The following letter was written by “Will Morgan” whom I believe was William E. Morgan of Co. D, 10th Illinois Infantry but I can’t be certain of this. There was another soldier in this same regiment named Henry Runge—another name mentioned in the letter—but he served in a different company. There were other regiments that had soldiers by these two names in them but their circumstances don’t seem to coincide with the contents of this letter. The year of the letter is also not given but my hunch is that it was February 1862 when the 10th Illinois was encamped at Bird’s Point, Missouri.
William’s military records inform us that his residence was Jacksonville, Morgan county, Illinois, prior to his enlistment at the age of 18.
Transcription
Home in a tent February 3rd [1862]
Dear Ma,
Your very kind and dear letter was received yesterday and made my heart leap for joy. I was glad to learn you were all well except John and I was truly sorry to learn he was not well. Hope he will be ere this reaches you. It is winter in earnest here now. Have about one foot of snow and it is cold with it. But it is not so cold as to make us uncomfortable in our cotton houses. On the contrary where I am sitting now, I am rather warm.
I looked for that box today but was doomed to be disappointed. You need have no fears of us leaving here anytime soon. On the contrary, I fear we are going to have to stay here longer than we wish for I would like to take a trip into secession where I would stand a chance to see a Rebel once in a long time.
The boys that came with me are all well. There is but one man out of our company in the hospital. He has the rheumatism in his legs. That was a sad affair of that lady dying in camp. There was one died here—the wife of the Major of the Cavalry.
You seem to look at sleeping on picket in a different light to what I wrote it in. When one lies down to sleep there, there is two left up to watch and give the alarm if they see anything. You need have no fears that I ever will go to sleep on my post. But we are allowed to sleep, or rest, four hours out of every six, for we are always relieved every two hours. I hope, therefore, you will not let my sleeping when on guard cause you any trouble.
Tell Jabbie I will pop in some of these days when he is not looking for me. Tell him that Flener and I had a good time the other night eating pop corn that he sent. I am glad to learn those people feel some remorse at what they did. I got a letter from Woodson Hamilton yesterday. They were all well. He is a strong abolitionist. Henry Runge has got to be secretary for a General.
My health is very good yet. My love to Pa and the children. Accept a large portion for yourself. Write soon to your ever loving son, Will Morgan
P. S. Tell John to quit directing his letters in the care of anyone as I don’t like it. Tell Lou I will answer her’s soon.
The following letter was written by Austin M. McDowell (1815-1892), the husband of Susan Ann Finney (1813-1889) and the Captain of Co. D, 74th Ohio Infantry during the Civil War. Austin was working as a lumber agent in Xenia, Greene county, Ohio, when the war began. He enlisted in October 1861 and resigned his commission in mid-February 1863—just a few weeks after this letter was penned.
From Austin’s letter we learn that he was not with his company in the Battle of Stones River. He was apparently in Xenia, Ohio, on recruiting duty.
Transcription
Xenia, [Ohio] January 3rd 1863
Lieut. Wm. H. Moody Dear Friend,
Not having heard from you for some time, I drop you a line. I am having no success in recruiting. My squad reports to me regularly and we have not yet got a single man. How are you getting along? I think it downright folly to keep us here doing nothing but mot my will but Father Abraham’s be done. You have doubtless read the stirring news from Murfreesboro. It has been a terrible battle and I fear the 74th has suffered great loss. I feel great anxiety for my own noble boys. I hope and believe that they have done their duty. I regret to hear that our Colonel [Granville Moody] is probably wounded. 1 If so, I trust it is slightly and I rejoice to know and am proud to express it that, from accounts, he has won by his valor an imperishable name on that gory field. I am very anxious to hear the final result and particulars of the battle. Dr. Kyle expects to start tonight for Nashville. Rev. Mr. [James] Harper expects to go early next week and likely others will go. Some women think of going. I would like to go but I suppose there is no chance for that. Please write to me soon
Your obedient servant, — Capt. A. M’Dowell
1 Col. Moody led the 74th Ohio into the Battle at Stones River (Dec. 31, 1862- Jan. 2, 1863) near Murfreesboro, Tennessee. A later account noted that “his horse was shot from under him, he took a bullet in his right calf and he narrowly escaped a fatal wound when one or more bullets shattered a revolver he carried in his right breast pocket, more bullets shredded his uniform so much that one man called him the ‘ragged colonel.’”
The following letter was written by George W. Patterson who enlisted on 3 October 1864, at age 18, at Nunda, New York, to serve one year. He mustered in as a private, Co. I, 188th New York Infantry on October 22, 1864; promoted corporal, March 10, 1865; mustered out with company, July 1, 1865, near Washington, D. C.
The 188th New York left the state to join the Army of the Potomac on October 13, 1864.Initially, only seven companies left the state but company K followed in November. The army was before Petersburg, Virginia, at that time. The regiment was placed in 2nd Brigade, 1st Division, V Corps then under Major General Gouverneur Warren. The 188th New York remained in this assignment for its entire federal service.
