William Henry Straw was a 33 year-old farmer from Hill, Grafton county, New Hampshire when he voluntarily enlisted on 14 August 1862 to serve as a corporal in Co. D, 12th New Hampshire Infantry. His father, Sargent Straw (1783-1871) was still living at the time, but his mother, Priscilla Bennett Sanborn (1794-1858) had already passed on. Staying home to tend the farm and their two young children was William’s wife, Caroline (“Callie”) (Thorne) Straw (1833-1889).
William wrote this letter to his hometown friend, Wilbur Henry Morrill (1836-1908) who was married in 1859 to Ann Woodford in August 1859 and had a young son of 18 months. It was datelined from the regiment’s camp opposite Georgetown in Virginia where they had recently arrived. In less than a week they would receive orders to move to Point of Rocks, Maryland, and then see their first action at the Battle of Fredericksburg.
Sometime during the winter 1862-63, William fell victim to typhoid fever and he died on 20 June 1863 at Alexandria, Virginia—his singing voice silenced forever.
William Henry Straw and Caroline Leighton (Thorne) Straw of Hill, Grafton Co., N. H.
Transcription
Addressed to W. H. Morrill, Hill, New Hampshire
12th New Hampshire [In camp opposite Georgetown in] Virginia October 12, 1862
Friend Morrill,
I will write you a few lines to let you know how I am prospering. It is Sunday but don’t seem much like Sunday in New Hampshire. We have meeting here, however. One service at 11 o’clock, & prayer meeting in the afternoon, & one every evening through the week.
We have moved three times since we got into Washington. We are in camp now near Georgetown on the opposite side of the Potomac but are under marching orders & expect to move every day but don’t know where. It is quite cool here today—need an overcoat and mittens. I have seen some very warm weather within two weeks. Our boys are quite sick—a number of them. Two have been shot since we went into camp, one by accident, one supposed by a rebel. And another shot one of his hands off himself by accident. He was in our company—Prescott Y. Howland 1 from Sanbornton, a first rate fellow. Had to have his right arm cut off. I saw it done and it looked pretty hard, but nothing to what I expect to see.
I will resume my writing now. I stopped to go to meeting though don’t have to go far—only two or three rods. Elder Dunbar preached—a Methodist preacher, a private soldier, a young man, or rather not very old. I wish you could have heard him though I suppose you are hearing something like it for he is about such a preacher as Burden, only he has a voice like a lion. He is a grand singer. He is the one that composed the sheet music that we have at home—some of it at least.
I should like to be there today but I should hate dreadfully to have to be back here if I was once at home, though I am quite contented & am well & hearty as a bear. Give my respects to all your singers. I should like to see them all. Tell them I have sung so much that my throat is most worn out though I mean to save it to sing with you when I get home—if I should be lucky enough to ever come there.
It is one o’clock & am going to meeting again. Will write a few lines more perhaps. Got home again. We have 4 or 5 ministers in our regiment. One tents with me. Five men tent together. R[obert] Martin tents with me. He has had the shakes but is some better now. It is 2 o’clock and is raining. A cold northeast storm.
I hear you are getting ready to draft in Hill, or rather getting ready not to be drafted. I want you to write me when you can. Don’t know if you can read htis. Give my respects to Mrs. Morrill & all the rest of your folks. Morrill, stay with your wife and child while you can & as long as you can.
I have seen Hattie Knox’s brother twice since we got here. Saw him last Friday in Washington. He was going to his regiment Saturday. He had a slight wound in the finger. Have seen quite a number from our way. Don’t many of them think much of the war. Hope you will excuse this poor writing for haven’t anything to write on or sit on. We live just like pigs and if dirt will make us happy, we shall all enjoy good health. From your friend, — W. H. Straw
[P.S.] Tell Gusta Marshall that [James] Frank [Marshall] is well & hearty now & is growing fat. It is Monday now—cold and stormy. It rained all night. Some of the boys woke up and found themselves swimming around like ducks. Please write all the news about drafting &c. Ed Cilley was here Friday and Saturday. Looks well & hearty. I sent a letter to Cally yesterday. I have sent 4 since I left Concord. I got one from home Wednesday. Some of the boys have a letter from Hill most every day. Direct your letter o Wm. H. Straw, Co. D, 12th Regiment N. H. Vols., Washington D. C.
1 Prescott Young Howland (1828-1876) was 33 years old when he enlisted as a corporal in Co. D, 12th New Hampshire Infantry. We learn from Straw’s letter than Howland accidentally shot his own hand off which necessitated an amputation of his right forearm. As a consequence, he was discharged from the service on 22 November 1862.
