All posts by Griff

My passion is studying American history leading up to & including the Civil War. I particularly enjoy reading, transcribing & researching primary sources such as letters and diaries.

28th Connecticut Infantry, Siege of Port Hudson, Surrender of Port Hudson

1863: Eben Peck Wolcott to Susan (Peck) Wolcott

June 15, 2022 Griff Leave a comment

My friend Buck Zaidel, co-author of the book, “Heroes for All Time: Connecticut Soldiers Tell Their Stories,” informs me that it is near impossible to find an image of a soldier in the 28th Connecticut. This unidentified Yank is from my collection.

This letter was written by Corp. Eben Peck Wolcott (1844-1863) of Co. E, 28th Connecticut Volunteers. Eben was the son of William Albert Wolcott (1810-1879) and Susan H. Peck (1812-Aft1870) of Lakeville, Litchfield county, Connecticut. Eben contracted disease during the siege of Port Hudson and died on 28 August 1863. Eben’s older brother, Samuel W. Wolcott (1842-1864) was killed in the fighting at Deep Bottom Run in Virginia in August 1864 while serving with the 7th Connecticut Volunteers. [The Manuscript Collection at Florida State University has a letter written from Samuel to his brother Eben, dated 26 May 1863] Eben wrote this letter to his mother, Susan (Peck) Wolcott.

The 28th Regiment was the last Connecticut regiment organized under the call for 9-month volunteers. It was composed of only 8 companies: five from Fairfield County and 3 from Litchfield County. Stamford men in the regiment numbered 188.

Eben’s lengthy letter gives us an incredible eye-witness account to the events leading up to the surrender of Port Hudson and of the surrender ceremony itself that took place on 9 July 1863. He also speaks of Rebel desertions and of the danger they faced attempting to enter Union lines manned by Negro soldiers of the 1st and 3rd Louisiana Native Guards.

*Surrender of Port Hudson (Officers on horseback and parade). Courtesy of The Historic New Orleans Collection, accession no.1974.83*

See also—1862: Eben Peck Wolcott to Josephine Darling Wolcott published on Spared & Shared 17 in August 2018.

The Special Collections & University Archives of Virginia Tech houses the Eben P. Wolcott Correspondence which contains 41 letters addressed to Eben by family members in Connecticut.

Transcription

*Addressed to Mrs. Susan H. Wolcott, Lakeville, Connecticut*

Port Hudson, [Louisiana]
July 5th 1863

Dear Mother,

It is three weeks today since we made the charge on the fortifications. I think we have gained some on the Rebels since then. We have batteries closer than we had then & have dug trenches close up to their earthworks. There is now and then a gun (I mean one of the big ones) fired so we have plenty of music the most of the time.

I did not expect to spend the Fourth of July in front of Port Hudson 9 months ago. Then I thought if I was a living that I would be home. The boys claim that our time has already been out three different times. I guess when the government gets through with us, they will tell us of it. There is a possibility that we will be at home in August & then we may not. If this place is taken before long, I think we will be at home in August.

Our regiment has been out in front in the trenches now six days. I should of been with them if I had been well enough. But I am feeling much better than I have for the past few days. I shall go on duty in a day or two. We have no doctor in our regiment now—one being left at Brashear City in charge of a hospital and the one assistant left in charge of our sick, & doctor [Ransom P.] Lyon is sick now ¹ so we have a doctor from another regiment. Wright & Burns are down today. They have drawed their new suits and look a little more like soldiers than we do for we are rather dirty and shabby. They start home on their furlough the 15th of this month—60 day furlough.

There is no use in my trying to describe what is going on here for I only see a small portion of 5 miles of earthworks & the papers will give a more correct account than I can & I have a most miserable pen—the only one I have—and it has been in use over a month & that all through the company for I am about the only one that has a pen and ink in the company. I was just a thinking where you was today—whether you was at home or with the friends down east. I shall wait very patiently for another mail but may not get another till we get back to New Orleans. I got two letters from Daniel the last mail. I have not written him in some time but I shall the first opportunity.

July 7th. I am feeling very much better—as well as I expect to till I get home again. We have heard most glorious news today (if it be true & it is said to be official news), that Vicksburg has fallen on the Fourth of July. 28,000 prisoners, 280 field pieces, 80 siege guns. I rather think the Rebs though there was something up for we had heard and played brass bands all the forenoon & then ended off with the salute (they were not blank cartridges as they are North). They are getting more guns in position every day. In a few days, I shall look for the downfall of this place. The last two men shot yesterday—shot out in the trenches. There is more or less lost every day. Our regiment has been very lucky since we have been in the trenches. But the Rebs are death on the Negro regiments here. ² There is more in proportion of them killed than there is of the white soldiers. But in return, the Negroes are death on them. There doesn’t a Rebel get through near them alive. If there are deserters coming in, it makes no difference. They say that the Rebs will kill them if they get a chance & it is now more than fair for them to do the same to them, they think.

There was quite a number of deserters came out yesterday. Some of them got shot in coming out. They said there would be more come out but they was afraid to for as sure as a man showed his head, there is a dozen bullets let loose at it. Our men throwed letters over to them this morning telling them that Vicksburg had fallen. They wrote back asking them to throw over some tobacco for they had none & could not get any. The boys did throw over some & told them if they would only come out, that they could get all they wanted.

We have been waked up the last two mornings by their throwing a few shells rather close for comfort. This morning there was one struck a tree a few rods from us, cutting it entirely down and struck another glancing, hitting another & struck in the dirt a few feet from us. If it had not hit the tree, it might of come pretty close to some of us.

July 9th. The great stronghold of Port Hudson has fallen. Yesterday morning early the Rebel General [Franklin] Gardner sent out & made a request that there might be a meeting of the officials of both sides to see about a surrender of the fort. No sooner than the flag-of-truce was raised & both sides had ceased firing, our men rushed up on the top of our works & the Rebs on the top of theirs. They talked a few minutes & then our men went up to their works (the outer sides) & in a few minutes it looked like a mass meeting or a cattle show for they fairly swarmed around their works. The Rebels fetched out corn beer ³ & treated our soldiers. I traded canteens with one of them. They seemed to be overjoyed at the prospect of a surrender.

The commissioners met at 9 a.m. I know not the conditions of surrender except the officers retain their side arms. Yesterday afternoon at 4 o’clock there was one brigade of our men marched into the fort. ⁴ This morning the biggest part of the troops marched in at the right and left with the bands playing at the head. The Rebel troops was drawn up in line over near the river side—that being the only level place that I saw inside—and troops marched up in front of their troops so the two armies were a facing each other about 3 rods apart; our troops forming two lines of battle & theirs only one. After the lines formed, there was a company of marines fetched in a flag staff and it was raised right in the rear of the Rebel line upon a battery of theirs & the Stars & Stripes run up. And then our generals & their staffs rode up in front of the Rebel generals & staff. One of our aides rode up to [Maj. Gen. Franklin] Gardner and told him that all was ready. Gardner rode out, lifted his hat to our general, turned around, called for his troops to [come to] attention. They ordered them to ground arms. Then there was some conversation passed between the two generals that I could not hear & the surrender was over. ⁵

*A depiction of the Rebel soldiers grounding their arms during the formal surrender ceremony at Port Hudson on 9 July 1863. Drawn by J. R. Hamilton and published in Harper’s weekly on 8 August 1863.*

The surrender was not made to General Banks but to one of the other generals. I could not learn the name but probably shall see it in the papers. There is about 6,000 troops in the fort in all, between thirty-five and 40 hundred official soldiers at the breastworks. There was hardly a gun in the fort but what had been dismounted & in fact, our gunners would knock them over as fast as they could put them up. The most of the fortifications inside are natural, with a little artificial work added to them, making them very strong—ravines after ravines that was most impossible to get through. Our artillery created havoc with them & they was near starved out. The Rebels were very anxious to know what we was a going to do with them—if we was to parole them or keep them prisoners, and if so, where we would take them. ⁶

*Rebel fortifications at Port Hudson as they were found after the surrender*

The air is very impure in the fort. There has been a great [many] men, horses, and mules killed & have not been buried. If I can get a chance, I mean to go in again but they have a guard on and will neither let a man in or out unless he can steal in through the lines. That was the way I had to do today. I spent 7 hours in the fort & did not go half way around it. It was so very warm in the middle of the day that got pretty near tired out & had to come in. But I saw what I went to see—the surrender. A part of our regiment is out doing guard duty and the rest is still in the woods. You will get the news of the surrender long ere this reaches you & all the particulars with it so I will not try to tell any more.

I think there is a prospect of our staying here a week yet and then probably we will start down the river. If I had of only been to home now, there would have been a good chance for me to of enlisted in the 6-month regiment and gone into Pennsylvania but I am not one of the lucky ones. I hear today that Arlo Wolcott of Norfolk was killed in the fight of the 14th of June. He was in the 49th Massachusetts Regiment. He was an orderly sergeant. ⁷

I should like to know what luck Lee had met with in Maryland & Pennsylvania. I hear that some of the 2 years and 9 months men have volunteered to go into Pennsylvania. We got a small mail yesterday but I got none from home. I got one from Daniel after he got to St. Augustine & one from David Curtis. I wrote to him while at Brashear & one from Ettie Wolcott. She wanted to know what was the matter with you all. She had not heard from you since she left Salisbury. Samuel was well when he wrote. If I have time, I must write him today for it has been some time since I have written him.

I haven’t much time to write and therefore have to hurry it off rather faster than I would like to. I take notice that the sick are getting well fast. They have done remarkably well for the last day and a half. It is possible that I shall not write again very quick for I am thinking we shall begin our way home before many weeks. I am as well as ever at present. I don’t know as I have time to write more today.

From your affectionate son, — E. P. Wolcott

¹ Surgeon Ransom P. Lyon died of disease on 6 August 1863.

² The two Negro regiments were the 1st and 3rd Louisiana Native Guards who had been used by Banks in a futile assault on the Rebel works at Port Hudson on 27 May 1863. Most of these soldiers were recruited in New Orleans and were underprepared for the attack but their enthusiasm impressed General Banks who praised them afterwards.

³ Due to the chronic shortage of drinking water during the hot summer months and the severe drought, the Rebels made a weak beer with corn, sugar and molasses which was kept in barrels at their entrenchments. [See Forty Days and Nights in the Wilderness of Death].

⁴ Though the surrender terms were hammered out and signed on 8 July 1863, Gardner requested that the official surrender not take place until the morning of the 9th. According to Edward Cunningham’s book entitled The Port Hudson Campaign, 1862-1863 (page 118), this delay was exactly what the Rebels wanted so that any who wished to try to escape during the night might do so, which many of them did by swimming downriver under cover of darkness.

⁵ Wolcott’s eye-witness account of the surrender ceremony at Port Hudson is consistent with that posted on the American Battlefield Trust which reads, “Port Hudson surrendered on July 9, 1863. At 7 a.m., General Gardner’s ragged army formed in line along the river by his headquarters. As the Federals marched across the shell-blasted soil to the river, they could hear the booming of the guns in Battery Bailey firing a 100-shot salute. Arriving at the river, the Union troop wheeled right and lined up facing their former foes. Gardner offered his sword in surrender to Brig. Gen. George Andrews. Andrews returned it to Gardner in honor of his brave defense of his post. The Confederate infantrymen then put down their arms. There were no cheers as it Stars and Bars were lowered, only proud, defiant silence on one side and respectful silence on the other. That changed when the Stars and Stripes fluttered from atop the flagpole. The ragged, gray-clad men were still quiet, but the huzzahs from the blue-clad ranks more than made up for their silence. Captain Jacob Rawles’ 5th U.S. Battery fired a salute of 34 shots as the American flag went up the pole.

Another account of the surrender ceremony appears in “Life with the Forty-Ninth Massachusetts Volunteers,” which reads: “The ceremony of surrender…was conducted by Brigadier-General Andrew, General Banks’s chief of staff. The spot chosen for the ceremony was an open area, near the flag-staff, opposite the centre of the river batteries, and very near the bank. Along the main street the soldiers composing the garrison were drawn up in line, having all their personal baggage, arms, and equipments with them. General Gardner and staff, with a numerous escort, occupied a position at the right of the line. By 7 o’clock our troops marched into the works, headed by the brigade which had volunteered, a thousand strong, to storm the place in the next assault. Colonel Birge, of the 13th Connecticut regiment, was in command of this storming party. It was fitting that they should lead the way with the flag of bloodless victory, who had volunteered to do so with bayonet and sabre. Artillery closed in with the infantry, and as the grand cortege swept through the broad streets of Port Hudson, with the grand old national airs for the first time in many months breaking the morning stillness, the scene was most impressive and soul-stirring. Never did music sound sweeter, never did men march with lighter step, or greater rejoicing, than our troops, as they came into the place which had cost the lives of many of their gallant comrades. All the sorrow for their losses, and all the joy for their present victory, came to the mind at once. But every private bereavement was instantly forgotten in the nation’s great gain, and every man justly seemed proud to have had a part in one of the greatest triumphs of the war. Passing directly across from the breastworks on the land side to the river batteries, the column then marched by the right flank, and afterwards halted and fronted opposite the rebel line. General Andrew and staff then rode up to receive the sword of the rebel commander. It was proffered to General Andrew by General Gardner, with the brief words: “Having thoroughly defended this position as long as I deemed it necessary, I now surrender to you my sword, and with it this post and its garrison.” To which General Andrew replied: ” I return your sword as a proper compliment to the gallant commander of such gallant troops—conduct that would be heroic in another cause.” To which General Gardner replied, as he returned his sword, with emphasis, into the scabbard: ” This is neither time nor place to discuss the cause.” The men then grounded their arms, not being able to stack them, since hardly one in ten of their pieces had a bayonet attached. They were mostly very rusty and of old style. Quite a number of the old Queen Bess pattern were included among them, having a bore half as large again as the ordinary musket. Most of the cartridge boxes were well filled, but the scarcity of percussion caps was universal. An officer of the garrison, in explanation of this fact, remarked, that this very scarcity of caps was the reason that the men were allowed to cease firing on the right and left for several days. The number of men surrendered is over five thousand. Of these nearly four thousand are ready for duty. The remainder are in the hospital from sickness or wounds. There were six thousand stand of arms, with full equipmnents. The troops are some of the best in the Confederate service; many of them were at Fort Donelson, and all have been at Port Hudson since the battle of Baton Rouge.“

⁶ Sometime after the surrender, Banks made the decision to parole the enlisted men and non-commissioned officers who were allowed to go home. Banks erred in releasing the prisoners, however, because the paroles were approved only by Gardner who was himself now a prisoner-of-war. Declaring the paroles illegal, Jeff Davis ordered the men to report for duty after a brief furlough and they were sent back into action. About half of the Rebel officers were sent to Johnson’s Island prison camp; the other half to the US Customs House prison in New Orleans. [Source: The Port Hudson Campaign, 1862-1863, page 120.]

⁷ Wolcott may have his facts wrong on this identity. The Orderly Sergeant in Co. H of the 49th Massachusetts was named Joseph B. Wolcott. He was killed by a sharpshooter on 23 June 1863 at Port Hudson.

10th Confederate Cavalry

The Civil War Letters of John Weaver Cotton, Part 2

June 14, 2022 Griff Leave a comment

John Weaver Cotton (1831-1866) was born in Coweta county, Georgia, the son of Cary Cotton (1802-1881) and Hanna H. Bates (1806-1892). He married 16 year-old Mariah Hindsman (1833-1880) in February 1850 and in the mid-1850s he purchased land in Coosa County, Alabama, where he raised a family consisting of at least seven children by the time the Civil War began in 1861. John’s farm was near Mt. Olive in Coosa County, just off the main road between Hanover and Mt. Olive where on 65 of his 285 acres he raised wheat, corn, oats, peas and sweet potatoes as well as cattle, sheep and swine. His was a typical small farm in the South. He owned no slaves to help him work the land, but hired them seasonally from neighbors when an extra hand was needed.

It wasn’t until the second year of the war—on 1 April, 1862—that John enlisted at Pinckneyville and he remained in the service until he was paroled in 25 May 1865 at Talladega. He was first in Co. C (Captain Martin Greene Slaughter’s company) 5th Battalion, Hilliard’s Legion, Alabama Cavalry; later (30 December 1862) this battalion was consolidated with the 19th Regiment Confederate Cavalry. In these two organizations he saw action in East Tennessee around Murfreesboro and Chickamauga and in the Dalton-Atlanta Campaign. The 10th was in Wheeler’s last raid, moving north as far as Saltville, Virginia. Its last stand was at Bentonville, North Carolina; it surrendered with the army of Joseph E. Johnston.

The first 75 letters in this archive can be found at The Civil War Letters of John Weaver Cotton, Part 1

The remainder of the letters are posted below starting with Letter 76.

Letter 76

Knoxville, Tennessee
June 22, 1863

Dear wife,

Itis again that I take my pencil in hand to write you a few lines to try to let you hear from me again. I am well and doing well and I hope these lines may find you the same. I hant heard from you since I wrote before. I am getting very anxious to hear from you all again. I know there has letters come for me but I hant been where I could get them. I hant been with the company since we left Jamestown. We were ordered off from there in the night and all of the disabled horses and footmen were left behind. My horse weren’t able to go with the company on a forced march.

The Yankeys got around us and got ahead of us and got to Watburg and burnt our ammunition before we found them out and they went from there to Lenoir’s Station on the railroad and burnt up the depot and all of the cotton and tore up the track. They took 80 of our regiment prisoners and paroled them but I don’t know who they were. It was men that we left there when we started to Kentucky and some of them run away and went back there.

The Yankeys went from there to Knoxville and our men run them off from there and they went on from there towards the Strawberry Plains above and tore up the railroad and burnt a little bridge and I hant heard from them since. But I think I will hear from them before I mail this letter. Our men is after them with a large force. The report is that there is only about twenty-five hundred of the Yankeys. They are taking negroes, horses, and destroying everything they can as they go. I think if our men lets them out of here unhurt, they may as well quit. I wish they would burn up all of East Tennessee and blot it out of the Southern Confederacy. Nearly all of the Yankeys that is down here was raised in this state. They are looking for reinforcements from above but I don’t know whether they have got them or not.

They killed a citizen not far below here. They went into his house and he resisted them and shot at them and they killed him. If I could see you, I could tell you a heap that I can’t write. I might sit down and write up a quire of paper and then I could not tell you all.

I can’t think of all I want to write no how. You may still send your letters to Kinston for I don’t know where we will stop. I hant heard from Asa but once since I left him at Kingston.

June 23. I am still well. I saw Mike last night. He was well. He is camped not far from me. He is with their wagons. Their regiment and ours is gone on after the Yankeys. I hant heard nothing from them yet. It is thought that they have or will get out of the way before we can hem them in. I don’t know what to write about it now but I will write again soon if I get the chance. I am in hopes that when the fuss is over and we get settled, I will get to come home. I think I will have a chance to come home after horses. i had to come back out of Kentucky without a horse. it is the worst chance to get a horse in this country that ever I saw. Nothing more at present—only I remain yours till death. — John W. Cotton

June 23rd. Mariah, I will write a little more. I have just received a letter from you. Was very glad to hear from you and to hear that you were doig so well. I would like to come home and see if you are doing as well as you say you do and get some milk and butter and honey and fried chicken to eat for we don’t get that here—only as we but it and it is very high. The most of our men has complained a heap of not getting a plenty to eat since we left Kentucky. There was three days that we did not draw any rations but I never suffered. I got something everyday. I never suffer when there is anything in the country to eat. We killed hogs, dug irish potatoes, and bought meal, and I made out very well and I stopped a Sunday and got very good dinner. I reckon we will draw a plenty rations now.

You spoke of my clothes. You need not be uneasy about me. I will try and get some before i get naked. I thought I would not write you about losing my clothes in the fight we had but i reckon you will hear it anyway. I lost my saddlebags and my blanket you sent me. I hated losing my blanket worse than I did my saddle bags but i hated losing all because they were things you had made for me. You need not be afraid I will get naked. I will get clothes somehow or other. I will have a good excuse now to come home. I am doing as well as anybody you ever saw away from home. I do almost as I please. I had to come out of Kentucky without a horse but my same old horse totes me yet but he is very poor and weak. Nothing more. I remain your true, devoted friend till death. — John W. Cotton

Letter 77

*Envelope conveying letter from Michael C. Hindsman to his sister, Mariah (Hindsman) Cotton, Postmarked Sweetwater, Tennessee, July 8, 1863*

Camp near Sweet Water, Tennessee
July 7, 1863

Dear sister,

I seat myself this evening to write you a few lines being that I am unwell and not able for duty. I have been unwell for some time. I haven’t been able for duty in about six weeks. I haven’t much news to write to you at this time.

I see [your husband] Weaver ever once in awhile. It has been about a week since I saw him. He was well then and doing well for he had his haversack full of bread and meat. I thought that he was doing well. If I had it, I would thought was doing finely at that time for I was very hungry at that time. But you had better know that I walked into Weaver’s bread. We all saw very hard times when we was up in Kentucky. We are now at this time faring tolerable well. We are getting tolerable portions for ourselves and horses to eat. It has been some time since we got as much as we are getting now.

I think that we are stationed now for awhile to recruit our horses but it is most too late for some of them. They are too near used up.

Mariah, I received a letter yesterday from Andrew and he is at home yet and he wrote that he was not well but he wrote that Pap’s family was all well. I will close for the present. Nothing more at present. Yours, &c., — M C. Hindsman

Letter 78

Camp near Childress Gap, Tennessee
July 9, 1863

Mariah, dear wife,

It is again that I take my pen in hand to write you a few more lines to let you know that I am well and hope these few lines may find you all enjoying the same blessing. You must excuse me for not writing no sooner. I would have wrote when Nancy left here but I thought she could tell you more than I could write and I hant wrote since for our officers has been trying to get some of us off home on a detail but they hant got us off yet for that is all of the chance for our regiment to mount themselves. That is what the detail is for. If it is made, I will be one of the men that will come home for my horse is no count and horses is very high here and I reckon not very cheap at home.

Mariah, I hant got much to write to you but if I could see you, I could tell you a heap.
We are camped 11 miles north of Knoxville but we will have to move in a few days on account of forage but we will not move very far. We will be apt to stay around here some time if the Yankeys don’t make another raid in Tennessee.
I have received a letter from you since Nancy left here. It was dated June the 18th. You said you had a plenty of rain and your crop looked very well. I hope you will be able to make a good crop…I think if you can make a good crop you can life another year.

I got a song ballad from you. It is a very good piece of poetry. I wouldn’t take anything for it. It suits the times the best of any that I have seen. I did not know that you had got to be a poet. You said you wrote it one night after weaving seven yards of cloth. I don’t want you to kill yourself at work just because you can. You had better work as you can stand it. I would write more if I did not think I would get to come home soon. Asa, I reckon, is at home. I think we will get our detail yet but Colonel Slaughter says we shan’t come home till we draw our money. We may draw it in a few days. We have sent after our pay rolls.

Nothing more. Only I remain your true, devoted husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 79

Coosa county, Alabama
July 14, 1863

Dear beloved husband,

It is again I seat myself to try to write you a few lines to let you know the children is all well at this time and I hope these few lines may find you well and doing well. I hant much of importance to write to you but I thought I would write for I expect it will be some satisfaction to you to hear from home if it was only to hear we was well. I wish I could hear from you every day. I wish I knowed where you was today and that you was well but I don’t know where you are nor what you are doing. You may [be] in a battle now while I am writing this letter. If I knowed when you was in a battle, I don’t think I could sit still to write nor do anything else but I hope the Lord will be on your side and guide you safe through all your trouble and enable you to reach home safe one time more. I hope that happy day will soon come when you can come to see me and your little children.

I hope the war will soon come to a close and you can come home to me to stay. It would be a day of joy to see you come home safe again.I think if peace was made, it would be the joyfullest times that ever has been. It would be to me, if you was to come safe. I hant heard from you since Nan saw you. That has been two weeks. It seems long to me.

We have a heap of rain. Corn crops look very well but Asa can tell you about the crops. Mrs. Holinghead and Jack is gone to see Tommy and Mose. They got a letter last Saturday from Mrs. Mose and she wrote that Mose was sick and she won’t come home till he got better.

I wish you had been here today to have eaten dinner with me. I had some beans and a green peach pie. I have got some ripe peaches. Tell Asa I have made more green pie. Tell him I eat all I could. I don’t know whether it done him any good or not.
Weaver, if I could only see and talk with you one time more, I would be so glad. I can’t begin to tell you anything about how bad I want to see you. I hope that happy day will soon some when I can see your lovely face. Nothing more. I remain your true loving wife till death, — Mariah Cotton

To her dear, beloved husband in the war. Goodbye my dear husband.

Letter 80

Tennessee Camps near Concord
August 7, 1863

Dear beloved wife,

It is again that I take my pen in hand to let you know that I got back to camps again. I got here yesterday. I got here without any trouble. I weren’t bothered any atall on the way. It never cost me anything to get here. I had meat and bread a plenty to do me to camps. When I got here the boys—most of them—were gone to Jonesborough. Asa and Porter were both gone. They went up on the cars. That place is 20 miles above Greenville where we went last winter. The men that is left here says they don’t know what they are gone for. I reckon you will hear from Asa in a few days. Some of our men went to Kentucky and some of them has got back and some hant. They got into a battle and got cut all to pieces and some killed and some wounded and some taken prisoners but it is not known how many. They are coming in yet. It is though that 4 or 5 of our company is killed but there can’t be no correct account given about it yet.

I found our boys very much disheartened and whipped. There is a heap of them ready to give it up. I am awfully afraid if a change don’t take place soon for the better, that we will be whipped. I can’t write much now for my mind is bothered and the ink I have got to write with ain’t no account at all. When I get something that I can write with, I will write more.

Direct your letters to Concord, Tennessee. These lines leave me well. My old horse has mended up right smart since I left him. I think I will buy another or swap him in a few days. My captain never said anything about my not bringing no horse back with me. There ain’t but one of our men got back yet that went home with me. I was about the first of all the detail that bot back.

Nothing more at present. I remain your true, devoted husband, — John W. Cotton

Letter 81

Camp Big Springs, Tennessee
August 13, 1863

Dear wife,

I again take my pen in hand to write you a few more lines to let you know that I am well and doing well. I begin to want to hear from you all again. I have not heard from you all since I left home.

We have moved from where we were when I first got back from home. We are 12 miles east of Concord. There hant no soldiers camped here before us and our horses have been faring very well since we came over here. We are camped between two valleys where we can get plenty of forage for our horses if the quartermaster does his duty and we can buy anything in the country to eat cheaper than where we were. We are drawing a plenty to eat now. We had a fine mess of beans yesterday and we have got as fat a turkey to bake for dinner today as ever you saw.

Our men has all got back from Kentucky but nine. They are killed or taken prisoners but they are not all killed. It is though that William Reynolds is killed by a bushwhacker and Jim Jacobs is taken prisoner. That is all that you know anything about. If you see Jane Jacobs, you may tell her that her sweetheart is gone up [North].

There was a heap of our regiment killed and taken prisoners on their raid into Kentucky. All that got back says they don’t want to go back there anymore. I am glad I weren’t here to go with them. I learn that Mike is gone home. They say Dock went home to get a discharge. General Buckner won’t receive no more substitutes. I hope when you read these few lines, you may be well and better satisfied than you were when I left you. I hope I will hear from you in a few days. This is twice that I have wrote since I got back. I han’t bought me nary horse yet. I reckon we will draw money today. Nothing more at present. Only remain your true, devoted husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 82

Blount county, Tennessee
August 18, 1863

My dear beloved wife,

I take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well and hope these lines may find you all well. I want to hear from you all very bad. I hant got nary letter since I left home. I want to hear how your hogs are doing and how things is a doing in general. I would be glad to see you all again already. I hant got but little to write to you. I will send this in a letter with Asa.

All of our footmen is sent to Knoxville—only those who had the money to buy them a horse to be mounted on government horses. But some thinks they will be put into infantry. Porter went with them and went off sick. He had been sick two or three days but was better, Me nor Asa hant got no horses yet. I bargained for one but failed to get him. I aim to go out into the country in a short time and swap my old horse off for a good one.

We have drawed money since I got back and I got all the boys was owing me but twenty dollars and I hant seen the man that owes that since we drawed our money. I have got about a hundred and fifteen dollars since I got back to my company.
If your hogs ain’t all dead, you had better have them fed about once a day with green corn. Give them about one stalk apiece a day. I think that meat will be of more value than corn and you should make your hogs to as well as you can.

I have nearly got in the notion if I can get a substitute to get one and come home and still this winter. Doctor Moon is here now trying to get in a substitute. If he gets him in, I will let you know and I will write all about it. I will write again soon. If Old Man Kelly ain’t gone to the war, tell him if he is working at the still if I can fix my business right, I will want him to substitute for me six months. Nothing more at present—only I remain yours till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 83

Tennessee Camps, Bell’s Bridge
August 25, 1863

Dear beloved wife,

I take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to let you know that I have just received a letter from you for the first time since I left home. It was mailed August 19th. I was very sorry to hear that Ann was sick but was glad to hear that the rest of you were well. You never said what was the matter with Ann. I hope you will write in your next letter what is ailing her. I hope she is better by this time. These lines leave me well and hearty. Nearly all of the boys is sick that went home when I did but I have been as hearty as I ever was in my life. I hope when you read these few lines you will all be enjoying the same blessing that I am.

We have moved again from the big springs to Bell’s Bridge 9 miles west of Knoxville. We are expecting a fight somewhere not far from here. They say the Yankeys are aiming to try to take East Tennessee and everything is in a perfect stir. They are sending reinforcements from Virginia to our assistance.

There is but few of our regiment here—only those that have disabled horses and them that are afoot. All of our brigade that had serviceable horses are about 10 miles from here on Clinch River awaiting for the Yankees to come on and attack them. I have heard that they were [with]in 8 miles of Kingston. They have moved all of the sick out of Knoxville that were able to be moved and lots of the citizens are moving out of the town. Everything is in a perfect stir. But I think if the Yankeys come in here, we will whip them badly.

I have just swapped off my old horse for a very pretty little mule and give $200 to boot. I would like to have it at home. It was two years old last spring. I would be glad to hear from you again soon. There has four of our company deserted since I came back from home.

Nothing more—only I remain yours till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 84

Tennessee camp near Loudon
August 30, 1863

Dear beloved wife and children,

I once more take my pen in hand to try to let you know that I am well and I hope these few lines may reach you the same. I have not hear from you since I wrote before. I have not got but one letter from you since I left home but everything has been in such a stir that we have not got the mail regular. We have moved three times since I write my other letter. We have been traveling nearly all of the time. We are now in camp 4 miles below Loudon. We moved here this morning. I don’t know how long we will stay here. Our horses were inspected yesterday and a heap of our horses were condemned and turned over to the quartermaster to sell and a heap of them pronounced not able for service and sent off to a pasture to mend up. My mule was sent with them. Its shoulders were hurt with the saddle and it was bare-footed. They were all put in an old dry pasture and a guard put over them. They will perish if they don’t feed them.

There is a talk of all that is dismounted being put in the infantry. The men all swear that if they do put them in the infantry, they will go home. Some left last night. Colonl Goode says that his men shan’t be treated in no such way. He says he won’t stay in the Brogade no longer. He was sent to Jacksboro to relieve a regiment and when he got there, the regiment was gone and the town was full of Yankeys and our men rode right up to them [with]on speaking distance before they found them out and they made a charge on our men and they broke to run and the Yankeys after them and they run them about 10 miles and killed some of them and took some prisoners but we never lost nary [one] out of our company. I went with them. He only had 75 or 80 men with him. Alfred Deason run his horse till he died i the road, They run their horses 15 miles. They had like to have killed all of their horses. Some lost their hats, guns, blankets, clothes and some their horses.

I hear that the Yankeys is [with]in about 18 miles of Knoxville. Our men have give up Knoxville and moved all of the government property out of it. They are fixing for a big fight here at Loudon. There is a heap of troops here and they are still coming on every train. Some thinks the big fight will be somewhere about Chattanooga. I think if they come here they will catch a gentle flogging.

The most of us have just been to the pasture and got out our horses since I commenced writing. I aim to swap my mule off for a horse as soon as I get the chance. I saw Frank Worthen the other day and he said [your brother] Mike was discharged and gone home. He said John Trammel was not very well. They are going to move close to us. Dock hant come to us yet. I hant heard from him since he was with the company. I wrote to him but hant got no answer yet. I want to hear from home very bad and I am afraid that I will hear that Ann is no better but worse, but I have to live in hopes that she is better and all of the rest well.

I wish I had some of your peach brandy to drink. I think it would help me. Write how much you make. I can’t tell you what to do about hiring old man Kelly yet. Doctor Moon has been here more than two weeks and he hant got his substitute in yet. If our regiment gets out of the Brigade, I will try to put in a substitute. The papers won’t have to go no further than Col. Goode. Now they have to go to General Buckner. Nothing more, — J. W. Cotton

Letter 85

Tennessee camp near Charleston
September 4, 1863

It is again, dear wife, that I seat myself to try to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well and hope these lines may find you well. I am very uneasy about home. I have not got but the one letter from you since I left home. I am very anxious to hear from Ann but it is very uncertain when I will get another letter. Everything is so tangled up. The postmaster here at Charleston says there hant been no mail in two or three days.

Our troops have all fell back to this place. They have burnt Loudon bridge and destroyed all of the flats and canoes to prevent the Yankeys from crossing the Tennessee river. We hear they are still following after us. They were said to be [with]in fifteen miles of this place and was trying to cut off our rear. Our Brigade covered the retreat and they were trying to cut them off. I don’t think we will make much of a stand here nor I don’t know where we will make a permanent stand but I think there will be one of the hardest battles fought here that has ever been fought. They say we have got over one hundred thousand men round about here.

I have not been with the regiment for several days till this morning. I have been detailed to drive some old horses and there is only a few of us here. There is some of us here and some back with the Brigade and some that is dismounted at town two miles from here. I don’t think there is any danger of my being into a fight yet awhile for our regiment is so badly scattered that I don’t think it will be put into a fight till it gets together. I don’t want you to be uneasy about me but take good care of yourself and the children.

I would give a heap if I could get a letter right straight from home. I don’t know where to tell you to direct your letters to but you may write to Charleston, Tennessee. If we fall back, they will be sent back to us. I may get a letter if I ever get to see the captain. I shall be uneasy about Ann till I hear she is well. Nothing more at present. I remain your true, devoted husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 86

Calhoun, Georgia
September 11, 1863

Dear beloved wife and children,

I will try to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well but very uneasy. I have not hear from home yet. I am very uneasy about Ann and I can’t hear from her. I would be glad to hear that she was well. We have not got any mail in about 3 weeks and I don’t know when we will get any. I reckon not till the fight is over. I expect it will be at Rome, Georgia.

I am now at Calhoun on my way to Rome. Rome is about 120 miles from home. Our whole army has left Tennessee but I heard this morning that Longstreet had retaken Knoxville and 8,000 Yankeys.

They are going to have a big fight soon and I think we will whip them. There is a heap of soldiers deserting—more Tennesseans than anybody else. There is 15 of our company deserted.
I can’t write but little now for I hant got time. I have only stopped to rest. I hope these lines may find you all well and doing well. I shall be uneasy about Ann till I hear that she is well. Direct your next letter to Rome, Georgia. I would love to see you all again already but don’t be uneasy about me. I think if we get whipped in this fight, the war will soon end.

Nothing more at present. Take good care of yourself till I come to see you again. I will write again soon. — John W. Cotton

Letter 87

Tennessee camp 15 miles northwest of Dalton, Georgia
7 miles south of Ringgold
September 16, 1863

Once more, dear wife, I take my pen in and to write you a few lines to let you know that I have not heard from you all yet and I am very uneasy about home and about Ann. She may be well or she may be dead. I can’t hear. We don’t get any mail atall not I don’t know when we will. You don’t know how bad I want to hear from home.

We have been to Rome since I wrote to you. We only stayed there one night and we were ordered back to Dalton. We stayed there all night, then came here. We are 15 miles northwest of Dalton. We are camped in the battlefield where they had a fight last Saturday [12 September]. We lost 5 en and the Yankeys 17 killed. We took some fifty prisoners. We had only one regiment in the fight and I don’t know how many Yankeys. We whipped them. They are about three miles from here now. We expect a fight every day.

The 1st Georgia had a skirmish with them today. They tried to take some Yankey wagons but failed. I expect we will be into it before many days. There will be a bog fight before many days somewhere between here and Rome and I expect it will be the worst battle that has ever been fought in this war. They say we have got the largest army there has ever been together since this war commenced and I feel confident that we will whip the fight. If we do, I think that it will bring about peace.

There has been several small fights with the cavalry and we have drove them back. It was though 3 days ago that they were retreating back across the Tennessee river but they don’t think so now. We keep hearing that Longstreet has retaken Knoxville and a number of prisoners. If that is so, it will help us out a heap.
I saw Albert Martin today. He was well. He says he wants me to get a transfer to his regiment. I hant seen John Trammel yet. I saw Holmes Waldrop day before yesterday. He was well. Albert Martin says his wife has three children and Dock can’t walk yet without his crutches but can ride anywhere he wants to. He is overseeing for Frank Worthen and is getting along very well. He told me that John Hindsman was dead. He was killed at Vicksburg. I had not heard of it before nor I don’t know whether you have or not. I wrote to you that [your brother] Mike was discharged and gone home. I hant heard from Dock yet. We have got only ten men here with us to go into a fight. We have got fifteen gone home.

I am writing this letter but I don’t know when I will get to send it. I will try to send it off tomorrow. Asa Close says he is going to Dalton tomorrow if he can get off. I wish I had some of your good brandy to drink. I think it would help my feelings and maybe I would not study so much about home but if I could only hear from home it would help me more than brandy.

I would like to know whether you have seen Old Man Brown or not and would like to know how things is going on in general. How your hogs is doing and how Manuel is getting on pulling fodder, and how much brandy you made, and whether Par had to pay tax for stilling or not. Who paid it and how much he charged you for stilling your peaches. These lines leave me well but very uneasy. I hope when they come to hand they may find you all well and enjoying yourselves very well.

Mariah, don’t be uneasy about me but if I should get into a battle and get killed, do the best you can for yourself and the children. But I hope to live to see this war ended and return home to you and your dear little ones and that we may live a long and happy life and that I may live to be a better man. Nothing more at present, — John W. Cotton

Letter 88

Camp near Chattanooga [Tennessee]
September 24, 1863

Dear beloved wife and children,

I again take my pen in hand to try to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well and still alive and live in hopes that these lines may reach you the same. I hant got but little time to write. Our adjutant is going to Dalton and I will try to send this by him.