On October 27, less than a month after first muster, the regiment went into battle at Hatcher’s Run near the Weldon Railroad. The regiment suffered 7 dead and between 39 and 46 wounded (depending on reports). On December 8, 1864, the regiment participated on a raid to Hicksford, Virginia, where two soldiers were taken prisoner.
February 6 and 7, 1865 saw the regiment at Hatcher’s Run again. During this battle the regiment suffered 5 dead, 21 wounded, and 3 missing.
The Appomattox campaign saw the regiment fight with its corps at White Oak ridge, Gravelly Run and Five Forks, when its casualties aggregated 45 killed and wounded. The 188th New York also participated in the final assault on Petersburg and was present at Appomattox Station on April 9 when General Lee surrendered the Army of Northern Virginia. According to the Rochester Democrat and Chronicle, it reported that the 188th was the regiment that “busted up the confederacy.” They were given the honor of posting guard duty around the court house while Lee surrendered the confederacy to Grant.
Transcription
October 26, 1864
Friend Sarah,
I now take the opportunity of letting you know where and how I am. We have just left Albany today for the City of New York on a steamer. It looks very nice to get on board of a steamer and go down the Hudson river for 100 miles or so. In coming down from Rochester to Albany there were a great commotion raised among the men by the falling off of two or three soldiers from the cars and the report came in by telegraph that they were both killed. But when we got ready to start this morning, they both came on board the steamer.
There is some of the boys that left Rochester that is crying over their old homes and O my God, what faces they make up. I hain’t been homesick since I left home till I saw the faces that some of the girls made up when their boys left them and when I saw the faces that they made up I was homesick enough for I did not want to see it but they had us locked up. I couldn’t help it. That is the only that I can find fault with and they use us like a lot of thieves. The lock us up whenever we start to go anywhere. The night before we started to New York they took us all in an old house and locked us up and set a guard on us with orders to shoot any man that should try to get away but they did not keep us there long for we raised the very devil and we were a going to break out when the Captain came and let us out of prison.
Ed Blake 1 is here yet with his teeth left and he will get to be Gigadere Brindle if he keeps on in the way he has begun. He has got so that he gives orders to the Lieutenant when we are on drill.
Give my love to Deborah and tell her that if ever I get out of the army, I may come over to old Charley’s but I guess not. I am now in New York and we are quartered in as nice a place as ever I saw. The barracks is as good as any house up in our place. We are a going to stay here this week and then we are a going to start for Battery Point and there we shall collect till our regiment has been in a battle and some fifty of them killed and eighty wounded. That is the way they stay in Rochester and I knew it would be for I never knew a regiment to stay where the officers said they would stay when they got up the regiment.
I close for I am ordered out to roll call and if we don’t come out when we are [called], they put us in the guard house. So goodbye. — George W. Patterson
Direct to Battery Barracks to the 188th Regiment, New York State Volunteers, Battery Barracks, In care of Capt. Pursall
1 BLAKE, EDMUND W.—Age, 18 years. Enlisted, October 3, 1864, at Nunda, to serve one year; mustered in as private, Co. I, October 22, 1864; wounded in action, February 6, 1865, at Hatcher’s Run, Va . ; mustered out with company, July 1, 1865, near Washington, D. C ; also borne as Edmond P.
Though neither letter is signed with anything other than “Albert,” I was able to attribute the following letters to Albert Wesley Pillsbury (1834-1914), the son of Methodist clergyman, Rev. Samuel Pillsbury (1802-1888) and Eliza A. Latta (1809-1883) of Durand, Winnebago county, Illinois.
Albert wrote the letters to Marion C. Chamberlain (1836-1872), a native of Canada, who was enumerated as a schoolteacher in Durand, Winnebago county, Illinois in the 1860 US Census. In the 1870 US Census, Albert and Marion were residing as man and wife in Virginia City, Madison county, Montana, where Albert was farming and Marion was “Keeping House.”
Albert wrote both letters from Lake Gulch in the Central City Gold Mining region of Colorado Territory, in November 1861. In local news he writes of hunting down a horse thief and of a devastating fire in nearby Nevada City [Nevadaville]. He also writes some of the what he hears about the war back East and of the enlistments both in Denver as well as in Illinois.
Letter 1
Addressed to Miss. M. C. Chamberlain, Pecatonica, Winnebago county, Illinois
Lake Gulch, Colorado Territory November 3rd 1861
Dearest Marion,
I received two letters from you the 23rd of last month. One was dated August 26th and the other September 10th. It had ben so long since I received the last that they done me much good. I noticed in myself that I appeared more cheerful afterwards. I hope that I will not always be in the Rocky Mountains where my most happy moments are derived in reading letters from loved and absent friends. I feel sad sometimes when I think that I am so far from the “loved ones at home.” Then again, when I think of the circumstances of thousands of others who are in the war and in this country too, I think my lot is no harder than theirs whose friends are just as dear to them as mine to me. Sometimes I think that I will go home where I can enjoy myself with friends and the loved—that I will not stay here in this “vale of tears” where all seem to meet and pass each other as strangers. These are reflections in moments of sadness. At other times with spirits more gay. I think that I will strive with renewed vigor to obtain the object for which I came here; that this is just the place for me to do it. I hope that I will realize my anticipations. Hope is the bright star that leads us on through the vicissitudes of our existence. Tis the elixir of life.
