The following letters were written by Frederick (“Fred”) Mortimer Gale (1839-1934), the son of Julius Collins Gale (1811-1859) and Almira Drury. In the 1850 US Census, the Gale family was enumerated in Lowell, Massachusetts, where 10 year-old Fred’s father was identified as a “peddler.” Fred’s mother having died before he was ten, his father remarried to a woman named Abby S. Emmons in June 1850. By 1856, Fred’s father was employed as the proprietor of the City Hotel in Lowell. When he was only 15 years old, Fred began working as a general store clerk in South Danvers, Massachusetts. After his father passed in 1859, Fred went to live with his uncle in Barre.
In August, 1862, Fred enlisted in Co. I, 13th Vermont Infantry—a nine-months organization. In December 1863, he re-enlisted in Co. E, 8th Vermont Infantry, serving as a private with this regiment until the close of the War. On his first enlistment Mr. Gale was with his regiment when it was transferred to the Army of the Potomac and participated in the battle of Gettysburg. It is said that when his comrade Calvin E. Seaver’s leg was shot off at Gettysburg and the air was filled with missiles of death, and everybody was laying low, he corded Calvin’s leg and stopped the loss of blood.
The 8th Vermont served in the Department of the Gulf under General Banks and then returned north to the Army of the Shenandoah, being engaged at the battles of Winchester, Cedar Creek, and others. Frank was described as “a spare, frail looking soldier, and wore glasses, but he was in every respect a true man, and that kind always made good soldiers. Although not as robust as some of us, he never shirked a duty.”
Fred wrote both letters to his fiancée, Helen (“Nellie”) A. Putnam (1847-1935) who lies buried by his side in the Bronswood Cemetery in Oak Brook, DuPage county, Illinois.
Letter 1
Frederick, Maryland
August 1st, 1864
Friend Nellie,
Your king letter came to hand tonight. Was pleased to hear from you so soon. I can give you no kind of an idea what we have done since we arrived at Washington. We got there at noon on Wednesday, July 13, and started at once to join the 6th Corps. We marched 3 days and over took them at Poolesville, Maryland. From there we went to White’s Ford in the Potomac and waded across and invaded the “sacred soil”—marched to Leesburg—from thence through Snicker’s Gap, and into the Shenandoah Valley. Remained there in a piece of woods in line of battle till dark when we retraced our steps, marching all night and till 12 o’clock the next day when we reached Goose Creek, 2 miles south of Leesburg.
In that night and day’s march, we waded the Shenandoah river twice and crossed the Blue Ridge Mountains once, making 30 miles. From there we went by easy marches to Chain Bridge near Washington. We expected we were in permanent camp then but remained there only two days when we started on another raid. Left Chain Bridge last Tuesday noon and went to Rockville—thence to Monocacy Junction where we rested on the battlefield ten hours, then marched all night again, through this City and on to Harper’s Ferry. We went three miles from there and camped on the heights. We had hardly got our knapsacks off, however, before orders came to return to Frederick [Maryland]. We started at once and Sunday eve at 5 we reached this camp. This last march from Washington has been a hard one for the most of it has been done in the night. The last few days has been oppressively hot and the men have fell out by dozens. In the five days we have averaged 18 miles each day. It’s no use. I have not seen a line distinctly in the last page and a half and will adjourn till morning.
I never saw so many stragglers in my life as on this march. I verily believe our whole division is not so large as a brigade was when we started. The men are foot sore and worn down. We have marched fast and hard and slow and harder. For you must know that slow marching—that is, where there are frequent stoppages and not time to rest at either—is the hardest of all marching. We have endured fatigue and hunger—heat and dust, and I wish I could say rain, the dust has been so bad. The men generally have been very patient, but there are some who would find fault “even if they were going to be hung.” You think a soldier’s life hangs lightly on me—well we had our holiday service while in Louisiana and it could not be otherwise. But I’m afraid some “impatient words” might have escaped my lips this last march had not a kind Providence blessed me with so sore a mouth I have been glad to keep it “securely closed.” But really, a campaigning life suits me—only I do not like to be pressed beyond endurance. I never have intended to flatter you but only hope my letters may be as welcomely received and cheerfully answered as yours are. A soldier has enough to do to make his lot always pleasant and you have no idea how much cheerful letters assist him.