I reckon you will hear of the big battle [Battle of Chickamauga] we have had before you get this letter. I hant got time to write much about it now but we have given them the worst whipping they ever had—so their prisoners say. We have run them all out of Georgia and they have run then all cross the Tennessee [river] but one Corps. They say they will have to cross but they say they are in their fort at Chattanooga and will give us another fight before they cross. Our cavalry can’t do no more good here so we will go back to East Tennessee I think in a few days if we don’t start today. I hear that our men has whipped them there. They will all have to go back to Kentucky. The fight has been going on 6 days and is still going on.

Our regiment has been into it and around where they were fighting all the time. We brought on the fight Saturday morning but our regiment hant lost but few men. Our company hant lost nary man killed or wounded but I can’t see how we all escaped. We were supporting a battery on Sunday evening and the Yankeys commenced a cross fire on it and the grape shot fell around us like hail but we got behind trees and places so none of us did not get hurt. They shot off three horses legs close to us and killed one man and wounded one. If I could tell you all I have seen, it would make your heart ache to think of it but I could not tell if half as bad as it is. Nothing more at present. — John W. Cotton

Letter 89

Tennessee Camp near Chattanooga
September 29, 1863

Dear and most beloved wife and family,

I once more take my pen in hand to try to write you a few more lines to try to let you know where I am and what I am doing. I am well and doing as well as any can in the place I am in. Our regiment is in sight of the Yankeys all the time and have been for four days. They are in their breastworks here at Chattanooga and we are standing picket around them in gunshot of them and we have some firing backwards and forwards at them but they won’t come out nor we won’t go to them. Our men are planting their cannons as fast as they can to try to shell them out of their breastworks but I don’t know how they will come out. We have got the advantage of a big hill to shell them from and the Lookout Mountain. We can hear their drums and fifes and horns and hear them crossing the river on their pontoon bridge and we can go out on a big hill and see all over their fortifications and them too.

They say that there is a heap of our forces crossing the river to cut them off from their provisions but I don’t know how many. I think Old Bragg is trying to get them out of Chattanooga without a fight if he can. It will be the best for if we have to whip them out, we will lose many a man and maybe get whipped. I think they are fortifying on the other side of the river. It may be some time before we get them away from here if we get them away at all.

I wish you could be here to see them and their fortifications. There hant been no fighting here—only picket fighting—in about five days. They say our men has got 150 cannons planted to shell the Yankeys out of town and I heard that they were a going to commence shelling them today at 9 o’clock but they hant commenced it yet. I reckon we will leave here and let the infantry take our place. There is a heap more cavalry here besides our regiment.

I stood picket the other night in shooting distance of the Yankeys. There was three of us on the same post and one stood while the others slept. The Yankeys say we have whipped them the worst they ever have been. I reckon I have said enough about the Yankeys. I had rather read a letter from you than to write about them a week. I have got nary letter from you yet and there ain’t no use in trying to tell how bad I want to hear from you all. I want to hear whether you got Manuel for another year or not and how you are all getting on in general and if you can hire old man Kelly or not to take my place. If you could, I would try to find out whether he would be received [as a substitute] or not before he comes. But there will be no chance to get him until this peace fight is over, if at all.

I wish I had some of your brandy ere. I could sell it at any price I would ask for it. I have swapped my little mule away and got a fine young iron-gray horse 4 years old and give $175 to boot. You ought to see him. I think if we both live till the war ends, I will bring him home but I am afraid it will be a long time yet.

I saw John Trammel the other day and he said Mike was coming back to his company. Felix got him a substitute and went to the infantry and they told him they would receive his substitute and they mustered him in and his substitute was ot received and he is in the infantry yet and was taken prisoner at Cumberland Gap. I don’t know what to write unless I could hear from you.

Direct your next letter to Tennessee, Chickamauga Station. Nothing more at present—only I remain your true, devoted husband till death. Don’t be uneasy about me. — John W. Cotton

October 2. Mariah, I will write a few more lines as I have not had the chance to send off my letter yet. I am still well and hope these lines may find you all well and doing well. I hope Ann is well by this time. I saw Old Archy Meneal about two weeks ago and he said he was at the still and he never heard any complaint. That is all that I have heard from home since the 18th of August and I reckon you know that I want to hear from home by this time.

We have had a powerful rain. It rained a day and two nights but it is the first rain we have had since I got back from home except one little shower. We have had the dustiest time that I ever saw. I have seen the dust so thick that I could not see no more than I could the darkest kind of a night. It looked like it would stifle men and horses on a march. I hant seen Asa in some time but I think I will see him today. I am going to the post office and they say our dismounted men is camped close to the post office. It is 5 miles from here. Everything is still here yet. There is no fighting going on yet but I am looking for it every day. Meneal told me that the cavalry that were hunting up deserters killed old Stephen Thomas. I was sorry to hear of it. I don’t know what else to write. Nothing more. I will write again before long.

Letter 90

Chickamauga Creek, Tennessee
October 5, 1863

Dear beloved wife,

I have received a letter from you at last. I was extremely glad to hear from you all but it gave me much dissatisfaction to hear that you had been sick but was glad to hear that you was better and I was glad to hear that Ann had got well. You never said what ailed you not Ann. I would like to know what ailed you both. I am afraid you won’t take as much care of yourself as you ought to. I don’t want you to expose yourself no more than you can help. Keep out of the dew and rain and cold.

We have some very cool weather here for the season. We had a killing frost here the 20th and 21st of October [September] and we are having some front now.
You never said anything about hiring Manuel. I would be glad to hear of your hiring him. I want you to hire him, let the price be what it may. I was sorry to hear of your losing so many of your hogs but was glad it weren’t no worse. I think you got a good price for your cow. You said you wanted to know whether you must kill that steer or sell him. If you need the beef, kill him. If you don’t, sell him.

Write to me whether the conscript [law] will take Par or not. They say here that it takes all up to fifty [years old] and down to 17 for Confederate Service ad from 50 to 60 for State service and I want you to tell me how much tax you have to pay. You said you could not sell your brandy without paying tax on it. If you don’t need the money, keep it and maybe I will get the chance to sell it myself.

There is talk of Colonel Slaughter drawing his Battalion from the regiment and moving it to Talladega but that is too good news to be so. But him and Goode is very much as outs.

I reckon you have not forgot where I told you to have wheat sowed. Have it sowed the last of this month if you can. The letter I got was dated the 26th of September. These few lines leave me well but very uneasy about you. I would be better satisfied if I knew what ailed you. I hope these lines may reach you soon and find you improving and all of the rest well. I am glad you have weaned little Ginney. I would love to be at home the best you ever saw but there is no chance to come home now. Write often and let me know how you are getting on.

We are expecting a fight here every day. Old Bragg is still planting his cannon to shell the Yankeys out of Chattanooga. We won’t have anything to do with it till they get them out of town. Nothing more at present. — John W. Cotton

Letter 91

Chickamauga Camp, Tennessee
October 11, 1863

Most dear beloved wife,

I this evening take the pleasure of writing you a few lines to try to let you know that I am well and ope these lines may reach you in due time and find you all well and doing well. Mariah, I hope you are still on the mend and if not well, will soon be. I hope you will not expose yourself so as to make against you. I want to hear from you again very bad. I have got but one letter from you yet but I am looking for another every day. I am very uneasy about you and will be until I hear that you are well. I know from the way you wrote before that you were not out of danger. I was very well satisfied about home till I heard that you and Ann was sick. I am afraid the next time I heard from home some of the rest of you will be sick.

You said you wanted me to write whether I wanted you to make me any clothes or not. I don’t want you to make me any. I have got a plenty and when they wear out, I will draw more, I can draw them cheaper than you can make them and I think you have got as many at home as you can make for anyhow.

I hant got no news to write to you—only I heard the report of cannon on the other side of the river this morning. I suppose that some of our men has gone round and got in the rear of the Yankeys and they were fighting but the firing has ceased or gone out of hearing. Everything is still at Chattanooga. We are about three miles from Chattanooga, picketing on the river to keep the Yankeys from crossing and they are picketing the other side to keep us from crossing.

Mike or Dock hant come back yet. Some of our men that run away and went home has got back and we hear that some of them are on the way. I think the most of them will come back.

I would like to know whether you have got Manuel [hired] for another year or not and whether your hogs that is alive looks like they ever will be any account or not. But above all, I would rather hear how you are getting [along]. Nothing more at present. I remain your true, devoted husband till death. — John W. Cotton

Letter 92

Tennessee camp near Chattanooga
October 19, 1863

Mariah, dear beloved wife and children,

I again take my pen in hand to try to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well—all but a little touch of the diarrhea. I hope these few lines may reach you in due time and find you all well. It is strange to me that I can’t get a letter from you. I have only got one from you yet. It was mailed the 26th of September. We send off mail every day but don’t get any hardly. I don’t know what becomes of them for I know you write to me. I would give anything to hear from you again. I want to know how you are getting along. I am afraid you hant got well yet and I am afraid that some of the other children has been sick since I heard from home.
Asa has got back to the company again. He says he don’t get no letter neither. He is well. I don’t know what to write unless I could hear from home.

I have got a stray mule that I took up on picket two weeks ago. If the owner don’t come and get it, I will let Asa have it. He is riding it now. It is worth four hundred dollars. I think it is a government mule but it is not branded. I don’t think there is any danger of the owner coming after it. There was two horses with it and they come and got them and never said anything about the mule.

Times are still here yet. There is no fighting going on yet. 10 of our men swam across the Tennessee River and caught two Yankey couriers and a dispatch and it said—so I hear—-that if they did not get reinforcements in 10 days, they would have to fall back from Chattanooga. We moved back night before last to their breastworks to stand picket round them. We stand in two or three hundred yards of them in an open old field.

Direct your next letter to Chattanooga and maybe I will get them. Old Goode is gone home on a furlough. I hear that he is going to see the Governor of Georgia and try to get to go down in Georgia to guard some salt works. Nothing more. — John W. Cotton

Letter 93

Tennessee Camp near Chattanooga
October 25, 1863

Dearest and most highly beloved wife,

Again I take my pen in hand to try to write you a few lines to try to let you know that I am well and hope these few lines may come to hand and find you all well and doing well. I was glad to read a letter from Nan to Asa. She said she was at your house and you were all well except bad colds. You had better believe that I was glad to hear that you had got well. She said Mike and Sally was at your house. That was something that I didn’t expect to hear of. I reckon it done you a right smart of good to see them come. I like to have been at home what they come. I have not got nary letter from you yet but I keep looking for one every day for we have an every day mail. I would like to be at home now to help sow wheat and gather corn and see to things in general. I would be glad to know whether you had hired Manuel yet or not. I had rather you would buy him for I think you could raise money enough to pay for him. Tell me how much corn you make and how much you have to give to the government and write all of the news and write how Sack [Sally] likes Alabama and how she thinks you are getting along. And tell me all you can think of and so on.

We have had a sight of rain for the last four or five weeks. Our camps are very muddy but a part of our regiment has left here this morning for Harrison 10 miles from here. Our squadron is left here to stand picket three days and then we are going and one of the other squadrons will come here to take our place. We are still close to them but they are very peaceable. They threw a few shells at our infantry a few days ago. Old General Bragg has issued an order and says that he will give any man a 40 day furlough if he will recruit to his company. I want you to see Phil Coker and see if he intends to come to our company and if he does, tell him I want him to come as a recruit for me so I can get a furlough and I will do all I can for him in any way possible and be more than fifteen hundred times obliged to him if he does come too. Go to Goodgame and have his name enrolled and get a showing for him so that he won’t be bothered on his way up here. Tell him he will never find a better regiment nor one that has more privilege.

Nothing more at present—only I remain your affectionate husband till death. — John W. Cotton

I love to be at home awhile and I would like better to be at home all the time. Old Jeff Davis has been up here and made a speech and said peace would be made in six months.

Letter 94

Tennessee Camp near Chattanooga
October 28, 1863

Dear beloved wife and children,

I take my pen in hand this morning to try to answer your kind letter which I received last night. It was dated the 20th. It gave me much pleasure to hear from you and to hear that the children were all well and it gave me much displeasure to hear of your sickness and to hear what caused it. I was a little astonished to hear of your undertaking to throw up fodder and you in the condition you were. It looks like you migt have known that it would have hurt you. But you will always do too much. But I hope you will get well soon and I hope you will do less hereafter and take better care of yourself.

These lines leave me well and I hope they may reach you in due time and find you all well and doing well. You said you had not hired Manuel yet but you heard he was to hire. If he is, I think you can hire him. You said you had paid a part of your tax. I think they are very high and it looks hard too to think a soldier that has to hire a crop made has to give the tenth of it to the government and him in the field fighting to sustain it. But if the tax would sustain it instead of fighting, I would be willing to pay as much more. You wrote too about old man Kelly’s substituting for me. I talked to the captain this morning and he says he thinks that it will be a bad chance for me to put him in as all of the big officers is down upon substituting. But Colonel Goode is at home now but he will be back in a few days and I will see him or get the captain to see him about it and see what I can do about it and I will write all about it. I did not understand from your letter whether he was willing to come for the duration of the war at the rate of seven hundred dollars for six months or just for a few months.

We have moved out from Chattanooga so we will be more handy to forage but we send one squadron in at a time to stand guard and it stays three days at a time. The pickets got to fighting and the Yankeys come out of their breastworks and our men, it is said, whipped them back. But I hant heard with what result. Our squadron had just left there. We left while they were fighting. The fight was on the far side of the breastworks form us. None of our regiment were in it. Nothing more ay present—only remain your true, devoted husband till death, — J. W. Cotton

October 29. Mariah, I will write a few more lines this morning before I send my letter off. I am well as common. They are still cannonading at Chattanooga. They were at it all day yesterday and they commenced last night after midnight and they are at it yet. It is about sunup. I hear that day before yesterday the Yankeys took the 15th Alabama Regiment and we took seven hundred prisoners from them. I hant heard whether they fought yesterday with small arms or not. I think they will decide the fight now before they quit. We will have to go back tomorrow or next day on picket. Nothing more at this time. I hope you are well. — John W. Cotton

Letter 95

Camp near Chickamauga, Tennessee
November 3, 1863

Most dear beloved wife,

I have just received a letter from you a few minutes ago. I was very glad to hear from you all but I was very sorry to hear that you had not got well yet. You said you had just put in a piece of cloth. I am afraid you will go to wearing before you are able. I think I know what ailed you by the way you wrote. I am very sorry that you had such bad luck and I am sorry to think that my coming home a few days caused you to suffer so much. I had rather not come home at all but I don’t know when I will ever get to come home again. I hope when you get these few lines you may be well. They leave me well.

We are still here close to the Yankeys. Our camps ain’t no more than a mile apart but the river is between us. They are still shelling away at Chattanooga. They have been fighting there 9 days but they hant fought much with small arms. They hant fought any on the side where we stand picket. It is five or six miles from here to Chattanooga but we go there to stand picket. We stand two days and are off four but when we ain’t at Chattanooga, we stand picket on the river so we are busy all the time. We have a heap of rain but the weather is pleasant. We hant had much frost yet.

You said that I could get Old Man Kelly to take my place six months for seven hundred dollars. If I can put him in my place, I will d it but I can’t tell till Old Colonel Goode comes back. I will see him as soon as he comes back and see whether I can put him in or not. If I can, I will write to you. I think it will be a bad chance unless we get to come to Talladega. Slaughter is trying to get his battalion down there.

I want to know whether anybody is allowed to still or not, and if Vandaman and Webb and Carlisle is stilling. If they are and I get to come home to still this winter—if I could—I could make more money than I ever have in my life. I hope you will hire Manuel.

Nothing more at present. I remain your husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 96

Tennessee camp near Chattanooga
November 10, 1863

Dear beloved wife,

I again take my pen in hand to try to write you a few lines in answer to your kind letters I have just received yesterday. One was dated August 31st and one October the 28th and 29th. I read them with much pleasure. I was glad to hear from you again but I was very sorry to think you were not well but I hope by the time you get this letter, you will be well again. I was glad to hear that the children was well and I was glad to hear you wre done gathering corn. I think you have made a very good crop of corn and I hope you will get your wheat sowed in good time. I hate for you to pay the 10 percent of your corn to the government. I want you from this out to sell everything you have, to sell for all you can get, and I want you to hire Manuel for next year, let him cost what he may, for if you were to miss a crop, it would ruin you for you would not be able to buy your provisions. Corn is worth from $4 to 8 per bushel here now. If you have any to sell, don’t sell it yet. You ought to feed your hogs well and make them very fat and keep your stock hogs fat and I want you to tell Manuel I want him to tend to May and get her fat this winter and not let anybody steal her. I hear they are stealing horses down there. Hold on to your brandy till all the rest is sold in the country and you can get anything you will ask for it. I have got my mule yet that I took up on picket at Chattanooga.

We are now standing picket on the river not far from our camp. There is more soldiers coming here from Virginia and some going from here to up about Loudon and Knoxville. I think that there will be another fight here before long or else Old Bragg will try to flank them. There is a hep of them at Chattanooga. I left there Sunday morning and this is Tuesday. The boys talk to them across the river here everyday. They want tobacco very bad but out boys won’t let them have it. Our men swaps papers with them ever once and a while. They seem to be very friendly with us. It is thought that they are very scarce of provisions. I don’t think they can stay here long if they don’t get possession of the Lookout Mountain and the river below Chattanooga.

It has been raining a heap and the roads must be very bad and they have to haul everything they get. But it has fared off and turned cold last night. There was a heap of ice this morning.

You said Mike and Sally had been to see you. I think it is a wonder that Sack [Sally] took a notion to come to see you. You said Mike was coming back to his company as soon as he gets able. They are gone up in East Tennessee. They say we are not in their brigade now. They say we are under a man by the name of [Gen. W. H.] Martin. One company of our regiment is gone to escort a General Marion Bates and Bill Bates belongs to that company. They are both well. They have heard that Uncle Matt is dead. I heard some time ago that John Hindsman was dead but never heard that Uncle Wilson had his arm shot off nor of the rest that was wounded.

You said the cavalry had hung two men but never said who they were. I don’t think there is much deserting a going on now. I think the most that is deserting from here is Tennesseans. Some of our regiment goes home but they don’t stay log before they come back. You said Caroline had not heard from Bill in two months. Asa went to his regiment about two weeks ago and saw him. He was well and fat but reckon he wrote about seeing him before now. His regiment was in the line of battle in site of Chattanooga. I would of went to see him but I did not get the chance. You said you got 26 gallons of brandy. I would like to know why you did not et any more. There is something wrong about it.

These lines leave me well and hoping they may reach you in due time and find you well but I am afraid from what you say that you won’t be well till your 9 months is out. I don’t want you to do anything to hurt yourself any more. You said that Sweet couldn’t talk any better yet. I wish I could hear little Ginney talk and say Par. Tell Sweet if he don’t talk, I won’t give him no candy when I come home. I will give it all to Ginney. But if he will talk, I will give him some too.

You wrote a heap about my putting Old Man Kelly in as a substitute. I can’t tell you anything about it yet. Colonel Goode has come back but I hant had the chance to see him about it yet. I am on picket every other day. I am on picket now, sitting on the bank of the river writing. Nothing more at present, — John W. Cotton

I will see old Goode soon or get the Captain to see him for me and I will write all about it, but it is a bad chance.

Letter 96

Tennessee camp near Blue Springs
November 18, 1863

Dear beloved wife and children,

I again take my pen in hand to write you a few more lines in answer to your kind letters which I have received since I wrote to you. One was wrote when Mike was at your house and one November the 3rd, and the other I don’t recollect the date. I have got several old letters here lately. I have been getting letters tolerable regular now for awhile. I hope I will keep getting them. I hate to hear that you are unwell in every letter I read and I am glad to hear that the children is well. I am glad to hear that your hogs is doing well now. How many have you got to kill? Is any other of your sows died since I left home? How many shoats have you got left and how did your peas turn out? You ought to make your killing hogs very fat for pork and bacon will be very high. How is Mary coming on?

We have moved from where we were camped up the river about 10 miles near a place called Blue Springs but we are still picketing on the Tennessee River but our duty ain’t as heavy as it were before. But since we have moved here we have to drill twice a day and then go on dress parade in the evening and we have very strict orders.

I have got my mule yet. My horse looks very well. He has mended right smart since I got him but I am afraid that corn will soon get so scarce I can’t get any—only what I draw. But we are getting plenty now and there is a plenty of hogs about here. We are put in another brigade. There has been another detail made to go home to buy horses. Asa is on the detail. I don’t know when they will get off.
November 19th. These lines leave me well and hoping they may reach you in due time and find you well and doing well. We have got to move again today 3 miles further up the river. You will still send your letters to the same place till you hear from me. I will let you know when to change them. Nothing more at present. I remain your true, devoted husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 97

Georgia Camp near Dalton
November 29, 1863

Dear beloved wife,

I again take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to try to let you know that I am well and hope that these few lines may find you all enjoying the same blessing. I hant wrote to you in more than a week. We have been riding almost every day and night for 8 days. We have been riding up and down the Tennessee River the most of the time trying to keep the Yankeys from crossing but they crossed anyhow.

We went to East Tennessee and they crossed at the mouth of Chickamauga and we was ordered back and we found them at Cleveland day before yesterday morning and we had a fight with them that lasted about two hours and we whipped them and made them skedaddle in a hurry. They left horses, mules, saddles, bridles, and provisions, cooking things, and they strewed everything as they went. I shall have to quit writing for I am detailed to go off on duty but I don’t know what.

I never got hurt in the fight nor none of our company. Colonel Slaughter was wounded in the shoulder.

I don’t think I will be able to put Old Man Kelly in my place. Give twelve hundred dollars for Manuel if you can buy him for me. Less if I can sell my mule and draw money. I can send you five or six hundred dollars. I would write more but I hant got the time now.

Bragg’s army is falling back from Chattanooga again. They are at Dalton, the most of them. I don’t know where he will make another stand. Nothing more. I will write again soon. — John W. Cotton

Letter 98

[The following letter was written by Saral Elizabeth (“Lizzie”) Hindsman, the wife of Dr. Andrew (“Dock”) C. L. Hindsman—a brother of John Cotton’s wife Mariah. Lizzie wrote this letter to Mariah (Hindsman) Cotton.]

Coweta [county], Georgia
December 1, 1863

My dear sister-in-law,

I now hasten to drop you a few lines to let you know that I have not forgot you if you have me. I am in tolerable good health but Dock is very sick. He started to his company last Tuesday and come home very sick with the pneumonia and is very bad off. He could not get to his company for they were cut off by the Yankees. He says they were fighting at Knoxville and Chattanooga.

I have wrote two or three letters to you and have not received any answer from any of them. I want you to write to me. If you don’t answer this one, I shall think you don’t want me to write so I want to hear from you as soon as you can write to me.

I heard from weaver and he was not very well but he thought that he was a mending right smart. Give my love to all inquiring friends. I have nothing more at present to write. I have to write this and wait on Dock besides so excuse bad writing and spelling. From your affectionate sister, — Lizzie

Letter 99

Georgia Camp near Dalton
December 9, 1863

Dear beloved wife,

I again take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to try to answer your kind letter I have received from you since I wrote to you. I wrote to you the 30th of last month but did not have time to write but a little, I thought then I would have time to write again soon but I was sent off on detail to guard some forage and was gone four days and then as soon as I got back, the regiment was ordered off and so this is the first time I have had the chance to write. I am expecting to hear the word “Saddle!” every minute. I hant got much to write to you but if I could see you I could tell you a heap.

You said in one of mine that I did not want to come home anymore. I think you must have been mistaken in reading my letter. If I wrote that to you, I did not aim to do it. God knows [that] if I don’t want to come home, nobody never did. I don’t want you to think that I don’t want to come home.

You said you wanted me to come home by Christmas. I would like to come the worst you ever saw but I don’t see any chance to get home. But I reckon asa will be at home soon on his detail. If he comes home, you may send me a pair of pants by him. You said Cohen and Medill and David Martin was coming to our company. If any one of them comes as a recruit for me, I will try to get a furlough.

I am afraid you won’t hire Manuel. I want you to hire him let him cost what he may. You said you wanted to hire if I could get Kelly in my place. We have so much running about to do that I hant had the chance to find out. I have almost give out trying to get him in. If you can’t buy Manuel, I want you to get Par to buy you a negro girl if he can find one to buy. If he hant got money enough, I can get a plenty by selling your brandy.

Nothing more at present. I remain yours truly, — J W. Cotton

Letter 100

Georgia Camp, 7 miles from Dalton
December 14, 1863

Dear beloved wife,

I again take my pen in hand to try to write you a few lines to try to let you know that I am well and hope these few lines may find you all well and doing well. I hant got but very little to write to you. We are here and have been here 3 days but I don’t think we will stay here long. Our army is still falling back and the Yankeys are advancing slowly. I don’t know where we will make a stand at. The most of the men thinks we will fall back to Atlanta, Georgia. I think our cavalry is only staying here until the infantry gets out of the way.

Mariah, I am sorry to say to you that I am worse out of heart about whipping the Yankeys than I have ever been. There is lots of our men says there is no use to fight them anymore. They say that both Congresses has met and I hope they will make peace on some sort of terms of peace so we can come home and live as we have done before. It ain’t worthwhile to try to tell how bad I want to come home.
I am afraid from what you wrote in your last letter that you and little Ginney is both sick. I would love to hear that you were all well one time more. I want you to take good care of yourself and the children and I will come home as soon as I can. I thought that Asa would have started home efore now on his detail but I think it is a little uncertain whether he gets it or not. There has been several details sent up but none of them hant come back yet.

You said that Dave Martin, Jim McDill, and Cohen was going to start here the last of last month but they hant got here yet. If they come here and hant been mustered into the service, I will try to put one of them in as a recruit and try to get a furlough.

Asa went out with a scout day before yesterday and they caught a Yankee and brought him in yesterday morning.

If I could see you, I could tell you a heap that I have seen since I left home. Nothing more at present. I remain your true, devoted husband till death, — John W. Cotton
I want you to hire Manuel, let him cost what he will.

Letter 101

Georgia Camp 10 miles above Dalton
December 22, 1863

Dear wife,

I again embrace the opportunity of writing you a few lines to try to let you know that I am well and hope these lines may find you all enjoying the same blessing. Dave Martin and Bill got here night before last. They brought me a letter and two pairs of socks and a bottle but no brandy. They said it all leaked out. I was glad to hear that your stock was doing well. I hope that you will have meat enough to do you. I can’t write but little now. They have just brought in a Yankey that our pickets captured last night or this morning and I have to go and take him to headquarters. He says the Yankeys is all going back to Chattanooga and are going to go down the river to Rome and from there to Atlanta. He come over to give up to us. He is barefooted and nearly naked. He is from New York City.

Asa’s detail hant come back yet. I am going to try to get a furlough on Dave Martin. You sent me clothes enough. I had just drawed a very good pair of pants and could have drawn more close if I had needed them. I did not need the socks you sent to me but I can keep them till I do need them.

I hope you will get Manuel next year. From what Dave Martin said, there won’t be no chance for you to buy him. Dave says Pars still house was burnt up and there weren’t but 10 stands saved but he did not know whether mine were burned or not. I would like to know.

We are all of our regiment on picket and I expect we will be here several days. There is a heap of our cavalry gone down below Rome but we always have the brunt to bear. My horse has been barefooted and I have had a heap of riding to do and he has fell off right smart. But I got him shod this morning. We hant been getting near enough for them to eat but we get right smart corn but no ruffage. Our horses generally look very bad and the most of the barefooted. I think I will bring or send my horse home and ride my mule. I would like to be at home and help you pick spareribs and back bones and eat [ ].

Nothing more at present. I remain your true, devoted husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 102

Georgia Camp 10 miles north of Dalton
December 30, 1863

Dear beloved wife,

I again take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to try to let you know that I am well and doing very well but I am sorry to say to you that I have had very bad luck. I have lost my horse. He died yesterday morning. He died with the scours. I done everything for him I could but it done no good. He was taken about midnight and died near morning.

We had started to Charleston, Tennessee, to try to capture some Yankey wagon trains and we stayed all night close to Cleveland and 27 of us were put out on picket and the whole command went on next morning and left us on picket and we stayed there all day [with]in three miles of the Yankeys and the rest of the command went on to Charleston and the wagon train had crossed the Hiwasee river and some of our men went up and skirmished with them some hour and a half and were in the act of leaving and the Yankeys made a charge on them and stampeded the whole of the command and taken a heap of them prisoners and killed some. They run right into our men with their pistols and sabers and shot and cut them with their sabers. One struck Asa on the head with his saber but did not cut him very bad. He got away from them. There is only one of our company missing—Lieutenant Guthrie has not been heard of yet.

I escaped a scouring by being left on picket. We had three brigades in the stampede. There was several of our boys lost their hats and nearly all of them lost their guns. Asa lost his hat and Bill Martin and several others. Asa hant got his detail yet nor none of our company but there is lots of the regiment is gone home on details. Our boys sent them up and they weren’t forwarded through and they will have to send them up again.

I have sent up my furlough [request] but it hant had time to come back yet nor I don’t reckon it will. That stampede I think will knock it in the head. It is said our Brigade will go down in Alabama in a few days to Decatur but I am afraid we won’t go.

I hope you have hired Manuel before now and I hope these few lines may find you all well and doing well. Nothing more at present. I remain your affectionate husband till death. — John W. Cotton

Letter 103

Calhoun county, Alabama
January 20, 1864

Mariah, dear wife,

I again take my pen in hand to try to let you know that I am well and where I am. We are in Alabama 21 miles from Talladega town. We are going to stop 6 miles below here at a place called the Cold Water Campground. We have come down here to recruit our horses. It is thought that we will stay down here about two months. You may look for me at home before we go back to Tennessee. I wrote to you that I had sent up a furlough [request]. I have not heard from it yet. Some that was sent up at the same time has come back disapproved and I have no idea that mine will ever come back. I am going to try for another. I think they will furlough all of us before we will go back.

The dismounted part of our regiment hant got here yet. Asa is with them. I reckon he has wrote since I have. I hant had the chance to write in about 3 weeks. We were on picket 8 days and when we were called off we started down here the next morning and this is 10 days since we started. Our whole brigade is here—four regiments.

I heard you had hired Manuel again and had to give 150 bushels of corn for him. Miss Brown wrote it to him. I hant got a letter from you since Dave Martin came here. I am anxious to hear from you all but had rather see you all than to hear from you. I am coming home before I go back, let cuts go as they will.

I wrote to you that I had lost my horse. I have got the mule that I captured yet but I have hurt his back very bad on this trip. If I get to come home, I will bring him home. I hant got but little to write to you but if I could see you I could tell you a heap.

Nothing more at present. I remain your true affectionate husband till death. — John W. Cotton

Letter 104

Oxford, Alabama
January 24, 1864

Dear wife,

I again take my pen in hand to write you a few more lines to let you know that I am still well and hope these few lines may soon come to hand and find you the same. I will send this to Talladega by Woodard Blair. When you write to me, direct your letter to Oxford, Alabama. I wrote to you the other day and I think I forgot to tell you where to direct your letters to. I hant got a letter from you since Dave Martin left home nor Asa neither. I begin to want to hear from you all very bad.
I have sent up another furlough [request]. I started it day before yesterday. If I get it, I will be at home before long.

I hant got but little to write to you. We are building winter quarters and have a very strict camp guard and five roll calls a day and as soon as we get our cabins built, they are going to drill us twice a day in infantry drill. We are not allowed to go out of camp without a pass approved by the general or the brigade officer of the day and we are not even allowed to ride our horses to water. Some of the boys are very much dissatisfied but I think they are doing perfectly right for if they did not have tight rules, some of them would be always gone and they would all tear up the country. We have got a new general and I think he is the best one we have ever been under. His name is [William Y. C.] Humes.

My mule’s back has been very sore but it is mending very fast. If I get my furlough, I will ride him home. Itis only 21 miles from here to Talladega. We have had some of the coldest weather that I ever saw. It turned cold at Christmas and stayed cold till a few days ago. We have had a few days of very pretty weather but I think it will rain again in a few days. I want to come home to see you all and see how Manuel is getting on with his farm. I heard you had hired him again.

Nothing more at present. I remain your true, devoted husband till death. — John W. Cotton

Letter 105

Oxford, Alabama
February 1, 1864

My dear beloved wife,

I again take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to try to let you hear from me. I am well at this time and hope these few lines may find you the same. I thought I would have been at home before now but my furlough has not come back yet. It looks like that when a furlough [request] is sent up, it never comes back. There has been a heap of furloughs and details sent up since we came here but none of them hant come back yet. There is several of the boys got passes for 48 hours and went home but I don’t want to come home on that sort of a pass. But if my furlough don’t soon come back, I shall try to come some way.

My mule’s back has got most well. He is mending very fast. If I get to come home, I want to bring him and leave him and buy me a horse. Asa and Dave Martin is going to try to get a pass and come home tomorrow. If they do, I may send this by Asa. If he comes home, you will be apt to see him and he can tell you more than I can write.

We have got very good shanties built and are doing very well. We have to drill twice a day and have 5 roll calls and are not allowed to go out of camp without a pass approved by the brigade officer of the day and are not allowed to ride a horse out of camp without a pass approved by General Humes. If I could see you, I could tell you a heap. I may get home before you get this letter and I may not come in some time. I am looking for my furlough every day.

I have got two letters from you since I wrote before. The last was wrote the 10th of January. I was sorry to hear you had to give so much for the hire of Manuel but I reckon it is better to give that than to do worse. Your hogs done better than I expected. Nothing more at present. I remain yours forever, — John W. Cotton

Letter 106

Tunnel Hill, Georgia
March 7, 1864

Dear wife and children,

I arrived here last night at Tunnel Hill. We brought 16 prisoners through with us. We had a very wet, muddy time of it but got along very well. There is a heap of duty to do here but the boys seem to be in good spirits. They say they are living better here than they did at Oxford. Beef has played out here and they draw bacon altogether. I am on camp guard today. Lieutenant Conant is in command of our company and he is on picket about twenty miles from here and they don’t know when he will be back. He has been gone 12 days. Ten of our company is with him. We can’t send up our furlough [requests] till we see him. I will go or send to him this evening or tomorrow ad have our furloughs fixed up.

They are looking for a fight here before long if it stays good weather. Our men and the Yankeys are picketing close together. They have some picket firing once and a while. There is a talk of our brigade going back to Oxford to recruit their horses again.

They say that it only takes a furlough [request] 3 or 4 days to come back after it is sent up from here. I will get mine as soon as possible. These lines leave me well and hoping these few lines may come to hand and find you the same. Nothing more at present. I remain your true, devoted husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Jim Brady [of Co. C] has runaway and it is thought that he is gone to the Yankeys.

Letter 107

Oxford, Alabama
March 30, 1864

Dear beloved wife,

I again take my pen in hand to try to let you know that I am at Oxford yet but I reckon we will leave here in the morning. There is a passel of the best horses to the front. We would have been gone before now but the commander here wouldn’t let us go on by ourselves.

I haven’t anything to write to you—only to let you know that I am well and all of the rest is well. Some of our boys that was dismounted got here last night from Dalton. They say there is no fighting there but they had orders to have all of their horses shod and have an extra pair to take with them but they did not know where they were going but it was thought they were going to make a raid somewhere.

Nothing more. I remain yours forever, — John W. Cotton

Letter 108

Tunnel Hill, Georgia
April 23, 1864

Most dear beloved wife and children,

I take my pen in hand to try to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well in body but not in mind. I am very much troubled about not getting my furlough. Dave Martin and Bill got their furloughs and started home yesterday evening. I never have had nothing to hurt my feelings as bad in my life.

General Johnston has passed an order for no more furloughs to be granted for the present so there ain’t no chance now to get a furlough. I would give anything in the world almost to be at home with you now but as long as I can’t, my prayer is that you may do well in delivering your dear little babe. Do the best you can and take good care of yourself and the baby. I don’t know that I will ever live to see it but I still live in hopes that I will live till the war will end so we can live in peace and harmony once more. I think if this war was ended, I would be the happiest man living.

We are looking for a fight every day. Some of our regiment is gone now to run in some of the Yankee pickets. One of our men that went with them has just got in. He says they got 23 prisoners and killed 10 or 12. They are all coming in. We never got nary man killed and but 2 wounded.

Write as soon as you get this letter and let me know how you are coming on and how your wheat looks. Nothing more at present. I remain your true, devoted husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 109

Tunnel Hill, Georgia
April 28, 1864

Most dear wife and children,

I once more take my pen in hand to try to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well and hope these few lines may find you all the same, I want to hear from you very bad. I hant heard from home since Asa left there. I hope I will hear from you in a few days.

If ever we are looking for a fight here every day, it would not surprise me to hear at any minute that the Yankeys were advancing. General Johnston is moving up his forces to the front, It is said that he is mighty well fortified betwixt Tunnel Hill and Dalton. It is thought that we will whip the Yankeys here. Our men seem to be in good spirits and willing to fight. Our cavalry is in very good condition for fighting.

I am not satisfied about losing my furlough yet. If I had got my furlough, I might have missed this fight but I hope I will come out unhurt and live to see the war ended and get home to enjoy the fruits of my labor here in this unjust and unholy war. I don’t know what I would give to be at home with you and our little ones but I can’t be with you now.

The 17th Alabama Regiment is at Rome, Georgia, but I recon you have heard of that. There will be a good deal of fruit in this country if nothing happens to it. We had frost here up to the 20th of this month but the weather is very warm now and looks like spring has opened. Vegetation is putting forth very fast.

Nothing more at present that I can think of. Asa is well and so is Porter. Asa is writing. I hope these lines may find you all well. — John W. Cotton

Letter 110

Tunnel Hill, Georgia
May 3, 1864

Most dear beloved wife and children,

I now take the opportunity to write you a few lines to let you know that I am still alive and well and hope these few lines may find you all enjoying the same good blessing.

We have had two little fights here since I wrote to you before. One the next day after I wrote and one yesterday, but there weren’t much damage done. Yesterday morning the Yankey run in our pickets on the Ringgold Road and General Humes’ Brigade met them and skirmished with them awhile but there were such a heavy force of them that he fell back below Tunnel Hill. They come up near enough to throw some shells into Tunnel Hill. They threw a few shells into town and then fell back. Our pickets were all called in and a regular fight was expected but they went back. All is quiet this morning so far.

It is thought by some that there would not be no regular fight here soon. It is believed that they are sending their troops to Virginia and trying to keep it dark from us by showing fight here. It is reported in camp that General Johnston is sending troops from here to Virginia. It don’t surprise me at no time now to hear that the Yankeys is coming for I am looking for them every morning.

I thought that spring had come a few days ago but we had a white frost last night. I don’t think that it done much damage. I don’t think it was cold enough to kill wheat nor frost much but it killed the bushes right smart in low places. I reckon Dave Martin and Bill is setting up at home now digging a grand rascal where I would have been if I had got my rights. I am not satisfied about it yet nor I never expect to be. I want to see you all very bad and I am anxious to get a letter from home for I hant got nary one since I left home but I hope you are doing well. I would like to be at home now to see how Manuel is getting on with his crop. Write as soon as you get these few lines and tell me if Vardeman has fixed up my still.