The following letters were written by Capt. Richard Watson Musgrove (1840-1914), the son of James Musgrove (1798-1878) and Ann Donker (1802-1879) of Bristol, New Hampshire.
Capt. Richard Watson Musgrove
Richard entered the service in August 1862 as a corporal in Co. D, 12th New Hampshire Infantry, was appointed sergeant, Mar. 17, ’63; first sergeant, Feb. 1, ’64; was at battles of Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville (where he had one musket shattered and another knocked from his hands), at Gettysburg (where he carried the state colors on the third day’s fight), and at Wapping Heights. When the regiment was stationed at Point Lookout, he was detailed for duty at the camp for prisoners of war, where he had charge of 1,000 men, all a later was sergeant of the provost guard at Gen. Gilman Marston’s brigade headquarters; discharged, Apr. 23, ’64, to accept promotion, and Apr 24, ’64, was appointed first lieutenant of Co. D, 1st Regt. U. S. Vol. Inf., a regiment, organized by Gen. Butler, and composed of prisoners of war who had taken the oath of allegiance and enlisted into the service of the Union; appointed captain of Co. I, same regiment, Aug. 13, ’64, and mustered out, May 21, ’66, after a service of three years and nine months. While in this regiment, he served three months in Norfolk, Va., as provost guard, and the balance of the time on the northwest and western frontiers, being stationed one year at Fort Ridgely, Minn. In the fall of ’65, his company with three others opened what is now the Smoky Hill route of the Union Pacific railroad, from Atchison, Kan., to Denver, Col. In winter of ’65-6, he was stationed at what is now Fort Wallace, Kansas, over 300 miles from the nearest settlement on the east. (Source: History of Bristol, N. H., vol. I, p. 208.)
In his letter of 4 October 1864, Richard mentioned hearing of the death of his younger brother, Adam Clark (“Abbott”) Musgrove (1842-1864). Abbott enlisted as a Private serving the Union Army in Halfmoon, Saratoga, New York on 21 Jul 1862. On 20 August 1862 he enlisted in Co. H, New York 115th Infantry Regiment. Abbott was killed in action and mustered out of service as a Corporal on 16 Aug 1864 in Deep Bottom Run, Henrico, Virginia.
Richard wrote the letters to Abigail (“Abbie”) Blake (1844-1911). Abbie married Rodolphus M. Locke (1839-1883) in November 1870.
Readers are also referred to a blog post on “Our War” describing Musgrove’s experience at the Battle of Chancellorsville when he was a sergeant in Co. D, 12th New Hampshire Volunteers. See Our War, 6 May 2014.
Letter 1
Addressed to Miss Abbie M. Blake, Bristol, New Hampshire
Fort Ridgely, Minnesota October 4th 1864
Friend Abbie,
I presume you have concluded by this time that I have forgotten you, but such is not the case. I have thought of you often and wondered that you did not write. By the last mail, however, the mystery was explained by the arrival of your letter bearing date of July 3rd directed to Norfolk Va,
As I did not leave there till the middle of August, I do not see why I did not receive it before I left there but it was anxious to find me, and followed me to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, to Madison, then to St. Paul, Minnesota, to Fort Snelling and then here. I have been at all these places and am now stopping here, but how long I shall remain here I know not.
My 2nd Lieut. is now gone to Fort Wadsworth, Dakota Territory, with 40 men of my company as a guard for a train of supplies going to Fort Wadsworth. I expected to go myself with the whole company and remain there during the winter, but I am pleased at the prospect of remaining here. We are now 120 miles west of St. Paul. There is not but one or two houses within fifteen miles of here so I am far enough out of the world. But we should be worse off at Fort Wadsworth which is 180 miles west of here and not a habitation within 150 miles of there. Wild animals of all description—buffaloes, bears, wolves, and Indians are very numerous and troublesome, but I should not care for them. I do not like, however, to be so far from friends. Here we get a mail three times a week. There we should have one only once a week. I had just as leave go there next summer and expect we shall go further west then—probably on an expedition against the Indians.