November 16, 1861
Tis said that delays are dangerous. I don’t know but it is dangerous to send this broken letter at this late hour. But I will render my excuses and venture to risk it. As you see, I had a letter commenced on the 3rd but was hindered in finishing it that day by company. So I thought I would finish it & send it by next mail, but was called off to engage in hunting up a horse thief & did not return until the day before yesterday. While one, I was at Denver which is as ever the “murderous city.” Last week there were eight men shot there of which two are dead. They have had considerable trouble there with the soldiers. A good many of my acquaintances have enlisted. One of the murderers now confined in the Denver jail awaiting his trial I am well acquainted with. I call him a murderer although he did not kill the man he shot—but it will go hard with him as the man he shot was a captain of the Home Guards there. He was one of the last whom I should have thought would have shot a man. But tis said that he was under the influence of liquor. Another lesson to those who are tempted to raise their pleasures and enjoyments or drown their sorrows by using the “sparkling wine.” Too many are the times in such cases that the pleasures induced in this way bring pain and sorrow upon the individual and all his friends. But still there are those who heed not the lesson. 1
The Governor of this Territory [William Gilpin] is going to a great expense in the War Department and it is generally thought by citizens that it is needless. Undoubtedly upon examination there will be found a great deal of corruption in government affairs here. I sometimes think that our glorious government is fast falling to ruin. That it will yet prove to the world to be a failure. It seems that everything is proving favorable to such an end. The ones in whom we placed the most confidence are, it seems, trying to use it to the gratification of their own desires. It seems that they are standing still before the traitorous enemy, and when there is a sacrifice made, it consists of our bravest and best men. We have not many [Nathaniel] Lyons and [Edward D.] Bakers to dispose of at this critical period.
I have not received any letters since the ones of which I mentioned in the commencement of this. I am waiting in great expectation: but when I think of being disappointed, I remember that you are looking as anxiously as I am. But you don’t know how I long for a letter from you. I am so afraid that you will not say what you truly think about my coming home. I know if I don’t come you will be disappointed. “Every heart has its secret drawer.” I think sometimes it would be best for us all to have some friend in which to confide our troubles. At home I had two or three confiding friends, and I miss them here. Do you suppose that home will ever appear home to me again. It seems that I will be a stranger there. If I receive a letter this week, I will answer by next mail. I hope you will overlook my long delays. Direct to Central City, Colorado Territory.
Write soon. Yours as ever in love, truth and fidelity, — Albert
1 The Captain of the Home Guards was Capt. Zeiglemuller. It was the Orderly of the Rifles that shot the captain in a financial dispute between them.
Letter 2
Lake Gulch, Colorado Territory November 24, 1861
“O! that my prayer might unto heaven ascend, T’would be that thou went ever blest; That joy and sunlight, thy path might blind And tranquil visions lull thy peaceful rest.”
My dearest Marion,
In my last I promised if I should receive a letter this week from you that I would answer it by return mail. I am very glad that I have been enabled to fulfill the promise. It much rejoices me to learn that your organ of hope is so very large. If a person could believe without a doubt (and never even think otherwise) in the idea that you advanced in your last, that is, “that good and evil alike, when come from God were blessings,” they necessarily would be happy. You say that you do think that I will be with you before Christmas. Now it makes me feel sorry to think that you are to be so much disappointed. Still I don’t entertain the idea that it will cause you to commit suicide or any other rash deed. “The way the twig is bent, the tree is inclined.” We may as well learn to stand grief while we are young; then it will not be so hard for us to endure it in riper years. It may tend to more fully prove to your mind that doctrine you so frequently advance—viz: “It is all for the best.” I expect you will say that is poor consolation for me. Still, I hope “it is all for the best.”
I don’t get any letters lately from home. Perhaps they think that we will be at home in a few days and it is of no use to write. I am sorry to disappoint them so much. But I don’t see any need of this being lonesome if we don’t come. I expect they are having fine times going to school as I suppose it has commenced before this time. The girls in Durand will have nothing to do this winter but study, as the young men are all gone so that they will not be likely to be bothered going to parties, &c. It must be rather dull times there in general. Who is to be married this winter? None, no not one, “nary one.”
I was much surprised to hear of the proceedings of Mr. & Mrs. D. J. Stines upon his volunteering. She must think a great deal of her country. If I had been in Lumpster’s place, I believe that I should have told her to wait a little longer—that she was not old enough to get to marry. He must have seen at once, if he would have considered any upon the matter of backing out, that it would forever be a stigma upon his character as a true patriot, as a lover of his birthright. I would not have such a charge brought against my name and known right amongst my own folks to be true for all the women in God’s footstool. I had twice, or even a thousand times rather die for my country. But I suppose there are some grounds to partially excuse Demp. upon. I suppose his mother thought it was dreadful for him to go. But I can imagine in my own mind how she talks about the war. I will bet that she thinks it the duty of everyone to go. She thinks that government should compel a force to march upon the enemy longer than it now has. I can just see in my mind how she gets up in meeting and sympathizes for her country, grieves at its wrongs, and wishes for every loyal American to resent those wrongs, to gather around the standard of her flag and protect it to the last extremity. But she don’t want Demp to go. There is too much rish to run. “Twould make Mary sick to have him go to the war. She would not give her son for the final salvation of the whole human family. No, she would not even risk her wealth, or future prosperity for such a gift. She would rather teach herself that it was an impossibility—that all don’t deserve any such merits. Self rules predominant in her mind to believe any such doctrine, tis too liberal. But Mary’s and Mrs. Stine’s whining would not in my mind justify his turning traitor to his country.