Nothing more at present. I remain your true, affectionate friend till death, — J. W. Cotton

Letter 111

Tunnel Hill, Georgia
May 6, 1864

Dear wife,

I take my pen in hand to try to let you hear from me. I am well and hope these few lines may find you all the same. I hant but little to write to you but I suppose you want to hear whether we are fighting or not. We are not at it yet but are expecting an attack every moment.

The Yankeys are advancing on us. They are not far from Tunnel Hill in a line of battle. We were saddled this morning by day and formed a line of battle and then marched back to camp and not allowed to unsaddle. We have had an alarm every day for several run out in a line of battle. The men are getting so they don’t care but very little for an alarm but I think if things don’t change, we will have something to do before Sunday night. This is Friday morning.

Our men are in good spirits. It is generally believed that if they move on us here that we will whip them. I hear that he infantry is very anxious for a fight. Asa is gone on a scout to see if the Yankeys are advancing and find out what they can. There is four others with him. If I could see you I could tell you a heap that has passed since I come back to the company. I dread this fight for I think the cavalry will have a heap to do and I don’t know whether I will ever get out of it or not but I only have to trust to Him who [paper torn] things for my safety. I hope He will guide me safe through the storms of battle and then return me safe home to you and our dear little ones.

I hant got nary letter from you yet but Asa got one from Nan dated the 27th of April. She said you were still up and well. Write and let me know how you are getting on. Nothing more at present. — John W. Cotton

Letter 112

Hitower [Etowah] River near Cartersville, [Georgia]
May 21, 1864

Most beloved wife,

I one time more take my pen in hand to try to write you a few lines to let you know where I am and what I am doing. I am not very well at this time. I have been right sick but I am mending. I will soon be well. I hope these few lines may find you all well and doing well.

I got a letter from you dated the 7th of this month. You said that Sweet and Ginney were both sick. I was very sorry to hear that but I was glad to hear you was doing well and the baby also. You said you wanted me to send it a name. I hant got nary name picked out for it. If you have anyone for it, name it and I will be satisfied with it.

I don’t know what to write to you about the fight. I know you have heard that we were falling back. We have fell back to the south side of the Etowah river and give up all north of this river and we are still falling back. I don’t no where we will make a stand at but General Johnston is determined to get them to fight him now for two weeks but they won’t do it. They keep flanking him and he is obliged to fall back to keep them from cutting him off from his supplies. There has been a right smart fighting but no regular engagement. I think that we will whip them yet as soon as we can get them to fight us. It is thought that Johnston is getting reinforcements from Virginia. He has got a very good army here now and they want to fight. The infantry were the keenest for a fight at Resaca that ever I saw.

There is a heap of our men thinks we are whipped because we have fell back. As for my part, I hate very much having to give up so much of our own country to the enemy to be destroyed by them. It makes me shudder when I think of the poor women and children that is left behind us. The worst sight that ever I saw is to see women and children running and hiding to keep from being killed on the battlefield. Since this fight has commenced, I have seen them have to run from under the mouth of the cannon to keep from being killed. You may think that you have some idea about it but you have none.

If I could see you now I could tell you a heap but I don’t know whether I can send this letter off now or not. I hant wrote since the fight commenced for I hant had the chance to send letters off. I got my horse shot the first day of the fight and I thought at first it would kill him but he has got nearly well. He was not able for duty for a week. It has been done two weeks today. He is doing very well. He is a heap better horse than I thought he was. The Yankeys had like to got me when they shot my horse but I have escaped so far. There has been several of our company wounded slightly. John Brady was wounded tolerable bad. He is the only one gone to the hospital.

Nothing more. I will write again as soon as I get the chance. May God bless you all. Nothing more. — John W. Cotton

Letter 113

[12 Miles west of Marietta, Georgia]
May 27th 1864

Mariah, dear wife,

I again take the privilege to write you a few lines to try to let you know that I have just got two letters from you. One was dated the 10th, one the 17th. I wsa glad to hear that the children was all well and that you were doing as well as what you said you were but sorry to hear that your back hurt you so much. I thank you for your prayers and hope they may be heard and granted.

Mariah, we are still fighting the Yankeys. I am now writing close to where they are fighting. Our brigade is now in a line of battle on the right wing of the infantry to keep off flakers. The infantry are skirmishing and cannonading very heavy. There is a big fight expected here today. We are 12 miles west of Marietta, Georgia. There was a very heavy fight here day before yesterday and heavy skirmishing yesterday. Our men whipped the Yankeys very bad and took about 300 prisoners.

Our brigade went on a raid last Tuesday in rear of the Yankeys and we captured their wagon train of over a hundred wagons and 20 days rations for one whole division of their army and about 200 prisoners and several negroes and 700 mules and 10 ambulances and a car and two many things to mention. Our regiment received but little of the benefit of it for we were sent ten miles further in the rear to capture a train of cares but we never got to the railroad in time. It had passed before we got there. We passed close by Uncle Travis Cotton’s but I could not stop to see him.

I was with the 1st Georgia Regiment day before yesterday. All of our connection was well. They told me that Mike [Hindsman] was married to one Miss Tuett. I never heard her name. You may have heard of it before now. Dock is an Assistant Surgeon in a hospital at Newnan. They are both out of this war, I would like very much to see your big boy you write so much about.

Mariah I am sorry to say to you that I am not well for I am afraid you will be uneasy about me but you need not. I am able to go with the company but not able to do much. I have been unwell for two weeks and have eat very little so my flesh is reduced right smartly and strength too but I feel better today. Our regiment is almost run down. There is lots of our horses run down and gone to the convalescent camp and the men are all nearly wore out. If I could get a few days rest, I think I would be all right but the other day when we made that raid, we started one night about midnight and rode all that day and night till three o’clock the next morning and there was one of the hardest rains I ever saw and it was so dark I could not see my hand before me—only when it would lighten some. We have to travel some nearly every night.

Our regiment has distinguished herself in this fight. General Wheeler says she is the best fighting regiment in his corps. We hant had nary man killed yet but several wounded but all slightly but John Brady who was wounded in the back. There has been several killed out of our regiment. Nothing more at present. I remain your fond, affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Direct your next letter to Marietta, Georgia, and I will get it. It will be apt to follow us up.

Letter 114

[The following letter was written by Nancy (Hindsman) Trammell, the sister of Maria (Hindsman) Cotton, and the wife of John Trammell of the 1st Georgia Infantry.]

Coweta, Georgia
May 29, 1864

Dear Sister [Mariah],

I now seat myself to write you a few lines. I received your letter last week. I was glad to hear from you. This leaves us well. I have nothing interesting to write at this time. There is a great excitement here about the Yankeys. There was a false alarm given here last week that they would be at Newnan Thursday by twelve. The people was very excited here.

Sister you said that you want to know where Bud and Mike was. Mike is at Aunt Kizy’s. He is married. He was married the 17th of April to Emeline Truit. Bud [Dr. A. C. L. Hindsman] is at Andersonville [Prison]. He is a doctor in the hospital. Liz started there last Saturday was a week ago. I don’t know when she will come back. She went to carry some clothes to him. Sister, I have not got nary letter from John since the fight. He was there at the fight but he was not hurt. The last I heard from him there was one of his company killed and one got his leg shot off. I don’t reckon that you would know them if I would name them. Peter Hindsman and Jake is in John’s Company. Ben is at home. All of the connection is well except Aunt Sally and Uncle Israel. They have the measles.

I must come to a close. Write to me soon. Nothing more. I remain your true sister, — Nan Trammell

Letter 115

[West of Marietta,] Georgia
June 1, 1864

Most dear beloved wife,

I once more take my pen in hand to try to write you a few lines to let you know where I am and what I am doing and that I am about well and hope these few lines may find you all well and doing well. I have not received nary letter from you since I wrote. I want to hear from you very bad. I want to see you. You don’t know how bad. It ain’t no use to try to tell anything about it but there ain’t no chance to come home now. Our cavalry is doing more now than they have since the war began.

Wheeler’s Cavalry is on the right wing of our army and they are lying in line of battle like infantry. We have built splendid breastworks and are ready for an attack. We keep our horses about one mile in the rear and 1 man to every 4 horses to attend to them and the rest at the breastworks and on the skirmish line. The skirmishers fight day and night but they are so far apart, there ain’t but very little damage done. I wrote to you once since we have been here. I wrote that we were looking for a heavy fight. There was a right smart fight that evening. [See Battle of Pickett’s Mill] Our brigade was in it but they did not fight long till the infantry come in and relieved them. Our Major got his arm shot off at his shoulder and another private shot through the wrist and several slightly wounded but nary one killed nor nary one of our company wounded. We have had 8 of our company wounded since this fight commenced but nary one killed. But there has been several of the regiment killed. Me nor Asa hant been touched. Asa is well. He has been into the fight all the time.

My horse has got well and is doing well. His wound did not hurt him as bad as I thought it would. The ball went in at the bulge of his ribs and come out near his sheath and cut the skin on his thigh. They were shooting mighty close at me. There has been several right hard fights here since we have been here and our men have whipped them in every instance and their loss has been very heavy. Our brigade was in it too. Our loss was 50 killed and our men buried 650 Yankeys besides what they carried off. Our men whipped them and took the battlefield. We have not had no general engagements yet but we are looking for it everyday but a heap thinks the Yankeys won’t come on us.

Mariah, don’t be uneasy about me for if I get killed, it won’t do no good to be uneasy but I hope I will have your prayers. I think if they don’t [attack us] in a few days that Johnston will go on them. They have been trying to flank us on the right but they have failed so far. I think if they will come up and fight us, that we will whip them badly. This is enough about the fight.

I would like to be at home to see how you are all coming on and how Manuel is getting on with his crop. I wish Vardeman would fix up my still if there is fruit enough to still. If you get the chance, send Vardeman word to come and fix it up. Par wants to fix it up and still on it. Let him have it for half [of what] he makes and you may let Manuel help him when he has time. you must name the baby and send me its name. Nothing more at present—only I remain your true, devoted husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 116

Georgia Camp 5 miles north of Marietta
June 9, 1864

Dear beloved wife,

I again take my pen in hand to try to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well and hope that you are enjoying the same blessing. I want to hear from you very bad. I hant got nary letter from you since the 17th of last month. We get but very little mail. There is but very few letters comes to our company. I am afraid you don’t get mine for I know you want to hear what we are doing up here.

The big fight hant come off yet. The Yankeys are trying to flank us yet on the right but I think they have gone about as far as they can go. Our brigade is picketing on the left. There is but very few Yankeys where we are picketing. We hant done any fighting now in six days and there has not been but little fighting on the lines. The Yankeys charged our men night before last at Big Shanty and we killed and captured fifteen hundred of them. That is about the way they get done every time they attack us. I think if they would come up and fight us a fair fight, that we would give them the worst whipping they ever got.

It is reported by deserters and citizens coming into our lines that they are suffering very much for the want of rations ad that their horses and mules are starving for want of forage. From all accounts, their army is in a very bad condition. Our army is in good spirits and are getting a plenty to eat. Our horse rations are short. We don’t get but half rations of corn but we get grain wheat to feed on. Our horses have stood up very well considering what they have had to do.

I want to see the baby very bad and all the rest of you. Nothing more at present. I remain yours as ever, — John W. Cotton

Letter 117

Camp near Marietta [Georgia]
June 17th 1864

Dear beloved wife,

I take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to try to let you know that I am well and hope these few lines may find you enjoying the same blessing. I got a letter from you sent by Dave Martin. You said you did not get my letters. I was sorry to hear that for I know that you want to hear from me while this fight is going on here.

I hant been hurt yet. We had another fight day before yesterday, We got our orderly sergeant killed. He was all that got hurt out of our company. There was two killed and one wounded in our regiment. We made the Yanks get back. They are fighting everyday somewhere on the line but there hant been no regular fight yet but we are looking for it every day. We have had a heap of rain and the roads have been very muddy but they are getting better. The Yanks quit trying to flank us. I think they have got where they will have to fight or back out. I think if they come on to our men in their breastworks, I think that they will get a good whipping. But I don’t think that General Johnston will go on them.

I hant got but little to write to you. I hant got nary letter from you by mail since the 17th of May. I know that it ain’t because you don’t start them. I want to see you very bad and I want to see that big boy and see how he looks. I hant got no name for him yet. I want you to name him and send me his name. I hope you will get these lines in due time and I hope they may find you well and doing well.

Nothing more at present. I remain your true, devoted friend till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 118

Georgia camp 4 miles west of Marietta
June 22, 1864

Most dear beloved wife,

I once more take my pen in hand to try to let you hear from me and to answer your kind letter of June 10th. I was glad to hear the children was all well but sorry to hear you were pestered so bad with the spring nettles but it may keep you from being sick otherwise. I begin to want to see that big boy of yours that you brag on so much and I am anxious to see all of the rest of you. I trying to swap my horse for a 15 day’s detail to come home but my officers wouldn’t let me do it. There is five of my company gone home now on details and there is one [paper torn] William Lessley but he is gone to the hospital. He was very unwell. He had the shingles very bad. He had a bad cold that ailed him.

We have had the most rain here that ever I saw. It is almost impossible to ride the roads in places. I think that is keeping off a general fight here but there is fighting here every day and some days very heavy. Our regiment hant been in a fight since [Orderly Sergt. William] Selevan [Sullivan?] Johnson was killed [on 15 June 1864 near Marietta]. I wrote to you about our sergeant getting killed—he was the man.

Our brigade was in a fight day before yesterday but our regiment was sent around on the left to stop a raid of Yankeys but they went back and we are here yet on the left of our army. We have been on the right all the time. No more about the fight.

These lines leave me well. You said you knew that we lived hard in this fight but you are mistaken. If you could see the pork that we eat yesterday and this morning you would not think so. We get bread baked and brought to us and we have drawed half pound of bacon every day. I can’t let Old Man Hollingshead have that iron. I never got Lizzie’s letter in yours. I hope you will make a good crop of wheat, Don’t be uneasy about me, I will do the best I can. I hope your prayers may be answered.

Nothing more at present. I remain yours, — John W. Cotton

Letter 119

Union Maj. Gen. William T. Sherman watches as Union troops advance at Kennesaw Mountain. The Union generals tried different tactics, such as sending their troops forward in dense columns rather than long lines, but they still were unable to punch through the enemy line.

[Editor’s Note: Cotton wrote the following letter on the day of Sherman’s attack on Kennesaw Mountain. The attack began at 8 a.m. when more than 50 cannons opened on the entrenched Confederates which was followed by Maj. Gen. John Logan’s frontal attack on the slopes of the mountain. The Confederate defenses proved impregnable, however, and by 10 a.m. the attack became disorganized and the attackers fell back. The fighting was over by noon.]

Marietta, Georgia
June 27th 1864

My most dear beloved wife,

I take my pen in hand to try to write you a few lines in answer to your kind letter I received from you last night dated June 16th. I was very glad to get it and to hear that you were all well and all of the connection. These lines leave me well and hoping they may find you the same.

I am out in the country 3 miles from camp having some clothes washed at 50 cents a garment and it’s only half done at that. You said you wanted to see me very bad. I would be glad you could. I want to come home very bad but there ain’t no chance now till this fight is over. You wrote to me some time ago that Old Porter Vardeman and somebody else had been talking about me. I want you to write to me what they said and what it was. You said you wanted to know if I wanted my still fixed up any. I do if you can get it done. If I can get it fixed up, I would rent it out if I could. If there ain’t fruit enough to still, maybe somebody might wanmt to make some whiskey. Have them stands made up if you can get it done. I would like to know how my mule is coming on at old man Lessley’s. I want him to get fat by the time I need him. My horse looks very well yet and so does Asa’s.

The boys are all well this morning. Porter is gone to the hospital. I hant heard from him since he left. There is a detail here for him to go home after a horse. If he gets a furlough from the hospital, tell him I want to buy it and for him to write to me what he will take for it. I saw Coker the other day. He said they were all well, You said there was a heap of talk of peace. I had not heard anything of it up here nor seen anything of it in the papers. I don’t want to kill your hopes for peace but I don’t see no chance for peace till we whip the Yankees out here and at Richmond.

We were on the left of our enemy when I wrote to you before but we have come back to our brigade. General [W. W.] Allen has quit us. Colonel [J. Patton] Anderson is in command of our brigade. We hant had no fighting to do since I wrote before unless there has been some done today. A courier come to Colonel Anderson’s headquarters just before I started out here and said the enemy were advancing. There has been heavy cannonading all along the lines today. It is the heaviest that has been since the fight commenced but I don’t know what has been done. I think it has been mostly artillery dueling. I heard an old citizen say that he heard in Marietta that General Johnston was a going to give them a general fight this evening but there ain’t near as much cannonading now as there has been all day. It has nearly all ceased but it may break loose in one moment worse than ever. It is now about 4 o’clock. I will start back to camp as soon as I get my letter done. My pass is out at seven o’clock. The Yanks are still trying to flank to the left. I think we will whip them right here if they don’t flank us out of our position. Ours is a splendid position here. We have the top of Kennesaw Mountain covered with artillery. You ought to see it turned loose at the Yankeys.

Nothing more. I remain your true, devoted husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 120

Camp near Chattahoochie River
July 4th 1864

Mariah, dear wife,

I again take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to try to let you know that I am well and still living and I still hope these few lines may reach you in due time and find you all enjoying the same good blessing.

Mariah, I would like to see you to tell you something about how we are getting along with the Yankeys for I know I can’t give you much satisfaction about it by writing. They have flanked us out of Marietta at last. They would not fight us at Kennesaw Mountain and kept flanking to the left so we had to fall back between there and the [Chattahoochie] river and some think that we will fall back across the river before we can make a successful stand [once and] for all. We keep falling back. We have had a heap of little fights with them and have killed a wounded a heap of [them] while our loss has been comparatively small. From their own accounts, we have killed and wounded betwixt 50 and 75 thousand of their men since we left Tunnel Hill.

There is a right smart bombing a going on now on our left. Yesterday as we fell back, our brigade got into a terrible shelling and several of our brigade got killed and wounded but none of our company got hurt. All of the neighbor boys are all well. I hant heard from Porter since he went to the hospital.

I have got two bunches of thread I wish you had. They were going to burn up some in Marietta to keep the Yankeys from getting it and the soldiers took it. Nothing more. We are ordered to saddle up and I can’t write anymore now. May God bless you and protect you all, — John W. Cotton

Letter 121

Coosa County, Alabama
July 12, 1864

My most dear husband,

I seat myself to try to write you a few lines in answer to your kind letters I received from you last Wednesday. I was glad to hear from you and to hear you was well but I am sorry to think I can’t have your clothes to wash myself. You must excuse me for not answering you sooner. I would have wrote Friday but I was at Mrs. Duke’s frolic. She has a boy this time. It hant more than half as big as mine was. That is the reason I did not write Friday. We can’t send off letters only Friday and Tuesday. I don’t know what to write to you but I thought I would write to let you hear from home and let you know that we was all well at this time and hope these few lines may come to hand in due time and find you well and doing well.

It was old man Willingham’s own negro that killed him. ¹ It was old Bill. They burnt him last Friday. I saw three deserters last Thursday. Wes Finch and John Bailey and old man Hall had them and [were] taking them to Rockford. One of them was Amos Banks. The others was Kelleys. I did not know them. I only heard their names but I knowed Banks. I thought of my soap he got and never paid for.
Your letters was dated the 22nd and 27th [of June]. You said you wanted to know how your mule cae on at old man Lesslie’s. I can’t tell you. I hant seen him in some time. The last time I seen him he looked very bad. I will soon see him. I am a going to send for him to haul my wheat. Manuel is done plowing. He has got a little hauling to do but I will have my wheat hauled first.

You said for me to have your still fixed up. Weaver, I don’t know how to get it done. If I can’t get Mr. [ ] to fix it, I don’t know how I will get it done. As for Vardeman, I don’t know where he is now [and] I don’t care. The last I heard of him the cavalry was after him. I hope they have got him before now. You said you want me to write you what he said about you. I can’t tell you. He has talked about you in John Bailey’s presence and Doctor Baker’s presence too. Bakers told it at Mrs. Hollinghead’s that Vardeman was talking about you [but] he did not tell what he said. I will go to see the baby some of these days to hear what he did say. Don’t say anything about it. Let it all pass by. Maybe the day will soon come when you can come home to see and know how things is. You said for me to have them stands made. I don’t know how I will get it done. I will try Robson. If I can’t get to see him. I hant heard anything of him in some time. Maybe he will be at Mount Olive meeting. I will try to get your still fixed if I can and I will have the stands made if I can. I will have it all done.

I wish this war would end so could come home. I want to see you the worst in this world. Nothing more till I get another piece of paper. — Mariah Cotton to her dear beloved husband.

¹ The only Willingham family I could find in the census records of Mount Olive, Coosa county, Alabama, was headed by Isaac (“Ike”) B. Willingham (b. 1804). All of the family trees posted on Ancestry.com gave his death date as 28 June 1863 but a Last Will & Testament was files in court with his signature on it dated December 1863 and the court entered the will officially on 5 September 1864 after his death. It’s my opinion that the Mr. Willingham killed by his own slave “Bill” was 59 year-old Ike Willingham. Subsequent to reaching this conclusion I found the following article.

Trial of Negro named “Bill” for murder of Ike Willingham

Letter 122

*The Battle of Atlanta took place on Friday, July 22, 1864. The Yankee victory east of the city was followed by daily bombardment of Atlanta until it was taken on 2 September 1864.*

Atlanta, Georgia
August 1st 1864

Dear beloved wife,

I once more take my pen in hand to write you a few more lines to try to let you know that I am well and have got to my command safe, or to our wagon train. I got here day before yesterday. My brigade is gone after a Yankey raid and I can’t hear where they are. The raid they are after crossed the Chattahoochie river and burnt Palmetto and tore up the railroad the night I stayed at John Fulmer’s coming up here. Lots of the people run out of Newnan thinking they were coming there but they struck across towards Griffin and tore up the other road between Atlanta and Griffin. There is a heap of our cavalry after them and we hear they have captured a heap of them. I will start to hunt them today or tomorrow.

It took me six days to get here. I had to go to West Point to cross the river. General Armstrong had sunk all the flats afore. I came through Coweta and saw a heap of the connection. I saw old John Israel, Ben Crittendam and Sally Israel at Uncle Mike’s. I stopped there and got dinner. Uncle Mike is gone to the war and Uncle Israel is stilling. They are making a heap of brandy and selling it at $1 per gallon. I went from there to John’s and stayed all night. I went by Aunt Lizzie’s and your pap’s. The connection is all well. Your brother Mike is gone to the war too. They are taking all of the detailed men and putting them in the war. John had to report to town as I came on but I don’t know what they done with him—whether they will send him off or not. The Hindsman’s are mightily opposed to Uncle Mike’s having to go to the war.

I hant seen any of our settlement boys yet. They are all with the regiment. I sent Moses and Toney’s letters to them by one of the brigade. The rest of the letters I brought I have got yet. There is a bad chance to get them to the boys for there ain’t no post office now in Atlanta. It is moved out and there ain’t no chance, only to send them by hand.

I would like to tell you a heap about the fighting up here but I can’t tell but little about it. I hear that they had a very hard fight here last Friday [22 July 1864]—was a week ago—and General [William] Hardee whipped the Yankeys and taken four thousand prisoners [see Battle of Atlanta] and they had a fight with the cavalry and John Trammel’s company got badly cut up. Colonel Strickland is wounded but not very bad and Lige Trammel is badly wounded through the thigh and several others you don’t know and some killed and Pete Hindsman taken prisoner. Uncle John was taking on very bad about it.

My regiment hadn’t done any fighting since I left it [to go on furlough] unless they have fought [in] that raid they went after. There was a very heavy fight here last Friday. I was in hearing [distance] of it but don’t know the result but I heard that the Yankeys charged the militia and the militia gave them a good whipping. They got the railroad to Macon done yesterday where the Yankeys tore it up and sent off a load of wounded soldiers.

I swapped off my mare before I got up here and got one of the finest kind of mules for her. It has been raining a right smart since I left home and I am in hopes you have had rain since I left. Nothing more at present. I remain your true, devoted husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 123

Georgia camp, three miles from the Social Circle
on the Augusta Railroad and fifty from Atlanta
August 10, 1864

Most dear, beloved wife,

I again take my pen in hand to try to write you a few lines to try to let you know that I am well and doing very well. I hant any news to write to you. I reckon Asa has wrote all about the raid that they were after when I got here. We are fighting now to make a raid in rear of the Yankeys. It is thought that we will start tomorrow. I don’t reckon you will hear from me anymore till we come back. If I ever come back, I will write again. I hope we will be able to pay them back for all the raids they have made on us. If we can be successful in getting in their rear and cut off their supplies, it may be the means of making them fall back from Atlanta. There has been two very hard fights here at Atlanta since I left home and reports say our men whipped them badly. We still hold Atlanta and I hope we will be able to still hold it.

Mariah, I hant seen Asa since I got here. The rest of hte boys says he stopped at his Pars but he may be at home for what I know. He has been gone over a week. I got a letter for him that Nan sent by O’Neal and read it. I was glad to hear you were all well. It had a letter in it for Tony. I mailed that to him. Asa captured two Yankey horse’s saddles and bridles.

I hope these few lines may reach you in due time and find you well and doing well. It is uncertain whether you get this letter or not but you may get it after awhile. Nothing more at present. I remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 124

East Tennessee Camp
4 Miles from Jonesboro
100 miles northeast of Knoxville
September 24, 1864

My dear beloved wife,

It is with uncertainty that I write you a few lines. You may get them and you may not but I hope you will. These lines leave me well. This is the 45th day we have been on this raid and I have been well all the time. Don’t be uneasy about me. We hant had but little fighting to do but I have been in it all and hant been hurt yet. I think we are out of danger now [that] we are inside of our own lines. We have had three men captured on this trip—[Oliver] Burton Shaw and William [H.] Deason and a man by the name of Bruce and one wounded. Porter and Brown is well and all of the company is well.

How came us here? We got behind General Wheeler and got cut off from him. There is two brigade of us and a part of another. Our men were very uneasy while we were in[side] the Yankey lines for fear we would be captured but we got out safe. We whipped the Yankeys wherever we came in contact with them. We have tore up a great deal of railroad on our route but I am afraid it hant done much good. We hear that the Yankeys has got Atlanta but I hear that our men has taken it back. It ain’t worth while to say how bad I want to see you. I hant heard a word from you since I left home and this is the third letter I have wrote to you. If I could see you, I could tell you a heap. I wil write more as soon as I get the chance.

Nothing more. I remain your true lover till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 125

Camp near Thomaston, Georgia
November 24, 1864
Dear beloved wife,

I now take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well and all the rest of the boys. We are ordered to Macon, Georgia, what forces are not with Hood in Tennessee are all reporting at Macon. I reckon you will hear before you get this that the Yankeys have burnt Atlanta and all left there. They are not far from Macon somewhere but I can’t tell you where. It is though they are trying to go to Charleston or Savannah.

Mariah, I thought I would get to go by your Pap’s but I never got the chance, The nearest I got to there was at Greenville. It will take us two more days to go to Macon. I hant anything to write at present. I will write again in a few days if I have the chance. I hope these few lines may find you all well.

Direct your letters to Macon, Georgia. Nothing more but remain your best friend till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 126

Camp Macon, Georgia
November 26, 1864

Most dear beloved wife,

I again take my pen in hand to try to let you know that I am well and all of our boys are too. We have got to Macon but the Yankeys are gone. They come near enough to throw shells in Macon but the malish [militia] kept them off. They only sent their cavalry here while their infantry passed on. They are at Milledgeville or have been for several days. Old Sherman’s headquarters has been at Milledgeville. It is thought they are making for Savannah. They are followed closely by Wheeler’s Cavalry. We will go on after them as soon as we can get arms and equipment.

There is talk of our drawing money but that is uncertain. The man I sold my horse to told me this morning that he was ready to take up his note. I have got my saddlebags and all of my clothes but my pants. Some damned thief took them out of my saddlebags. If I catch him with them on, I will raise him out of his boots one time. I hant got anything worth writing more at present—only I remain your true, devoted husband till death. — John W. Cotton

Direct your letter to John W. Cotton, Co. C, 10th Confederate Regt., Macon, Georgia. They say we will draw clothes today and I will try to draw some pants. Asa says tell his folks he is all setting. We have had some very cold weather. I wanted to come by your Pap’s but I never got the chance. Nothing more. Dave Martin sold his stolen horse to Porter and gone back home and Sam has took it and swapped it off and got a horse that ain’t no account so he is about afoot again. His old horse give out and he got 15 days detail to go home to get another and Dave has swindled him out of it. Nothing more. I will write again when I get the chance.

Letter 127

Camp on Canoochee River 22 miles west of Savannah
December 6th 1864

Dear beloved wife,

I again take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well and not far from Savannah and the Yankeys a following us up. We hant got to Wheeler yet. We have got about 350 men with us. We have just got out of a fix. We have just crossed a little river and are just waiting for the Yankeys to come to burn the bridge to keep them from crossing. We come across some of their mounted infantry and got into a little fight with them and we got them stampeded and we run them about 7 miles and took 31 prisoners and several mules and horses and two negroes and lots of commissaries they had gathered up that day in the neighborhood. They were out a foraging for their army. We fooled along [ ] they had like to get us hemmed between [ ] a river. We had but one place to cross so we started this morning before day and we have got out of their way now if they don’t get us hemmed in again.

We are not far from Wheeler but we will have to go about sixty miles to get to him. Itis thought by a heap that the Yankeys are not going to Savannah but leave it to those left and strike the coast a ways below Savannah. They are now in the poorest country I ever saw. The Yankeys are destroying everything before them in the way of provisions and burning houses and ravishing women. The citizens are fleeing from them like chaff before the wind. If I could see you, I could tell you a heap about how they are treating citizens and a heap other things too tedious to mention. I would like to hear from you all and hear how you are getting along and whether your hogs has took the cholera or not.

Nothing more at present. I hope these few lines may find you all well and doing well. — John W. Cotton

Direct your letters to Savannah, Georgia. You ought to have seen them Yankeys run till they got to their main army and they they got behind their breastworks and we let them alone and got away with our prisoners.

Letter 128

Savannah, Georgia
December 15, 1864

Most dear beloved wife,

I again take my pen in hand to try to let you know where I am and to let you know that I am well and hope these few lines may find you all well and doing well. We are inside of hte breastworks at Savannah. The railroads are all cut between here and home so we can’t send letters out by mail. There is a negro going to start to Montgomery tomorrow so we will send our letters out by him. He is going out horseback and he will mail them on the way.

We are looking for a fight here every day. There is a right smart skirmishing going on the lines all the time and sometimes very heavy cannonading, They shell our lines but do but little damage. One of our company got slightly wounded in the head today on the skirmish line. His name is Smith. Our boys are all well but Porter. He has been complaining of the toothache for several days.

There has come an order here today from General Hardee for our horses to be sent across Savannah river till thefight is over and send one man to every three horses. We are camped 8 miles from town but we stayed in town one night and I saw the city. It is a fine town.

I would like to hear from you. I hant heard from you since I left home. I would like to be at home. I want to come home very bad. I hope it won’t be long before we can come home and stay there, what is left of us. The boys don’t like the idea of being dismounted and I dislike it very much myself. We have not got with Wheeler yet. They say that he is just on the other side of Savannah river but they won’t let us go to them. We have been here 7 days. There is not many places that the Yankeys can come into Savannah with a force. It is surrounded with some little rivers and big marshes on each side so it is impossible for them to cross. They say we have fourteen thousand troops here. It is thought that we will have to give up by a great many but there is the greatest natural defenses I ever saw. They have taken one of our forts on the coast—Fort McAllister.

Everything is unusually still this evening. I would like to hear what General Hood is doing. I don’t get any news at all. I am afraid it will be a long time before I hear from you and I am afraid you won’t get this letter. This is the third time I have wrote since I left home. I wrote sooner but I saw no chance to send a letter off.

Nothing more at present—only I remain your true, devoted husband and friend till death. — John W. Cotton

Letter 129

Camp [six miles from Savannah, in South Carolina]
December 23, 1864

Dear beloved wife,

I take my pen in hand to try to let you know that I am well and hope these few lines may find you all well and doing well. Savannah is evacuated and we have all got out safe. We are now in South Carolina about six miles from Savannah. Our company is all dismounted but three—me, Billy Brown, and Sentel. Our horses are ordered back to the men. They will be here today or tomorrow. There was some Yankeys on this side of the river but they have all gone back on the other side of the river. The boys are all well.

I hant got anything to write. I hant heard from home since I left home. I don’t know whether you will get this letter or not. Nothing more at present. I remain your true, devoted husband till death. — John P. Cotton

Direct your letters to Charleston, South Carolina

Letter 130

Camp east of Savannah
December 25th 1864

Most dear beloved wife,

I once more take my pen in hand to try to write you a few lines to try to let you know that I am well and hope these few lines may find you all well and doing well. All of the boys are well so far as I know. Asa and Porter is gone off with our horses. I hant seen them in several days.

I reckon you have heard before now that our company was dismounted in Savannah and our horses sent out. I have wrote to you about it before. I told Asa to write and I then he has done it and he had a better chance to send off letters than I have had. He has been 30 or 35 miles above here where he had a better chance to send off letters than I have had.We have looked for the Yankeys to come yesterday but they have not come yet. We have evacuated Savannah and are now on the east side of Savannah river and the Yankeys are all on the west side of the river. All of our cavalry are leaving here but our brigade. They say they are ordered to Tennessee and I don’t think that we will be here very long.

I hant heard from home since I left. You don’t know how bad I want to hear from you all but I had rather see you all than to hear from you. But there is no chance to see you. I am very anxious to have this cruel and unholy war ended so that I can come home and all the rest of the boys to live in peace with mankind. I think if I was out of this war, I would be the happiest man in America. Almost everybody thinks the war will end soon but for my part, I can’t see no chance for it to end unless we go back into the Union and free the negroes.

The Yankeys hant hurt anything in Savannah or reports say. They say there is a heap of the Georgia State [guards] that stayed in Savannah when we crossed the river and are now staying with the [ ] this Christmas day but we haven’t got anything to drink. It is very dull here and [ ] it is with you to drink [ ] eggnog for me as I cant get any here. I would like to be at home and help you eat sausage and pick spareribs and backbones. If you had good luck with your hogs, I would like to hear whether the cholera got among your hogs or not and how things are in general. My mule is doing very well. I am writing but I don’t know whether you will get this letter or not. I have wrote [ ] times since I left home.

No more at present. — John W. Cotton

Letter 131

South Carolina Camp near Savannah
December 31, 1864

Dear beloved wife,

I take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to let you know that I am still well and hope these few lines may find you all enjoying the same good blessing. I hant got but little to write to you. I wrote you a letter on Christmas Day and I wrote all the news that I had.

We are still picketing on Savannah River in sight of Savannah. There has been no move here by the enemy since they got Savannah. I heard today that Wheeler’s Cavalry was ordered to Tennessee. There is some of Company A of our regiment going to start home tomorrow on furlough. They have lost their horses since we left home. I will send this by them. I have wrote several letters since I left home but I don’t know whether you have got any of them or not. I hant heard from home since I left home. I want to hear from home very bad.

They are fixing the payrolls to draw money. We will daw 8 months wages. I got pay for my horse at Macon. There has been some picket fighting today across the river but no hurt done on our side—only two horses killed. I don’t think we will stay here much longer. If we don’t go to Tennessee we will fall back out of this flat country. It is very flat and marshy. There ain’t anything raised here hardly but rice. Our cavalry is very much out of heart.

I can’t think of anything more to write at present. I remain your true, devoted husband till death. — John W. Cotton

Letter 132

Camp [30 miles east of Savannah]
January 9th 1865

Most dear, beloved wife,

I once more take my pen in hand to try to write you a few lines to try to let you know that I am well and hoping these few lines may find you all the same. I hant got anything to write to you—only to try to let you know that I am well. There ain’t anything new transpired since I wrote before. I hant got nary letter from you yet. You don’t know how bad I want to hear from home. I would give anything to be at home and see you all and know how you are getting along. I have wrote several letters to you since I left home and I don’t know whether you have got them or not. We have not got any mail here since I left home—only a few letters wrote about the 15th of December.

We are now about 30 miles from Savannah on the Augusta road. The Yankeys advanced on us and we fell back and blockaded the road behind us. They are not making any move now that I know of. I hear today that we are a going to move up the country tomorrow to recruit our horses. We will move towards Augusta, I think. We will leave if the Yankeys don’t make no move before we get off.

I will start this by one of our regiment that is going home. Dave Martin hant got here yet. He is dropped from the rolls. They have just made out the payrolls to draw money and they have dropped all from the rolls that have been absent 7 days without leave. There is several dropped from the rolls. Bill Adkins is dropped too. Nothing more at present—only I remain your true affectionate friend till death. — John W. Cotton

Letter 133

South Carolina, Camp near Lawtonville
January 20, 1865

Most dear, beloved wife,

I again take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to try to let you know that I am well and doing well. All is quiet at the front now. I have not heard any cannonading for several days. The Yankeys have got Pocataligo that is on the railroad about halfway from Savannah and Charleston.

We have moved twice since I wrote to you before. We are now 75 miles from Augusta. We are getting a plenty to eat ourselves and our horses. We are not doing anything but recruiting our horses. My mule is fatter than he was when I left home. We have five roll calls a day and 1 drill and dress parade. We have not drawn our money yet but I have plenty. I would like to send you some for I am afraid you hant got money enough to pay your war tax but this ain’t what bothers me the most. I hant heard from you since I left home but I hope you have heard from me [even] if I can’t from you. You don’t know how bad I want to hear from home. Asa got a letter from home the other day but Nan never said anything about you but I reckon you were all well or she would have said. Mr Brown has got two letters from home and I don’t see why I don’t get none from you. I know you must write. I would have wrote sooner this time but I thought I might get a letter from you. I will start this by hand as there is no regular mail from here.

I hant any news to write for we don’t hear but little here. We hear that General Hood is whipped out of Tennessee and is in Mississippi and we hear that a part of Lee’s army is at Branchville, South Carolina. Itr looks like the Yankeys has got the upper hand of us. I would like to hear of some terms of peace before they run clear over us. I think they will take Charleston without a fight. Our soldiers are very much disheartened and the most of them say we’re whipped.

It is said that Georgia is golding conventions to know whether to go back in the Union or not. If she goes back, it will look like the rest will have to go back too. I hate the thought of going back but if we have to do it, the sooner the better. I have suffered too much in this war to ever go back in the Union willingly. I would give a heap to see you and see you all well and one frolic with them. There is nothing in this world that can gratify my feelings like being with a kind and affectionate wife. I don’t think that if I were at home to stay clear of this war, I would ever want to leave again. Nothing more at present—only I remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 134

[Camp near Lawtonville, S. C.]
January 23, 1865

Dear wife,

I will write you a few more lines. My letter is not gone yet. The man I gave this letter [to] did not start when he promised to so I will send it by another man that says he’ll start tomorrow morning. These few lines leave us all well. I am well and all of our boys. There is nothing new happened since I wrote. We have had a heap of rain and our camps are very muddy. It has been raining 4 days and the place where we camped is so flat the water don’t runoff. This is a very flat, marshy country anyhow but not as bad as it is down about Savannah. The roads are very sandy. They don’t get muddy here like they do inn Tennessee. The people here are generally rich and they are all refugeeing. It looks now like it would clear off.