Fort Ridgely, Watercolor by Alfred Sully
I suppose you was aware of the death of my brother long before I was, as I did not know that he was dead till about three weeks ago, but looked in each mail for a letter from him, little thinking that I had received my last from him. Of course I feel very badly about his early fall. I miss his letters, always cheerful and hopeful, and I shall miss him very much when I get home as I hope to some day. But I am proud to think that he died so noble a death in the service of his country and I have the fact to cheer me that he died a christian soldier and while I mourn his loss, I am cheered at the thought that he is at rest where war is unknown, and that if I am faithful to my God, I may one day meet him above, although I can never more see his face upon earth. It would be a pleasure in some respects to be at home at this time to mourn with those there, or I would esteem it a great privilege to hear his funeral sermon preached, but as this cannot be, I will try and bow submissively to this heavy affliction and may his death result in good to me and us all.
It has been so long since you wrote your last that I hardly know where to direct [your letter] but I guess I will direct this to Manchester as you said nothing about leaving there and I hope you will receive it. I thank you for the little gift enclosed in your letter. I will try and heed its warning voice, and if you fail to hear from me for a long time, you must not think that I have forgotten you but attribute it to some such cause as delayed me now, or maybe I shall not have an opportunity to write as I am very much of the time on the move. So if you do not get a prompt answer, just write again and I hope they will get round even if they are delayed three months.
Personally I am prospering very well since leaving Norfolk. Gen. Butler has had the kindness to send me an appointment as Captain so now I have the honor of wearing two bars instead of one. My work is no more, as I have had command of this company (I) since it was formed the first of June.
Since leaving Norfolk, I have rather lost track of some of the Bristol boys who are not at their regiment, Louis among the number, and I must hunt them up now that I have tome to write. But I must close. Write as soon as convenient and remember me as ever. Your true friend.
My address is R. W. Musgrove, Capt. Co. I, 1st USV. Fort Ridgely, Minnesota
Letter 2
Fort Ridgely, Minnesota December 7th 1864
Dear Friend,
Your letter of Nov. 6th was received about a week ago and I now hasten to answer it. I was glad to hear from you once more. I was fearful lest my letter would not reach you, but it seems that it did. I always like to hear from my friends at home. It makes this place and indeed any place, more cheerful to hear often from home, and those with whom I am acquainted. To say the best, this is a lonely, dreary, bleak, desolate place, and frequent letters do much to drive away the blues. The little world in which I move here is about fifteen rods square, and I seldom go outside of the fort unless it is on a pleasant day to take a horse back ride. This is about all the recreation I have, and as you may imagine, time passes off rather slowly and heavily. If it were not for books, I do not know what I should do. As it is, I read a good deal of the time and so turn my spare time to good account.
I had not heard from Jerome Hancock for a long time and have wondered what had become of him. I am glad, however, to hear so good account of him. If you see him or his mother, give them my respects.
I am very glad that so many of the boys came home from the army to vote. I suppose you passed a few pleasant hours with some of them. Lieut. Fullonton belongs to this regiment—as I suppose you know, but is on duty on Gen. [____ston’s] Staff. I think he is a tip top fellow and very smart too. I would like to spend a short time, or a long time rather, atBristol. I should enjoy it very much—especially now that William is at home. You know it seems so much better to have all at home together, but not all of our family will again assemble around the family board. The vacant place cannot be filled. I shall miss my brother Adam when I go home very much, more than I should any other brother because we were so near of an age that we were more intimate. How many times we have talked over our future plans. But he is gone now. He is now at rest and I would not call him back much as I feel his loss. Others too have passed away. I was sorry to hear of the death of Mary Woolson very. She will be missed very much at Brostol as she was a valuable member of society and of the church. But I have no doubt but what she too is at rest. Thus we are all passing away.
I do not know that Jack Smith had just a lady in New Hampton. I should think he was about old enough to die.
I also had a letter from Louis Rowe a few days ago. I am glad that he has got an easy chance as I think he should have, for he has had quite a hard time since he was wounded.
I suppose you will have a pleasant time at Manchester this winter. I would like to call in some evening and see you. I should enjoy it very much. But then such pleasures are not in store for me now, but I do not always expect to live in this out-of-the-world place. But before many years at least to return to the land of civilization. Then I shall know how to prize the blessings of society.
I have just been reading in the paper a beautiful piece of poetry which I copy lest you have not seen it. It goes as follows.
“De lord he lubs de nigger well, He knows de nigger by the smell; And whilst de pitch holds out to burn, De blackest nigger may return.
He knows dere wants and all of day, He feeds dere souls on possum fat; And when de nigger baby cry, De Lord he gibs ’em possum pie.
When in de Tabernacle met, Big nigger by a white gal set; And in de Beecher Chapel too, De nigger habs a good front pew.
De Lord determined not to keep. In different pews de cullerd sheep, But mix de various collors up, Like rum and lasses in a cup.”