Nevadaville before the November 1861 fire
Week before last this portion of the mountains were thrown into a great deal of excitement by fire. There were about fifty houses burned in Nevada City [Nevadaville] which is about one and a half miles from here. The wind blew awfully. It seemed as if the elements were bound to drive the people from this part of the mountains. It was as light as day anywhere within a mile of the fire. Everything here is so dry and so full of pitch and the wind so dreadful that when fire breaks out, it is apt to do a great deal of damage. There were not many goods burned. They took them and threw them into bad holes and put them into tunnels, but a great many of them were destroyed and damaged by moving them so hastily. Besides these were several families burned out but no one burned to death. The people in Central City, which is about three-quarters of a mile from Nevada, took all of the goods out of the place, supposing that it would be destroyed also. Teams got broke $10 to $25 per load for hauling goods to the nearest prospect hole or tunnel. But luckily the fire did not do any damage there, but it caught fire a great many times and was put out. This all happened in the night which made it much more fearful. The air was filled with flying sparks. It blew them as much as a mile, which made the fire jump from mountain to mountain. The family that I live with got their goods all packed up and out ready to start, but were not damaged any, but dreadfully frightened. 1
Write soon. Direct as usual. You don’t know how I want to find out about what you think of my coming home. I am afraid that you will not say as you think about it. No more at present. I hope that you will ever believe that I am your true and affectionate lover. Goodbye for a while, — Albert
1 In 1861 a fire destroyed most of the town. A newspaper article about the fire stated that there were around 40 stamp mills in the vicinity of Nevada, a staggering number for that early date, which surely made the town the milling center of Colorado at that time.
This letter was unsigned by from the content we were able to deduce his wife and daughter to be named Catherine and Viella, and his hometown to be Havana. Using these few clues in Ancestry.com, we were able to identify the soldier as Andrew D. Black (1837-1877), a not so literate native of Rockbridge county, Virginia, who lived in Mason county, Illinois, with his wife and daughter when he volunteered in May 1861 to serve in Co. A. 28th Illinois Infantry.
Andrew datelined his letter from Fort Holt, Kentucky, opposite Cairo, Illinois. The regiment was posted here when he wrote the letter in late November 1861.
Andrew was wounded at the Battle of Shiloh and spent several months in a Memphis hospital before he was discharged for disability on 5 December 1862.
Transcription
Fort Holt, Kentucky November 29th 1861
Dear Catherine,
I sit down once more to write you a few lines to let you all know that I am still alive yet. It is cloudy this morning. It rained here very hard last night. We have had no snow here yet nor no ice. We are well fixed here for the winter. There is ten men stays in a barracks together and we have a stove in our mess so we do our own cooking now but it goes a little awkward to me for we all get our cooking done for us before.
They have had Bill in the guard house for disobeying orders in Cairo. I was over there yesterday in Cairo but I didn’t get to see him. They only keep him in 5 days. Today he comes out and goes to his company.
It is a sleeting very hard now and rain together.
Catharine, I am afraid that I won’t get to home against Christmas for they are a preparing a fleet to start down the river. Most all of the gunboats is down here from above and the floating batteries from Saint Louis. There was one come down yesterday and there is another one come just now. There is five hundred seamen in Cairo now. They came here from New York to manage the gunboats. There is a great many soldiers here now. I will have to stop writing now for it is dinner time.
Construction of the Floating Mortar Batteries at St. Louis, published in Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper in January 1862.
Catharine, I take my pen in hand to write you a few more lines. I feel mighty lonesome today here. Glad I would be to be with you and Viella. I didn’t think that when I last parted with you and the babe in Havana that I would been this long from you. But I think the war will come to an end before long. It is the opinion here that the war will end before March.
These letters were written by Nancy L. Griffin, the daughter of William Lewis Griffin (1797-1887) and Elizabeth Suttle (1796-1855). William Griffin owned several thousand acres of land in Cool Spring township of Rutherford county, North Carolina, and he owned many slaves. At the time these letters were written in 1862-62, he was serving as the Register of Deeds in Rutherford county. Nancy wrote the letters to her sister, Mary Ann (Griffin) Green (1822-1906), the wife of James Lee Green (1796-1864). James was conscripted into the Confederate service in August 1863 and served in Co. H, 30th North Carolina Infantry. He was taken a prisoner at the Spottsylvania on 18 May 1864, and eventually placed in the prison at Elmira, New York, in August 1864 where he died on 4 October 1864 of chronic diarrhea.
