? Nonsense! Don’t take it so much to heart. I like your letters in what ever mood you write. Will you never learn to take me as I mean?

I wrote to Electa & Smart Alice (of course). Write soon. Your devoted cousin, — Henry

The fields are white! Winter in canvas houses! Pleasant here! Yet we’ve raised our up four logs high, banked it up. Made a [ ] chimney on the side which makes it comfortable compared with most of them!