This war will not always last for all things must have an end. I have strong hopes that one year will settle it. How glorious ’twill be for the nation once more to be free from the horrors of war. Write again soon and direct thus:
Fred M. Gale, Co. E. 8th Vt. Vet. Vols., Washington, D. C.
Letter 2
Summit Point, Virginia
February 26, 1865
Dear Nellie;
In my last I wished that the guerrillas would call on us slightly “just for excitement,” and sure enough my wish was gratified before the setting of another day’s sun. It was a bold and well executed affair and not at all creditable to the watchfulness of our pickets. We send out wood choppers every day to cut wood for the use of the camp. They used to take arms but lately in our fancied security, the arms have been left behind. This of course was soon known to every rebel for miles around through the she rebels who are allowed almost free access to our camps. Therefore, it was not surprising that the “Johnnies” came upon the men in the woods unawares and captured some of them. But it is singular that they succeeded in coming up to, and capturing a picket post, and carrying off the mules from a team in plain sight of camp. With many others, I was quietly looking on, saw them gathered around the team, and never dreamed that they were rebels till they started off with their prizes—eleven men, sundry watches, wallets, jackknives, and fourteen mules. To give chase was folly for infantry can’t outrun cavalry anyhow, and it is somebody’s fault that there’s no cavalry here. The female seceshers here enjoyed it amazingly, but I assure you they laughed out of the other corner of their mouths before night, for the news of the fall of the Capitol of South Carolina came in the evening papers and we were willing to offset that against the few mules they took from us.
[On] Washington’s Birthday we had another alarm and the regiment was called out and part held in reserve, the rest sent out scouting, but nothing was accomplished. About one o’clock the General (Davis) called us down to his Headquarters and I guess they—the officers—celebrated the day by the way the liquor flowed. And by the way, the news of the fall of Charleston came in that day and who blames them if they celebrated a double amount. It commenced raining in the afternoon, but the General was not done with us. He wished us to visit an “old friend” who lived some five miles distant and wanted the Band to go along too, so he sent three ambulances after us, furnished a guard of mounted men, and we went. The house was surrounded with a guard of a hundred men from the 47th Pennsylvania, (we were outside the picket line) while we stayed there, and we enjoyed the occasion much, arriving home a little after midnight, “at peace with all the world.”
Friday the news of the occupation of Fort Anderson came in, and on Saturday, Wilmington was ours and the rebels were perplexed as to what the successful Sherman would next do. They seemed to think the Lion in his path, hath proved only a harmless sheep, and one of the Richmond papers in its frenzy to keep up rebel spirits actually declared that the “fall of Charleston was a matter that should inspire cheerfulness rather than gloom.” Oh! ye blind leaders of the blind, when will the scales be removed from your eyes? It is reported in Richmond that Beauregard is crazy. “So mote it be,” for “whom the Gods would destroy, they first make mad.”
Yesterday the choppers were again attacked by guerrillas who captured one man’s gun and hat. We in camp heard it was one of the “band boys” and could think of no one but Warner likely to get caught in that way. So we made “arrangements” to give him a grand reception when he came in. I made a picture of a guerrilla mounted & reaching down for the man’s hat, while the man with a frightened look was passing up his gun. The other boys all had something ready to open on him with, but it turned out that he was not the unfortunate man and we lost all our pains.
You may tell Mr. H. for me—if you please—that we have the satisfaction of knowing that the Northern people are not all cowards, but there are enough left yet who are willing to “fight it out on this line” till the rebels are annihilated and their northern allies if need be. And that rebels cannot bully the people into submission to their terms if they could the “dough face” representatives in Congress a few years ago. When peace comes, it will be to a regenerated land. I can write but a few words more and those words shall be the expression of my affectionate regard for the best of my friends and the purest of her sex. Always remember me as kindly as ever, — Fred
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