Mr. Brown is writing and Asa will send a few lines with me. I hant got but little to write but I think if I would get a letter from you to answer, I could write a heap more. Maybe you don’t know how to direct your letters right. Direct the next to John W. Cotton, Augusta, Georgia, Anderson’s Brigade, 10th Confederate Regiment, Co. C. I have looked for a letter till I have nearly give it out. It looks like I won’t get nary other letter at all but if I can’t get yours, I hope you will get mine and I hope they may find you all well and doing well.

Dave Martin hant got here yet. I wrote to you that he was dropped from the roll but he is not. The Lieutenant had orders to do it but he never done it. We hant drawn money yet. I would love to know whether old man Brown has got his corn yet or not and how old Manuel is getting on with his farm and how your fattening hogs turned out and how you all are getting along. Nothing more. I hope to get a letter from you soon. — John W. Cotton

Letter 135

Camp South Carolina [Lawtonville]
January 27, 1865

Most dear beloved and highly esteemed wife,

I once more take my pen in hand to write you a few more lines to let you know that I am well and in hopes these few lines may find you all enjoyingthe same blessing and I want to let you know that I hant heard from you yet. I want to hear from you very bad. I don’t see much satisfaction now nor won’t until I hear from home although I am doing very well. You all might get sick and die and me not hear anything about it.

I hant got anything hardly to write. We hear that there is some proposals now for peace but I fear that Old Jeff Davis won’t come to them. It don’t look to me like there is any use of fighting any longer. I think they had better make peace now than to wait till we are subjugated. It looks like we can’t whip no where. They whip us at every point. Here is Sherman’s whole army and nobody to fight them—only a few cavalry ad a few militia, and it takes the cavalry all the time to watch th movements of the army.

The boys is all well. I will send this by one of my regiment. There is several of the regiment got detailed to go home after horses. I can’t write but little but I think if I could get a letter from you, I think I could write a heap more. I would love to see and know how you all are getting on and I would love to know what the people thinks about the war. We hear that Tennessee has gone back into the Union and Georgia is trying to go back too.

Mariah, when Manuel gets done hauling you might let some good hand have one of your mules to work for his feed. There is a captured negro here that I would buy if I could send him home but I don’t see no chance. Nothing more. Only I remain your affectionate husband and friend till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 136

South Carolina Camp near Lawtonville
February 1, 1865

Dear Wife,

I again take my pen in hand to write you a few more lines to try to let you know that I am well and all of our boys. Asa and Billy Brown is both writing. We will send these letters by one of the regiment. I hope these few lines may find you all well and enjoying yourselves as well as posssible. I hant got but little to write to you. There is a right smart of the regiment getting furloughs but I don’t see any chance for me to get nary one. I don’t know what to write without I could get a letter from you. I hant got nary one yet. There was four come to our company last night but nary one from our settlement.

Home sweet home—how I long to hear from home, but had rather be at home. We have moved camp since I wrote before.

The Yankeys are advancing their scouts and were [with]in 7 or 8 miles of here last night. We are falling back as they advance towards Augusta. I don’t know where we will take a stand to fight them. We may take a stand soon and we may not take a stand this side of Augusta. I hear that General Wheeler said we would have an armistice in less than ten days but I don’t know whether he said it or not. We hear a heap about peace but we don’t know whether to believe it or not, but I would be glad if it was true. Nothing would do me more good than anything else for them to make peace for I want to come home very bad for I don’t want to spend all of the best [years] of my life here in this cruel and unholy war. But I hope to outlive it so I can once more enjoy freedom again.

I don’t know what else to write now. I must stop writing for the man that is going home is hollering for the letters. Nothing more. Your affectionate husband till death. — John W. Cotton

Additional Letters & Envelopes in the Cotton Collection

Gold Mining in California

1860: Egbert Jacob Bloomer to David Rose

June 14, 2022 Griff Leave a comment

This letter was written by “E. J. Bloomer” (b. @1825) who seems to have been running a sawmill operation in California near the Liberty Hill Gold Diggings “that were located on a ridge between Steephollow Creek and the Bear River, about 10 miles east of Nevada City and about 2 miles north of Alta, as the crow flies. It was part of Little York Township and within what was generally called the Lowell Hill mining district, a rich channel of gold bearing ore that ran around Remington Hill to the north down to the Bear River and then crossed over towards Dutch Flat and Alta.” [Nevada County Historical Landmarks Commission]

*How E. J. Bloomer might have looked* *(Crocker Art Museum)*

Placer mining for gold required a good supply of water and laborers were required to dig ditches or to saw wood into lumber for making flumes—particularly to carry water to gravelly “dry diggings.” To make sure there would always be a constant supply of water to feed the trenches and flumes, a reservoir was built at Liberty Hill and it appears that Robert Gardner, a “water agent” from Illinois, was at least partially responsible for its construction.

The 1860 US Census for Red Dog Post Office, Little York township, Nevada county, California, enumerates 35 year-old Jacob Bloomer (a laborer from NYS) residing with 24 year-old laborer Peter Rose (also a laborer from NYS) in the household of 30 year-old R. Newton (a “water agent” from Illinois). Also in the same household were 25 year-old Alphonzo Sweet (laborer from Illinois), and 21 year-old Frank Voit [Voight] (a laborer from Illinois). Residing next door was 38 year-old Joseph Gardner (a placer miner from NYS), and 40 year-old Robert Gardner (“water agent” from NYS).

I’m inclined to be believe this letter was written by Egbert Jacob Bloomer (1823-1900), the son of Joshua Bloomer (1792-1835) and Betsy Scott (1797-1888) of Ovid, Seneca count, New York. Egbert was married in 1846 to Mary Vanpatten and they had a child named Ella Rebecca (1848-1905) when they were enumerated in Fairfield, Michigan, in 1850. He was remarried to Mary Vaughan (1839-1914) in Adrian, Michigan, in 1868 and with her he had two more children born in the 1870s. In the 1870 US Census, the couple were enumerated in Fairfield, Michigan, and 23 year-old Ellie (his daughter by first marriage) was living with them.

Egbert’s ancestry record is substantially complete with the exception of the 1860 Census record which is absent. My hunch is that he went to California under the name “Jacob Bloomer.” In November 1862, a letter awaited “E. J. Bloomer” at the post office in Sacramento.

The 1870 US Census for Little York, Nevada county, Ca., enumerates 40 year-old David Rose from New York State as the head of household with two others—50 year-old Oscar Berg from Finland, and 32 year-old Henry McGinn from Ireland. All three were identified as “miners.”

[This letter is from the private collection of Richard Weiner and is published on Spared & Shared by express consent.]

Transcription

*Addressed to Mr. David Rose, Charlotte Centre, Chautauqua county, New York*

August 26, 1860

Mr. D. Rose, Sir,

I received your letter today July twenty-eighth and was glad to hear from you and from my folks and about my children. I received a letter from Love some two weeks ago stating that you had been there and should been glad to have had you stayed longer. I should like to see them.

I will give you how things have went since you left the best I can think. We finished the old logs the first day of June and R. Gardner had let some men the job of cutting logs that day we went to Nevada [City]. They came from Fraser River—some connection of Moody of Liberty Hill. they cut the sugar pine up above the house. The best logs scaled sixty-seven inches and made when sawed twenty-four hundred [and] fifty feet.

Joe Muncan’s [Munson’s] boy, or child, was buried the 9th of June. The cattle got here the sixth and looked first rate. Sam Latta has got a yoke of oxen. Give two hundred [for them]. He had them picketed out on his ranch and one got his foot fast in the rope and killed him. Now he has bough that ox that Sweet claimed. John Smith of Liberty had one bone of his leg broke the 12th of June in the diggins. Liberty has used up some men this year. A[bert] Nutting has got well so he begins to work. He was a hard-looking sight. R. Gardner though most too much to do so. He had Frank Voigt to come and work. He came some two weeks after you left and he had one by the day some four or five weeks to help me and help pile the lumber.

The oak trees commenced looking green Sunday the 17th of June. They had a ball at J. Duffy’s the twentieth for his benefit and they took in some seven hundred dollars. John Whitedge and Jim Myers had some words and John shot Myers arm off—or so they have to cut it off close to the shoulder—and John left and they have not got him. Jack McConnell gave up the chase and said that he would not try anymore.

The Fourth of July they had quite a time at Dutch Flat and Pete went, and a picnic at York and Jack went to York. Robert went to York in the afternoon but I stayed and sawed all day alone. It commenced raining the night of the tenth and rained all the next day. The eleventh about eight o’clock I was sawing [when] that guging they put in last winter dropped off. I was sawing sugar pine and went without any jare. Got a new one in and started the nineteenth and plenty of water till the first of this month. Quit sawing last Thursday the 23rd. Water was turned out of the ditch on Friday and Jack came back from turning out the water and went to York that day and the next day he said he was a going home. He is to leave York today. I suppose he will go on the same boat with this.

They had a dance at Parish on Saturday, July 21st. Quite a turnout. J. Gardner went down to Sacramento the last of July and got a span of Spanish horses. They are not broke to work. He got them to draw lumber. They built a blacksmith shop across the road from the logs under that fur tree and had Old Tiger of Remington Hill here to fix the wagons. We got up August the 4th and shop tools of all kinds. He had most all out of the mill [which] was burnt slick and clean to the ground and the woods on fire and the fire going towards the mill when I got there at four o’clock, August 6th.

Donald McKenzie was killed in V[alentine] Curran’s diggins [when] the bank caved in on him. He got some sixty feet when it buried him up. It catched Tom [too] but he got out. It took some time to find him for they did not know where he was was. He was buried some four feet deep with red dirt and [7 year-old] Jimmy Dryman fell and broke one arm the same day. Jack Stuart left here the last of June for home. He sailed the thirty-first. Pete [Rose] and Jack is a team a drawing logs and they have got most all in, some fifty more to haul. Gardner has commenced his flume for Christmas Hill. I started for there with the team on Friday with nineteen hundred feet [of lumber] and got down below long ravine where that bridge was. They took off the plank and filled in with brush and dirt. I went on and over went the load and wagon on top so I came back and tried it again. Yesterday I went through but they had to fix it some.

I do not know what I shall work at now. [Robert] Gardner is a going to make the reservoir larger. Oh yes, they have got a school house just above that spring up from the reservoir and have a school. Cooper—that one is sick—teaches. I can’t think of anything more. If you can make this out, you will do well. You must write again.

Oh, Miss Ann Swift is here yet. She goes by here some two or three times a week. My best respects, — E. J. Bloomer

126th New York Infantry, Battle of Cold Harbor

1864: George Storrs Youngs to Louisa Youngs

June 13, 2022 Griff Leave a comment

I could not find an mage of George, but here’s one of Corp. Charles H. Dunning who also served in the 126th New York. Dunning was wounded in action at Gettysburg on July 2. (Charles Joyce Collection)

This letter was written by George Storrs Youngs (1843-1822), the son of James and Effie (Garner) Youngs at Waterloo, Seneca County, New York. George was one of four children; his siblings being Harriet (b. 1840), Louisa (b. 1842) and Thomas (b. 1847). George enlisted for three years at Waterloo on 15 August 1862, mustering into Co. G, 126th New York Infantry on 22 August of that same year. At the time of his enlistment, he was a 19-year-old carpenter living at home.

George was taken prisoner when the commander of Harper’s Ferry surrendered the 12,000+ troops stationed there to Stonewall Jackson’s army on September 15, 1862 during Lee’s norther invasion of Maryland. Members of the regiment were paroled and sent to Camp Douglas in Chicago where they remained until late November when they were declared exchanged.

Once returned to service, the regiment put the shame of the Harper’s Ferry surrender and subsequent imprisonment behind them at Gettysburg where they fought with distinction in Hancock’s 2nd Corps, suffering 231 casualties on the 2nd and 3rd day of the fighting. After the Bristoe Campaign and the Mine Run Campaign, the 126th New York wintered near Brandy Station. In March, 1864, of the remaining 300 men in the regiment, 100 were detailed as Headquarters and provost guard. By the time of the Battle of Cold Harbor in June 1864, George was datelining his letters, “Headquarters 2nd Corps” which informs us that he was among these 100 men.

In the following letter, begun on 2 June and ending on 6 June, George captured each day’s events as he traveled with the Headquarters of Gen. Hancock’s 2nd Corps during the Battle of Cold Harbor. During this time, the remainder of the 126th New York Infantry—some 200 men—were consolidated under the command of Brig Gen. Francis C. Barlow in three brigades (the 126th being in the 3rd Brigade).

*The Second Corps Headquarters Flag carried by Major-General Hancock in 1864*

This letter is from the personal collection of Richard Weiner and is published on Spared & Shared by express consent. To read 29 others letters by George Storrs Youngs published by Spared & Shared in December 2016, see: Jeff’s Prayers are as Effective as Abe’s.

Transcription

*Addressed to Miss Louisa Youngs, Waterloo, Seneca county, New York*

Headquarters 2nd Corps
Near Cold Harbor, Virginia
Thursday, June 2nd 1864

The rear of the Corps passed us (with the exception of the pickets who were left behind as rear guard) about one o’clock, and we immediately fell in and marched about a mile through the sand at almost double quick. The dust was so thick that it was difficult breathing. At that distance from our starting point, we found the troops massed and resting and we lay down and I, at least, slept till we moved on again at daybreak.

Near Salem Church or Haw’s Shop, I saw the first negro soldiers I have ever seen. They belonged to Burnside’s Corps and were on picket. About seven o’clock we came up with the ammunition supply and ambulance trains which were parked in a clearing at the side of the road. Here we halted again waiting for the trains to move out, and it being a very favorable opportunity, we made coffee. I boiled mine within two yards of two dead men for whom the Pioneers were then digging a grave. I presume they died in the ambulances but they may have been brought in from the front which is not far distant as we are moving in a parallel line with our line of battle and skirmishing is going on all along the line so far.

We rested here about an hour and a half. Have had some very hard marching. The roads are very dusty and the weather is hot. Considerable straggling. Arrived at Corps Headquarters about three o’clock p.m. very much fatigued. ¹ Soon after our arrival here we learned that the 148th [Pennsylvania Infantry] was lying within a mile and a half of us on our right. Our Corps is now on the extreme left and is rapidly getting into position. About six o’clock, it having been decided to establish Headquarters here, we moved into the woods and pitched our tents. I started to find the 148th as soon as we got our tent up. Got about a quarter of a mile from camp and was caught in a heavy rainstorm and took refuge in a dry goods box near 6th Corps Headquarters. Here I saw a lieutenant who informed me that he belonged to the same brigade as the 148th and that they then lay in reserve but were likely to move very soon, and as heavy skirmishing was then going on in their front, I concluded it was best to return to camp before I got wet as the sky looked threatening.

Before I got to camp a very heavy fight began on the right. We could distinctly hear the yells of our men above the roar of the musketry and cannon. I understand that it is the 5th Corps which is engaged. The 6th made a charge here last night. No great advantage was gained by it as I am told by one who was engaged in it. But of course a private cannot tell what advantage really is gained by anymore. The fighting on the right continued with unabated fury until after dark. The probability is that a great battle will be fought here tomorrow. As near as I can learn, we are about ten miles from Richmond.

Headquarters, 2nd Corps, near Cold Harbor, Va. June 3rd 1864

We were roused by the sergeant of the guard as usual at three o’clock a.m. but very few got up and breakfasted as they preferred sleeping to eating after our march of yesterday. I forgot to say yesterday that I should judge the distance we marched to be about fifteen miles—some say it is twenty. We were effectually roused, however, at daybreak by a very brisk cannonade and by Major [James M.] Bull calling for the guard. We fell in with nothing but guns and accoutrements and started for the front where a desperate fight was in progress. We went up a road directly behind a battery of ours and of which the Rebs had a perfect range. The shells whistled round us so close for awhile that I though some of us must be hit. From some misunderstanding of orders, we were advanced up this road until we found ourselves in advance of the Division Provo.

We then turned round and marched back a little way and turned to the left down a road running parallel with the line of battle. Went down this road a few rods when about half of us were deployed along the road and the rest took the shelter of some earthworks and sent out patrols. I understand that our Corps made a charge this morning with the intention of taking the Rebels by surprise but they were found ready to receive us and we only succeeded in driving in their skirmishers, capturing a part of them, and taking possession of their rifle pits.

A very heavy musketry fire was kept up for an hour and a half or two hours. It then died away in a measure and was only severe at intervals from that time till noon. The shelling, however, was almost incessant all through the forenoon and they flew over our heads with their diabolical “which one”—“which one”—-“which one” in a very uncomfortable manner. A drizzling rain which continued nearly all day added nothing to the comfort of the wounded though preferable to a hot day.

During the forenoon, Gen. Grant and staff passed us and rode out to the extreme front but he soon returned and one of the orderlies following him told me that the Johnnies got sight of him and sent a perfect shower of minie bullets after him. From the way they were singing over the road when he went back, I judged they did get sight of him. He rode along very slowly, smoking as usual.

About noon we were brought in behind the works with the rest of the Guard. With the exception of going out on a patrol occasionally, we remained there till nearly dark. We then returned to camp. We had almost an hour of uninterrupted quiet this afternoon but the sharpshooters and cannoneers cannot keep quiet long at a time. We had just got supper ready and had sat down to eat it when the rebels made an attack on our Corps but were repulsed. We of course had to dig out again and went back to the place we left an hour before. The shells did look beautiful with their trail of fire and still more so when they burst but they are a kind of fireworks not generally approved of. We did not remain here long but moved up to the right behind the battery where we first went his morning. Here we stacked arms and remained half an hour when the firing nearly ceased, and about 30 prisoners being brought in, we took charge of them and moved back to camp. Went on guard soon after we got back on Post No. 2 before Headquarters. ²

Saturday, June 4th, 1864

Skirmishing and artillery firing have been kept up all day along the entire line. It has rained nearly all day. The men are busily engaged in building forts and earthworks and everything indicates that a regular siege will be laid to their works as we are now so close to their base that flanking is almost if not entirely out of the question. It is—and in fact has been for some time past—reported that General Grant has ordered that no more assaults be made. This however is not generally credited by the men.

Was relieved from guard at six o’clock p.m. The mail came in this evening and I was very much pleased to receive a letter from you and also the Tribune and writing paper for which you will please believe me to [be] very grateful.

Soon after dark the skirmishers and two or three batteries on our left had a pretty lively time which last[ed] about half an hour. Gradually all sunk away into quiet except an occasional shot from some sharpshooter and we lay down to sleep. It was just a month ago this morning that we left camp and what a month it has been. There has been but very few days in which some portion of the Army of the Potomac has not been engaged in battle and still it goes on day after day with no prospect of a very speedy termination.

Sunday, June 5th 1864

Up at four o’clock and breakfasted. The Rebels kept up a desultory fire from their batteries all through the day. Our forces do not seem to be anxious to fight much today and only reply to them at long intervals. The skirmishers of course on both sides keep up an almost incessant whacking. Our own and the enemy’s lines are so near each other at some points that it is almost certain death for a man to raise his head above the rifle pits. Cavalrymen who have come from White House Landing today say that there is an almost incredible number of stragglers from the 18th Corps. Abe Schott ³ of the 148th [New York Infantry] is wounded and at the Corps (18th) hospital. I hear that B[enjamin] Hood ⁴ and W[illiam] Edwards ⁵ are also wounded. You probably have heard or read of it ere now.

I was sent up to Birney’s Headquarters this afternoon with about fifty stragglers. A flag-of-truce was sent out this p.m. on our left in charge of a colonel from Army Headquarters and Major [William G.] Mitchell of Gen. Hancock’s staff. There are large numbers of dead and wounded lying between the lines which it is impossible for either side to get at, and I presume that the flag is sent with the object of procuring a cessation of hostilities long enough to bury the dead and remove the wounded who have lain there since Friday. I am inclined to think that either the flag was not seen or if the object was what I supposed it to be, the armistice could not be agreed on as the firing has not slackened in the least.

About half past eight p.m. when the firing had nearly ceased and we had begun to think of going to bed, a heavy musketry fire suddenly commenced on the left and was soon accompanied by the artillery. We fell in again and started out in the dark. The shells and bullets whistled very close to us but fortunately no one in the guard was injured. We drew up in the road where we did the night before last and stacked arms. The firing was kept up half an hour and after waiting half an hour longer to see if any prisoners were brought in, we returned to camp without any.

I am very sorry to say that Capt. McCune [of Gen. Hancock’s staff] ⁶ lost a leg by a shell while standing in front of Headquarters and but a few feet from Gen. Hancock’s tent. He was just preparing to mount his horse to accompany us. He was a good fellow and well liked by the whole guard. When we came here Friday, Capt. [Edward C.] Cauvet said he hoped they would not pitch Headquarters there as it was a low, disagreeable place. Capt. McCune said he hoped they would not either for if they did, when the Johnnies opened their batteries, it would be so hot there that it would make some of us sick. It was thought by some that an attack had been made with the intention of breaking our line at that point, and the heavy firing—both musketry and artillery—would seem to justify that supposition. It is said, however, that no attack was made on either side and the firing was all caused by the relieving of the videttes. Some noise was made and the boys—thinking the Rebs were advancing—rose up in the breastworks and commenced firing. They (the Rebs) of course returned the compliment and the artillery followed suit.

There is something terrible about this fighting in the night. It is bad enough in the daytime but it seems a great deal worse at night. After we returned to camp, I made another cup of coffee, drank it, and lay down to sleep.

Monday, June 6th 1864

Up at four o’clock and got breakfast. Considerable artillery firing as well as skirmishing all day. One shell struck a few rods from Headquarters killing two men and a horse. The men were engaged in eating their suppers. A shell thrown by the Rebels was brought into Headquarters today and on being opened was found to contain one hundred and fifty-one (151) small balls. I think it is contrary to the usages of war to use such missiles but am not certain. Major Mitchell went out with a flag-of-truce again this afternoon. It was carried by an orderly mounted on a white horse. ⁷ I am informed by a Rebel belonging to the 13th North Carolina who was taken prisoner today that the Rebs received heavy reinforcements from their western army last night. He says they are bringing up siege guns from Richmond and making every preparation for the siege. He says they have got every man from North Carolina but they would not have got him if they had not burned the woods and sifted the ashes. He thought he was securely hidden in the woods but they found him out. Some of these fellow language is very amusing. For instance, their videttes will call out to ours and ask, “Why do you’ns fire at we’n when we’n don’t fire at you’ns?”

Lively skirmishing and cannonading on the right about nine o’clock. It only lasted a very few moments. Fine warm weather.

¹ George’s comment regarding the state of exhaustion of members of the 2nd Corp is consistent with other reports. In fact, Meade had ordered an early morning attack for June 2 but Smith refused and when Hancock’s men finally got into position on the extreme left, they were tired from their long march and it was decided to wait until June 3rd to launch the attack.

² According to the American Battlefield Trust [ABT] website, the 2nd, 6th, and 18th Corps “launched the main attack [on June 3rd] through the darkness and fog. As the attack began, the soldiers became caught in the swamps, ravines, and heavy vegetation, losing contact with each other. Angles in the Confederate works allowed Lee’s men to easily enfilade the Federal ranks as they advanced. An estimated 7,000 men were killed or wounded within the first thirty minutes of the assault and the massacre continued through the morning. In Hancock’s sector, elements of the II Corps managed to seize a portion of the Rebel works only to be bombarded by Confederate artillery that turned the trenches a deathtrap. Smith’s corps was unfavorably funneled into two ravines and subsequently mowed down when they reached the Confederate’s position. Pinned down by the tremendous volume of Confederate fire, the remaining Federals dug trenches of their own, sometimes including bodies of dead comrades as part of their improvised earthworks. At 12:30 pm, after riding the beleaguered Union lines himself, Grant suspended his attack at the advice of the corps commanders.”

³ Abram M. Sholt [or Schott] was 18 years old when he enlisted in Co. H, 148th New York Infantry on 27 August 1862 at Waterloo. He was wounded in action on 3 June 1864 at Cold Harbor. Later, he was captured in action at Fair Oaks, Virginia, on 27 October 1864 and paroled in March 1865.

⁴ Benjamin F. Hood enlisted at the age of 26 at Benton on 28 August 1862 to serve in Co. I, 148th New York Infantry. He was wounded in action on 15 May 1864 “at Drewry’s Bluff, Virginia.” He died of his wounds on 8 June 1864 at Point Lookout, Maryland.

*Grave Marker of McCune at Greewood Cemetery in Brooklyn.*

⁵William Edwards enlisted at the age of 24 at Waterloo on 27 August 1862 to serve in Co. H, 148th New York Infantry. He was wounded in action on 9 May 1864 “near Petersburg ” and again on 15 August 1864. He died of his wounds on 16 August 1864 near Petersburg.

⁶ “Capt. Alexander M. McCune [spelled McEwen in newspapers] (1832-1864) of the Fifth Excelsior (74th NY) Regiment served on Gen. Hancock’s staff as Assistant Provost Marshal of the 2nd Corps. He was struck on the leg by a solid shot while standing in front of his tent at headquarters. His leg was amputated below the knee and he was reported to be still be alive. on 8 June 1864 though newspapers reported there were “no hopes are entertained of his recovery.” [NYT] He died of his wounds on 20 June 1864 at Armory Square Hospital in Washington D. C. McCune’s body was laid to rest in a public vault for many months until his widowed mother was able to obtain a pension for her son’s service, enabling her to have his body taken to Brooklyn for burial.

⁷ “From June 4 to June 12, the days were filled with minor attacks, artillery duels, and sniping. On June 7, Lee and Grant agreed to a two-hour truce to allow the Federals a chance to retrieve their wounded. However, by then few of the wounded were found alive as thousands had died under the summer sun during those five days.” [ABT]

1st Maryland Light Artillery, Battle of Cedar Run, Battle of Fredericksburg, Slaughter's Mountain

1863: John William Ford Hatton to Elizabeth J. (Lambert) Hatton

June 8, 2022 Griff 2 Comments

This letter was written by John William Ford Hatton (1840-1911), the son of Peter Dent Hatton (1792-1849) and Elizabeth J. Lambert (1800-1889) of Accokeek, Prince George’s County, Maryland. In 1861, John and two of his brothers—Joseph C. Hatton (1830-1930) and Richard Hannibal Sanborn Hatton (1836-1862) all left their home in Maryland and went into exile in Virginia where they enlisted in Capt. Richard Snowden Andrew‘s Company of the 1st Maryland Flying Artillery. It was actually Richard, a physician before the war and referred to as “the Doctor” in this letter—that enlisted first, joining the company in June 1861. A couple of months later, John (the letter author) joined the company, and finally, in December, as a substitute, Joseph joined his brothers.

*I could not find an image of John Hatton but here is a cdv of John H. Briscoe and his wife. Briscoe also served in the 1st Maryland Light Artillery. (Library of Congress)*

In his letter datelined 7 January 1863 from the battery’s encampment in Caroline county, Virginia, some three weeks after the Battle of Fredericksburg, John wrote his widowed mother a letter conveying the news of the mortal wounding of his older brother Richard—“the Doctor“—while engaged in an artillery duel at the Battle of Cedar Run (a.k.a “Cedar Mountain” or “Slaughter’s Mountain”) on 9 August 1862. Notwithstanding the amputation of his arm, Richard died 9 days after he was wounded. It was in this same artillery duel that their captain—now a Major, Richard S. Andrews, was nearly disemboweled by a shell fragment. For hours, Major Andrews held his intestines until surgeons could sew him up though they gave him little chance to survive. He defied death that day and lived until 1903.

It’s evident that little or no opportunity had previously existed for John to mail his Mother a letter. Perhaps a flag-of-truce, or the exchange of prisoners created the opportunity for this letter to be passed or smuggled through enemy lines to his home in Maryland. “It is impossible to describe the feelings of a soldier, particularly when exiled from home and cut off from communication of those he loves as dearly as life,” he wrote his mother. “Many a time I have reflected upon the pleasure and comfort of a home. But instead of that home, I have choosed rather to be a wanderer, frequently sleeping in water, shaking with cold, burning with thirst, pinched with hunger, and overcome with fatigue. But the enjoyment of peace and freedom will amply pay for all.”

In his memoirs, now in the Library of Congress, John also remembered that Marylanders (surprisingly) were not always welcomed with open arms by their Virginia comrades. “It was a notable fact that many of the influential people about Richmond had a certain degree of contempt for the Marylander. It was hard to describe the origin of this feeling. It was explained that the Marylander fled from his state to avoid the Federal draft and sought shelter in Virginia and became a corrupt and troublesome element.” [A Maryland Refugee in Virginia, 1863, by Kevin Conley Ruffner, Maryland Historical Magazine, Winter 1994]

[Note: This letter is from the private collection of Richard Weiner and is published on Spared & Shared by express consent.]

Transcription

Piney Camp
January 7, 1863

Dear Mother,

I hope you do not think that because of my long muteness the last drop of love for those at home has fell from my heart—no, it never can be that I can cease to think of those I’ve left behind. The troubles, hardships, and torments of a soldier’s life, particularly when situated as exiled Marylanders, are enough to drive one mad and cause him to forget the he is in the “great work” of God’s creation. But I am grateful to be able to assert that through all the arduous duties imposed upon us by this national calamity, I have never as yet forgotten that there is a smiling Providence above all. When the mantle of night suffuses all, be assured that my tongue repeats the prayers you taught me, and begs protection for home—unless I am performing a march, or some duty, or perhaps, as is frequently the case, so wearing that sleep takes possession of me the moment I find a place to rest my head.

It is sad to review the past. Whatever is in the future, let it come. And whatever is past, so let it be. But there are some incidents that need be and must be noted—they are so nearly related to the heart, so deeply impressed upon the mind. There is an incident I must relate.

Dear Mother, refrain from tears; and I will endeavor to do the same. We were three; but now only two—it was God’s will. In order to give you a true conception of all, and also to mark the mysterious step of fate, allow me to commence at the Battle of Richmond. I was slightly wounded at Mechanicsville as you doubtless have heard. At the hospital in Richmond, by chance, I met Edgar who obtained for me a furlough. We visited the Valley of Virginia where we passed some time together. While here, I heard that Jackson intended to advance upon the enemy. Something—I know not what—urged me to join my company which was then at Gordonsville. Although the time granted me had not expired and my wound not perfectly well, I reported (I know not why I did) for duty.

Upon my return to the company, I found the Doctor in good spirits and health; but Joe, on account of bad health, had gone to a hospital in the country. We did not remain long idle after I joined. We advanced upon the enemy and followed them. The weather was warm and the march so speedy that several men dropped dead upon the roadside. We found and attacked the enemy at Cedar Run. The fight was carried on with great furry. The Yankees charged our battery more than once. Rifle and cannon balls and bursting shells fell like hail. To think of it, it seems wonderful that a single one of us could escape with life.

While the Doctor was in the act of carrying a shell to his gun, a fragment of Yankee shell struck him on the wrist, tearing the flesh considerably, and passed through the upper part of his arm, completely shattering the bone. He remained on the battlefield until the battle ceased, then was carried to the field hospital where I remained with him. Our forces fell back and the enemy advanced. We became prisoners. The Yankees moved us to Culpeper Court House where we met with a friend from Alexandria by the name of Mr. Brown. He took us from the hospital to his own house and treated us as kindly as a Father.

*Culpeper Court House with captured Confederates confined on second floor (August 1862)*

Up to this time the Doctor had borne his misfortune with great fortitude. Although his arm had been amputated at shoulder joint, he held hope of recovery. He read his fate. He resigned all Earthly hope and thanked his God for granting him time to prepare for the future. The Rev. Dr. Cole visited his death bed. Finally on the 18th of August, he called me his bedside and uttered his last words, “Give my love to all at home.” I could not realize the fact. It was all a dream—but a sad dream. I could tell you more if I could but see you.

I remained in Culpeper until my company returned from Maryland. I stayed at a Mrs. Fant’s house. She was very kind to me indeed and she promised me to write to you. ¹ I returned to my company which was in the Valley and found [brother] Joe in good health and safe. While in the Valley, I received for the first and last time, a letter from you containing some words from Adolphus and also three bookmarks from Lizzie, all of which I value very dearly. Tell Lizzie I will bring her something from the battlefield if I ever live to return home.

After marching and countermarching up and down the Valley, we came over the mountains and faced the enemy on the banks of the Rappahannock river. We were at the Battle of Fredericksburg but being on the reserve, were not in an engagement, yet under the enemy’s fire and had some horses killed. After standing picket on the river for two or three weeks, we are quietly in winter quarters of our own construction in a piney thicket about two miles from Bowling Green—a small town of Caroline County.

It is impossible to describe the feelings of a soldier, particularly when exiled from home and cut off from communication of those he loves as dearly as life. Many a time I have reflected upon the pleasure and comfort of a home. But instead of that home, I have choosed rather to be a wanderer, frequently sleeping in water, shaking with cold, burning with thirst, pinched with hunger, and overcome with fatigue. But the enjoyment of peace and freedom will amply pay for all.

I can hear from home sometimes, but cannot place any confidence in what I hear. I saw Dick Magruder a week ago. I hope you all are well. It would give me much gratification if I could know that Austin will remain with you. It is impossible to say all I desire. I am even in doubt that this will reach you. Give my love to all—Lizzie, Caroline, Brother, Austin, Uncle Johnm Adolphus, Jannette, and all. My love to all. Write me if you can and give all the news. As ever your son, — J. W. F. H.

¹ Probably Mrs. Lucinda Brown (Crigler) Fant (1818-1886), the widow of lawyer Joseph Nicholas Fant (1805-1849) who took his own life in 1849.

27th Virginia Infantry, Battle of Chancellorsville, Stonewall Jackson

1863: John William Middleton to Ellen Rachel (Gregory) Middleton

June 8, 2022 Griff Leave a comment

This letter was written by John William Middleton (1835-1907), a private who first served the Confederacy in Co. B, 5th Virginia Infantry but who transferred to Co. H, 27th Virginia Infantry on 16 June 1861.

*A post war image of John William Middleton*

From military records it appears that John was dropped from the rolls of the regiment a few days after the Battle of Fredericksburg as a deserter but he was arrested and subsequently returned to the “Bloody 27th” before March 1863—in plenty of time to participate in the Battle of Chancellorsville. Datelined on 11 May 1863 from their camp near Hamilton’s Crossing a little over a week after the close of the battle, John wrote his Aunt of the battle and the pall of gloom that had settled on the survivors of Stonewall Jackson’s Brigade having just received intelligence of their gallant commander’s death, whose very nickname rattled the nerves of his opponents.

It’s fair to say that John’s enthusiasm for the war had long evaporated. “I hope our rulers will come to their senses and make some kind of a compromise,” he wrote his Aunt. “Anything in preference to this war.”

John’s letter also speaks of the lack of provisions in the Confederate army—a factor no doubt that weighed heavily on the mind of Gen. Lee and his decision to move quickly on to the offensive and carry the war north into the breadbasket of Maryland and Pennsylvania. For Pvt. Middleton there would be only one more great battle. Family history passes down a story of his having been wounded in the elbow during Pickett’s Charge at Gettysburg while carrying a wounded comrade off the battlefield. Muster roll records add that John gave himself up to the “Sgt. Major of the 6th Regt. Cavalry” at Millerstown near Gettysburg on 6 July 1863, was sent to a hospital at Gettysburg on the 8th and remained there until the 15th when he was forwarded as a POW to Fort McHenry near Baltimore, Maryland. He remained there until war’s end.

John was the son of William Jefferson Middleton (1803-1877) and Ann Zimmerman (1806-1899) of Rockingham county, Virginia. In 1855 when he was twenty years old, John went to work as a clerk for his Uncle John Clarke Middleton (1812-1867) who had a blacksmith shop, a store, a bakery, and a livery stable. John wrote this letter to his Aunt Ellen Rachel (Gregory) Middleon (1817-1888), the wife of John C. Middleton. [Middleton, Robert Arthur and Arnold, Katherine Hall. Robert Middleton (1651-1708) of Maryland and Some of His Descendants. Compiled from papers and notes of Augusta B. Middleton Fothergill and additional research. Private Printing 1990. Pages 21-24.]

[Note. This letter is from the private collection of Richard Weiner and is published on Spared & Shared by express consent.]

Transcription

Camp near Hamilton’s Crossing
May 11, 1863

My dear aunt,

I wrote to you day before yesterday and wrote to father yesterday. You have received all the particulars of the battle before this and I will not rehearse them for it causes sad thoughts. Our loss is estimated from 8 to 10,000. I think it greatly exceeds that number. General Jackson died last evening. There was a detail made from our Brigade to escort his remains to the train. I am very fearful that the enemy will make another forward movement when they hear of his death. I have just now heard that the escort will go as far as Lexington. I would like to be on it if they do go up there. I would give anything to be at home with you—even for a short time. Oh! that this cruel war would close, that we could return to our homes and our friends. Oh the gloom that this battle will spread over Rockbridge. She suffered greatly. A man made a remark just now that struck me with force. He said all the original secessionists were getting killed. Oh, I hope there will not be another man killed. I hope our rulers will come to their senses and make some kind of a compromise. Anything in preference to this war.

Just to think, after the hard fighting we did on Sunday, 2 May, they do not give us half enough to eat. We have not eat anything today. They give us praise for gallantry displayed [but] that will not satisfy the cravings of nature. I would advise them to dispense with their praise and give us something more substantial. I am of the opinion that our stock of provisions are nearly exhausted. If they do not feed us better, there will be some of the greatest flanking done that has been done since the war.

I would like very much to see Uncle down here now. I think he would get a load back that would pay him. I have some things to send home. Fenton says he will take them when he goes which will be in a few days. I want to send my overcoat, a horse brush, and blacking brush that I picked up on the [battle]field. I expect we will draw our money in a day or two when I will send mine home and you can pay Mr. Cummings for pasturing my mare. If you see her, tell me how she looks.