The letter of 15 September was written jointly by Nancy, her sister Matilda Daniel Griffin, and her father. The year was not given but we know from the mention of the death of Henry C. Ford, Co. G, 16th North Carolina, who drowned in the Valley River in Virginia, on 20 August 1861, that the year was 1861.
In her letter of 14 May 1862, Nancy mentions having received word from her brothers, Sgt. Lorraine Walker (“Walk” or “Loran”) Griffin (1838-1907) and James M. Griffin (1837-1862) of Co. D, 16th North Carolina Infantry. Walk survived the war; James did not.
Letter 1
September 15 [1861]
Dear Brother & Sister,
I will drop you a line this evening to let you know we have not forgotten you both although we have been careless about writing to you. We have so many letters to send to the boys, they hardly miss a week & always beg for letters from home and say that it is all the pleasure they see is reading a letter from Father. We got a letter from them this week dated the 27th. They were well and had no battle yet. James did not write. We do not know the cause unless he was off with the wagon. Mr. Wood says when he left them he was driving a wagon.
I suppose you have heard of Henry Ford. He was drowned. The Yankeys found his body several miles below and sent our men word if he was thern and [if] they wanted him, to bring a flag of truce and come after him.
Loran says paper is 10 cents a sheet and none at that, & tobacco a dollar a plug. You may know he is in a bad fix. The last letter he sent was wrote of a book leaf. Father has sent them some paper by mail and is going to send some by hand. They say they have sent back here for a preacher and a doctor for they have a heap of sickness in the camps, but from the way the most of them write, I think they are preparing for sickness and battle too. Loran appeared in his two last letters to be in good heart & I hope the good Lord is with them.
This leaves us all well with the hope of finding you the same. — M. Daniel
The boys says they are coming to the camp meeting if they can. It is the first of October. Write tome if you can’t come when you expect to be confined & I will try to come. I can leave the little boys at grandpa’s and take little Jimmy & come, I think. Yours sister, — Matilda Daniel
[in another hand]
James & Mary, I am well and up. I feel it my duty to go and defend my country & you need not be surprised to hear of me being off. I should like to see you all. Tell [ ] to come & see me & kiss Diby for me. I have a little brandy & if you will come, we will take a drain. Your Father, — W. L. Griffin
[in a different hand]
P. S. To my dear brother & sister. I seat myself to let you know that we are all well. I would be glad to see you & your family but I can’t tell when I can come for we have to pull fodder now. If I can hear when the camp meeting is down there, I will try to come if I can. The camp meeting at Rock Spring is the first Sunday in this month. I can’t write much for Mat & Mag. D. is reading and I can’t write. Write to us soon. When I can I will write more. I remain your sister, — N Griffin
Letter 2
Addressed to Mr. Jas. L. Green, Camp Call, North Carolina
[Cool Spring, Rutherford county, North Carolina] May 14, 1862
Dear brother & sister,
I drop you a few lines to let you know that we are all well at this time & hoping those may find you all the same. I have not much to write—only to let you know how we are & to hear from brothers. We received two letters from them last week & they were well when they wrote last. Their letter was wrote the first of May. It came by hand. The boy that cooked for them has come home but is going back again. They said they had to cook 2 days rations for they would be in a fight the last day. There is no doubt of it for they have had one. The last that was heard from Williamsburg, they were a fighting. The news is that there was five hundred of our men killed and wounded. They had taken a great many prisoners for Mr. Spencer Eaves was at Richmond & saw them & had not heard from them that day. Walk said they were pressed in & could not get home. I think it hard. He said if he lived through the fight, they would try to come home. James said he was fat & sassy.
Mary, we heard last night that Mr. Green was gone. If he is, write to us & if he is not, write so we can hear from you all. Mr. Champin said he heard he was gone & several others from down there. They are all ordered from here—over 18 & under 35. Them that is thirty-five has a chance to stay a while longer but I don’t know how long. There was two deaths here last week. Old Mr. Daniel, a great m— [illegible due to paper tear]
Mary, kiss the babies for me. I would like to see you all but I don’t know when we can come for we are not done planting corn yet. Vina & Mat is a plowing now & I hope to quit writing to get their supper for them. So no more at present but remain your dearest sister. Write soon. — N L. Griffin
The following two letters were signed by “W. H. Gray.” I cannot confirm his identity. It may have been William Henry Gray (b. 1840), the son of William Gray (b. 1809-Aft860)—a grocer in Richmond, Henrico county, Virginia. The letter suggests that the author was a young man employed as a merchant in Richmond and that he was probably enrolled in the local militia. He makes no mention of parents or close family relatives that I could discern, suggesting that he may not have been native to Richmond. The following passage in particular suggests his solitary life: “I have concluded to stay here, let what come may. My life is all I have to fight for. I can do that as well here as elsewhere. I shall make no advance. I want to kill no one. I’m not bloodthirsty. I’m not exasperated. When encroachments are made upon me, that which I conceive to be the most effectual in my defense will be resorted to without reserve, the invading party being responsible for the result.”