Don’t you think those are beautiful lines? But I must close so goodbye for the present. Hoping soon to hear of your peace and prosperity, I remain as ever your true friend, — R. W. Musgrove
The following letters were written by Joseph T. Cotton (1836-1878), a native of Gilmanton, Belknap county, New Hampshire, who enlisted in Co. B, 12th New Hampshire Infantry in August 1862 and served in the ranks as a private until he was severely wounded at the Battle of Chancellorsville on 3 May 1863. He was discharged for disability a year later at David’s Island in New York Harbor. Joseph was married on 23 August 1862, just days after his enlistment but before he was mustered into the service. He married Sarah A. Varney (1842-1920).
In the wartime letters, Cotton discusses very little in the way of war news but speaks mainly of his leg wound the treatment he received for it at two different hospitals in Washington D. C. All but one of the letters were written by Cotton while he was hospitalized. Two of the letters were written on impressive stationary—one has a colorized engraving of the newly completed Capitol Building (with rotunda) in Washington D. C. The other, on the verso of the letter itself, bears an engraved scene of charging soldiers entitled “Battle of Fair Oaks- June 1st 1862.”
Joseph T. Cotton was described in the 12th NH regimental history as a “good, brave soldier, a kind neighbor, and a true-hearted man.”
Letter 1
Twelfth New Hampshire Regiment Camp near Fredericksburg, [Virginia] February 10, 1863
Dear Brother,
I received your letter a few days ago. Was glad to hear from you and that you were all well and that I can say the same. My health is good—fat as a hog—and I am well contented now.
We have rather cold weather. We have had a foot of snow at a time but it did not last long. We had a great rain after it and then we had to take the mud so you can see that we have to take all kinds of weather.
Clark Leighton is dead—only two weeks. He had the typhoid fever. Was very sick last week. we took as good care of him as we could for the chance we had. Julia is about crazy about him. I don’t believe she will live six months. She is sick abed now.
Leander Sawyer is dead. He died last Sunday morning. He had been in the hospital some time. The folks at New Hampshire don’t know much about what the sick have to suffer here nor they don’t know anything about this war—only what they hear. It is all speculation—every bit of it. There is a great part of our men here that don’t want this thing settled up. They are getting good pay and that is all they want. And as for the Negroes, they are better off today here than one half of the white folks at the North. When these boys get home—these Republican boys, they never will want to hear Niggerism preached to them anymore for they will all be good Democrats then and let the Negro be where they are.
You said something about my going to the 11th Regiment to see the boys. I have seen the regiment a number of times but have not seen Sherman but once. We have to stay in camp the most of the time. We are not allowed to go out of camp unless we get a pass from the Colonel and that he will not give very often. That is the reason I have not been to see them. The 11th Regiment has gone to Fortress Monroe. They went from here yesterday. They went past our encampment and they have been going for two or three days. The cars has been loaded down. It is the report that we have got to go soon but I don’t know how true it is. We may go down to Washington to do guard duty, but I don’t know how it will be. It don’t make much difference where I be. I don’t know but what I am as safe in one place as another.
How is Mother now? Is she well now? Tell her that I am well and not to worry about me more than she can help for I am having good times now. Give my love to all the family. I want to see you all very much. I want you to write to me as often as you can and I will answer. I have not much news to write today—only that we have drawn potatoes and soft bread today and they were good.
The mail will be closed soon and I cannot write any more now. write soon. Goodbye brother, — J. T. Cotton
Letter 2
Stationery with lithograph of the Battle of Fair Oaks, 1 June 1862
St. Aloysius Hospital, 1 Washington D. C. July 6th 1863
Dear Mother,
I thought perhaps you would like to hear from me today and I will write you a few lines to let you know that my leg is doing well. It don’t gain very fast but is doing well as can be expected.
Have you heard from Smith since you got to Gilmanton? I have not heard from him but expect a letter soon. I had a letter from Betsy the other day. She had a bad cold then. Well, Mother, I don’t know as there is anything more to write now. Give my love to Aunt P. Hope she is better than when she wrote. So goodbye, Mother. Write to me often and I will [too].
1 St. Aloysius Hospital was located in wooden barracks in the St. Aloysius Church. When St. Aloysius General Hospital closed, its patients were sent to Stanton and Harewood hospitals. The barracks then became the hospital for Quarter Master Department employees. George M. Anderson’s article describes how the parishioners of St. Aloysius rallied to rapidly build barracks near St. Aloysius church so that it would not be used as a hospital after the military requisitioned it. The Catholic clergy felt that allowing the military to use the church itself would violate its sanctity.