It is reported that the Yankees tried to cross at Kelly’s Ford last night but were driven back. Oh, how I dread a second engagement. Some of our officers think that we will move forward in a few days. General Longstreet has moved up to Gordonsville. If we have to fight, the sooner the better. I want the war to stop and I do not care much how it terminates. I have not heard from Fanquary yet. I suppose he is busy making money. Goodbye. May the Lord bless and keep you from all harm is the prayer of your nephew, — J. W. Middleton

5th Battalion, Hilliard's Legion, Alabama Cavalry

The Civil War Letters of John Weaver Cotton, Part 1

June 7, 2022 Griff 1 Comment

There are over 150 letters in this collection which is rather remarkable in itself— particularly for a lowly private, and extraordinarily rare for a Confederate private. Not only were writing materials difficult to come by in the South, but the unreliability of the mail system dramatically reduced the probability that letters would ever arrive at their intended destination. Though Cotton’s limited eduction resulted in letters that lacked grammatical correctness, they convey raw, unvarnished expressions of his thoughts and feelings towards his family, his friends and neighbors, and the way of life he felt compelled to fight to preserve. It’s hard for most of us to understand how such a man, who owned no slaves (as most Confederate soldiers did not) could imagine he was fighting for his “freedom” as he mentions in several of his letters. Why he believed his freedom was being threatened by the U. S. Government, any more than the Confederate Government that replaced it, remains a mystery to me. I can only answer that while most Confederate soldiers did not own slaves, they aspired to be slaveholders like their more opulent neighbors. If they did not, as some scholars have suggested, then many of them were most assuredly duped by the slaveholders (who dominated politics and journalism) to believe that their very lives and livelihood would be threatened by liberated slaves.

To illustrate just how rare these letters are, let me just add that the descendants clung to them for years looking for an opportunity to publish them. After Margaret Mitchell wrote her blockbuster book, Gone with the Wind in 1936, followed a couple years later by the David O. Selznick produced movie, there was a resurgence of “Old South” and “Lost Cause” literature in the 1940s. This prompted the family to submit a synopsis of the letters to Margaret with the suggestion that she might, perhaps, write another similar book of fiction using the Cotton family and the Cotton letters as her inspiration. Margaret’s response speaks for itself:

“It was generous indeed of you to think of me in connection with your recently unearthed letters of your great-grandfather. I can’t help feeling a far-off and vicarious thrill of discovery, too. The number of the letters and the many places from which they were written and the replies from the family at home make them sound like a very valuable collection. I thank you for asking whether or not I would be interested in them as background for fiction. No, I would not, frankly, because my problem is something different. I have never lacked background or characters or stories; my problem has been since 1936, trying to find one minute in which to write, and not being able to find that minute.”

Margaret then proceeded to give the family another page and a half of thoughtful advice for getting the Cotton letters published, including one which was ultimately resulted in “Yours Till Death, Civil War Letters of John W. Cotton,” a publication of the University of Alabama Press, edited by Lucille Griffith, Assistant Professor of History at Alabama College, in 1951. This 128-page softbound book was transcribed and footnoted by Griffith and it is still available directly from the publisher and through the secondary book market, but my transcripts of the Cotton letters as well as the accompanying research posted here are my own, made directly from the original letters that have been purchased by my client. They not only include the letters that were in “Yours Till Death,” but several others.

When these letters begin in 1862, John and Mariah Cotton had seven children, the oldest being a 12 year-old daughter. They were: Ann T., born 16 Dec. 1850; John Michael Cotton (“Bud”), born 30 March 1855; William Cary (“Bunk”), born 21 April 1856; Nancy Hanner (“Little Cricket”), b. 3 February 1858; Jefferson David (“Babe”), born 11 March 1859; Andrew C. L. T. (“Sweet”), born 22 April 1860; Virginia Francinia (“Ginny”), born 18 Dec. 1861. These names were all taken from the family bible. Ann, the oldest, is the only one never referred to by nickname.

Part 1 includes letters 1 through 75. Part 2 contains letter 7 through 136 and may be found at The Civil War Letters of John Weaver Cotton, Part 2.

*Hilliard’s Legion Flag (Alabama Dept. of Archives & History*

*The early 19th Century travel case in which the Cotton letters have been stored for the last 160 years.*

1862

Letter 1

*Addressed to Mrs. Mariah Cotton, Mt. Olive, Alabama*

Montgomery, Alabama
April 24, 1862

Mariah Cotton, dear wife,

For the first time in life I take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to let you know that we are all well. William Lessley has been sorta puny but he is better. He is down in town guarding the Yankeys. There is 744 Yankeys here in an old warehouse and we have to guard them.

We have been examined and received and they say our horses will be [ap]praised today and our Legion will also be organized today. I would be very glad to see you and the children. I am very well satisfied considering the way I left home. If I could see you and the children when I wanted to see you, I could make out very well.

We are camped two miles southeast of Montgomery. We received our [$50] bounty money yesterday. It is uncertain how long we will stay here. I don’t reckon I will come home till wheat gets ripe unless we get orders to leave. If we get orders to march, I will come home sooner. I would be glad to be there and see how things are going on and look around a little. Write to me and tell me how my wheat is doing and how things are going on. Nothing more at present but remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 2

Montgomery Camp, Alabama
May 1, 1862

Mariah Cotton, Dear Wife,

I take my pen in hand to drop you a few lines to let you know that I am tolerable well. I have had a very bad cold but I am better. I am not at all sick but feel sorta bad. I hope these lines find you all well and I hope you have got more reconciled about my leaving you and the children. I think if you could see the Yankeys that we have to guard down here, you would say, “whip them or die on the battlefield.” I have had to guard them four days and nights. There is over eight hundred of them in all. Some of them wants to get home very bad and others don’t seem to care much about it. I would be very well satisfied if I could see you and the children when I wanted to. I want to see you all very bad and I would be glad to hear from you all for I have not heard nary word from you since I left home. I would be glad to hear how my wheat was coming on and how [our hired slave] Manuel ¹ was coming on with his crop. We hear down here that wheat is all ruined with the rust [blight]. If it is, I may be home in about two weeks but if it is not, I don’t guess I will come until it gets ripe. The most of our men is at home now.

We hear that the Yankeys have taken New Orleans. Some of the people here are very badly scared and are moving out their families and they are hauling off the cotton. They say that our men burnt the cotton at New Orleans to keep the Yankeys from getting it. They burnt two hundred bales for Old Owl Nose.

We are doing very well now. We get plenty to eat and nothing to do but to guard the Yankeys. Our company has been received and our horses [ap]praised and we have got our bounty money but we have not got our saddles yet nor I don’t know when we will get them. We can’t drill any until we get our saddles for a heap of our men have not got no saddles. I want you to write to me and tell Liz to write too. Dock ² wrote a letter yesterday but I don’t know what he put in it. Nothing more at present but remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

¹ Many farmers like Cotton who owned no slaves themselves often rented them for lengths of time, particularly during labor intensive periods of the growing season. The wages were always paid to the slave’s owner. The slave hired by the Cotton family was named “Manuel” and appears to have been owned by a neighbor named Epps Brown (b. 1817). A search of post war census and voting records reveals that Manuel was most likely Manuel Brown who was probably born a slave in the early 1820s. He was enumerated in the “Colored Population” State Census in 1866 with his spouse and five children—four boys and one girl.

² “Dock” was Dr. Andrew Calhoun Lawrence Hindman (1834-1916), the son of William (“Billy”) Hindsman (1805-1886) and Nancy M. Cotton (1810-1855). He was a younger brother of John W. Cotton’s wife, Mariah Hindsman. Dock was married in December 1860 to Sarah Elizabeth (“Liz”) [Maiden Name?]; they divorced in 1867 in Coweta county, Georgia.

This broadside included in the archive of Cotton letters informs us that Dr. Andrew Calhoun Lawrence Hindman (see footnote 2 above) attended lectures at Aylett’s Medical Institute in New York City during the 1859-60 Session. It should be noted that the vast majority of attendees were from Southern states. Dr. Aylett had a long connection with the New York College of Medicine and opened his Institute in 1847.

Letter 3

Montgomery, Alabama
May 5, 1862

Mariah Cotton, dear wife,

I again take the opportunity to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well and doing well. We get a plenty to eat but it is badly cooked. we had nothing fit to cook with but we have bought some things but not enough yet. We draw meal, flour, pickled pork, pickled beef, and sometimes fresh beef, rice, sugar, molasses and soap.
I am very sorry to hear that the wheat has got the rust so bad. I am glad to hear that Manuel is trying to do something and getting along so well but I was a heap gladder to hear that you were all well except bad colds. There is several of our boys complaining but none of them bad off. I never wanted to see anybody as bad as I want to see you and the children. I could do very well if I could see you and the children every time I wanted to but I can’t help studying about you all. If I could see you and talk with you, I could tell you of a great many things that has passed since I left you. I think if nothing happens, I will be at home about the 20th of this month. The most of our men is gone home now but the captain [Martin G. Slaughter] says they shant go no more. I could have come too but I thought as I could not come but once that I would wait awhile. I received a letter from you this morning dated the 29th of April for the first. Dock got a letter from Liz last Saturday. That was the first time I had heard from you.

I reckon you heard that the Yankeys had taken New Orleans. We are still guarding what Yankeys we have got here yet. One of our men killed one of them the other day for disobeying orders. One of our soldiers belonging to our Legion shot another the same day and the day before one of our men got drowned in the [Alabama] river.
Mariah, you said you wanted to know about our going to Talladega to drill. I have not heard nothing about it since we got down here—only our Colonel says that we may have our first battle here at this place. I expect we will stay here a good while and we may never leave here while the war lasts. We have not drilled any yet but the Captain says we will have to go at it the 10 of this month. He thinks that we will draw our saddles the ninth. My horse is very bad off with the distemper. He has eat nothing hardly for about a week. Old Denny Kelly is down here and he brought us a basket full of eggs which we was very glad to receive.

You said you wanted to know what to do with them stands. Tell Manuel to put them in the stillhouse on the floor. If Robberson don’t come and do that work, don’t pay him for it. Nothing more at present for I can’t think of half that I want to write. Give my love to Liz and tell her that I would be glad to see her. I would be glad to see little Ginny and give her a kiss and see the rest of the children frolic around and play on my lap and see baby suck his thumb. If it had not been for the love I have for them and my country, I would have been there now.

Nothing more but remain your affectionate husband till death. — J. W. Cotton

There is about four thousand soldiers stationed here now and there is more coming in. Direct your letters to John W. Cotton, Montgomery, Alabama in care of Capt. M[artin] G[reene] Slaughter

May 6, 1862

Nothing more has happened since yesterday. We went of dress parade yesterday and today we have not put out no guards around the encampment yet. We are doing nothing yet but go to town or anywhere else we want to. I don’t mind anything that is to do here—only having to stay from home. I am well today but some of the company is complaining. I have just now received a letter from you and I was glad to hear from you and to hear that you all was well and that all was going on well and that the wheat was doing better. I want to see you and the children as bad as anybody can.

Letter 4

Coosa county, Alabama
June 7, 1862

Mariah Cotton, dear wife,

I take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well and I hope these few lines may find you and the children all well. Dock has been very sick but he is a good deal better. He had like to have died night before last. He had the congestive fever in his head. He left here this morning on the cars to go to Georgia on a 14-day furlough. The rest of us are well except William Lessley. He is complaining some. The most of the men has gone home with the measles.

We are not doing anything here—only lying about. I reckon you found out that I did not come home. When the captain comes home [back to camp], I will try to come home. He will be back next Wednesday. If I don’t get to come back home, you must do the best you can. Have that wheat and barley thrashed as soon as you can and turn the hogs in and don’t let Pars [Pa] nor Asa [Waldrop (a brother-in-law)] in and have the rye cut and thrashed.

The Yankeys are all gone from here but some sick ones. I believe that everything is still rising here. I had to pay fifty cents a quire for this paper. I have nothing of importance to write. There has been a big battle at Richmond [Battle of Seven Pines] but no correct account [of] how many were killed on either side. Nothing more at present but remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 5

*Addressed to Mr. John W. Cotton, Col. Hilliard’s Legion, In care of Capt. M. G. Slaughter, Camp Mary, Montgomery, Alabama*

Grantville, Georgia
June 8, 1862

Dear Brother-in-law [John]

I now hasten to drop you a few lines by the request of Dock stating to you his present condition at this time. He arrived home a Saturday afternoon at half past five o’clock and he has been in bed ever since. He is very poorly and he is also laboring under a great many pains. I don’t know whether he will get better soon or not. He looked tremendously bad and he says that his trip has made him worse and was very much exhausted and wore out. He is very feeble and we hope he will be better soon. He has the symptoms last night of one of those bad spells. He rested very bad all night but it wore off. He has not had one yet and I can’t say how long he may escape from one of them for I am [so] uneasy about him that I can’t rest for fear that he will have one. He is so restless and complaining so much. I am trying to persuade him to send after a doctor but I have not got him in the notion yet because he has not got no medicine here with him.

I have nothing more of importance to write. Tell the Captain he will come back soon as he is able. Give his love to all enquiring friends and the boys. Pap was sorry to think you could [not] come with Dock. Pap says he would go and see Mariah but he has nobody to stay and mind his plantation.

Please excuse my distressed writing and spelling for I am taking care of Dock and you know I don’t have much chance to write to you. So write soon and let me know how you all are. Give my love to all enquiring friends. From yours and &c. — Lizzie Hindsman

Letter 6

Montgomery, Alabama
June 12, 1862

Dear Wife,

I again address you with a few lines to let you know that I am well and hope these few lines may find you and the children all well. I have not much to write. I hant heard from Dock since Monday. I got a letter from Liz. She said that he was very poorly.

Our Captain [M. G. Slaughter] came home [back to camp] yesterday and several others and we went on drill this morning for the first time since I have been down here. He says tomorrow that he will drill all that hant got saddles on foot. We have drawn no saddles yet. I don’t know whether I shall get to come home anymore before we leave here or not. They say that the Colonel has stopped giving furloughs to anybody. A good many thinks we will leave here in a short time and go to Chattanooga, Georgia.

If we stay here, I want Par [Pa] or Wash [Smith] or Bill to come down here and bring us some vegetables for they are very high here. I bought some irish potatoes this morning at 15 cents a quart. If they do come and you have more bacon than you need, get them to bring it and sell it. It is worth forty cents a pound and from that to fifty.

I went to meeting last Sunday and I heard the Roman Catholic’s and the Presbyterian’s both preach and we had meeting at our camp that night and again last night. The regiment that was here when we came here is ordered off to Florida. There is now twenty-eight or twenty-nine companies in the Legion. Nothing more at present. I remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Write, I hant got nary letter from you yet.

Letter 7

Montgomery, [Alabama]
June 19, 1862

Dear wife,

I seat myself to write you a few lines to let you know that I received a letter from you last evening and was glad to hear from you all but I was sorry to hear that little Ginney was sick. I hope that she is better by this time. If any of you gets sick and you think you need a doctor, it is not so far to Baker’s but what you can send for him. If you need a bit of medicine, send to William Words and you can get plenty. He lives one mile this side of Bill Adkins’s. These lines leave me well and all of the boys but there is some of our company complaining and a great many at home sick. I hant heard from Dock since last Monday. Was a week ago. I don’t know why he don’t write and let us know how he is.

It was thought last week that we would have been gone from here before now but the Legion is now turned into a Brigade and it will be some time—fifteen or twenty days—to get ready to leave here. I am going to try to come home before we leave here if I can. The Colonel says there shall be no more furloughs given to well men but some of the captains gave furloughs anyhow.

Everything is still rising yet. Bacon is worth from 40 to 50 cents per pound. Flour 9 cents per pound. Butter forty cents per pound. Cabbage twenty five cents a head. Irish potatoes 20 cents a quart. And beans the same and everything else according.
I want you to write and let me know how you are getting along. I want to hear from little Ginney again very bad. I shall be uneasy until I hear from her again. Nothing more at present but remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 8

Montgomery, Alabama
June 23, 1862

Mariah Cotton, dear wife,

I take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well and hope these lines may find you all well but I am afraid that little Ginney has not got well. I want to hear from her very bad. I have not received but one letter from you since I left home. I tried to come home to see little Ginney but I could not get off.

The Legion will be formed in two Battalions this week and the officers elected. I hant much to write. I got a letter from Dock day before yesterday. He is very poorly yet. He said he had one of his bad spells yesterday—was a week ago—that lasted him for 10 hours. The boys here are well but William Lessley. He is complaining right smartly and one with the measles. He is the last one in the company to have them.

The Colonel says that we will get our equipment soon. Bill [John’s horse] is getting fat again. He is most well of his distemper. Our horses are all doing well. Write when you can and tell me how things are going on. Nothing more at present but remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 9

Coweta county, Georgia
July 10, 1862

Dear wife,

I now seat myself to write you a few lines to let you know that I am at [my brother-in-law] John Fulmer’s and I am well. All of them here is well. Your pap’s folks are all well but Mike [Hindsman] ¹ and he is able to knock about. He is at home on 30-days furlough and so is John Tramel.

Me and Dock left Montgomery yesterday morning and we stayed at your pap’s last night. Our Company was to leave today and we are to meet it tomorrow at Grantville and go on with them. We are going to Atlanta. I would be very glad to hear from you all for I hant heard from you since I left home [on furlough]. I want you to write to me as soon as you get this letter. Direct your letter to Atlanta, Georgia.

I am getting very anxious to hear from you all. Let me know how Manuel come on with his crop and everything and how the hogs are doing.

We have drawn our sabers and haversacks but the rest of our arms and our canteens we aim to get at Atlanta and our uniforms, our saddles, are making at Augusta. We will get them in a week or two.

Crops look only tolerable well. There ain’t much cotton planted out here. Your pap and all of them was very glad to see me but none of them weren’t looking for me. I hant much to write to you. Nothing more at present but remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

July 11. We are at Grantville waiting for the cars and our Company but we don’t know whether they will come up or not. If they don’t come up, they will write to us. They may have passed last night but nobody can’t tell here. The cars last night never stopped. These lines leave me well. Nothing more.

¹ Michael Cotton Hindsman (1835-1901) was a 1st Sergt. in Co. B, 1st Georgia Cavalry.

An unknown Alabamian who probably served in Hilliard’s Legion. It’s been theorized that many members of the Legion had their pictures taken at about the same time wearing this same military jacket which was most likely a “prop.” As seen in the previous letter, the Legion did not even receive their uniforms until many months after they entered the service and when they did, they were not as elaborate as this. (Stan Hutson Collection)

Letter 10

Atlanta, Georgia
July 13, 1862

Mariah, dear wife,

I again take my pen in hand to drop you a few lines to let you know where I am and that I am well and I hope these few lines may find you all enjoying the same blessing. I want to hear from you very bad—worse than I ever did in my life—but I am afraid it will be some time before I can hear from you.

We got moved out of town yesterday and got our tents put up and everything fitted for staying here and this morning we received orders to move to Chattanooga tomorrow, about 140 miles from here. We are camped about two miles above Atlanta. We have got good water here and a healthy-looking place. We are camped [with]in three hundred yards of that great steam distillery you have heard talk of but they are not stilling now.

I hant much to write to you—only to let you know where I am. Asa went down to his father’s yesterday evening to come back Tuesday and he don’t know that we are ordered off from here. I want you to write to me as soon as you get these lines. Direct your letter to Chattanooga, Tennessee, in care of Captain M. G. Slaughter, Hilliard’s Legion. I reckon that we will stay there till we get equipped and armed. They are expecting to have a fight there before long.

They have just now come here with the drays after our baggage to carry it to the cars to be ready to start in the morning. I don’t want you to uneasy yourself about me for I am doing very well. Bill is complaining right smart. The rest of the boys is well. Nothing more but remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 11

Chattanooga, Tennessee
July 16, 1862

Dear wife,

I now once more take my pen in hand to write you a few more lines to let you know where I am and how I am. I am as well as I ever was in my life and I hope these few lines may reach you all the same. I got the letter that you sent to me by James Arnold. I saw him at Dalton in Georgia. Him and Frank Corley stopped there waiting for passage on the cars and we overtook them. They went to Knoxville and we went to Chattanooga. I was very glad to hear from you. It was the first time since I left home [after my furlough]. I would be glad to hear from you all again today.

I wrote to you last Sunday when we were at Atlanta. We left there Monday morning at ten o’clock and we landed at Chattanooga at twelve o’clock that night. We had a very pleasant trip of it but our horses saw sights. They had to do about twenty-five hours without anything to eat and some of the lazy [boys] never even watered their horses when we got here that night. Some of them never waked to attend to anything and others watered their horses [for them] and we never got them off the cars until 8 or 9 o’clock next morning. We got nearly all of our things hauled out to camp yesterday.

We are camped five miles from Chattanooga. We have a very rough place here. It is right in the woods on the foot of a mountain. They say the Yankeys are [with]in about fifteen miles of here but the main army is about thirty miles of here on the Tennessee River. It is close to us—about a half mile. We have got nearly all of our company together now. We left our 1st Lieutenant [William W. Lee] at Montgomery and it is thought he will die. He has got the brain fever.

There is about forty thousand of our troops here and about forty thousand Yankeys but our men don’t appear to fear them no more than if they weren’t here. There is strong talk of us being dismounted. If we are, there will be a set of mad men for a heap of them says that are not able to stand the infantry. I had rather not be dismounted. They say they will pay us for our horses but we are not willing to sell them. The boys—the most of them—are very much dissatisfied here. They want to go back somewhere.

When we came up [in the cars], the people cheered us all the way—men, women, and children. They were collected on the road in great quantities and there was a continual holler nearly all the way. We passed some of the highest bridges that ever I saw and we passed through the tunnel under the Stone Mountain but it was night and we couldn’t see much. When we struck it, I could not hardly hear anything for the shouts of the boys.

Nothing more at present but remain your affectionate friend till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 12

Chattanooga, Tennessee
July 21, 1862

Mariah, dear wife,

I once more take the pleasure to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well but Dock is sick. He has had one of his bad spells. It was the worst he ever had but he is better. He is able to sit up right smart. The rest of the boys are tolerable well but several of our company is sick—more with the yellow jaundice than anything else. I hope these few lines may find you all well and I hope that you have become reconciled about my being from home for there is no chance now for me to come to see you all. There is no chance to get a furlough, sick or well, unless they thing we are going to die. I want to hear from you very bad for I haven’t heard from you since I saw James Arnold. I have wrote you three letters—one at John Fulmer’s, and one at Atlanta, and once since I came here, and I hant got nary answer yet.

We are doing nothing yet. We hant got our saddles yet nor nothing else but some old sabers and haversacks, muzzles to feed our horses in and I don’t know when we will get anything else. We get a plenty to eat and a plenty to give our horses.

I expect you hear a great deal about a fight at this place but there is no danger here of a fight at present. I don’t think they have armed all of the Legion but our Battalion. There is a great many soldiers around here. I saw Hiram Smith and Lige Gaden yesterday in a Texas Regiment. they are camped about a half mile from us. I heard about Uncle [ ] Cotton and where he lives and they told me about all of the Georgia boys. They say Uncle Weaver [Cotton] is doing mighty well now. He is raising stock [near Grantville] and has a very good wife. They say Jack Welch is doing very well but John is not doing as well and Jim Weaks is doing very well. Uncle Weaver lives in Houghman county. Houghman Post Office. If I could see you now, I could tell you a great deal that I can’t write.

Have all your peaches stilled that you can. I am sorry that I did not get them apples you sent to me by Jim Arnold. When you write to me, write how your crop is coming on and how Manuel is getting on. Nothing more at present, only remain your most affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 13

Chattanooga, Tennessee
July 28, 1862

My dear wife and family,

I once more hasten to write you a few lines to let you know I am well, I have had the roseola but I am well now. I hope these few lines may find you all well and enjoying the same blessing. I have not received nary letter from you since James Arnold brought me that one. I never wanted to hear from home any worse than I do now. I think certainly you have wrote but I have not received your letters. This is four since we got to Chattanooga.

I am now in the hospital waiting on the sick. Our captain [Slaughter] sent ten men to the hospital yesterday and sent me to wait on them. Dock was one of them. He has had one of his bad spells but is a great deal better. He can walk over the house a little. There is about 25 of our men on the sick list. We have moved from where we were nearer town to Camp Shorter. We have a very comfortable hospital and it is kept very nice and the soldiers is treated very well. I don’t know how long I will stay here. I get $7.50 more for staying here than I was getting but there is a great deal to do here. We have from 8 to 10 men to nurse apiece.

I want you to write. I want to hear from you very bad and know how things is going on and how the children is getting on with the measles.

There is a big fight expected here—or hereabout—not far off. Soldiers are landing here by the thousands. I am sitting in a window writing where I can see all over.

Chattanooga is a sorry looking place right in a hollow between two mountains and on the Tennessee River. It is about the size of Wetumpka [Alabama]. This is a heap more broken a place than Coosa County. We are at the foot of Lookout Mountain.

William Lessley has got the yellow jaundice but is better of them. Asa is well. I hant got time to write very much but if I could see you, I could tell you a great deal that I can’t write. Asa wrote Nan a letter yesterday and I wrote Liz a letter today for Dock. I wrote Thursday for your Pap to come after Dock. I think he will get a discharge. He has got to the place he can’t hardly hear at all but he may soon get over that. I want you to write as soon as you get this letter for you don’t know how bad I want to hear from you. Nothing more at present. I remain your most affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Chattanooga, Tennessee in care of Capt. M. G. Slaughter, Hilliard’s Legion Cavalry Battalion

Letter 14

Chattanooga, Tennessee
August 1, 1862

Great God! What a thunderbolt struck my ear yesterday when Asa come up here to the hospital and gave me a letter from you and told me that Cricket ¹ was dead. I know not how to address you on the subject. I hope she is better off but it breaks my heart to think I could not be at home and see the last of her. I want you to grieve as little as possible. I hope the time is near at hand when I can come home and stay with you and the rest of the children.

I hope these few lines may find you all well. I am not very well at this time. I have sat up nights and waited on the sick till I am wore out and grieved to death. I am not sick—only from grief. I don’t aim to stay here much longer. Our Company is ordered off from here to Louden, Tennessee. They are sending up all the sick from here that is able to go. There is a big battle expected here soon and I want to see it come on. I had rather die than live if it wasn’t for your sake and the children. I want to see you worse than I ever did in my life and talk with you. I don’t know what to write to you. I want you to write me a letter of consolation as soon as you get this letter.

Dock is better but his head. He can’t hear any yet. Liz is here. She is trying to get a discharge for Dock and I think she will get it for him. She was here when I got your letter. I reckon they will leave tomorrow and I will go back to camps.

I don’t know when we will leave here. If there is a fight here, we won’t have no hand in it. We hant got our equippage yet. The Captain is gone after our saddles now. You need not be uneasy about me. If I get killed, just say I died in a good cause. Old Abe Lincoln and his cabinet could not daunt me now. I could fall his whole army right now. I don’t feel like writing now but I will try to write you another letter in a few days. Forgive me for not writing no more. If I could see you, I could talk to you a week, but I can’t write what I could tell you if I could see you.

Nothing more at present. Only I remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

¹ “Cricket” was the nickname of John’ daughter Nancy Hanner Cotton, born 3 February 1858. She died 12 July 1862—twelve days before the letter reached John in Chattanooga.

Letter 15

[Note: This letter was from Lizzie Hindman to Mariah (Hindsman) Cotton]

Chattanooga, Tennessee
August 1

My dear sister-in-law Maria Cotton,

It is with most painful pen and hand I have once more settled myself in this hospital to drop you a few lines. I am with [my husband] Bud. He has been dreadful sick. They gave him up to die. He is better now and is deaf so you know I am in trouble and so are you. I am so sorry to think of Cricket’s death.

You don’t know what trouble is until you come here and that you knew how your poor husband laid on a hard old straw bed and suffer like Dock has and now perfectly deaf. Oh! you don’t know nothing at all until you come here and see the men that die here every day. I tell you, it is awful indeed dreadful so I am all in trouble and don’t know how to console you at all.

Your brother is very sick—Mike I mean. [He] is [at] home at Pap’s and I am trying to get Bud home to Pap’s as soon as I can so when I get there I will try and write you a word or so. I most grieved to death and out of heart. I am troubled to death at the sight I now see and the trouble I am a bearing, so painful every thought to see his sight I now witness before me.

Bud sends his love to you and so do I. I will do the best I can t try to get Dock well and come and see you soon so I have nothing more at present. From your affectionate sister-in-law, — Lizzie Hindsman

Write soon and let me hear from you. I am trying to get Dock a discharge and I think I will start tomorrow.

Letter 16

Chattanooga, Tennessee
August 3, 1862

My dear wife and children,

I now with much sorrow attempt to write you a few more lines to let you know that I am not very well. I have got a bad cold but not very bad off. I left the hospital yesterday evening. They have sent to Dock to Atlanta and all of the rest that was able to go. I helped him and Liz on the cars to start. I never want to go to a hospital again. Men are dying there constant[ly]. There was about a dozen men died while I was there—three of our own men, and we have two more that I think will die—and lots more sick but I don’t know how many. Asa is not very well. He says he thinks he is taking the yellow jaundice. William Lessley has got well. The health of the Company is very bad.

We are now ordered from here to Louden, Tennessee. We will leave here in the morning and we hant got our saddles or arms yet. All of the other Companies in the Battalion has got saddles but ours and I reckon they will lend us saddles to ride. It is eighty miles from here and we have got to go by land. Phelit and John Sarel is at home sick. Liz did not get Dock no discharge. Tell Nan I was glad to get her kind and consoling letter. Tell her I can’t write to her now. I hant got time for it is getting late in the evening.

I don’t want you to grieve too much about the death of our little daughter. We must only hope that she is better off than we are. But Oh! how I will miss her when I come home. She will not be there to fondle on my knees with the rest of the children. I hope the rest may do well till I come home and want you to take care of yourself and not expose yourself too much. Nan wrote that Bill had gone after cousin Caroline Walker to come and stay with you. If she has come, tell her to take good care of you and the children till I come home. Nan said that Letha had been staying with you. Tell her I am more than a thousand times obliged to her for her kindness towards you for I know you needed somebody to stay with you. I hant much to write to console you for I am in too much trouble myself. I shall be uneasy till I hear that all of the children has had the measles and are well of them. I never knew what pleasure home afforded to a man before. If it were not for the love of my country and family and the patriotism that burns in my bosom for them, I would be glad to come home and stay there. But I know I have as much to fight for as anybody else. But if I were there, I know I could not stay so I have to take it as easy as possible. Let Nan read this letter. Nan, write to me when you can. Asa wrote to you today.

Mariah, write when you can. I have not got but the two letters since I left home. I would love to hear from you everyday. I wrote you one day before yesterday. Excuse my bad writing and spelling for I am writing on my knee sitting on a log. Nothing more at preset. I remain your most affectionate husband and friend till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 17

Alexander Hospital
Atlanta Georgia
August 15, 1862

Mrs. Cotton, Dear Madam

I take pleasure in writing you a few lines for Mr. Cotton or rather his request to inform you that he is not improving very much yet. The doctor is giving him quinine very heavy today which makes his head in an awful fire. His fever has never broke yet. The doctor has never given him any strong medicine—until today—since he has been here. He came here last Thursday evening which was the 14th of the month. I think he looks better today than he did yesterday. I think he will be up in a few days. He said for you to write to him soon as you get this. Let him know how you all are getting on—how your crops is, &c.

Mrs. Cotton. I will keep you posted how Mr. Cotton gets on as long as I stay here but I may have to leave for my Company this week. We both belong to the same Company. We are not in the same hospital though I can go and see him every day.
Write to him, Atlanta, Georgia, Alexander Hospital. As for the health of our Company, I can’t tell anything about it for I have not been with the company three weeks or more. I learn that they are at or above Knoxville, Tennessee. Nothing more at present. Will write again in a few days to you.

Believe me to be your friend & yours truly. — W. G. Johnson

Letter 18

Atlanta, [Georgia]
August 17, 1862

Mariah, dear wife,

I now attempt to let you know that I am in the Alexander Hospital. I am a good deal better than I was when I came here. The doctor says I have got the typhoid fever but he says he will have me up in a few days. I came here the 14th of this month. I can’t write much as I am sick and nervous. I had to get the nurse to do my writing. I hope I will be able to give you a full history of all things in a few days. I want you to write to me as soon as you get this letter. Direct your letter to Alexander Hospital, Atlanta, Georgia. I close my letter by signing my name, — John W. Cotton

Letter 19

Coosa county, Alabama
August 21, 1862

My dear husband,

I now seat myself to write you a few lines to let you hear from me and the children. The children is all well at this time and as for myself, I am not at all sick but I trouble almost to death about you and our little Cricket’s death. It almost breaks my heart to think that are gone so far off from me and the children but I can only hope that the time is coming when you will get home to us all again. I hope these few lines may find you well.

Everything is doing very well. Your stock is all doing very well so far. I hant much of importance to write to you for I can’t hear of anything here but war all the time. They say they are fixing for a big battle at Richmond again. I want you to write to me whether you have gone farther than you were before or not, and write to me all about how you fare—whether you get enough to eat or not. I hear of some not getting enough to eat. I am so uneasy about you not getting enough to eat so I want to know.

Your Par is stilling yet. He got a heap of peaches and apples. Mr. Norwood come and took up his note that I had. Wash come with him. Your Uncle John Tate was out here a while back. He said they had no rain in about 12 weeks. He said they was bound up. He said he would be back here in about two weeks. He said that he was coming to fetch his wool. He said that we all might have some wool. It is selling at a dollar per pound. Your Par said he thinks that I will make a mighty good crop of corn…

Your brother William and the rest of the conscript men started from around here the 19th of this [month]. There is talk of their taking [men] higher than 35 [years of age] but I hope they won’t take no more. I want those that is there to come home.
Weaver, do you want me to sell any of your wheat for seed or not? You write to me about what to do about it. You must write me all the good advice you can for I need advice, you know.

I received a letter from you Monday. It is now Thursday. It was dated the 3rd of this month. I was glad to hear from you [but] I was sorry to hear that you and Asa was not well. I am so uneasy about you. I don’t know what to do. I would [give] this whole world if you was at home with me so I could know when you are sick or well. You said that you would be uneasy till you heard that the children was all well of the measles. They are all well of them now. “Sweet” and Jenny has not had them yet. I don’t think they will have them now so you must not uneasy yourself about the measles now.

Since I commenced this letter, Nancy came up here with a letter that she got today from Asa. It was dated the 11th and it said that you was in the hospital sick. You don’t know how bad I felt to hear of your being in a hospital sick. Oh that I only could be there to wait on you. I will be so uneasy till I hear from you. I can’t rest but I hope you are better by this time. Mr. Lessley got a letter from William that was dated the 19th. It said you was sick. He said they had sent the sick to Atlanta and so I don’t know what to do about sending this letter and so I did not send it. I never was as uneasy in my life. Nothing more at present but remain your affectionate wife until death, — Mariah Cotton

August 25, 1862

My dear husband,

I once more with sorrow and trouble, take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to let you hear from me and the children. The children is all well at this time. I am well—all to grief and sorrow. I have just now received a letter from you. It gave me relief for I did not know where you was. I never was as glad to hear from anybody in my life as I was to hear from you. I am sorry to hear of your being sick. I don’t know how to address you on it. I don’t want you to be uneasy about home. I want you to take good care of yourself and try to get well again. I want to come and see you if you are willing and are going to stay there long enough for me to come. If you are, write me about it whether I must try to come or not—if you are able to write. If I could see you, I could tell you a heap. I never wanted to see anybody as bad in my life as I want to see you now and wait on you.

If you are willing for me to try to come to see you, you must write soon. I had a letter wrote to send to you but I heard that you was sent to Atanta and I kept it. I did not have the paper all full and I thought I would write this letter on it and send it all to you. You must excuse my bad spelling and writing for it is a hard task for me to write to you now. I wish I could hear from you every day…

Nan said she will stay with Sheridan and the children till I can come to see you. I will close my few remarks to you. Write soon. — Mariah Cotton

Letter 20

Alexander Hospital
Atlanta, Georgia
August 25, 1862

Dear wife,

I take my pen in hand to let you know how I am getting along. I am still on the mend but I gain strength very slow. I am up only long enough to write but a few lines at a time. I am not in any misery at all. I can get up and walk across my room and back to my bed.

I was taken sick at the hospital waiting on Bud [Dock]. I went back to my Company on Saturday night and that night I took a dose of pills and on Monday morning we took up the line of march to Louden. But when we got there, we never stopped. We went on to Knoxville and kept getting worse all the way. I gave out 23 miles this side of Knoxville and they put me on the cars and sent me to Knoxville to the hospital. James Dukes says I stayed there four and a half days but I don’t recollect how long for everything seems like a dream while I was there. They put me on the cars one night a little after dark to come to Atlanta. We got there the next morning. Everything seems like a dream till I had been here two or three days. I expect it will be a long time before I am able to leave here.

Write as soon as you get this letter and let me know how things are going on. When Manuel gets ready to split rails, tell him to split rails on the ridge from the horse lot over towards where we drug them dead horses and if there ain’t timber enough there, cut the dead timber from the cow pen to the top of the hill towards Moses’.

Nothing more at present but remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 21

[Note: This letter was written by “Nan” or Nancy (Cotton) Waldrop (1837-1914), a sister of John Weaver Cotton, and the wife of Asa Pitts Waldrop (1835-1910). The Waldrops were near neighbors to the Cotton’s in Coosa County. Their home was near the Mr. Pleasant Church Cemetery. Asa served in the same unit as John W. Cotton.]

Coosa County, Alabama
September 9, 1862

My dear brother and sister [Cotton],

I take this opportunity to write you a few lines to let you know that we are all well and have been ever since Mariah has been gone—only “Sweet” ate too many beans and made him sick a day and night. I hope these few lines may find you all well. I have been waiting and looking for a letter from you but I have concluded to write anyhow and not wait no longer. Mariah promised to write to me about making clothes. I have got the promise of some wool. Asa wrote to me to make him a coat and vest and pants and blanket son and he said make the tails of his coat long and the waist of his pants longer. I have spoke to Miss Corley for her [ ] she is making provided I can’t get wool enough. Asa wrote to me that his pants is a getting thin.

I want you to write to me as soon as you get this letter and tell me how long you think you will stay there and if you can take Asa some clothes and if you don’t think I had better send you some yarn pants and all the rest of clothes that we have got made when Pa comes after Mariah. He talks about going to Wilkes when he comes there to see about that property. We have made two shirts. I would be very glad if you could take what clothes we have got made for fear when we undertake to send them that you will never get them/ I don’t know when Pa aims to come there. He has got some fruit to still next Monday. He is done all to that but I don’t know what he will do about coming. Let Wash fetch the buggy back.

I have come to Pa’s since I commenced my letter. He says he hant a going to Wilkes and he don’t talk like [he’s] coming to Atlanta. If I can get him to carry the things to [ ] and get them in the cars, I will send them to you if you say you want them and can carry them clothes to Asa.

[Brother] Willy [William J. Cotton] and Caroline [Walker] was married Sunday morning. I do not know what he aims to do though I think he aims to leave here, there to live with Mariah like she has been a living. Manuel is getting to big for his britches. He went off Saturday at dinner and never come home till Monday about nine o’clock and left 2 or 3 days pulling of fodder down and the most of it cured and when he come home, I said something to him about leaving the fodder and he got so mad, he jawed me to the last. He said he is going to take five days holiday, let Mariah say what she will. He says it was nothing but contrariness [?] that Mariah did not hire somebody to help him pull fodder.