Letter 1
Richmond, [Virginia] April 22, 1861
My dear Virginia friend Bettie,
“The present only is ours.” This sentence—very forcible indeed at this time operating upon my mind, causes me to thus occupy my pen in transcribing thoughts which I have not otherwise succeeded in communicating.
I wrote you a letter the other day but had no opportunity to send it. I think it happened very well. Things seemed very squally at that time and there were many strong indications that I would be very suddenly necessitated to absent myself or receive some very severe treatments. The springing up, however, and interposition (of what I had nearly come to the conclusion I did not have) after considerable remonstrances abandoned the plot in a measure, and prevented its execution. I was not the least frightened because I’m always on the score to vindicate my cause; but, I thought it would probably be better to quietly move off than suffer such outraged indignities.
I desired to see you and wrote to the effect that I might meet you at home yesterday. I became somewhat reconciled, and am very glad I did not have opportunity to forward my message. Would liked very much to seen you but it would been wrong to have asked you to leave your company which you were enjoying very much. I’m very anxious to do what is right. I’m very willing to concede to just and satisfactory measures. But, the earth shall drink the last drop of my blood, and that of every man South or North before I will be frightened and forced into measures which I conceive to be a violation of my political freedom.
“A clear conscience is health to the soul.” Mine is very faithful and true to me. God forbid it should be anything else. I have concluded to stay here, let what come may. My life is all I have to fight for. I can do that as well here as elsewhere. I shall make no advance. I want to kill no one. I’m not bloodthirsty. I’m not exasperated. When encroachments are made upon me, that which I conceive to be the most effectual in my defense will be resorted to without reserve, the invading party being responsible for the result.
I think now, however, that all will be well. For reasons which I could not here take time to give, I think the war will not be so disastrous as many anticipate. We will in all probability have engagements , but I think not many and not so terrible. Washington, I have no doubt, will soon fall into the hands of the South. The North is divided, and thousands deplore such a bloody conflict. The war is unjust—uncalled for, and such a war can’t prosper. It will subside for a time at least.
I will visit you Saturday evening next myself. If convenient, will go to Mr. Huffman’s. I will not disappoint this time. If I do, I will be responsible for it. I’m not responsible for the other disappointments. I was too forgetful that these Virginians do not always fulfill engagements. His expense was a good one. I waited for him Sunday morning until it was too late to come myself. Had I come, it would not have sufficed. You contemplated one much more agreeable. Am exceedingly sorry that engagements have broken on my account.
I don’t conceive what reason you have for thinking that I don’t value an engagement with you. Never to my knowledge have I broken one with you until Saturday a week ago. And had it been my own individual obligation, I should have passed through the siege of Sebastopol to its redemption.
I acknowledge that I would not break an engagement for you or anybody else at will, but I will arrange so that all can be fulfilled. When I obligate myself, I’m apt to see how it is to be met and only unforeseen circumstances prevent it. I don’t mean any reference in the above—not one. But, I know you expect me to resist any intimation of my not valuing an engagement with you, when I think you have abundant reason to know that it will take a much longer time to fathom my love for you than yours for me. I will make a ocular demonstration to you the next time we meet.
Am sorry I could not get out to court Miss Mollie a little. We might have come to terms. Among all the strange things that happen in the world, that might have been one. Suppose, however, I will have to content myself until the war is over. Perhaps the demands will be greater then. I may get a good bargain when there is no opposition. [ ] lives will be so fashionable, perhaps I will then commit the savage deed upon you.
Saw Miss Emma H. last Sunday. She is very pretty and lively. Would be well pleased to have you visit her. I have but one objection to Miss Emma—that is—she won’t have me.
You will enjoy a visit there now. We can go there Sunday, I think. I can spend Monday and Tuesday with you. If you come to town from Mr. Courtney’s, don’t forget your obligation. Walker is going to give me hers. Put on those pretty curls if they are becoming. I believe if I had had your Ambrotype last week, I should have gave away. Was bound not to go without it. I must stop now and go to the market to see if there is any chance to send this to you. Very sincerely yours, — W. H. G.
Letter 2
Richmond [Virginia] June 12th 1861
My Jewel,
I have been to the market this morning for the purpose getting Ed to call up for this letter thinking I could find time to prepare it. I don’t find him there. I will write now fearing I will not have more time.
Was sorry I could not respond to your letter of Saturday [8 June 1861]. I received your note borne by Mrs. Walls. Am much obliged to you for being so liberal in excusing me. Have not seen Mrs. Walls since she returned. Immediately she came to town. She was hurried off up to Mrs. Parker’s to see Esquire (Mr. Sullivan, properly). News came that he had been seriously hurt on parade Saturday evening. He was thrown from a piece of artillery and hurt considerable. He is recovering speedily.
He expected to have come out to see you on Sunday. He hoped that he would not meet such company as he met before and wished in very strong terms that I could not get there. God governs all things! I’m very sorry he did not get out to see you. I could have come on the train Sunday morning but restrained myself in consequence of his intentions to visit and his hope that I would not be present. I know he can’t enjoy himself where I am.