Letter 3
Colorized lithograph of US Capitol on stationery
St. Aloysius Hospital Washington [D. C.] July 26, 1863
Dear Mother and Aunt,
I received your letter last Thursday. Was glad to hear from you and that you were gaining in health. My health is good. My leg is doing well but cannot tell when I can come home. It is gaining slow. If the bone [fragments] all come out, it will soon get well but my courage is good. I have made up my mind to be contented until I can come home. I hope it will be next month.
Mother, don’t get tired waiting to see me for you are more comfortable than I am. You wanted to know if I had clothes. I have clean clothes every week, bedclothes changed twice every week, plenty of water to keep myself clean, everything enough, the doctor to see me twice a day all the time. He goes through the ward twice a day—once in the morning and at night. He is a fine man—as good a doctor as I ever saw anywhere.
About the miniature, I will send you one as soon as I can have one taken. And you shall have one. Last Sunday it was fair here—a warm day. We have a plenty of rain here. It has been very wet here all summer.
I must close so goodbye. I will write again soon, — J. T. Cotton
Letter 4
St. Aloysius Hospital Washington D. C. July 21, 1863
Dear Mother,
My leg is feel better today and I thought I would write you a few lines. I had it cut open the other day and the small bones keep coming out. There has eight pieces come out now. It never will get well until the pieces are all out. It will be a long time before the leg will get well. My courage is good and you must keep yours the same. Mother, I have good care enough to eat and everything that I cannot get here, there is two women here in the city that is from New Hampshire—one from Gilmanton. They come to look after me. The bring me wine jelly, underclothes, or anything else that I need. They brought me a pair of flannel shirts. Now don’t worry about me, Mother.
We are having cool weather here now. It rains about half the time. That is better than hot weather for our wounds.
How is Aunt? Has she got better? I want to hear from you all. My health is good. I can eat as much as a hog. I hope these few lines will find you all well. Now I must close, so goodbye with much love. Write soon. — J. T. Cotton
Letter 5
St. Aloysius Hospital Washington D. C. September 12, 1863
My Dear Sister,
It is with great pleasure that I write to you. My health is good for me. Yesterday I went out doors for the first time. I this morning I have been out again. I am very glad to get out of my old bed. We are having fine weather here now. Not very warm. Rather cool for this time of year.
I had a letter from Lydia today. She is to Alvah’s now. The folks are all well. Mother has been over there but now is back to Aunt Meribakes. She was not very well contented over there so Aunt wrote but seems to be well contented where she is now.
Sunday morning, September 13, 1863
I will try and finish my letter this morning. We have had a fine shower here this morning. Today I shall have to stay in for the ground is wet and I might take cold. I have to be my own judge about taking care of my health here, you know. I hope by the first day of next month that I can be at home for I am not so well contented now as I have been for I can get out. And now I want to get home. Well, sister, goodbye for a few days. Write often. From J. T. Cotton
Letter 6
St. Aloysius Jospital Washington D. C. September 30, 1863
Dear Mother,
I will write you a few lines to let you know that my health is good. My leg is doing well. My name is going in this week to headquarters for my furlough. I will write you in a few days again to let you know when I can come home. Keep good courage, Mother and Aunt.
There is no news to write today. I thought I would write you a few lines to let you know I was well. Goodbye from — J. T. C.
Letter 7
St. Aloysius Hospital Washington D. C. October 14, 1863
Dear Mother,
I will try to write you a few lines to let you know that my health is good. My leg is about the same as when I wrote before. If nothing happens to me, I shall be at home next week, I think, but don’t worry if I don’t come. You know I have to wait for their motion. They can give me a furlough when they are a mind to. We privates can not do as we are a mind to [but] have to wait for them.
Give my love to Aunt Meriball and take a good share yourself, Mother.
From J. T. Cotton
If anything happens that I cannot come next week, I will write and let you know about it. Goodbye Mother. I can not write but a few lines this morning. I have got to write to Sarah and Betsey.
Letter 8
Harwood Hospital Wahington D. C. October 20th 1863
Dear Sister,
As I have changed my boarding place, I thought I would write you a few lines to let you know that I am well and my leg is about the same as when I wrote before. I was transported to this hospital last Saturday and have the most splendid place in the world. There is one thousand here. I am not lonesome here. There is fifteen wards here. The ward that I am in is nothing but wounded men. I do have the best of care. There is plenty of female nurses here to wait on me. They give me to eat here as good as I could get anywhere in Washington. I shall be at home before long. The Dr. says I can have a furlough soon but I am going to try for my discharge before I come. What [do you] think of that? Don’t expect to get it but can try, you know. Well, be of good courage. I will come some time.