Tell all the connection howdy for me. Give my love to all the people there in my old settlement. If I had any way to get back, I would come out to see them when Pa comes out. Tell John Filmer to move out here. — Nancy Waldrop

Weaver, write to me how many oats you want me to save for you. So many people is a wanting oats. Brown’s folks has got the diphtheria and I am afraid we will all get it for Manuel goes to Brown’s so much. Pa would [have] whipped him yesterday but he had a sore finger.

Letter 22

Atlanta, Georgia
September 12, 1862

Mariah, dear wife,

I received your letter this morning and was very glad to hear from you and that you was well but very sorry to hear that Little Ginney was so sick. I was in hopes that she had got well but I knew that there was something the matter that you did not come back but I never thought of the small pox stopping you. I was so uneasy I did not know what to do till I got your letter. I was afraid you was sick. I am afraid you won’t get to come at all. I shall be very sorry if you don’t get to come for I had a great deal to tell you. When Par comes, tell him to come and see me if he can. I hant heard from home since you left here.

I am still mending. I have got so I can walk about right smart by taking my time. I went to the car shed last night and night before to meet you but I never found you nor Ginny. I think I will go again tonight and look for you.

Our sick men are all mending at present. That man in our room that had the pneumonia is dead. There is talk here about breaking up all of the hospitals and send all that is able to go home and them that is not able, keep them till they get able. They have turned out all of them prisoners they had in the guard house when you was here. I want you to write as soon as you get this letter and let me know how you all are and if the small pox is spreading any. I want you to write the day before you start home if you don’t get to come to see me, Nothing more at present but remain your affectionate friend till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 23

[Note: The following letter was written by Dr. Andrew Calhoun Lawrence Hindsman (1834-1916), the son of William (“Billy”) Hindsman (1805-1886) and Nancy M. Cotton (1810-1855). He was a younger brother of John W. Cotton’s wife, Mariah Hindsman. “Dock” was married in December 1860 to Sarah Elizabeth (“Liz”) [Maiden Name?]; they divorced in 1867 in Coweta county, Georgia. Dock was an 1861 graduate of the School of Medicine at New York University.]

Knoxville, Tennessee
September 14, 1862

John W. Cotton, my dear brother,

It is of great pleasure to me this beautiful morning to address you a few lines which is accordance to promise when I left you in that low state of health in the hospital in the City of Atlanta. I pray and trust to our Savior above that these few lines may come to hand and find you enjoying the grand blessings of life and also finds sister and the baby in the same good blessings which may be stored upon you and all the family which is left behind in the sad mourning hours of our absence from our dear beloved wives and our sweet children—those who has them to depart from in this vain world of ours. But oh! may God bless every one of us and enable us all to return back home to the ones so dear to us all and be by our fireside with them, conversing with them on the triumph[ant] scene [that] has rolled before us while our absence from them in the dark and dreary hours of midnight.

Weave, I have not much of importance to write to you at the present time. I only wish that you was able to be here with me. I would be much better satisfied than I am now. But still I am getting along tolerable well to take everything in consideration. I have not been well since I have been here. I went to the hospital on last Tuesday and staid there until last Friday about dark when I got out to the camp. I have had a severe cold and neuralgia in the side of my left cheek and head and more that that, the doctor has put on one large blister behind each ear and I have suffered a great deal from them and ain’t done yet suffering from them. I can’t turn my head without my whole body with it. You can’t imagine the inconvenience I labor under here. I can’t talk to none of the boys without a great deal of trouble to them. I don’t think that I have spoke fifty words since I have been here in camp. My life is not much satisfaction to me here. No comfort nor pleasure do I see in the present condition I am now in. The height of my time I spend here is in writing—that is all the pleasure I see here, and also reading the papers when I can get hold of one to read.

Weave, your horse is here with us all. He improves every day but still I don’t know what we will do with him when we leave here. The report now roving through the company is that we will leave here Monday or Tuesday for Kentucky but still I don’t know when we will leave. There is one great consolation to me is this, brother Michael’s company is a going along with us. I am proud of that, you had better know it.

So I reckon you want to hear how I came out in getting a discharge. I did not come out atall for I almost knew how it would be before I departed from you all. I did not get nary one. You know the reason of it better than I can tell you. He done all he could against me to keep from getting it but he will repent for [it] yet if he don’t mind. If I had been under any other Captain, I would have got one without any trouble whatever.

So I believe I have wrote all I know at the present so I must bring my few scattering remarks to a close for fear I will tire you out reading them…I only wish I could get the chance to go back there to practice medicine in the condition I am now…Weave, tell sister when she goes back to send that paper they was getting up for me to come back there to practice for them [and] for them to do all they can with it and then send it on to the Secretary of War and I will come back and do all I can for them. So I will close.

Weave, write as soon as you get this letter. I want to hear from you before we have to leave here and when you heard from Pap’s family and from Lizzie. Yours until death, &c. I want to hear from Lizzie very bad. — Dr. A. C. L. Hindsman

Address your letters this: A. C. L. Hindsman, Col. Hilliard’s Legion in care of Capt. M. G. Slaughter, Knoxville, Tennessee, Co. C of Cavalry

Letter 24

*Letter addressed to Mariah who was at her father’s home in Grantville, Georgia*

Atlanta, Georgia
September 15, 1862

Dear wife,

It is with much grief and fear that I take my pen in hand to let you know that I read your kind letter this morning and was glad to hear from you again but was very sorry to hear that little Ginney was so sick. I was in hopes that when I heard from her again, she would be well. But I am glad to think that she is better or that you think so. I have received both of your letters and was extremely glad to hear from you for I have been uneasy ever since you left here with little Ginney.

I am very sorry that you could not come back [to Atlanta] to see me but I am in hopes now that I will get to come to see you. They say the hospitals will be broke up in a day or two and that all that ain’t able to go to their Companies and are able to go home will be furloughed home till they get well and them that are not able to go home will stay here till they get able to go home.

I am still mending some. I am a great deal better off tan I was when you left me. I have got so I can eat a plenty. I bought me some potatoes this morning and are having me a rich pie made for dinner. I have eat up my ham and drunk up my brandy and want more. If I don’t get a furlough, I would be very glad for Par to come to see me when he comes out after you. Tell him to come if he can.

This hospital could break up tomorrow. They are building houses out at the fairground to put the sick in and they are moving bunks out there now. You need not look for me for I don’t know whether I will get to come or not but I hope I will. That will cure my uneasiness.

I got a letter from Asa dated the 10th. He said he and Porter was well except for bad colds. Our Company was then at Knoxville and he said he did not know when they would leave there. He said they might leave in a day or two, and they might stay there a good while. He said my horse was fattening. I will not write anything to you now about affairs at home. From what I can learn, it is not worthwhile to make me any clothes for if I had what clothes I have got at home, they would do me very well and you had better send them to me if you get home time enough by express. Nothing more at present but remain your friend and affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

I hope little Ginney will get well but I fear.

Letter 25

*Addressed to A. C. L. Hindman, Knoxville, Tennessee, In care of Capt. M G. Slaughter, Hilliard’s Legion Cavalry Battalion, Co. C.*

Atlanta, Georgia
September 17, 1862

Dear Brother-in-law [Andrew C. L. Hindman],

I take my pencil in hand to let you know that I have just received your letter and was extremely glad to hear from you. I had looked for a letter from you till I had nearly gave out getting again. I was very sorry to hear that you had been in such bad health and I am sorry you can’t get a discharge for you are needed at home. I got a letter from [sister] Nan [Nancy (Cotton) Waldrop] day before yesterday dated the 9th. She said that all was well but Brown’s folks had the diphtheria and I also got a letter from Mariah at the same time which I read with much dissatisfaction. Mariah left home after staying and few days and went down to Paps to stay a few days and then come back to see me but when she got ready to come, they would not let her get on the cars for fear of the small pox. The baby was taken with a running off of the bowels two days before she left here but we thought it was from cutting teeth shut she has been sick ever since. She says she thinks it is the flux. She sent for Doctor Philips. He had been there twice. He said he thought he was better. She hant eat nor sucked any to do any good since she was taken sick. Mariah says she never suffered as much uneasiness in her life and I know I never did. I tried yesterday to get to go down there but there was no chance at all.

They are talking of breaking up the hospitals here and send all that is able to travel home and send the rest to the fairground. If they break them up at all, I reckon it will be done this week. Ours was to break up yesterday or today but I don’t know when it will be done but it will be done sometime before long. They discharged four men here yesterday. I am still mending. I can walk about over town right smart by taking my time but I am very weak yet. I have a right smart cold and cough. I have had no backset yet. I think I will be able to come to see you all in two or three weeks if I don’t get no backset. We hant many men here now. They are gone to their companies.
I was glad to hear that my horse was mending. I hope you won’t leave there till I can come to you. I got a letter from Asa [Waldrop] the other day and answered it. Tell the captain to do what he thinks best with my horse when you go to leave Knoxville. I hope these few lines may find you all well. Write to me and tell the rest of the boys to write to me. Nothing more at present but remain your affectionate friend till death, — John W. Cotton

I want to see Mariah and little Ginney and all of the children worse than I ever did. I shant rest till I hear from them again. You don’t know how uneasy I am about little Ginney. Mariah said she was the weakest little thing she ever saw. Brother Bill and Caroline Walker was married last Sunday—was a week ago.

Letter 26

*Addressed to Mrs. Mariah Cotton, Grantville, Georgia*

Atlanta, Georgia
September 17, 1862

Dear wife,

It is with much uneasiness I attempt to write you a few lines to let you know that I am still mending. I am getting alog very well considering I am in so much trouble. I would give anything to see you and little Ginney. I hope these few lines may find you well and little Ginney better and all of the connection well. I looked for a letter from you yesterday or this morning but did not get it. I want you to write to me at least every other day until you go home. I don’t expect Par will come as soon as you looked for him from what Nan’s letter said about it…Nan spoke of sending me and Asa some clothes by Par. If she don’t, we will have to depend on the Yankees for them. I am afraid you can’t get home [in] time enough to send me any or I would want you to send me some by express…

Our hospital has not broke up yet nor I don’t know exactly when it will. They have discharged several last night and this morning and are sending off all that are able to go. I think they are waiting for further orders from the War Department.

When you go home, I want you to send for Par every time Manuel crooks his finger [at you] till he gets him straight. Tell Par if there is any work he wants to swap, I want him to do it so he can help him under charge. I reckon he will swap in gathering corn. I want the fresh field all sowed in wheat…I want the old field on the creek sowed in rye…— John W. Cotton

Letter 27

Medical College Hospital
Atlanta, Georgia
September 25, 1862

Mariah Cotton, dear wife,

I once more take my pen in hand to drop you a few lines to let you know that I am well and still mending. I hope these few lines may find you and all the children enjoying the same blessing. I hope that little Ginney is getting well as fast as she can and I hope that the babies is getting fat and all of the rest doing well. And I hope all of the connection is well.

I got a letter last night from Albert Martin from Knoxville the 18th of this month. He said that all of the Company was well but Dock. He said he had the neuralgia in his jaw and the toothache. But you can read for yourself and see what he says. I bought me a very good waistcoat for two dollars but I think I cheated the fellow. He threw down a whole pile of old course things on the counter and told me to pick out one for two dollars and there was one good one in the pile and I put it on and let. I hant been back since we have moved from our hospital to the Medical College. I am very well pleased with my move.

I hant got much to write to you. There is no fresh news here—only Congress has passed the act to furlough all sick and wounded soldiers home for not more than 60 days. But I expect they will soon give me a furlough to my Company. I expect there will be a good many leave here this evening.

September 26, 1862. Nobody went off yesterday evening but will go off this evening. The doctors has just been around their companies. I want to go to my Company next week. If I keep mending, I will go then. I just now got a letter from Liz. She said they are well. She said she had got a letter from Dock and he said he thought if he kept on the good side of his Captain, he would get a discharge. I can’t find out whether he is gone with the Company or not…

The papers say there is a proposition made for peace. I hope it will be made soon so we can come home and stay there unmolested the balance of our days. Write soon. When I leave here and get to my Company, I will write to you where to write to. I am afraid I shall be bothered to get to my Company. I am still fattening and I hope these lines may reach you the same. Write what Bill and Caroline is doing and how Manuel is doing and so on. Nothing more at present. Only remain your affectionate husband until death. — John W. Cotton

Letter 28

Medical College Hospital
Atlanta, Georgia
October 2, 1862

Dear wife,

It is with pleasure that I take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well and will leave here this evening for my Company. There is several of the Legion going with me but none of my Company. We will start at half past 7 o’clock. I wrote a letter and put it in the [post] office last week but I don’t know whether you got it or not. I have not received nary letter from you since you left here…I am very sorry to leave here without hearing from you and the children. I don’t know whether little Ginney is dead or alive but I hope she is well before this time…I am afraid that when I leave here that I never will hear from you all again nor see you until the war ends. If I never come back again, I want you to do the best you can for yourself and the children. Learn them to love you and obey you and try to learn them to be good children. And if I never return, I want you to keep your land and such things as you need and raise your children the best you can. I don’t want you to be uneasy because I have write this but be of good cheer. Hire Manuel next year if you want him to carry on your business as if you never expected me at home.

I heard from General [Kirby] Smith. He is three hundred miles from Chattanooga in Kentucky at a little place within thirty miles of Louisville. I wrote to you before that my Company left Knoxville on the 18th of September. I don’t expect they have got to Smith yet. I expect that I shall be bothered to get to them. I hant heard from them since they left Knoxville nor I don’t know what they done with my horse…

There was a colonel here this morning and he said the best of horses were selling at one hundred and twenty-five dollars, bacon 3 cents per pound, corn 30 cents, flour 10 dollars a barrel, butter 10 cents, cheese 15 cents, coffee 7 and 8 pound to the dollar, whiskey 33 cents per gallon, good shoes $1.25 to 7 dollars. Good boots five dollars, he says.

They are fattening thousands of pork and our men are living as well as they can. They get everything to eat they want to eat. I wish I was there. It will not be worthwhile for you to write to me anymore until you hear from me again. I am so bothered that I don’t know what else to write to you. Don’t be uneasy about me. If you don’t hear from me, you may know I am doing the best I can for myself—

Though in distant lands I roam, I will think the more about home. If on Yankey soil I be, don’t think I’ll ever forget thee.

I will try to go on to my Company but I expect I will have to stop at Knoxville and don’t know how long. If I have to stay there long, I will write to you. I may write anyhow. — John W. Cotton

Letter 29

Tennessee Camp Convalescents
Near Knoxville
October 8, 1862

Mariah Cotton, dear wife,

It is with much pleasure that I take my pen in hand to write you a few lines. These few lines leave me well and I hope they will find you all the same. I hope they may find little Ginney fat and sassy. I don’t know what I would give to hear from her now and see you all again but we are a good ways apart and it is uncertain when we will meet again.

I am at the Convalescent Camp at Knoxville waiting for company to go with me to my Company. There is one of my Company here and I expect we will start to the Company soon—about day after tomorrow. I will write again when I leave here. I don’t know whether we can get to our Company or not but we will go as far as we can. I understand that the army is still moving on north. I received a letter from you just as I was leaving Atlanta and did not have time to read it until I had to leave. I was very glad to hear that you had got home safe and as well as you did. I was afraid you would have to stop on the way with little Ginney. I hope she is now well and all of the rest of you.

They took my horse off and left me afoot but I have another one that belongs to the Legion that I will ride unless the owner comes before I get off. I had to go about twelve miles after him. He belongs to a man that is at home. There is several horses left here and he can ride him if he ever comes back.

I hant got nary a letter from the Company since I saw you. Albert Martin has gone home. He left here the evening I got there but I never saw him. They are furloughing a great many of the sick home from here and discharging them too very fast. But there is a many a one here that need it that don’t get it. I am messing with Sam Plunkett and others. He ought to have a discharge. He has partly lost his hearing.

If you want to write to me, direct your letter to Lexington, Kentucky, our Company may be there yet. I am to go from here there. I will be very glad to hear from you if I should ever get there but I have a dangerous road to travel for about two hundred miles. I only hope that I will go through safe. I want you to pray for me that I may go through safe to my Company and through the war till we have moved the Yankeys back from our soil and peace is made and that I may return safe home to you all again. Nothing more but remain your best friend, — John W. Cotton

Letter 30

Tennessee Camp Convalescents
near Knoxville
October 9, 1862

Dear wife,

I again have the pleasure to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well and getting tolerable stout again. I hope these few lines may find you all well and doing well. I hant much to write to you. I sent you a letter yesterday by mail but I will send this by hand. Old Mr. Hand that lives down below is going home on a furlough.

I don’t know yet when I will leave here. The adjutant talked yesterday of sending off about 100 men today or tomorrow and sending me with them but there is a good many of them that they had started coming back, not being able to make the march to their companies so they talk of not starting us yet awhile. I don’t know when I will leave here. There was lots of the Legion came in here from Cumberland Gap this morning that weren’t able to go with their companies. They say they don’t know where the cavalry is now but they are all gone to Kentucky. They say that it isn’t [safe for] just a few to go through from Cumberland Gap on account of the bushwhackers so I shan’t undertake to go to my Company without a right smart squad of men unless the officers force me.

We are not faring very well here but I can make out very well. We get bread and beef and a little rice. There is a heap of grumbling in camps about not getting enough to eat but it is the way they manage it. I have plenty. I am messing with Sam Plunkett and two others you know nothing about.

I hant got anything much to write to you but if I could see you, I could tell you a great deal. I want you to write to me as soon as you can when you get this letter and direct it to Knoxville, Tennessee in care of Captain M. G. Slaughter, Hilliard’s Legion, Cavalry Battalion. If I don’t get it here, it may go to the company by the time I do. I am very sorry to think that I can’t hear from you all. I would give almost anything to hear from little Ginney and hear that she was well and all of you. But it will be some consolation to hear from me. Nothing more at present but remain yourfriend till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 31

Tennessee Camp Convalescents
[Near Knoxville]
October 15, 1862

My dear wife,

It is with much dissatisfaction that I again take my pen in hand to write you a few more lines to let you know that I am well as common. I am at the Convalescent Camps near Knoxville and I am doing tolerable well. We don’t get anything hardly to eat but fresh beef and flour. We got a little bacon yesterday for the first time since I have been here. There is more grumbling here than I ever heard but my mess makes out very well. We bought a little bacon and we bought a very nice catfish this morning for one dollar. There is but three in my mess so I get plenty to eat. I am as heavy as I ever was—nearly 167 pounds—but I ain’t very stout yet.

I hope these few lines may reach you all well and doing well. I would be very glad to hear from you all. I want to hear from little Ginney very bad so I could know how she was and all of the rest of you. I shall be uneasy until I hear from home again. I fear she has follows little Cricket. I can’t help from shedding tears when I think about her and think how bad I would miss her if I were at home, but I don’t know that it will ever be my happy lot to be there again to enjoy the privileges of being with the rest of you all and enjoy our freedom as we have done before. But I hope that we will soon meet again. I hope the war will not last much longer but I don’t see much chance now for peace.

The news has come here that the Legion has been in two fights. The Yankees attacked them in the march from Cumberland Gap to Livingston but no straught news about the fight. There is 135 men of the Legion here on the sick list but none of the cavalry. The officers here talk of sending off about four hundred men from here tomorrow that has got able to march. If they go, I shall go with them. But I think its uncertain about their starting for they hant near all got guns and it is uncertain about there getting them.

There is none of the Legion here that you ever knew but Elijah Plunkett. There was 73 of them came in here last night that was sick at Cumberland Gap. There was none of them cavalry left there. I hant heard anything from my Company yet. This three letters I have sent since I have been here. I sent one by old man Ham that lives away down towards Reckford and two by mail…

I was just over at the hospital just now and there was six dead men carried off from there. They die from six to eight a day. There is 26 or 27 hundred men here and not many able to go to their regiments. There is a band of doctors here now to examine the sick and furlough and discharge all they think need them. Breckenridge’s command is here and a great many others camped around her.

There was a man came here from Cumberland Gap night before last. He says that Hilliard left orders there for the officers there not to let any more Legion pass there but if any of them come there, to turn them back here. It is thought that he aims to take us down country somewhere. If they do come back, I wish they would make haste and come before I leave here. I don’t know when I will leave here.

There was an old Union man come in here to where some cavalry were camped and they took him up and he refused to take the oath [of allegiance] and they hung him three times before he took it, and then they made him double quick it from there over here to our camp and our men gathered around him and deviled him a good deal and then they turned him loose and made him leave in double quick time.

Nothing more at present to write to you but I hope these lines may find you all well. No more at this time. I will let you know when I leave here, I remain your most affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

There is a talk of the camps being broke up. If they are and they won’t let me go to my Company, I will be sent to Atlanta or Montgomery. Farewell. I hope I may see you all soon and see little Ginney fat and sassy and all of the rest.

Letter 32

Knoxville, Tennessee
October 18, 1862

Mariah, dear wife,

It is again that I take my pencil in hand to let you know that we are about to leave Knoxville. The order is to leave this evening for Kentucky. These lines leave me well except the diarrhea but it is not hurting me much. I hope these lines reach you all well and doing well. I hant heard from you since I left Atlanta and I am very uneasy about all and especially little Ginney. I want to hear from you all very bad but I am afraid it will be a long time before I can hear from you all. I was in hopes I would get a letter from you before we left here.

There will be 7 or 8 hundred in all—cavalry and infantry. We will all go together. I have got the same horse yet that I got when I first came here and I will ride him through [even] if I have him to pay for, but I ain’t much uneasy about that. There is seven of our Company here and Lieut. Baird, our 2nd Lt. Six of them were left here for carriers. There is 211 of our Battalion here to go along and a right smart infantry and artillery.

I saw Frank Carley this morning. He came from Strawberry Plains yesterday. He says he is not able to go with us but he is mending slowly. He looks very well.

You must excuse my short letter and bad writing for I hant got much to write now and not much time to write it in for I have got to fix for leaving here and eat dinner. I want you to write as soon as you get this letter—if you call it one. Direct your letter to Lexington, Kentucky, in care of Capt. M. G. Slaughter, Hilliard’s Legion, Cavalry Battalion. I can’t tell you how bad I want to see you all. So I must close. Nothing more at present, only remain your most affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 33

Knoxville, Tennessee
October 26, 1862

Dear wife,

I again take my pen in hand to write you a few more lines to let you know I am well and am at Knoxville. Our Battalion is coming back here. One company has got back and we are looking for our Company every day. What few of us that is here is doing very well and get plenty to eat and not much to do. We have been detailed a few days to patrol the streets of Knoxville.

We have had a beautiful spell of weather till last night and today and we have had several pretty [hard] frosts. It commenced snowing last night and it has snowed over half the day. The leaves here is perfectly green and all covered with snow.
Dock has started home but I reckon you will get a letter from him before you get this. Strickland’s Company was here this week but they are gone from here now. I stayed with them one night. Mike and John were both well and fatter than I ever saw them. I weigh more than I ever did but I hant got the same action I use to have I think it is for want of exercise. There is part of our Company left us and gone to Stevens’ Company. We were ordered to Kentucky and we went about a mile and stopped to stay all night and go on next morning. We had orders to start and before we got off, we had orders not to go and we moved back close to where we were before and near here.

October 27. Mariah, I will write you a few more lines. Our captain that commands our little squad will leave us today and go to his company but our first lieutenant [Isaac Baird] is here with us and another lieutenant of the Legion. There is three of our Company here that the Yankeys took prisoners and paroled them. The talk now is that we will be stationed at Cumberland Gap this winter and I’d rather go anywhere else. The whole army has left Kentucky but I reckon you have heard that. There is more soldiers about here than I ever saw.

I hant got any news from you since I left Atlanta. I have looked for a letter from you for some time but I hant got nary one yet. I want you to write to me again as soon as you get these few lines. Direct your letter to Knoxville to J. W. Cotton, Knoxville, Tennessee. I may stay here till I get a letter from you and I may not stay here two days. I want to get to my Company very bad. I am tired of being drug about by other officers.

I hant got much time to write to you. It is not worthwhile to try to tell you how bad I want to see you all or hear from you. If I could hear from you all and hear that little Ginney has got well, and all the rest of you, I would be very glad to come home and see you all and see how things is going on and make arrangements for another year but there is no chance now. You must do the best you can for yourself and the children. Only remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 34

Knoxville, Tennessee
November 3, 1862

Mariah, dear wife,

I once more take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well and doing tolerable well so far as bodily health, but I am distressed in mind. I have not heard from you since I left Atlanta. your last letter was dated the 28th of September which has been one month and six days. You have no idea how bad I want to hear from you all for I can’t hear whether little Ginney is dead or alive. I want to hear from you all but I had much rather see you all but I don’t know when I will get to see you all again.

There is several of our boys gone home now and our captain is gone home and Joe Leavitt and Bill Adkins that lives above Attaline. They left here yesterday morning. They have gone home after clothing. I want you to send me a coat and my knit shirt by Bill Adkins, and a letter, and if Dock has got home, tell him to write to me. Bill Adkins was here night before last at our camp but I did not get to see him.

I have been off on detached service for six days and just got in last night. There was 16 of us went away over into North Carolina to drive some beef cattle out of the mountains about 75 miles from here and about 25 miles right through the mountains and fourteen miles of trail. It was the worst mountains and the worst tail that ever I saw. There is but one house for 25 miles. Our horses had to do three days and nights on twenty nubbins of corn but we had plenty to eat. We brought out 70 head of cattle. If I could see you, I could tell you a heap more about our trip over there but I won’t write no more about it.

I heard from Asa and Bill Lessley last night. They are at Cumberland Gap. All is well. Bill is sorta puny but able to be about. Floyd Goodgame is here now. He is right from the Company. He says our Company will be down here in a day or two. Our lieutenant [Isaac Baird] says he is going to start to them tomorrow if they don’t come—if he can get off. It is not known yet where we will take up winter quarters. I have no notion where we will stay. There is a great deal of shifting about of soldiers now that our captain is gone home and our men say they don’t think he will ever come back anymore.

Mariah, I want you to send me 25 or 30 dollars of money by Bill Adkins with the other things for I hant got but $9 and 25 cents and I don’t know when we will draw any money for our service and i don’t want to get out of money for I might need it very bad. Write in the letter you send how much you send to me and write about things in general—how you are and how you are getting on. And how your stock is doing and how Manuel is getting along gathering corn and sowing grain and so on. Billy Brown is very poor. Making a trip to Kentucky and back, and then to North Carolina and back, has worsted him and doing on no feed a part of the time.

I hant much to write to you. I have a bad way to write. These lines leave me well and hope they find you enjoying the same blessing. Nothing more at present but remain your affectionate husband till death. — John W. Cotton

When you write, write your letters to Knoxville, Tennessee, in care of Captain M. G. Slaughter, Hilliard’s Legion, unless I write to you to direct them somewhere else.

Letter 35

Camp Baker, Tennessee
[@ 10 miles below Knoxville]
November 8, 1862

Mariah Cotton, dear wife,

I now take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well and fat as a bear. I have been heartier than I ever was in my life. I can eat anything that comes before me. I am happy to tell you that I have got with my Company again. I got with them yesterday morning and was glad to see all of the boys and they appeared glad to see me. They all are very glad they got out of Kentucky. They say they saw many hard times part of the time they were gone and nearly all of them suffered a good deal of the diarrhea. I will put this letter in with Asa’s and I reckon he will write all about their trip. The boys are all about but a heap of them are complaining right smart. Billy Martin is complaining right smart today.

I hant got but a few words to write to you but I thought I would write a few to let you know I was well. I hope these few lines may find you all well and doing well. I was very glad to hear that you were doing so well. You said all you lacked was me. I wish I was with you but it may be a long time before we see each other again—if ever. But I am not out of heart yet. I think I shall come back again to stay with you all and enjoy the freedom we are now fighting for. I hope I will come home soon.

I don’t want you to get out of heart about me but enjoy yourself the best you can. I could not help shed tears when I received your letter the other day. You said you got worse about the loss of little Cricket. I shall dread to come home for I know I shall miss her so much. She will not be there to fondle on my knees with the rest of the little fellows but I try to study about it as little as possible for I know she is a great deal better off than I am. We should not grieve that she is gone to a better world than this and gone where she never can come to us, but we can go to her. I can’t help shedding tears every time I get to studying about you all.

It’s now nearly dark and I hant got no candle. The next letters you send, send htem without paying the postage on them and then if I don’t get them, I won’t have to pay for them.

We are camped today ten miles below Knoxville and it is thought we will go from here to Murfreesboro. They are expecting a big fight there before long, and at Nashville too. Some thinks that we will not take up winter quarters at all but keep fighting all winter. If they don’t soon stop and let our horses rest, we will soon be afoot for our horses look very bad. But my horse looks better than he did a few days ago.

I want you to do the best you can for yourself and the children and not be uneasy about me for I am doing very well at present. I hope little Ginney will be well by the time you get this letter. I am going to try to come home betwixt this and Christmas if I see any chance, but I want you to make your arrangements as though you never looked for me. Nothing more at present. Only remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 36

Camp Baker, Tennessee
November 15, 1862

Mariah Cotton, my dear, loving & affectionate wife,

It is with great pleasure I take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to let you know that I have received your kind and affectionate letter and was very glad to hear from you all and to hear that you were all well and doing so well. I am very glad to think you don’t like nothing but me and I am very glad to hear that little Ginney is getting fat and sassy again for I have suffered a great deal of uneasiness about her. I am better satisfied than I have been since you left me at Atlanta. The other letter that I got from you gave me great satisfaction but this one gave me more. I have received two letters from you since I come to Knoxville—one dated the 25th October, and one the 30th of October. I begun to think that I weren’t going to get nary one from you but I knew you had wrote to me before that time.

I wrote to you that we were a going to leave here the next day but we are here yet 10 miles below Knoxville. We may leave here tomorrow and we may not leave here in a week or two. The officers say that we will go to Murfreesboro from here and from there to Bridgeport, 18 miles below Chattanooga. Lieut. [Isaac] Baird has wrote to the men that was sent home after clothing to take them to Bridgeport. If you get this letter before Adkins come back, you need not send me any money for we have drawn $72 apiece so I have got money aplenty. Now you need not send me anything but a coat. We have not got them clothes that you sent us yet but I reckon that the men that were sent home after clothes will get back and bring them to us.

It is thought that our captain [M. G. Slaughter] won’t never come back to us anymore and our 1st Lieutenant has already resigned and our 2nd Lieutenant talks of resigning. If they all resign, it will leave the Company in a very bad fix. Our Battalion is all together now for the first time since I left them. Our Battalion is taken from the Legion and detached to General Kirby Smith’s Division for his body guard and we will not be apt to stay here long for they are expecting a big fight at Murfreesboro and we will be apt to go there soon. It is near Nashville, Tennessee.

The lines leave me well and Asa is well. William Lessley is complaining some. I hope these few lines may reach you all well and still doing well. Write me as soon as you get this…I don’t know when I will get to come to see you all. Don’t get out of heart. I think I will come sometime or other. it is not worthwhile to tell how bad I want to see you all. Don’t be uneasy about me and I will not be no uneasier than I can help. No more at present. Only remain your loving husband till death, — John W. Cotton

November 16. We are now packing up to leave for Bridgeport. Direct your next letter to John W. Cotton, Bridgeport, Alabama in care of Mr. M. G. Slaughter, M. M. Slaughter’s Cavalry Battalion. Send me a letter by Adkins if he don’t leave before you get these few lines. Farewell my dear wife.

Letter 37

Chattanooga, Tennessee
November 23, 1862

Mariah dear wife,

It is again that I have the opportunity to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well and hope you are enjoying the same good blessing. We are now encamped at Chattanooga at the same place where we were when we left here to go to Knoxville. We will leave here this morning to go to a place called Jasper about 30 miles. We may stay there awhile but I don’t know how long. When you get this letter, write to me and direct your letter to Bridgeport, Alabama. It is only five miles from Jasper. They are having all their letters directed to Bridgeport. I hant got but little time to write this morning. It was late last night when we got here and we are now fixing up to leave here.

We had a very pleasant trip down here. if I could see you, I could tell you a heap but I han’t got the time to write much. When we get stopped, i will try to write more when I get more time. I thought maybe I would get to come home before Christmas but it is very uncertain now when I will get to come. We may go to Murfreesboro and have a fight. There is talk of a fight there before long.

Our company is improving in health a great deal. Asa and William is well. The company is about but some of them re complaining some. Our horses are improving a little. My horse is mending some but he has got a sore back. We have had plenty for them to eat ever since we left Knoxville. Nothing more at present. I remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Don’t be uneasy about me for I am doing very well.

Letter 38

Jasper, Tennessee
November 26, 1862

Dear wife,

I once more take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to let you know where I am and to let you know that I am well and doing well. We have plenty to eat and tolerable plenty for our horses. We find corn very scarce in places. we have to press the most of our corn. It is selling from $1.50 to $2.00 per bushel. We pressed some yesterday that had been sold at $2.00 per bushel. As to fodder, we hardly ever get any.

Asa is well but William is not. He is right sick. He has been complaining several days. I think he will come home before long if he don’t get a heap better. His old complaint is working on him and he has the diarrhea very bad. Asa looks as well as you ever saw him and I am as fat as you ever saw me. I hope these few lines may find you all enjoying the same good blessing.

Mariah, I would be happy to know that you and the children were all enjoying as good health as I am at present. I would be glad to hear from you all now. I hant much to write to you.

We had a very rough road and we had to cross the Tennessee river in the night. We were from about 8 o’clock in the night till about sun up next morning. Our company crossed first and we went about a mile and camped till the rest got over. We got here last night. We were two days coming. We may stay here a few days but I don’t know how long. I will not write no more now. I will finish in the morning. It is time to commence about supper now and I may yet get some more news by morning how long we will stay here.

November 27. Mariah, I can’t find out anything about when we will leave here. William is no better yet. I am all well. Asa says tell you that he is well, setting up washing the dishes. The company is generally well. I would be glad to see you all and see how you all were getting along but I don’t know when I will get to come to see you. You must not grieve nor trouble yourself about me for I am doing better than you are. I am doing as well as I could wish to do in the war. I want you to enjoy yourself as though I were at home. Go to all your neighbors and get them to come to see you and I will come to see you as soon as I can get a furlough.

There is several of our Battalion deserted from camp and one of our Company has deserted. There is 13 deserted from one company. You need not look for me til you see me coming. I am going to start to Bridgeport now in a few minutes to see if I can get a letter from you. It is 12 miles. We heard before we got here that it was only 5 miles but I don’t mind riding five miles to hear from you all. Nothing more at present—only remain your affectionate husband till death. Farewell will I write to you again, — John W. Cotton

Letter 39

Winchester, Tennessee
December 1, 1862

Mariah Cotton, dear wife,

It is again that I take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to let you know that I am still well and enjoying good health but I am not satisfied in mind. I hant got nary letter from you in some time. The last I got was wrote the 30th of October. I would like very much to hear from you all and to know that you are still doing well. I want to come home very bad but it is a bad chance now and the chances don’t get any better. I don’t know whether I will get to come home at all or not but that don’t keep me from wanting to come.

I hant got them clothes you sent me yet but I am looking for them now every day. The men was sent home after them has not got back yet. Their time was out yesterday. I would be very glad to get my yarn shirts now. We are having some bad weather now. We had a powerful rain last night and it is cold and cloudy today but we have got a good tent and we don’t mind rain when we are stationed at a place so we can stretch our tent.

We got here last night. We left Camp Jasper the next day after I wrote to you before. I don’t know how long we will stay here but I don’t think we will stay long. I think they are fixing for a fight at one of them places before long. I was in hopes a while back that the war would end this Christmas or sometime this winter but I don’t see any chance now for it to end soon. But we must live in hopes if we die in despair. I don’t dread the fighting that I will have to do. All I hate is having to stay from home and being exposed to the weather. I don’t want you to be uneasy about me for I am fatter than I ever was in my life. I weigh 179 pounds. I have out-fattened anybody you ever saw since you left me [in Atlanta].

I hope these few lines may find you all enjoying as good health as I am, I want you to carry on your business as if you never expected to see me anymore. Do the best you can and you will please me. If I don’t come home, you must make your arrangements for another year and do the best you can. If anyone wants to rent the Jacob’s place, rent it to them for whatever you can.

I hant got much to write to you. Tell Wash to write to me and all of the rest and I want you to write but I don’t know where to tell you to direct your letter to for I don’t know where we will go from here. I will write to you again soon. Nothing more at preset but remain your loving husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 40

Tennessee, camped to stay all night
December 9, 1862

My dear beloved wife,

It is again I take my pen in hand to answer a letter than I received last night. It was dated the 15th of November. I was glad to hear from you all but I was sorry to hear that the children was sick and had been sick but I am glad that they are no worse off. I was sorry to hear that Dock had not got no better of his hearing. I got a letter from him too with yours. I was very glad to hear that everything was going as well as what they were. You said you did not know what you would do for salt. I am afraid you will have to do without it. Salt is very scarce up here.

We have been stationed at Winchester, Tennessee, but we left there yesterday morning. We are now on the march to Readyville about 15 miles from Nashville. There is a big fight expected there in a few days. If we have one, I expect all of our Battalion will be in it. There is some of our men running away and going home. There is four that went home without leave has come back. They were court martialed and put under guard for ten days and live on bread and water and deduct their wages for one month. There is two of our company gone now—Floyd [N.] Goodgame and McBarnet.

Our army is in a heap of confusion and mightily out of heart. A man told me today in Manchester [Winchester] that there had been as many as 50 of their brigade deserted in one night. I could write a heap but when I got to write, I can’t think of half I want to write. If I could see you all, I could tell you all a heap. I dd not much like to leave Winchester when we did for we got as much corn as our horses could eat and enough to eat ourselves. I wanted to stay there till we got our clothes. We have not got them yet. They are at Bridgeport on the Tennessee river and they can’t get them across on account of their being so many clothing and commissaries to cross and soldiers. They won’t get across before the fifteenth of this month. It will be about Christmas before we get our clothes but the men that started with them will stay with them till we get them.

We had some very cold weather and it is cold yet. We have had some as cold weather here as I nearly ever saw in Alabama. The roads is very muddy and hard frozen. Smith’s whole command is right ahead of us going to the same place. They say the Yankeys are advancing on us from Nashville.

You said you wanted me to give you all advice I could. I don’t now how to advise you unless I knew how everything was going on. You can tell what is the best to do. I was sorry you sold the corn for I think if you had kept it till spring, you could have got two dollars as easy as one but I don’t blame you for selling it for I know you done the best you could. If you do the best you can, I will be satisfied. You never said whether you had hired Manuel or not nor whether you had sold your beef or not.

I want to come home the worst [way]. Perhaps I want to come home to see the children before they forget me. Nothing more at present. I remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

A few lines to Dock. Well Dock, you said you had wrote to me two or three times and had not got nary one from me. I wrote to you about drawing your money and directed it to your Pap. I drew three months wages for you but no commutation money and I have got it yet. I got a letter from you and Mariah last night [in which] you wrote to me that you had drawn 3 months wages—the same that I drawed for you. Don’t say anything about it and maybe we will make that much for nobody don’t know here that you drawed any at Atlanta.