I expected to work some on Sunday. My customers wanted me to very much. I made arrangements to do it. Went to the shop Sunday morning and put on my black clothes to go to work. I couldn’t work a stroke. I concluded that since I had lived so long without working on the Sabbath day, it was too late to begin now for any reason. I left it. When I went back Monday morning, I found the work all done!
I believe I’m doing very well. Have to work hard. I had all my things fixed to go to Manassas Junction this morning but it turned out not necessary that I should go.
Suppose you had a happy time Saturday evening and Sunday. Expect you heard all the old tales and a good many new ones. Suppose you will tell me. Hope I will be able to come out Saturday to hear them. Mrs. Walls will probably be home today and I’ll get one or two which will last until I see you. Tell Pet that that is not all, I charged “myself the same.” But we’ll square the account when I come out.
Think you took very crooked way to get home from Mr. Huffman’s. Mrs. Jennings went to see Mr. Vaughan, did she? Am glad to hear she is in good spirits. It would be a good time now for me to cut a few out while he is away. Reckon he would be willing to make an even trade with me. Guess would trade.
If you had kept your face straight, you need not have told Emma that was your picture. She was not at all certain of it. I expect Mrs. Walls is thoroughly posted now. She can make you tell her anything she wants to know. I’ll know how it is in about five minutes after I see her. I can see it in her eyes if it is in her mind.
Thank you for the postage you sent by her. Been round to see Walker several times lately. Have a great notion to quit going. They don’t act like they were acquainted with me. Think I’m about twenty-one. If no one wants to associate with me, I will associate with myself. I like that company very much. Like the man who talked to himself. He was asked by a friend why he did it. He replied that he liked to converse with a man of sense. Am going to be Monarch of a little empire myself which I trust will bring comforts without their aid.
Was at Quaker Church Sunday. Was very much entertained indeed. Heard elegant sermon. Gave me great encouragement in my exiled condition. Have good many things to tell you when I see you. Must stop and go to work now. My love to Pet and all, very truly yours, — W. H. Gray
I opened this to insert a line, then I will entrust it with Pet. Am sorry I can’t stay until your return. Would have come early yesterday but was engaged until dark. I have to go back in consequence of being pressed to work some this afternoon. I want to see you very much. Will come down soon as I can leave conveniently. My friend is here. Unfortunately he has met unpleasant company. I have looked for you all morning. Have concluded you would not get home until evening. Devotedly yours, — W. H. G.
The following letter was written by George Minor Watson (1812-1860), the son of David Watson (1773-1830) and Sarah Minor (1781-1849) of Sunning Hill, Louisa county, Virginia. George wrote this letter in 1839 while visiting family and friends in Richmond, Virginia. He appears to have taken up residence in Arkansas sometime prior to this date; he was enumerated in the 1840 US Census at El Dorado, Union county, Arkansas, the owner of as many as 11 slaves. He was still there at the time of the 1850 Census but had relocated to Ward 4 of Washington D. C. by the time of the 1860 census—an inmate of the government hospital for the Insane.
George wrote the letter to Thomas W. Hunt (1820-1862) of Memphis, Shelby county, Tennessee, who married Judith Parsons Mosby (1819-1896) in May 1841. Thomas was the first president of the Memphis Chamber of Commerce, organized in April 1860. He was a partner in the firm, Harris, Hunt & Co. in Memphis.
Richmond, Virginia, in the 1830s
Transcription
Richmond [Virginia] April 30, 1839
Dear Hunt,
Here I am my friend in this glorious city. Having just swallowed a good dinner, glass of wine, and burnt out a pleasant segar, [I am] now sitting in Dr. Watson’s office to write you this, while the girls (my cousin’s misses Watson) are in the garden plucking flowers to adorn for party which we attend tonight at Mr. Charles Ellis‘s who you may remember is an old and wealthy merchant here. I have been in the city six or eight days buying up a team of mules, wagon, &c. to take my people out to my new sweet home. My business has now been brought somewhat to a head. As I have a team of long-ears at a livery stable down town waiting for my negro man to come down from my mother’s to take them up to Louisa where I shall take on a small load of niggers and cut out.
Heretofore (before today), my mind and time has been engaged in making preparations of this sort and I have not felt inclined to enjoy the gaieties of the city. But tomorrow and next day, I shall turn out and pay morning and evening visits till I go the rounds among my old friends and acquaintances. I have been to the houses of a good many however, seen some, and left my card for those whom I did not find at home.