Direct your letters to Harewood Hospital, Ward [?]
Write to me often. Goodbye sister, from J. T. Cotton
Letter 9
Harewood Hospital Washington D. C. November 23rd 1863
Dear Sister,
Thinking perhaps you would like to hear from me, I would write you a few lines to let you know that my health is very good and the leg is doing well. It is healing up and I hope for good. The Dr. says it may be all right for months and then break out again. He thinks it is doing well now and thinks it will not break out again but cannot tell how it may be. The Dr. takes the best of care of me and all the rest.
We are having fine weather here now. The folks are haying here now. I expect that itis very cold to New Hampshire now. It is time for it there.
I had a letter from Smith. They are all well. Alvah and Minnie have been down to see them. Lydia has gone to Massachusetts again. I had a letter from Mother and Meribal. They are well but Mother feels disappointed about my coming home. I hope that I can get home soon this year or the first of next. it is now most seven months that I have been in the hospital. That is long enough for anyone.
How does Sarah feel about me. I write for her to keep good courage about me and hope she will. That will make me feel better than to have her get down-hearted about me. She writes to me often. She wants me to come home soon as I can but you know that I am better off here than anywhere at present for they know what to do for me. I think that I am sure of my discharge when the leg gets healed good but I don’t think that I ever can work on a farm anymore. It will be too hard for me. But Iam not afraid but what there will be a way for me to get my living. That don’t trouble me any—not in the least.
Sylvester Gale was here to see me the other day. He has gone back to Concord now. He is detailed from the regiment. He is in some kind of business there in Concord.
Well, Sister, you must write to me often. Give my love to Aunt and all the friends that I may have in Concord. Yours with much love. From — Joseph T. Cotton
Letter 10
Harewood Hospital Washington D. C. December 4, 1863
Dear Mother and Aunt,
I received your letter Wednesday. I was very glad to hear from you and that you were well. My health is good for me. The leg is about the same as ever. I think it is stronger that it has been. It is near healed up again but how long it will keep so, it may break out again the same as Edwin Nelson’s has. That is the way of these old wounds. Get healed, then break out again. This last time there has one piece of bone come out that I have seen and many small pieces that I have not seen that run out in the matter that comes from my leg. There has nineteen pieces of bones that I have seen. One of them was one inch long. The most of the bone is one place is taken out—just enough left to hold the bone of the leg together. But I think that some day my leg will get to be very good again. But it will take some time.
I do enjoy myself here the most of the time. I think I had not better hurry about coming home till my leg is good and strong for if I should get home and then have it break out again, it would be a hard look for me for here they know how to take care of me. I am well contented here but as soon as I am well enough to come, you better believe I am there—very quick too.
A had a letter from Betsy the day that I got yours and the next day one from Sarah. Most every day a letter comes for me that keeps me very busy to answer them. Well, Abbie Easton is married at last. It is well that everyone don’t think alike. He looked some time to find her. Is he steady now? He use to drink, you know, when he was to Gilmanton before he went to California.
Mother, don’t worry about me for I have the best of care. Could not have any better if I was at home. Think how much better here than in the field fighting. Here I have my 13 dollars a month. This is the best place for me as long as my leg is no better than it is now. Don’t think, Mother, that I don’t want to come home for I want to come home and see you all and shall soon as my leg will allow.
My love to Aunt and all who may enquire for me. Write often and I will do the same. goodbye with much love, — J. T. Cotton
Letter 11
Harewood Hospital Washington D. C. December 28, 1863
Dear Mother and Aunt,
I received your kind letter a few days ago. I was glad to hear from you for sometimes I feel very lonesome and then I like to get letters. That cheers me up some.
Well, about the leg. It is about the same as ever. It don’t trouble me but every little. Now that is not to pain me much. The trouble is the calf of my leg is sore now. There is an opening under the skin and it don’t like to heal. The Dr. keeps cutting every few days. He tries all ways to heal it and I hope he will do it soon for I have got most tired laying in bed.
Well, Mother, you have got most tired waiting for me to come home I expect but you must keep good courage and be thankful that I am well taken care of.
We are having a great rain here now. It is rather warm for the time of year. I am very sorry to hear that Alfred Lougee is sick. Is it very sickly there now?
Spared & Shared 23 