I was glad to hear from you but was very sorry to hear that you had not got no bettter of your hearing. You wanted me to see if the Captain was willing for you to have a transfer. He is gone home and some of the company officers thinks he won’t come back anymore. Baird has resigned and gone home. We will have an election for lieutenant before long. Some of the boys wants me to run. I may run and I may not. [William F.] Sterns is our commander now. I want you to stay at home if you can. I hant much to write to you now nor much chance for I have to write on my knee by fire light and no light wood. I got the five dollars that Timmons owed you. He has got a discharge and gone home. Nothing more at present. I remain your friend till death, — John W. Cotton

December 10th. These lines leaves us all well but Porter. He is not very well. The company is in very good health. I am still fattening. Nothing more.

Letter 41

Tennessee, 4 miles west of Readyville
December 12, 1862

My dear wife,

It is again that I take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well and to let you know that I have got the clothes and money you sent to me by Bill Adkins. He got here last night but did not bring all of th clothes. He started with ten. He brought mine, and Asa’s and Bill’s and some others the box of provisions you and Nan[cy Waldrop] sent and the other clothes was left at Knoxville and a man with them. They could not get them through but I wrote to you in another letter. But I will send this with the others. I could not get to mail them when I wrote them so I will send them together. I am well pleased with the clothes you sent me. The coat is some too little. The vest does very well. I would not take nothing for my necktie. I found a very good pair of gloves yesterday.

When I wrote the other letter, I did not expect to get my clothes till about Christmas but I have got them now. You said something about my old coat. Somebody stole it from me between Atlanta and Dalton when I went to Knoxville. I hant much to write to you now. We are stationed 4 miles from Readyville and 8 miles from Murfreesboro. I don’t know how long we will stay here but you may direct your letters to Murfreesboro. I hope these few lines may find you all enjoying good health and doing well. I will write again soon. Write as soon as you get this letter. Nothing more at present but remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 42

Tennessee, Rutherford county
December 17, 1862

Dear beloved wife and children,

Once more I take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well and I hope these few lines may find you all well and doing well.

Our company has got all of their clothes but one box. It got lost on the way and nobody don’t know how. Adkins left the clothes with [Wiley] Jinks at Chattanooga and he brought them to Murfreesboro. The box that we lost only had three pair of pants, three shirts, one pair of drawers, and our sack of fruit. Our box of provisions came safe. We were very glad to get them but we did not much need the bacon, We got the box last night and we made the apples and potatoes get further [scarce] and we had a setting up mess of peas for dinner today. We hant eat much of our butter yet. We tried it a little. We drawed seven days rations this morning. We drawed flour, bacon, molasses, sugar, rice, and soap, and a little salt. We get plenty to eat now and has all the time. Our horses get more corn than they can eat but no fodder. They don’t pull much fodder in this country and it is very scarce.

We are at the same place we were at when I wrote to you before. I wrote to you before about getting our clothes and where we were. We are four miles from Readyville and eight from Murfreesboro and about 30 miles from Nashville. The Yankeys are betwixt Murfreesboro and Nashville. They were fighting over there yesterday but we don’t know how they made out. We don’t hear much war news here. You hear a heap more than we do.

It is reported here that there is a great many soldiers deserting on both sides and I hear a heap say that is all the [only] way to make peace, but I don’t think so. I think it is the worst thing that our men has ever done for the South. There has several of our men deserted from the Battalion. I want that to be the last thing that I do. I would be glad to come home to see you all but I don’t want to come without a furlough and there is no chance to get a furlough now for the Major won’t let nobody have a furlough.

Mariah, you wrote that you wanted me to come home and make arrangements for another year. I would be glad to come but I can’t so you must make your own arrangements. I know you are at a great loss to know what to do but you can see what is needed better than I can and me not knowing how things is going on. I think if you can hire Manuel again, you can do very well till I can come home. If you have more money than you need, lend it out if you can. Get good notes for it. If you need anything, you need not be afraid to buy it. I don’t need the money you sent to me but I will try to take care of it.

You never wrote what you had done with your beef. Asa got a letter from Nan night before last wrote the 2nd of December. I hant got any one wrote since Adkins left there. Asa is well but William Lessley is very poorly with his old disease. Write to me and direct your letters to Murfreesboro. We may stay here a right smart while. You don’t know how bad I want to see you all and be at home to see how things are going. Nothing more at present. I remain your loving husband till death. Farewell at present. — John W. Cotton

It was reported here that had stopped our letters from going home but I hear it disputed. I don’t thin it is [true] so I will start this letter anyhow. I will send you a few flax seeds.

Letter 43

*Addressed to Mariah Cotton, Mt. Olive, Alabama*

Tennessee, camped to stay all night
December 21, 1862

Dear beloved wife,

It is with pleasure that I write you a few lines to let you know that I am still well and I hope these few lines may find you all well and doing well and enjoying yourselves the best you can. I want to come to see you very bad and make arrangements for another year but we are now on the march from Readyville to Knoxville. We have been on the march three days. We are now near Sparta, Tennessee. We will be some 8 or ten days more on the march. As soon as I get to Knoxville, I will write again, if not before. Direct your next letter to Knoxville. We will stay there awhile. Some thinks we will stay there all the winter.

The news here is that the Yankeys are going to Mississippi river and all the soldiers is leaving from about Murfreesboro but Bragg’s Army. They have give out fighting there. I can’t find out what they are moving us to Knoxville for. I don’t see no chance to get a furlough now but when I get to Knoxville, I will try to get a furlough.

We have elected Bill Adkins for our lieutenant. He says he will do all he can to get me a furlough. He is elected in Baird’s place till he comes back. I hant much to write and not much chance to write. I am writing by a fire made out of rails and almost no pen. I hope you will do well till I get to come home. It’s thought that we will get to come home by spring to stay but I don’t see no chance for me to come home to make a crop. I would send you some advice but I don’t know how things is going on. You must do the best you can and I will be satisfied. You wrote to me to give you all the advice I could but I don’t know what to advise you to do for the best—only to try to take care of what little you have got and see that Manuel don’t waste nothing. I am in hopes you will hire him again for I don’ know any other chance for you to make a crop.

Pay old man Brown for this year’s wages [earned by Manuel] and pay your blacksmithing if you have got money enough. Tell all that wants to write to us to write to Knoxville.

William Lessley is better now. Asa left us at Readyville to go after some cattle about forty miles and he hant overtook us yet. It is uncertain when he will get to us.

Nothing more at present but remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 44

Tennessee, camped at Kingston
December 26, 1862

Mariah, dear wife,

It is once more that i take my pen in hand to write you a few more lines to let you know where I am and to let you know that I am well and doing well. The boys are most all well. William is better than he was when I wrote before. Asa hant got to us yet. I am looking for him.

We are at Kingston. We got here yesterday. We will stay here awhile. The Major got orders to stay here awhile till he got further orders. We may stay here some time. They say there is three cases of small pox here in the hospital but I don’t hear much said about it but there is several of the boys being inoculated. I hant much to write to you—only to let you know that I am well. I tried this morning to get a furlough. I got it wrote out and Lieutenant Stears signed it and then the Major would not approve it. He said it was against General Smith’s orders so you may guess what my chance is to come home. I am very sorry that I can’t get to come home. I know you are at a loss to know what to do with your farm. I am afraid you hant got Old Manuel hired again. If you hant, you must try to get somebody to tend your land for I don’t know what you will do if you don’t get somebody to make some corn for you. I have almost give out the war’s closing this winter, This is one Christmas that I won’t see much fun nor drink much eggnog but we got some brandy Christmas eve and we had a Christmas dram but no nog.

We have a heap of guard duty to do—camp guard and picket guard—on our march. I wrote to you since we have been on the march from Readyville to this place. We have been on the road 8 days. We had beautiful weather on our march but it is raining some this evening.

Tell Dock to write to me and let me know what he is doing and I will write to him when I can. Tell Liz to write some too and you must still write. Direct your letters to Knoxville. The Major got a dispatch from there and he won’t tell what was in it so we don’t know what will be done next. He has just got it. I don’t care much where we go to no how for I can’t get to come home no how. It ain’t worthwhile to tell you how bad I want to see you all. I would like to come home before the children forget me. Nothing more at present. Only remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 45

Kingston, Tennessee
December 31, 1862

Mariah Cotton, dear wife,

It is again I take the opportunity to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well and the company is in tolerable good health. There is but two sick. Sam Jacobs is sick. It is thought that he will die, The other one is not very bad off. I am sorry to say to you that I hant heard from you since Bill Adkins left there. I am very anxious to hear from you all. Asa hant back to us yet but I am looking for him every day. It is time he had come back. I have wrote to you twice since he has been gone. He has been gone from the company 2 weeks.

I hant much to write—only to let you know that I am well. I hope these few lines may find you all well and doing well. I want to see you all very bad but there is no chance to come home yet. The most of the people here thinks that the war will come to a close about spring.

We have a heap of duty to do now. There ain’t no troops here but us and we have to boat our corn down the river three miles and we have to stand guard over prisoners that are under guard for going home without a furlough and stand picket and go out on a scout every day. I went out night before last on a scout with twenty more men and we rode 25 miles after night. We rode till 3 o’clock in the night. We went 17 miles from camp.

We have moved two miles from Kingston right in the fork of the Tennessee and Clinch rivers. We went into some camp that some other soldiers had just left. We have good chimneys to put our tents to and good fireplaces. We are very well fixed to take the winter. The Major says we may stay here all the winter and may not very long but he says the prospect is good for us to stay here a good while. The Legion is ordered here. It will be here soon. One of the colonels was here this morning. He said they stayed [with]in 8 miles of here last night.

I am anxious to hear from home to know how you have made your arrangements for another year, I am afraid you hant got nobody to make a crop for you. If you don’t get somebody to make a crop for you, I don’t know what you will do. Tell Dock to write to me and let me know what he is doing. Direct your letters to Kingston. Mariah, if you have got any more money than you need, lend it out if you can get good notes for it. I have swapped [my horse] Bill off and [been] given $30 to boot. He was rode down. He had the thumps every day I rode him. I have got a big sorrel horse 9 years old next spring. He is as large as old and a better riding horse. I hated to swap Bill off but I saw he was going to give out if he did not get rest. I think I have got a good handy horse, He is in good order.

Nothing more at present but remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

I will send you some seed called pie melons. Plant them like a water melon.

Letter 46

Camp Kingston, Tennessee
January 7, 1863

Mariah Cotton, dear wife,

It is with pleasure I take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well but not satisfied. I have not got nary letter from you since Adkins left home nor hant ever heard from you since he got here. I want to hear from you and the children very bad and I want to see you all a heap worse but I don’t know when I will get to see you all again. I wrote to you about trying to get a furlough and could not get it. The Major got orders a few days ago not to sign no furloughs under no circumstance whatever unless the doctor said they would die if they stayed in camp. So you may know that my chance is bad to come home.

We have heard here that there is a talk of stopping the women from writing to their husbands in the war. Whenever that comes to pass and I know it to be so, I am coming home and I will stay when I get there. There is right smart of excitement about it here. I won’t come by myself.

Our Battalion is formed into a regiment with a Georgia Battalion [19th Ga. Cavalry]. A man by the name of [Charles T.] Goode is our Colonel and [M. M.] Slaughter, Lieutenant Colonel. Our Captain [M G. Slaughter] hant come back yet. [M. M.] Slaughter is commander of the post here.

I just got back from a scout last night. We went up towards Clinton and the salt works. We were [with]in 8 miles of Clinton, 20 miles of Knoxville. The news came here that the Yankeys had taken our forces at Big Creek Gap and had come on through but we could not hear anything of it up where we went so it must not be so.

We hear that our men have whipped the Yankees bad at Murfreesboro. There is a great talk here of peace being made about spring. I hope they may make peace about spring or before for I would like to know whether you have got anybody to make a crop for you or not. I want to come home time enough to make a crop myself.

Mariah, you may tell Dock the officers have made out the pay rolls to draw two months wages but they won’t draw no money for nobody that is not present. Tell him that the money that I drawed for him before, I will have to pay back to the company. If he had not told Adkins, I might have kept it but I will have to pay it back to the officers. Tell Dock that there is an order issued for all soldiers absent from camp to return to camp by the 20th of this month. We may stay here some time. I think the prospect good to stay here some time. Direct your letters to Kingston, Tennessee.
I would like to know the reason I don’t get no letters from you. I know you must write to me. I am looking for a letter from you every day but get none. Asa and porter is well. Nothing more at present. Only remain your affectionate friiend till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 47

Kingston, Tennessee
January 13, 1863

Mariah, dear wife,

It is with much dissatisfaction that I write you a few lines to let you know that I am well and hope these few lines may find you all enjoying good health. I am well but not satisfied. I hant got nary letter from you yet. I hant heard a word from you since Adkins got back. I am afraid the mail is stopped. There has been such talk here as their stopping our women from writing to us. If it is so and I find it out, I will be as certain to come home as I live and I won’t be all. There is lots of men says the same.

We are doing tolerable well at present. We get plenty to eat and plenty corn for our horses but no hay nor fodder. I am afraid we won’t get plenty [for] long. There is too many of us together. We have formed into a regiment. Goode is our Colonel and Slaughter is our Lieut. Colonel and [John B.] Rudolph [our] Major. Goode had a Battalion from Georgia and they put ours and his together and made a regiment.

I hant got much to write to you. We have right smart of picket and scouting to do and camp guard duty to do and we have to go up the river from two to seven miles after corn and bring it down on a flat for our horses.

I would like very well to hear from Dock and hear how he is getting [on] and what he is doing. I would like to hear from you all and know how you all are getting along and I would be very glad to hear from you. Have you made your arrangements for another year? I am uneasy for fear you hant got nobody to make a crop for you. I can’t hear nothing from you all. I am afraid you hant hired Old Manuel again. I believe I want to hear from home worse than I ever did or ever have since I have been in the service and it is not any use to talk of coming home for there is no chance for a man to come home unless the doctor thinks he will die if he stays in camp. I think if I could come home and see how everything was going on, I could stay in camp better satisfied than I ever have for I am getting more use to staying from home but I am very much dissatisfied now and will be until I hear from you all. I ain’t in no humor to write this morning so I will come to a close. I remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Mariah, I don’t want you to think that I accuse you of not writing to me. I think the fault is in the mail for you have never failed to write to me and I know you do it yet. Direct your next letter to John W. Cotton, Kingston, Tennessee, Col. Goode’s 10th Confederate Regiment, Co. C.

Letter 48

Kingston, Tennessee
January 19, 1863

Dear wife,

It is with much pleasure I take my pen in hand to answer your kind letter. I received a letter from you last Thursday and was very glass to hear from you all one time more and I was glad to hear that you were doing so well. You said all you liked was me at home. It gave me much satisfaction to hear that you were doing so well. I would like very well to be at home with you but I can’t tell when it will be our happy lot to meet at home again. I am in hopes the war will come to a close toward spring. It is thought by a great many that there be a change now soon for the better. You need not look for me till you see me but I am coming as soon as I get the chance.

I was glad to hear that you had hired Manuel again for I was afraid you would not get nobody to make a crop for you this year at all.

We are at Kingston yet and there is a good many more troops a coming in here. John Tramel’s company is here. It has been here several days. I saw Mike [Hindsman] and John this morning. They were well. They are camped [with]in about a mile and a half from here. Holmes Waldrop is here now. I don’t think we can all stay here long on account of getting corn. We can’t get corn long unless they tote it to us with a steamboat. We will not have so much duty to do now as we have had. These troops coming in will do a part of our duty. We can’t daw our money yet. We sent the pay rolls to Knoxville twice but it came back as we sent it. The Major said he would try to get the paymaster to come here and pay us.

You had to pay very high for salt to salt your meat. It looks like paying the worth of your meat to get it salted. There was some of your hogs that did not weigh very well. It is thought that bacon will be very high. I think you have lost smartly by selling your corn when you did. I hear that corn is worth two dollars and a half per bushel. About Picnkneyville, Captain [M. G.] Slaughter has not come back yet but some of the boys are looking for him. He sent us word he would start back the 15th of this month.
I reckon you heard Asa had lost his horse. He hant got nary another yet. There is several of our boys without horses and it is a bad chance to get any more here.
I can’t think of anything else to write now—only to tell you that I am well and much better satisfied than I was when I wrote before. All of the boys are well. I hope these few lines may find you all enjoying the same good blessing.

I must say something about the children. I was glad to hear that little Ginney was doing so well. I hope she will walk soon. I am sorry that Sweet can’t talk. I will bet that Babe can talk about that candy Par sent him and all of the rest. Tell them I will bring them some more when I come home if I can get it. I want to see the little fellows very bad. Tell Bunk he must get that eye straight before I get home and tell Bud he must make haste and get big enough to plough. Tell Ann she must not get married till I come home. Nothing more. I remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Home, home, sweet home. my long loved home way down in Alabama
Home, home, I hope when I get home I will be out of hearing of wars clamor.

Letter 49

Kingston, Tennessee
February 2, 1863

Dear wife,

I take my pen in hand to write you a few more lines to let you know that I am well—only have a very bad cold but it ain’t hurting me much. I hope these few lines may find you all well and doing well. I read a letter from you last night dated the 14th of January. Jim Brady brought it. It had been here a week before I got here. I just got back from Kentucky last night. We were gone up there ten days. I would have wrote sooner if I had been in camp. It has been about two weeks since I wrote to you. I write one time every week whe I am in camp. I have got only two letters from you since Bill Adkins came back with our clothes.

You wrote that you had hired Manuel again. I was glad to hear that for I was afraid you would not get nobody to make a crop for you. I was glad to hear that you were all well and doing well. I was not very well pleased when I heard what you had to give for salt enough to salt your pork. I was glad you had the money to pay for it. I think if times don’t change, you can make it back when you go to sell your bacon. I would like to be at home now to eat some sausage and ribs and backbones but we have fresh meat a plenty now. The boys had just been out when I got back and killed two hogs so we have fresh meat a plenty. We go out and kill a hog. We won’t suffer as long as we can find any hogs. We are all getting so we don’t care much for nothing.

They say we are ordered to the Cumberland Gap and lots of the boys says they won’t go. They say if the command starts there, they will start home. There is some leaving constant[ly]. I am going to try again to get a furlough but I am afraid it will be a bad chance. John Tramel has furloughed twenty-seven men home. They are furloughing a heap of their regiment. Maybe it will come to my time after awhile. I would like very well to come home and see you all and see how things are going on at home and see how Manuel is getting on with his crop and show him how to plant his crop and see to things in general.

You wrote to me to write all the advice I could. All I have got is for you to enjoy yourself the best you can and go and see your neighbors and go to meeting. You wrote to me you had not been to meeting since I left home. I think you could enjoy yourself better if you would go to meeting and go to see your neighbors. You need not be uneasy about me for I will be sure to take care of myself. I can make out where anybody else can.

Lieutenant Baird has come back to us and Lieutenant Sterns has resigned and is going home. The Captain has not come back yet. He says he can’t come back till spring and if they try to make him come back before spring, he will resign. A heap of our men came in while I was gone and we have some new recruits. Asa said John Tramel was here the other day to get Dock transferred to his company. He will be transferred to that company and then he will get a discharge.

I will tell you something of our trip to Kentucky. We had a bad trip of it. It rained on us a heap and snowed on us two days and nights and it was very bad traveling in the snow and the roads were very muddy. They are the worst roads that ever I saw. We went to Monticello, Kentucky—one hundred and twenty miles. We saw no enemy—only some bushwhackers. We shot one of them and wounded him very bad and we took one Yankey recruiting officer. We got one man taken by the bushwhackers and one drowned and one shot accidentally but not dangerous. We had about 300 men with us. If I could see you, I could tell you a heap but I must bring my letter to a close.

Asa is complaining with the diarrhea and Porter is right bad off with his old complaint. You said you wanted to send Ann to school. You may send her if you can do without her. Nothing more. — John W. Cotton

Letter 50

Kingston, Tennessee
February 3, 1863

Dear wife and children,

I will write you a few more lines to send to you by Mr. Gray. He is coming home and I will send you a few lines to let you know that I am well and hope these few lines may find you all enjoying the same blessing. I hope you are all doing well. I will not say much about coming home for they say there is no chance to get a furlough at all. You must do the best you can till I do come.

There is a heap of talk about peace among the officers. I hope it will soon be made and that soon for I have been under an overseer about as long as I want to be and I have been away from home a heap longer than I wanted to be.

You said you wanted me and Mike to have our likenesses drawn and send it to you. I would like to have mine drawn but there ain’t nobody here to draw it and Mike is gone but I told you about that in another letter. He is not in our Brigade. I heard they were ordered back here.

You wrote that Miss Martin were coming here but she hant come yet. You said when I wanted any clothes I must let you know. I have sent to draw a shirt from the government. They say they we can draw clothes in the place of our commutation money. I don’t think I will need anymore clothes till spring. If you get a good chance, you might send me a shirt. I could send you some money and if I thought you needed it, I would send it. Write if you need it and I will send it. I have got $160 and we will draw $78 more in a few days. We will be mustered today for our pay.

If we have to take any more marches as we have been taking, I will have to buy me another horse for my horse is nearly worn out. Our horses look very bad and there is but little chance to mend them up here for we don’t get nothing but corn and not enough of that.

It is snowing a little now this morning. The first two days of march was pretty weather. Don’t be uneasy about me for I can make out anywhere [better than] anybody else can. Nothing more at present only I remain your loving husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 51

Kingston, Tennessee
February 6, 1863

Mariah Cotton, dear wife,

Again I take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to try to let you know that I am well and I hope these few lines may reach you all the same. We are not doing as well as we have been. We hant drawn any meat in several days. We hant had anything to eat only as we bought it—only rice and cornbread and the meal not sifted. There is a heap of complaint about something to eat. For myself, I can make out to live where anybody else can. I reckon we will get some meat this evening. If we don’t, we will kill a hog.

I hant got but little to write to you but Asa is writing and I will send this with his’n. He is well and Porter has come back to the company. He is not very well yet but a heap better. We have one man in our company that is very sick with pneumonia. The rest of the company is doing very well.

I would like to come home and see how things are doing and see you and the children and be with you all awhile. I could tell you a heap [that] I can’t write to you. I would like to see how Manuel is getting on farming and see to things in general. I don’t want you to be uneasy about me at all. I will come home as soon as I can but I don’t want you to look for me at all. When you write again, write all the news. Let me know where Bill is and what he is doing. And whether Wash is at home or not. Tell Wash to write to me. Write how Miss Hollingshead is making out since Mose has gone to the war. Bill Brown hant got here yet. We are looking for the Captain and several men in a few days. I hant heard from Dock yet not I hant heard from [your brother] Mike since he left here. Nothing more at present—only remain yout true, loving, and affectionate husband till death.

Letter 52

Kingston, Tennessee
February 7, 1863

Mariah, dear wife,

It is once more I take my pen in hand to write a few more lines to let you know that I am well and doing well as common. We have some very cold weather here now. There is a big snow on the ground for two days and three nights. It ain’t melted any hardly yet but this is a beautiful morning. I hant but little to write to you.

The 1st Georgia Regiment has left here and gone to Rogersville 60 miles above Knoxville and two companies of our regiment is ordered to go to Greenville, 65 miles above Knoxville on the railroad to guard the town— our company and Capt. Rollins Company. They say we will start tomorrow. I am afraid we won’t get off there for I want to get away from our Colonel [Greene]. None of our regiment hardly don’t like him. He is drunk ever time he can get the whiskey to get drunk on. There is six of our mess sent for a transfer to Ashley’s Company. It is at Pollard [Alabama], below Montgomery. I think I will stay with the company awhile longer. I am getting along very well with it. I would be very well satisfied if I could get a furlough to come home to see you all. I think if we go to Greenville, I will get a furlough. You must do the best you can till I get to come home.

I hope these few lines may find you and the children well and doing well. I got the letter that you sent by Brady and one since dated the 23rd of January. I was very glad to hear that you were all well and doing so well. You said your cows looked very bad. I was sorry to hear that but glad to hear they had brought you three calves. If they live through the winter, you will get milk a plenty. Tell the children I will come to see them some of these times.

We have just drawed 4 months wages. I would be glad if you had some of my money for I have got more than I want to keep in camp. I will send this letter by Lieutenant [William H.] Partridge to Pinckneyville. Nothing more at present. I remain your affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 53

Knoxville, Tennessee
February 11, 1863

Mariah, dear wife

We are at Knoxville—or near there—to stay all night. We are on our march to Greenville. We have stopped here to draw some ammunition and mules, bridles, and rations, and so on. I hant but little to write to you. These few lines leaves me in fine health and I hope these few lines may find you all in the same health.

Our team is not able to take us to Greenville and we will have to return them here and get better mules to take us to Greenville. We are only allowed four mules to the company and one wagon. We only travel 12 or 15 miles a day. I am in hopes we will stay at Greenville a good while. Direct your next letter to Greenville, Tennessee. It is 65 miles above Knoxville on the railroad. We are going there to guard a bridge. We will leave here tomorrow evening. There is several of our men afoot and we get along slowly but we have got our own time to go in. Our horses is very low order. Our trip to Kentucky had like to have killed our horses. I have got about the best horse in our company.

There is no excitement here now. There is no expectation of a battle no where I hear of—only in Virginia. They are expecting the Yankeys to make their last effort to take Richmond but from what I can hear, it will be in vain. I hope to God that the thing will soon end and I will get to come home to you and my little ones. Don’t get out of heart but be of good cheer. Do the best you can and I will come home as soon as I can. I think I will get a furlough before long. Asa is well and William Lessley is not well. He is just able to travel. All of our company is well that is going to travel. There is several gone home on sick furlough. Me and Asa will try to come home together if we come at all but you need not look for us till you see us.

I hope these few lines may find you all in fine spirits and doing well. Nothing more at present. I remain your affectionate husband till death, — J. W. Cotton

February 12, 1863—Mariah, I will write you a few more lines this morning to let you know that I am well and hope these few lines may find you all well. Some of our men came to us last night that had started home on a furlough without the General’s name to it and they could not go on the railroad and they say the General here won’t sign a furlough at all so I don’t reckon I will get to come home without I run away. Nothing more. You said you wanted me to send my weight. I weighed yesterday evening. I weighed one hundred and eighty-two.

Letter 54

Greenville, Tennessee
February 20th 1863

Dear wife,

It is with pleasure I write you a few lines to let you know that I am well. I am still mending. I weighed this morning 185 pounds. I hope these few lines may find you all enjoying the same blessing.

We have got to Greenville. We got here last night. I wrote to you while we were at Knoxville. We have had a bad trip from Knoxville to Greenville. It rained on us a good deal and the roads were the muddiest that ever I seen. It was one eternal mud hole and our mules gave out and we had to lay over one day and put our things all o the railroad and put some of our horses to the wagons to get them here. We will stay here some time I expect as couriers. I think there is a chance for us to stay here till spring. I think we will do tolerable well if we can feed our horses. We hear forage is scarce.

I hant got much to write. Porter was left at Knoxville sick. He was right sick when we left him. I reckon he will get a sick furlough. He may get home before you get this letter. Asa is well. The health of the company is better than it has been in a good while. We have got more men for duty than we have had in some time. Our horses look very bad but if we could get forage a plenty, we could mend them.

Greenville is a very pretty little town but they have got the small pox here but only a few of us will stay in town at a time. The rest will stay about twenty miles from here where forage is more plenty. When you write again, write Bill and Wash what the conscript has done them.

February 21—Mariah, I am still well. I hope you all are the same. We have got to go back to Kingston today—or start. We got an order last night to go back to Kingston, Tennessee. Nothing more at present. I remain your affectionate husband till death. Write how you are getting on with your crop. — John W. Cotton

Letter 55

Kingston, Tennessee
February 28, 1863

Dear wife and children,

It is with much pleasure that I take my pen in hand to let you know that I have just read two letters from you last night—one dated the 1st of February and the other the 14th. You said all were well except bad colds. I was glad to hear that you were all well and you said you were doing very well and your stock were doing very well but your milk cows. You ought to try to keep them alive till spring for milk cows will be worth something. Butter is worth one dollar per pound and milk one dollar per gallon. Corn is from 3 to 5 dollars per bushel and meat according. Everything is very scarce everywhere we go.

We got back from Greenville last night and we found things very scarce. We had a rough trip of it but we done very well. We had no tents after we left Knoxville and when we left Greenville we returned our wagon and put our things on the cars and sent them back to Kingston so we could tote our provisions on our horses and get them cooked as we could. Our boys spent a sight of money on the trip. I weren’t out but little. I made back what I spent but I done it honestly. Some of our men pressed horses and sold horses and the squad was reported at Knoxville by the owners and it was stopped as we came through there and the command was examined for the horses but none were found. They had swapped most off and some of them were off from the command and they went around Knoxville so they have all come clear so far.

I saw William Lessley as I came through Knoxville and he was a heap better than he was when we left him. We heard when we were gone to Greenville right smart about peace but I don’t put no faith in nothing I hear yet, but a great many think that peace will soon be made. I hope it will but I am afraid it will not come soon. I want to come home the worst you ever saw but I don’t see much chance to come yet. I have almost forgot how the children look. I want to see how much they have growed. I reckon Ann nearly grown. When you write, let me know whether little Ginney can walk or not. And tell me all about the children and how Manuel is getting on with his crop and how the wheat looks.

I can’t think of half I want to write. It is raining and I hant got much to write. We hant got our tents yet but they are at the boat landing. They will be here this evening. We had the worst rain on us day before yesterday than we have since we have been in the service. The river is up very high. Our trip injured our horses a great deal. Some of them gave out and we left them. We had to leave William Lessley’s horse. My horse is nearly worn out. All of our horses look very bad. I don’t expect we will stay here very long. Nothing more at present only I remain your loving husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 56

Kingston, Tennessee
March 13, 1863

Mariah Cotton, dear wife,

I take my pen in hand this morning to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well and hope these few lines mat reach you all enjoying the same blessing. I hope you are all well and doing well. I hant but little to write to you—only to let you know that I am well. I think there is some chance now to get a furlough before long. Colonel Goode is gone to Knoxville and the officers says that he is going to try to get an order to furlough ten en out of a company at a time till all of the men goes home than hant been home since we left Montgomery. If he gets that order, I may get to come home sometime this spring but I don’t want you to look for me for Colonel Goode may not get no order to give furloughs.

Asa is well. Porter is better than he has been. The company is in tolerable good health. Captain Slaughter hant come back yet. He started here and got to Talladega town and got sick and went back. They say he won’t never come to us. Bill Brown hant got here yet. we are still getting more recruits. We have sent off some of our horses to recruit them up. We sent 25 horses from every company to tend to them. i sent mine with them/ We sent them about forty miles where they can get corn and hay plenty. They say they will stay two months.

I wrote a letter to Dock day before yesterday. I hant heard from him since Mike left here. I hant heard from you in just a month. The last letter I got was dated the 14th of February. I want to har from you very bad. I have looked and looked for a letter till I have got tired and hant got nary one yet. I think the fault lies in the mail between home and Montgomery. I am afraid you ain’t a getting my letters neither. I write one every week and sometimes oftener. I don’t want you to be uneasy about me for I am doing very well and could do better if I could keep from studying about home. Write to me how Manuel is getting on with his crop and how the wheat and rye and oats and stock looks, and how the colt looks, and how the children is doing and how you are yourself. Nothing more, — John W. Cotton

Letter 57

Kingston, Tennessee
March 17th 1863

Mariah,

I have just heard from you for the first time in over a month. I was very glad to hear from you all but sorry to hear you all had such bad colds, but I was glad that there was nothing worse the matter. Billy Brown got here yesterday morning and brought me a letter. I was glad to hear that you were getting on so well with your crop and glad to hear that everything was doing as well as what it was. You said you had all the children vaccinated but little Ginney but you never said whether it hurt them much or not. It is strange that it didn’t take on you. I hant never been vaccinated yet.

There ain’t any danger here now of small pox. Joe Learnet saw John Tramel the other day and he said Mike was very sick. He said he though Mike had dropsy. I don’t know but I expect he is home before now if he is able to go. John was going down below here to a place called Mouse Creek to recruit up some of their horses and mules. The rest of the sick ones is gone down there and all that was able to travel has gone to Kentucky to mount themselves.

You said you wanted to know if Bud [Dock] had got a transfer to Tramel’s company. He hant got it yet but he could get it yet if he would try. There hant been anything done about it since I wrote about it but Lieutenant Baird says he will grant him a transfer any time.

We are getting tolerable good rations now. Our meat is mostly new bacon. We get rice, flour, meal, and bacon. I want to come home very bad but there is no chance now. We got an order the other day to issue no furloughs nor details so there will be no chance till that order is countermanded. You said you wanted to know whether I wanted any clothes or not. I will want some summer clothes—two pairs of pants and one shirt. I drawed a home spun shirt last night and the one you brought me last summer me last summer is a good shirt yet but my checked shirt is worn out. if you get the chance, you may send them to me but I hope I will get to come home before I need them. Don’t be uneasy about me for I am doing very well and i don’t think there is any danger of our getting into a fight. Nothing more, — John W. Cotton

Letter 58

Kingston, Tennessee
March 23, 1863

Dear wife,

I again attempt to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well although a bad cold. But I am better of it. Asa is well but Porter is very poorly and Loney Bullard—one of our mess—has been right sick. But he is a heap better. There is some of the boys complaining but not very bad off…We hear that they are going to stop [the mail] from Wetumpka to Talladega. If you get this, write in your next letter whether you get my letter or not…

I hant got much to write to you. We have moved from where we have been camped to the opposite side of town about two miles from where we were but closer to town. The whole regiment is camped in a square and we have a guard round the whole regiment. We have a heap more duty to do now than we ever had and tighter rules. But they ain’t too ight yet for some of the men has been doing all of the duty and others none. I think I wrote to you about hearing of Mike’s being sick and John W. Trammel said he thought he has the dropsy. John is at Mouse Creek recruiting some horses and mules. I think I will write to him and try to hear from Mike.

I wrote to Dock not long ago but I hant got no answer from him yet. You don’t know how ad I want to hear from you all and I want to see you a heap worse but there ain’t no chance to come to see you now. If I could see you, I could tell you a heap [more] that I can’t think of to write and if I could think of it, it would take me too long to write it all. I can’t come to see you without running away and I don’t want to do that for when men runs away and comes back, they put them in jail and I don’t want to go there for I hant been crossed nor on double duty since I have been in the war nor I hant had a cross word with my officers. Nothing more—only I remain your loving husband til death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 59

Kingston, Tennessee
March 27, 1863

Dear wife,

It is with pleasure that I again have the opportunity to answer your kind letter which I read yesterday morning. I was glad to hear that the children were all well but sorry to ear that you had such a bad cold and cough but I hope that when these few lines reaches you, you will be well. I was sorry to hear that you had lost one of your cows but them [that has] must lose.

This is the first letter that I have received from you since the 14th of February. This is dated the 15th of March. I got a few lines from Porter Vardaman. He said he wanted to borrow my lead piping and take my iron and make my boiler for the use of it till I come hoe. If he comes after it, let him have them. He can take them and make the boiler and if he wears it out, he can pay me the iron back. It won’t hurt the piping. I will write to him about it.

I was glad to hear that your grain looks so well. I hope there will be a good crop of grin made this year. Wheat up here looks very well. You said you was afraid you would have you bacon pressed [taken for government] from you. I don’t think it would be right for them to press a poor man’s property and him [fighting] in the war. I don’t know what to tell you to do. I heard yesterday that bacon was worth $1.25 cents per pound in Montgomery. I think if you could get that, you had better hire somebody to haul it down there and sell it [rather] than to have it pressed at 60 cents per pound. It looks like as you are home and me here in the war and so many children to support that you ought to have as much for anything you have to sell as anybody else. If times don’t get no better, I think bacon will be one dollar and a half or two dollars per pound. It’s selling up here from forty to fifty cents per pound, eggs fifty cents a dozen, butter $1 per pound, and we can’t hardly get any at that.

Whiskey is worth 4 to 5 dollars a quart in the country and ten dollars per quart in camps and one dollar per drink. Billy Brown is gone out today after some and got water bound and had to stay all night and then had to swim our horses across a big creek next morning. I sold what i got and made about forty dollars. I went out one day before and made about twenty-five dollars on some. There is a heap of speculating in camps on whiskey. If I could see you I could tell you a heap more than I can write. It would be a heap of satisfaction to me to come home once more and see you.

Tell Ann to be a smart girl and learn fast. Tell Bud and Bunk to be smart boys and help Manuel mowing corn, to keep the pigs fat. Tell all of the children I want to see them. Tell Babe and Sweet I will bring them some candy when I come home. Nothing more at present. Only I remain your true, affectionate husband till death. These few lines leaves me well. Don’t be uneasy about me. — John W. Cotton

Letter 60

This letter was written by Michael Cotton Hindsman (1835-1901), 1st Sergt. of Co. B, 1st Georgia Cavalry, to his sister Mariah (Hindsman) Cotton.

Coweta county, Georgia
March 30th 1863

Dear Sister,

I seat myself this morning with the earliest of attention to drop you a few lines being that I haven’t wrote to you in some time—not since the war commenced—and being that I am at home at this time, I will try to drop you a few lines. I am very unwell at this time and have been for some time but I’m a great deal better than I have been. I have been right poorly every since the Murfreesboro fight. I have been at home about ten days.

Mariah, I haven’t much news to write to you. Times are very hard in camp and I find them also the same at home and everything are very scarce and high and still getting higher.

I saw [your husband] Weaver in January and I haven’t seen him since. I passed through Kingston last Saturday—was two weeks ago. That is where his regiment is stationed but I never saw Weaver but I inquired about him. He was well at that time. The health of the boys in our company was tolerable good when I left them. They are at this time in Kentucky. The regiment started home and I haven’t heard from it since. I was not able to go with the regiment and I was sent home. John W. Trammell is also at home at this time.

I will write you the price of corn and meat in Georgia. Corn is worth from two dollars to three dollars per bushel and bacon worth from thirty-five toforty cents per pound and everything else are as high accordingly.

Mariah, the health of all the connection are well at this time as far as I know but there has been right smart of sickness here from all accounts. Peachy Plant is dead and also Jason Plant. They died a few weeks back. They died with the typhoid fever. There has been right smart of the fever through this settlement and several has died with it and also the small pox has been very thick in this settlement and has been a good many died with them. But they have never died out in this settlement—there have been a few cases yet but not so close as they have been.

Mariah, I believe that I will have to come to a close for this time and you must excuse me for not writing more for I am very unwell at this time and I don’t feel like writing for I haven’t been able to go to see my sweetheart since I’ve been home but she has been to see me and I think that I will go to see her tomorrow if I feel as well as I do today. I guess that she would very much [like] to see me—at least I think so, Mariah, I will come to a close. Jack and Pap send their best respects to you and all of the children and also says that you must write to them and I would like very much to hear from you occasionally but I think that I will write to you again soon. Nothing more at present. Yours &c. — M. C. Hindsman

Letter 61

Kingston, Tennessee
April 1, 1863

Dear beloved wife,

I again take my pen in hand to write you a few lines in answer to your kind letter which I read dated March 20th. I read it with great satisfaction. I was glad to hear that you were all well and doing as well as you was. I was glad to hear that Manuel was getting on with his crop as well as he was and glad to hear that everything was doing well.

We are doing tolerable well here now. We get cornbread and new bacon but we have a heap of duty to do. We have to stand camp guard and provost guard and picket guard and then there is most always some of us on the scout. Some of our boys went out on a scout last week and brought in a man supposed to be a bushwhacker and Colonel [Charles T.] Goode turned him loose and some of us went with him and when they had got him about a half a mile across the river, they tried to hang him and they could not get him high enough off of the ground to choke him to death so they shot him twice and left him hanging there. The Colonel found out and had six of them arrested and put in jail but I don’t know what he will do with them. If I could see you, I could tell you a heap more about it but I reckon this is enough.

Our colonel is getting tighter [on discipline] every day. He has got 30 or 40 in jail, some for one thing and some for another. He had two taken this morning for deserting their post last night. The whole regiment, I think, would be glad if he was dead. He speaks of going to Kentucky in ten or twelve days but I don’t think we will go that soon. I think we will stay here a good while or somebody will have to stay here.

You wrote to me about Vardaman’s coming after my still arrangements. If he comes after them, let him have them. You wrote about your money. You said if I owed anything, you could pay it. If I owe anything, I don’t know it. You said you wanted me to use it in some way. I don’t know how you will use it unless you buy land or negroes. If you get enough, buy you a waiter girl. I have money enough here to do me a while. I have got $245.

I heard from my horse the other day. They say he was mending. Adkins is tending to him. We have had some very bad weather here for a few days. It snowed yesterday evening and last night and the wind blew very hard and there was ice here this morning more than a half inch thick. But the weater is moderating fast. There ain’t nobody here planting any corn yet. Wheat looks very well but late.

We have drawn 8 days rations since I begun this letter. We draw 6 days rations of corn meal, two of flour, new bacon, rice, peas, vinegar, and soap and salt. We have got sixty-six in camp and 7 with our horses. Mr. Brown says he is getting very homesick. The body lice bothers him very bad. You ought to see him raking and scratching and cracking them. Porter is some better. Asa is well. We have got two men at the hospital very sick. It ain’t worthwhile to try to write all to you that I could tell you if I could see you. These few lines leaves me well and doing well and I hope when you come to read them, you may be enjoying the same. Nothing more at present—only I remain your loving and affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Sword and scabbard carried by Col. Charles Thomas Goode (1835-1875) during the war. Col. Goode was wounded at the Battle of Chickamauga in September 1863 and resigned in June 1864. [American Civil War Museum]

Letter 62

This letter was written by Rev. John W. Fulmer (1825-1903) of Coweta county, Georgia, to John Weaver Cotton at Kingston, Tennessee. Rev. Fulmer was a Baptist preacher. He was the husband of Rachel Cotton, a sister of John W. Cotton. After the war they moved to Coosa county, Alabama.

Coweta county, Georgia
April 6, 1863

John W. Cotton, dear sir,

This is to inform you that I received a letter from you the 1st of this inst. and was glad to hear that you was well and fat for we hardly ever hear from you.. We couldn’t write to you from the fact that we did not know where to write you nor Asa has never written to me since you left my house on your way to Tennessee. The cause why, I could not tell, & the connection in Coosa [Alabama] hardly ever write.

It’s needless for me to say anything about the scarcity of provisions & the high prices for I suppose you are posted. The weather is cold and rough & the latest spring I ever saw. The health of the people is tolerably good. There has been a good chance of small pox in most every direction & and a good number of them died with the loathsome disease.

My son John has been gone to war ever since the last of December. He went with Captain Graham’s Company. It is a cavalry company. He was in Tennessee about Fayetteville & Millville the last we heard from him which was about the 23rd of March. He had been well all the time. He said they would be moved in front of the enemy where he wanted to be for he wanted to show them what he come up there for. Their regiment is Avery’s 4th Georgia Cavalry.

My family has not enjoyed very good health this year. Bill had a spell of the pneumonia and seems that we all had bad colds & sore throats. I have been and am quite unwell for four or five days.

April 9th. I have been sick ever since I commenced this letter. We have frost nearly every morning. Write soon. Tell us how and where to direct our letters to you. I reckon you have heard that Frank Gordon came home and died of typhoid fever. So nothing more at present but yours as ever, — John W. Fulmer

Letter 63

Kingston, Tennessee
April 11, 1863

Dear wife,

I take my pen in hand to answer your kind letter which I received yesterday. It was a letter I reckon you aimed to send by Nan Gray but Capt. Slaughter brought it. I had a plait [knot] of your hair in it that looked very natural but I had a heap rather seen you. I was glad to hear that you were well and doing well. I hant but little to write…

We have plenty to eat now and a plenty to do. We are on duty about every other day. There is one hundred and twenty of our men gone on a 15-day scout and we started 7 men yesterday morning with a dispatch to Monticello. General [John] Pegram’s Brigade went to Kentucky and met the Yankeys and got a whipping [Battle at Dutton’s Hill north of Somerset] and had to fall back. John Trammel’s company is in the brigade but he was not with them. He was left not far from here with some horses and mules to fatten up and [your brother] Mike wasn’t with them neither for he was sick when they started to Kentucky and I hant heard from him yet. I wrote about his being sick before.

Asa is off [as] a courier from here to Knoxville. He stays 9 miles from here, one in about a week. He will be back tonight or tomorrow. My horse is at the convalescent camps yet. The horses that is here gets a plenty to eat now.

Our Colonel [Goode] is getting very tight on us. He gets tighter and tighter every day. He has got lots of boys under arrest now and some for very small crimes.

You said you wanted me to tell you what to do with your money. I don’t know what to tell you. If you can lend it out and get good notes for it, it would be the best thing you could do, but I don’t reckon there is anybody that wants to borrow. If you can’t lend it, if you can find anything you want you can buy it. I wish I could come home and stay a few days till I could see how things were going on but I had rather come to stay…But there is one thing that gives me great consolation—you have a plenty to live upon and from what I learn, there is lots of soldier’s wives that has not much to eat. If I were to hear that you had nothing to eat, I should come home at the risk of my life…

I wish you had somebody to stay with you. I will send you a song ballad that suits the times very well. Nothing more at present, only I remain your true devoted husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 64

Kingston, Tennessee
April 16, 1863

Dear beloved wife,

It is again I take my pen in hand to answer your kind letter which I received a few days ago. I would have wrote sooner but I had just wrote you when I got your letter. I was glad to hear that you were all well and doing as well as what you were. I was glad to hear that Manuel was getting along so well with his crop. I hope he will be attentive to his business and make you a good crop. I hant got but a little to write—only to let you know that I am well and doing well, but there is a heap of our men sick. Floyd Goodgame is very sick.

We have got orders to move from here about one mile east of town. We are going to move on account of health. The doctors think it will be healthier to move. ¹

Our Colonel [Goode] is getting tighter and tighter. There ain’t but two privates allowed to leave a company at a time and one officer and he only can be gone two hours at a time. Captain [M. G.] Slaughter is with us now but some think he won’t stay long. Nearly all of our men is in camp now but there is no furloughing agoing on and I don’t see much chance to come home at all. But don’t get out of heart. I will do all I can to get to come home. It may come to my time after awhile.

Asa is a courier. He stays 9 miles from here. He was here last night. He was well. Porter is in better health now than he has been since he came back from Kentucky but he is not well yet. Hant come back to our company yet. I am looking for a letter from him now. I hant heard nothing from him since I wrote about him and I hant heard nothing from [your brother] Mike nor John [Trammel]. My horse is at the convalescent camp yet. They say he is mending.

I hear they are expecting a fight at Murfreesboro in a few days. I hear of several fights here lately and our men has got the best of it on nearly all of them. The report of General Pegrams getting such a whipping is disputed. Instead of his being whipped back, he has gone on to Lancaster, Kentucky, and had another fight and whipped the Yankeys there. That is 20 miles from Lexington. It ain’t worthwhile to write anything about the war for you will hear it by the papers before I can write it to you. I want you to write all the news when you write. I get your letters more regular now than I ever have since I left Montgomery. I send a letter that I got from John Fulmer.

If you hant had little Cricket’s funeral preached yet, don’t have it preached till I come home—if I ever come. That is one thing that I hate to write about or talk about. I can’t hardly write or talk about her without shedding tears. I never shall forget how she used to fondle on my knees and her antic motions and her little prattling tongue. But all this is past and she is at rest and is better off than her bereaved parents. Nothing more at present, only I remain your affectionate husband till death, —John W. Cotton

1 The location of the original encampment was “right in the fork of the Tennessee and Clinch rivers” according to Cotton. The following map a location marked “Old Garrison” which was probably the location referred to.

*This map of Kingston, Tennessee, was drawn in April 1863 at the time the 10th Confederate Cavalry was bivouacked near there.*

Letter 65

Kingston, Tennessee
April 22, 1863

Dear beloved wife,

It is again that I take my pen in hand to answer another kind letter that I received from you a few days ago. I was very glad to hear that the children was well but sorry to hear that you had such a bad cold and such a hoarseness. I shall be uneasy until I hear from you again. I am afraid it will run into pneumonia. The lines leave me well and doing tolerable well…

We have a heap of duty to do yet and Colonel Goode heard the other day that the Yankeys had flanked General Pegram at Cumberland River and were making their way to Kingston and so last Friday morning we got orders to be ready to march to meet them with two days rations cooked and we had our meat to draw so we fired up as soon as possible and started. The horsemen went ahead and the footmen after them of which I were one for my horse went at the convalescent camp with two hundred and fifty others but the Colonel sent after our horses for them to be brought to us and he had one hundred and twenty-five men out on a scout. He sent for them too.

We went about 10 miles the first day and the cavalry went on about twenty miles and camped close to a little town and Colonel Goode and several more of the officers went to town that night and got drunk and we went on 7 or 8 miles next morning and met them coming back. They said they could not hear of any Yankeys so we all turned around and started back to camp. The cavalry got back that night and we got back where we got the first night and stayed all night and come back to camp next morning. There was a heap of our infantry give out and fell behind but they got in that day. I stood it tolerable well but I got very tired of it. My feet and legs got very sore but I have got about over it now. Our officers and men did not like the way our Colonel managed our trip. They say there was no use for the infantry to go. Our Colonel is very much disliked by the regiment.

I don’t think you see much satisfaction from the way you write. You said you had not been to meeting since I left home nor anywhere else—only where you had business. I would be better satisfied if I knew you were enjoying yourself by going to see your neighbors an to meeting and so on…

You wanted me to tell you what to do with your money. I don’t know what to tell you—only to do the best you can. You spoke of thread-beeing $15 per bunch. I think you had better buy cloth than to pay that much for thread if you can get such as suits you. As for my clothes. I shall soon need some pants but our captain says he is going to try to detail some men to go after our summer clothes. Nothing more at present—only I remain your true, affectionate husband till death. — John W. Cotton

Letter 66

Kingston, Tennessee
April 24, 1863

Dear beloved wife,

It is with pleasure that I take my pen in hand to write you a few lines in answer to your kind letter which I read last night. I was glad to hear you were all well and doing well…I was glad to hear that Manuel was getting along so well with his crop and I hope from what you say you will make a good crop of small grain. I would be glad if I could be at home to help cut it…If anybody were to get furloughs it would be men that are sick and complaining. I am always able for duty and they won’t furlough such men if they can help it.

I got the ring and sweet gum you sent to me. I would not take nothing for it. You said you made it Sunday. You ought not to work a Sunday but go to meeting and to see your neighbors. but we poor devils have to work a Sunday as well as any other day. But I will send you a ring of my own make and see how you like it. I could’ve made it nicer if I had the right set of tools.

You wrote about the children. Tell them all that I want to see them. Tell them they must be smart children. It ain’t worthwhile for me to try to say anything about how bad I want to see you all. I would like to see Babe with his breeches on and see his capers, and see little Ginney run about and play. But I have no idea she would know me if she were to see me. Tell Sweet he must learn to talk before I come home. Tell bud and Bunk they must help Manuel cut bushes and weeds and make a heap of corn. Tell Ann she must be a good girl and learn a heap and be kind to her teacher and learn to write.

Billy Brown is sick. He is at the hospital. He looks tolerable bad. It is cold that ails him. There is heap of our company sick and complaining. Floyd Goodgame is very bad off yet. Porter is better off now than he has been since he came back from Kentucky. Asa is well and so is all of our mess. Our horses is at the convalescent camp yet and I expect Adkins has sold my horse. He said he could get $80 for him and I told him to sell him. [He] ain’t no account. I will have to buy me another horse anyhow. Porter has got to buy him a horse too. There is a heap of boys afoot and there ain’t no horses about here to buy and they are higher than ever. I saw horses and everything else is higher than I ever saw. It looks like men don’t care anything about money/ We bought two old hens this morning and paid two dollars for them. And butter is worth one dollar per pound and eggs he same per dozen. Nothing more at present, only I remain your dear, beloved husband till death, — John W. Cotton

A post-war view of the brick courthouse at Kingston that was used by both Union and Confederate troops as a hospital at various times in the war. It was built in the mid-1850 by slave labor using local lumber and bricks.

Letter 67

Kingston, Tennessee
May 1, 1863

Dear beloved wife,

It is with pleasure that I take my pen in hand to answer your kind and affectionate letter which I read last night with pleasure dated April the 20th. I was glad to hear that you were all well but Bunk. I was sorry to hear that he had such a sore foot. I was sorry to hear that you had not got a letter from me in ten days for I know you want to hear from me as often as you can…

Everything is very high here…there can’t be a horse bought here that is fit to ride for less than 250 or 300 dollars and I have got to have one for my horse won’t never be no more account. But if I get the chance, I will raise me a horse from some of these old Lincolnites about here or take it off and trade it. I have got money enough to buy me a horse—or will have in a few days—but I don’t want to spend it in that way. We will draw two months wages in a few days. We were mustered yesterday for our pay. They will pay us up to the first of May.

I hant got but very little to write at present but if I was with you, I could tell you things as I could think of them. I could tell you of a heap of ups and downs that is too tedious to write.

We hear they are expecting a fight at Tullahoma. They are having skirmish fighting there everyday but no regular engagement. Our men have stayed here till they are getting restless. They are very anxious to go home and anxious for the war to end. A heap of them says their families are out of provisions and they can’t buy it with the money and they assign a heap of reasons for wanting it to end. A heap of them talks of going home but very few of them goes. I want to come home as bad as anybody can. It looks to me like but I shan’t run away yet. Maybe I will get a furlough some time or other. I don’t want it throwed up to my children after I am dead and gone that I was a deserter from the Confederate Army. I don’t want to do anything if I know it that will leave a stain on my posterity hereafter.

I was glad to hear that your crop looked so well and Manuel was getting on so well with his crop. Nothing more at present, only remain your kind and affectionate husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 68

Kingston, Tennessee
May 5th, 1863

My beloved wife,

It it with much pleasure that I take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to answer your kind letter which I received dated the 24th of April. I was glad to hear that you were all well but Bunk. I was sorry to hear that he was having such bad boils…
I hant but little to write at the present. General Pegram’s Brigade has come out of Kentucky. They had another fight with the Yankeys and whipped them and when they got them a running, they took up a retreat for Tennessee. They say they left the Yankeys 6 miles this side of Monticello.

You said you was in hopes you would make some wheat if the rust did not kill it. I am in hopes you will make a good crop of small grain and corn too, and i hope I will get home to help gather corn but I am afraid [I will] not. There is more men wanting the war to end than ever I saw. They are all getting tired of it. If the big officers were as tired of it as the poor privates, it would soon end but I am afraid they will carry it on a heap longer.

The papers speak a right smart about fighting but I can’t think there will be as hard fighting as has been. The Yankeys are tired of it as well as we are. I think we will stay here a good while if the Yankeys don’t run us off from here and I don’t think there is much danger of that. I am in hopes that if there ain’t much fighting done before the water falls and the river gets too low for the gunboats to run, there won’t much more be done at all for I am in hopes they will come on some terms of peace this summer. I would give a right smart for them to make peace. You don’t know how much good it would do me to start home to stay. It would do me a heap of good to start home for a few days. But if I had no ties at home, I would as leave stay here as anywhere nearly. I should not like to be under such close confinement. We don’t have as much guard duty to do now as we have had. We don’t have no camp guard now.

We are seeing very tolerable times but we have more good duty to do than necessary. Lieutenant Baird is trying to get a detail to come home after horses. I would like to come but I don’t expect that I shall. There is so many that hant got no horses at all and I have got a thing but he won’t never be able for duty anymore. I told Bill Adkins to sell him or swap him. If they come home after horses, I don’t expect they can get them there. Ain’t no chance to get them here without pressing them.

Nothing more at present. Only I remain your true, devoted friend till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 69

Kingston, Tennessee
May 7, 1863

Dear wife,

It is again that I take my pen in hand to write you a few lines to let you know that we are going to leave here tomorrow morning at 7 o’clock. We are going to join Pegram’s command at Clinton, 28 miles from here. We will leave our tents here. We have sent them to town. We will leave this time to stay, I think. You may still send your letters here till you hear from me. I will write as soon as I get to where we stop.

These lines leave me well and I hope these few lines may find you all the same. I was in hopes a few days ago that I would get to come home before long but this move knocked it in the head so I don’t have any idea when I will get the chance to come to see you all. Don’t get out of heart for I will come as soon as I can. Don’t be uneasy about me. I will be sure to take care of myself. Take care of yourself and our little children and don’t work yourself to death but enjoy yourself the best you can. I am in hopes I will get a letter from you tonight.

Our horses will be here tonight from the convalescent camp. We have got everything ready to start in the morning. Nothing more at present, only I remain your true, devoted husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 70

Monticello, Kentucky
May 14, 1863

Dear beloved wife,

It is with much pleasure that I take my pen in hand to answer your kind letter which I received since I left Kingston. I was glad to hear from you all one time more and glad to hear that you were all well and doing well. These lines leave me well and doing well.

I wrote to you that we were going to Clinton. We went to Clinton but we only stayed there one night and then we started to Kentucky. We are now camped near Monticello. We are now in the enemy’s land. The Yankeys are not far from us—I don’t know how close. I expect we will be in a battle before many days. There is a good many troops coming in here. They are going to try the same Yankeys that whipped General Pegram and if they don’t look sharp, we will worst them. We have come here to whip them. General Morgan whipped some of them last Sunday and run them across the Cumberland river. They fought [with]in about 15 miles from here.

I don’t know how long we will stay here. We may leave here tonight and we may stay here several days but I don’t think we will stay here long. We have only stopped today to rest our horses and get something for them to eat. We traveled them 5 days on three handfuls of corn [and] only what little pastures we could get. But we are where we can get plenty I think for our horses and ourselves too.

I will send this letter back to Kingston tomorrow by some couriers. This may be the last one that I will get to send to you till we come out of Kentucky. You may still direct your letters to Kingston. I can get them from there if I can from anywhere. I was glad to think you are doing so well. I think you you will do to make a living and if I never come back home I want you to raise the children right and do the best you can yourself. I hant got much idea but what I will come home to see you all again but I don’t know what will happen to me but I don’t fear the enemy. I come out to fight and I am as ready as I ever will be. Nothing more at present. Only I remain your true, devoted husband till death, — John W. Cotton

Letter 71

Kentucky Camp near Monticello
May 20th 1863

Mariah, dear wife,

It’s once more that I have the opportunity of writing you a few lines to let you know that I am well and doing well. I hope these few lines may find you all well and doing well. I hant heard from you since I wrote before but I am looking for a courier here with our mail. I hope I will get a letter from you. I hant got much to write to you but if I could see you, I could tell you a heap that has happened since we left Kingston.

The boys are mounting themselves very fast on good horses. Some they swap for and some of them take them wherever they find them. Some of them has to give them up and some don’t. I hant got nary one yet but I intend to have one before I come back out of Kentucky. There ain’t no danger of a fight yet. Everything is still. The Yankeys are all on the other side of the Cumberland river. I heard this morning that some of our army had gone to the river to cross that is fifteen miles from here. I think there will be a move in a few days.

All of our men that were afoot is with a brigade of infantry. Asa went with us. He is left at Kingston as a courier. There ain’t no use in talking about coming home now but if I live to get out of Kentucky, I think I will come home. Don’t be uneasy about me for I ain’t in any danger yet. You may still write to Kingston. They say they are going to try to get the mail every week. A courier leaves here now directly to take our letters to Kingston.

Nothing more at present—only I remain your true, devoted husband till death, — John W. Cotton

I want to see you all very bad.

Letter 72

Kentucky Camp 15 miles from Monticello
May 26th, 1863

Dear beloved wife,

It is with much pleasure that I write you a few lines in answer to your kind letter which I received yesterday and day before our couriers brought our mail from Kingston and I got two letters—one dated the 9th and one the 13th. I was truly glad to hear from you…

Porter is well. Asa is not here. He is still at Kingston. All of our company is well that is here. There is a good many left at Kingston. We have moved our camp about ten miles from where we were on the account of getting more handy to forage. We don’t get near enough for our horses. Forage is very scarce here. It is a very broken, mountainous country and there ain’t much made here. It is the worst kind of bushwhacking country but they don’t fire on us. They are afraid of us. All of the men has left the country.

The Yankeys are all on the other side of the Cumberland river 15 miles from here. I don’t think there is any danger of a fight here. Some of our regiment has been standing picket there at the river—them on one side and the Yankeys on the other—and they made an agreement not to shot at each other. And some of our men went over among them and traded with them. Some of them say they are very tired of the war and want to go home. They say a heap of their men’s time is nearly out and when their time is out, they will go home and stay there.

I am getting very anxious to cross the river among the Yankeys and so is a heap of our men. I hant got me nary horse yet but my old horse would do a right smart service yet if he could get a plenty to eat. I think if I could cross the river I could get a horse from the Yankeys that would not cost me nothing. I am to get another before I leave Kentucky anyhow. There is lots of boys got horses since we came up here. Captain Slaughter has resigned and gone home and we have another election for lieutenant. I ran against our orderly sergeant and got beat and we elected William Lessley for our orderly sergeant…

I hant got nary letter from Dock but I heard he was coming to the company soon. I expect that he is at our old camp with the rest of the boys. Well I reckon this letter will start tomorrow. Nothing more at present, only remain your true, devoted husband till death. Think of me when far away for I may be nearer in a coming day. — John W. Cotton

May 28th. I am still well…my letter never started when I thought it would but they say it will start in the morning…

May 30th, 1863 Mariah, my letter ain’t started yet but they say it will start today. We was ordered to Monticello night before last at midnight to meet the enemy and our couriers did not start. We went on [with]in a mile of Monticello and we got orders to return to camp. You ought to have been here to have heard the boys curse. They wanted to go on. they said it was a misunderstanding betwixt two generals that we were ordered out. We heard that the Yankeys was crossing the river by thousands but it was all false. If I could only see you I could tell you a heap. I am well.

Letter 73

Kentucky Camp near Monticello
June 3rd 1863

Dear wife,

It is with much pleasure that I write you a few lines to try to let you know that I am well and hope these few lines may find you all enjoying the same blessing. I hant got much to write to you nor much time to write. There is a man a going home out of the regiment and he will leave in a little while.

There is some prospect of a battle. We had orders this morning to saddle before light and be ready in five minutes to leave. We went about two miles and formed a line of battle and stayed there about three hours and we were ordered back to camp. We got a dispatch that the Yankeys were crossing the river but we found out it was a mistake. They say we will leave Kentucky in a short time. We are brigaded under [Col. John S.] Scott and it is forming at Lenoir Station not far from Knoxville. It is thought when we get with the brigade, we will be sent to North Alabama.

When I get back to Tennessee, I am a going to try to come home. I want to see you and our loved ones. I don’t want you to be uneasy about me for I am a getting along very well. Nothing more at present—only I remain your true devoted husband till death. — John W. Cotton

Pray for me when I am gone that I may safely return. I got a letter from you last Sunday and was glad to hear that you were well and doing well and glad to hear that your wheat looked like it would make something and was glad Manuel was getting on well with his crop.

Letter 74

Kentucky Camp near Monticello
June 13, 1863

Mariah, dear wife,

It is again that I take my pen in hand to write you a few lines in answer to your kind letter which I received dated the 26th of May. I was glad to hear that you were all well and doing well…

I hant much to wrote to you but I reckon it will be of a great importance to you. These lines leave me well and hearty. Mariah, I am happy to say to you that we have been into a battle and all of our company came out safe. I came out untouched. There was two of our regiment killed and some few wounded but none mortal. The fight commenced soon in the morning. The Yankeys came across the river in the night and had like to have got on us before we knew it. We met them about a mile from our camp with two hundred of our men. They had four regiments and were thrown in the line of battle when we attacked them. We were run right up on top of a ridge [with]in about one hundred ad twenty-five yards of them a firing on us. We fell back a short distance and formed a line of battle and them firing at us all the time. We dismounted and made a charge on them and gave them a fire but they put it to us so that we were obliged to fall back.

So we kept falling back and fighting for about two hours and a half and we could not get any reinforcements and being under a heavy fire all the time and them trying to out flank us, we had to retreat back where we got reinforcements. We fell back about 7 miles from where the fight commenced. They followed us 5 miles and turned back. We sent three regiments back after them and they overtook them right where the fight took place in the morning and a heavy fire commenced and our men whipped them badly from then till night and drove them back to the river and they crossed back. That night they got reinforcements of twelve hundred men but they did not get over in time to do them any good. We did not fight them any in the evening. They had two cannon a shooting at us all the time.

As many of them as there was in the morning, we killed more of them than they did of us. Their loss during the day is about fifty and ours was four killed. The 1st Georgia was in the fight in the evening and they never lost nary man. We are looking for another fight every day but we are better prepared than we were before. We have four regiments right here and two batteries and some more not far off. If they come back, they will get hurt if they don’t bring more help. ¹

I saw Mike about a week ago. he had been sick but was getting about again. Their regiment is camped not far from us but I hant had the chance to go to see them. They were all well. Felix and Steve Boswell and Frank Worthen were with Mike when I saw him.

June 16th. Mariah, I hant sent off this letter yet. I hant had the chance. The mail hant left yet. We have fell back 30 miles from Monticello. We fell back a Sunday. It was thought the Yankeys would follow but they hant yet nor I don’t think they will. We may go back in a few days and we may go to Kingston. It is not known yet. I saw Mike yesterday morning. He was complaining some but not much. Tese lines leave me well and doing well and I hope they may reach you you the same. There ain’t no danger of a fight now. Nothing more at present. I remain yours forever, — John W. Cotton

¹ For a great article regarding the fight that took place on 9 June 1863 which Cotton describes in this letter, see The Battle of Mill Springs 1863 published by Darryl R. Smith on 10 June 2021, The Western Theater in the Civil War. The Union forces engaged initially were from Co. F, 45th Ohio Mounted Infantry and from Co. C, 7th Ohio Cavalry. More of Wolford’s Brigade later joined in the fight.

Letter 75

[Jamestown, Tennessee]
June 17, 1863

Mariah, I hant sent off my letter yet. I think it will start in the morning by courier. I hant had nary letter from you in some time but I look for one by the next mail. I want to hear from you all very much and I want to come home very bad and I think I will come home when I get back to Kingston. If they don’t give me a furlough, I will come without one, but I think there will be a chance for a furlough.

We are now at Jamestown, Tennessee. We came here yesterday evening. I think we will leave here tomorrow for Kingston or Lenoir Station to join our brigade. It is thought that we will go from there to Mississippi or Louisiana. I don’t think we will go back to Monticello anymore. Everything is in such an uproar that I don’t hardly know what to write.

I reckon you will think strange of the writing on the other side of this letter. It is a piece of paper I picked up in the clerk’s office in this place. The court house has been broken open and all of the papers in the clerk’s office is destroyed. I picked up enough paper to write several letters on that is [only] wrote on one side. We can’t get any paper till we get back to Kingston.

I would like to be at home to see how your crop looks and see how Manuel is getting on but I had rather see you and the children than your crop. Nothing more. Write all the news in your next letter. These lines leave me well and remaining your true devoted husband till death. Farewell till I write to you again, — John W. Cotton

*The early 19th Century Travel Case in which the Cotton letters have been stored for the last 160 years.* *The newspaper lining in the lid dates to the 1840s.*

To read the rest of the letters, go to The Civil War Letters of John Weaver Cotton, Part 2

15th New York Engineers, 189th New York Infantry, Accidental Shooting

1864: Amos Niles Brewster to Cynthia Brewster

June 6, 2022 Griff Leave a comment

This letter was written by 26 year-old Amos “Niles” Brewster (1837-1865) of Annsville, Oneida county, New York, who enlisted at the age of 26 in late August 1864 as a private in Co. K, 189th New York Infantry. In November 1864, he was transferred to Co. L, 15th New York Engineers with his younger brother, 18 year-old Ananias Brewster (1847-1932), who enlisted at the same time. Upon his enlistment, Amos was described as a 5′ 7.5″ mechanic with grey eyes, and dark hair.

*I could not find an image of the Brewster brothers but here is tintype of members of the 15th New York Engineers (Alejandro de Quesada Collection)*

Niles and Ananias were the sons of John Brewster (1802-1858) and Elizabeth [Wilbur] (1807-1883) of Annsville, New York. Two other brothers are mentioned in the letter, Aaron J. Brewster, and Daniel D. Brewster—the latter serving as a sergeant in Co. I, 81st New York Infantry at the time.

Brewster’s letter conveys the tragic news to his sister Cynthia that he accidentally shot himself in the foot while cleaning his gun at City Point, Virginia, and was transported to a hospital in Washington D. C. for treatment and recovery. “It will be a good while before I can work with it,” he told her. I couldn’t find a record of his discharge but the injury was most likely disabling—and while comical enough in his telling of the incident, it most likely proved fatal. He died in December 1865, just thirteen months after shooting himself.

Transcription

Washington [D. C.]
November 23, 1864

Dear Sister,

I take this time to inform you that I have had the bad luck to get a musket ball shot through my foot. It happened the 14th of November near City Point [Virginia]. I arrived here the 18th. The way it happened, someone put a cartridge in my gun and did not put any cap on. I took my gun to clean. I sat in my tent with it in my lap. I thought I would crack a cap. I did and cracked a hole through my foot too. Mile Hanney lay in the tent with me when it was done.

Ananias [Brewster] had the dysentery some when I left but not very bad but so that he did not work.

I have got a rather bad foot but I guess it is doing very well. It is quite comfortable here. I have a good appetite. I can eat all I can get and I can get all I can eat by playing sharp. I can go it as long as I have a good appetite alright. I wrote a letter to Aaron J. Brewster when I first got here. Will Hanney wrote for me from City Point to him. I expect an answer soon from him.

I shall come home on a furlough if I can get one. It will be a good while before I can work with it. I guess I shall fetch around in time.

I saw Chet Osborne here. He said he saw a man that seen [brother D[aniel D. [Brewster]. He thought he would get along all right. I haven’t any news to write—only Henry [S.] Wetherbee is here with me. He has got a lame knee. He lays in the next bed to me. He has got a good appetite too.

It is rather cool here now. If Jay is not, tell him to write soon. You need not write until you find out whether I get a furlough or not. So goodbye for this time. Give my regards to Mother and all other enquiring friends.

Directions. A. N. Brewster, Engineer Brigade Hospital near the Navy Yard, Washington D. C.

That is all.

C. C. Brewster.

Blocher's Arkansas Battery, Fort Delaware, Prisoner of War

1864: Edward Visart to Myra McAlmont

June 5, 2022 Griff Leave a comment

This letter was written by Edward Visart (1839-1893) from Fort Delaware in August 1864 while a prisoner of war. Edward was serving as a 2nd Lieutenant in Capt. Blocher’s Arkansas Battery when he was taken prisoner on 28 October 1863 in Arkansas county, Arkansas, by General Clayton’s troops and held in prison at Little Rock. He was then held at St. Louis for a time but transferred across country to Fort Delaware on 25 March 1864. He was received there two days later and not paroled until 10 April 1865.

Edward began his Confederate service enlisting in the Pulaski Light Artillery at Little Rock in April 1861. He mustered out of that regiment in September 1861 and reenlisted in the Weaver Light Artillery at Little Rock in December 1861. This battery was transferred to Blocher’s Battery in August 1862. Blocher’s Battery served in the Trans-Mississippi Department throughout the war, and campaigned in Arkansas, Louisiana, Missouri and the Indian Territory. In January 1863 the battery was assigned to Fagan’s Brigade in Hindman’s Division, and fought at Helena, the Little Rock campaign, and Price’s Missouri Expedition.

During his long imprisonment, Lt. Visart began the study of medicine by reading books and prepared himself for admittance to medical school once he was paroled. He later got his degree from the University of Michigan Medical School and then returned to Arkansas to practice in DeWitt.

Edward wrote the letter to his “friend” Myra McAlmont (1846-1918), the daughter of Dr. John Josephus McAlmont (1821-1896), an 1843 graduate of the Geneva (NY) Medical College. He moved to Arkansas in 1850 and settled in Little Rock in 1852 where he practiced medicine and partnered with Solon Borland in a drug store. Myra married Francis (“Frank”) Terry Vaughan (1846-1916) in 1866. During the Civil War, Frank served in Capt. John G. Marshall’s Battery, Arkansas Light Artillery. He was very seriously wounded at the Battle of Helena, losing his left arm and receiving additional wounds in his right hand and breast. Myra’s uncle, Dr. Corydon Hanks McAlmont (1827-1862) served in Rust’s Brigade during the Civil War but after Corinth, returned to Little Rock where he rendered Confederate service in the hospital.

In September 1863, Union troops occupied Little Rock, Arkansas, and opened up communication and travel for Little Rock residents, such as Mrya, to travel North and visit relatives in Hornellsville, New York, where her parents had come from. Prior to September 1863, such travel would have been difficult and required passes to cross enemy lines.

(left to right) Mrs. John J. McAlmont, her daughter Myra McAlmont, and Miss Julia McAlmont, sister-in-law of Mrs. McAlmont. (ca. 1860)

Transcription

*Addressed to Miss Myra McAlmont, Hornellsville, New York*

Fort Delaware, Delaware
August 2, 1864

My Dear Friend,

Your welcome letter of the 29th ult., cane duly to hand last evening. Yours and Frank’s letters are always so interesting, so “talkative” of home (I mean Little Rock). I was much amused at yours and Frank [Vaughan]’s dialogue while reading it. I imagined myself there and thought it was “my put in” and spoke out accordingly; was reminded of it by a bystander who asked me if it was “much funny.” Lieut. Halliburton received a letter from his friend J. B. Garrison written at Little Rock; he and Henry Halliburton are prisoners. Were captured at Col. H.’s July 5th. Gulware and Garrison were married on the 15th of May last. I have written to Hal. I did not know Miss Agnes Colter. I will expect you this fall. I believe you will get to come.

Miss Myra, I do not know how to thank you for your kind offer. You offer to do more than I could even ask a relation. I do not yet particularly need anything. I have clothing enough to do me till winter. Lieut. H. received a box of eatables last week from a lady in Baltimore. It was a nice treat being the first thing of the kind we have had since our sojourn North. I will accept the Anatomy. I prefer “Gray’s Human & Surgical.” I suppose it will have to be sent by Express to Lieut. E. Visart, Prisoner of War, Care of Capt. G. W. Ahl, A.A.A. Gen’l, Fort Delaware. If your Aunt will send a “ham” &c. and you some biscuits &c, box them up with the Anatomy. Get Frank to Express them. They will come safely & be very acceptable. I would not have you go to any expense to make up a box. When you write home, remember me kindly to all.

We are again allowed to receive papers. Should you get another Little Rock paper, send again. I may be more fortunate next time. I fear the “Bushwhackers” have interrupted my communication with Miss Georgie. I have not heard from her in some weeks. Lieut. H. joins me in love to you & Frank [Vaughan]. I cannot do your letters justice on one page but it is all I dare write. Write soon. I remain most respectfully, your true friend, — Edward Visart

Heard from Capt. Blocher. All’s well. I was not forgotten in the reorganization. Am now 1st Lieutenant. — E. V.

Seminole Wars

1838: William Ransom Rathbone to Benjamin Treadwell Kissam

June 5, 2022 Griff Leave a comment

I can’t be absolutely certain of this author’s identity but believe it to have been written by William Ransom Rathbone (1810-1872), the son of N. Y. militia General Ransom Rathbone (1780-1861) and his wife Catherine (1791-1857) who lived in Elmira, Chemung county, New York. In this May 1838 letter, William announces his intention to go to Washington, D. C. to see the President Martin Van Buren and to request a commission in the U. S. Army, despite being only a civilian with little or no military training (apparently). If he was successful in this endeavor, I can find no military record to confirm it.

In the 1850 US Census, Rathbone was married but still residing in his parents home in Addison, Steuben county, New York, working as a lumberman. During the Civil War, Rathbone managed to get a commission as captain in the US Volunteers Commissary Department from November 1862 to August 1864 when he resigned.

I believe also that Rathbone wrote the letter to Benjamin Tredwell Kissam (1819-1907), the son of Joseph Kissam (1790-1863) and Anne Magdalene Embury (1788-1829) of New York City.

Transcription

Portsmouth
May 19th 1838

My Dear Sir,

I this moment received yours of the 16th enclosing $ for which I thank you & your Father at thousand times. you need not send any more according to the request in my other letter. This will answer my present wants. I can hardly find words to express my gratitude for this kind favor which I had no right to expect. I can only say that I hope it may be in my power to return in some degree the many kindnesses you have shown me.

I shall now go on to Washington to ask of the President a commission in the army. It will be a very hard matter for me to procure it but notwithstanding I don’t believe that he will dare to excuse me. [Lt. Gov.] John Tracy has written him on the subject telling him of my many wonderful virtues and of my strong political friendship. I have also two other friends in Washington who are making all the interest for me possible. If with all this influence he excuses me, I will make him rue it. Such a thing scarcely ever happens that a commission is granted to a citizen which makes it doubtful whether I shall be able to succeed.

I have said nothing to my family in relation to the matter nor to anyone else excepting [Lt.] Gov. Tracy & my friends in Congress. I thought that my father and mother would object, particularly as long as the Seminole War continued. Therefore, please say nothing about the matter.

I remain as ever forever, — Wm. R. Rathbone

B. T. Kissam

P. S. Give my love to all. — Wm. R. R.

Please write Henry what you have done for me & that I request that he will forward the money immediately on to you. Upon the whole, I will write him. You need not.