Richmond has improved vastly for the past few years and is now, I think, a beautiful city. I hardly need tell you of this, however, as you have so recently been here. I never did see the beat of the pretty girls that are here. They will number three to one of the young men. Oh! and what queer ways the fashionable young folks have here! Just let me tell you an instance. A few evenings since, my eldest cousin (Miss Watson) went around with me to introduce me to all of my young female acquaintances who I used to know here, but many of whom of course have grown out of my recollection and had forgotten me, &c. Now at one house at which we called, the servant informed us that the young ladies were not at home. My fair cousin drew out her card and laid it on the centre table. Your humble servant hauled out his card (a fine gilt one too with his name on it in his nicest wort of hand just so, G. M. Watson [signature]). I noticed that my cousin’s card was broken and bent down at one [and] and very ugly. She looked at my card and just took hold of it and gave it a terrible bend on one end till it was as ugly as hers, and says I, “Look here, my dear, do not break my card in order that it may not be prettier than yours.” She laughed very gaily at my sour looks as as we walked off said, “Oh, I bent down one end of your card as a sign to let them know that our visit was intended for the whole family.” “Well,” says I, “sick ways as them beats Arkansas,”
I have been up to my mother’s in Louisa. Several of my female cousins joined me as I passed through this place about 15 or 20 days ago, and went up with me on the railroad cars to my mother’s to be with me as much as possible whilst I stay. I came down here again 6 or 8 days ago and will leave now in a day or two for Louisa. I find boys turned to men and girls to women since I was here a few years ago. Oh, it almost makes me sad to see the changes which have been wrought.
I am often persuaded to abandon my intention of going to the far Southwest and to settle here again among my relations who love me so affectionately. But I can’t go it, Hunt! Arkansas, Arkansas is my home, and it seems to me almost a dream that I am now here. I have seen Mr. Hiram Bragg but have not visited his family yet. Shall do so before I leave. Say so to Sam Mosby. I say Hunt, what you think I did last might? But I won’t tell you. And what you reckon I did today? Well today I paid $20 for a diamond ring and gave it to a gal. “Oh unusual liberality,” you will exclaim. However, I did not give it to one to whom I would like to be married, but to one for whom I cherish a brotherly affection.
I will look in on Mr. Stephen Thompson tomorrow and give your respects. I wrote to Albert last week. I suppose he showed you my letter. And now I must go over to the Female Academy and visit a little girl I’ve got there. Hunt, I can hardly get away from this town. Everything looks so beautiful here now—tis the spring season. I hope to be along through Memphis about 10th or 18th June but don’t know for certain. My best respects to the Missy [Judith] Mosby and ask Sam to stir up those natives that are owing me. Tell Jerry to “go it.”
I hope to get something out of Poindexter’s P. O. from some of you when I return to Louisa. — G. M. Watson
Don’t show this to anyone. It contains more nonsense than I wish to display. I am very anxious to hear what has become of Punington. I have felt uneasy about him ever since I left Memphis. I hope to hear when I get up to Louisa. Excuse me if I’ve mentioned my cousins too often to seem modest in me. They supply the place of sisters to me as my only sister is a married woman and having no little sisters, I am devoted to all my [ ] children, among whom I have lived long time ago. Just notice how they furnish me gilt edged paper. I told them I was going to write to a nice young man and my little black-eyed Caroline Watson ran and got me the finest paper in the house.
Excerpt of letter by Benjamin Sawtell published in the Cleveland Plain Dealer
The following letter was written by Ira Sawtell (1808-1852), the son of Dr. Jonas W. Sawtelle (1787-1861)—the proprietor of a water cure establishment in Cleveland, and his first wife (name unknown). Ira married Emily Rockwell (1810-1869) in 1830 and had at least three children. At the time of the 1850 US Census, he was enumerated in Cleveland’s 2nd Ward working as a cooper (barrel maker) with three daughters living at home, ages 9 to 18.
Ira wrote the letter to his older brother, Benjamin Sawtell (1805-1851), a cooper from Brooklyn Center (west side of Cleveland), Cuyahoga county, Ohio, who left his wife, Mary Matilda Fish (1819-1873) of 13 years and three children, to go to the gold fields of California in 1850. Benjamin wrote a number of letters to the editor of the Cleveland Plain Dealer chronicling his overland journey to California in 1850. His death in January 1851 in California was mentioned in that paper but I could find no particulars. One of Benjamin’s letters, datelined 8 September 1850 from the Cold Spring Diggins was published in the Cleveland Plain Dealer and reproduced here: Latest from California—An Interesting Letter from Benj. Sawtell, Esq.
Transcription
Grand Rapids, Michigan July 7, 1850
Dear Brother,
When digging up the lumps of gold Be careful of your health; For this (you need not now be told.) Is better far than wealth—-
You must, you know (’tis very clear) Your health and strength regard; I hope that you will persevere But do not work too hard—
Ambition will, (I often fear,) So fully fill your mind That are for health will disappear, Or fall too far behind—-
Without your health, without your wife Out there in California; You’d lost your time, might lose your life And surely lose much money.—-
Why should we have this love for Gold, A paltry glittering treasure; Which injures oft, the purest souls, And gives but little pleasure—-
Much gold can never make us wise, Or give the second Birth; A competency will suffice For all our wants on earth—-
And when we reach the heavenly shore As scriptures have us told, We’ll find a plenty of that ore The streets will all be gold—-
I really hope you will succeed, Enjoy your life and health; Get all the gold you’ll ever need And wish for no more wealth—-
I read (in the Plain Dealer) with much pleasure your amusing and interesting letter from St. Louis; 1 and was very glad to perceive by the time of your lines that you were in good health and spirits. A letter from me will (probably) come unexpected to you, if you recollect that just before you left I suggested the idea of your writing to me, and you did not promise that you would. You may possibly imagine that I do not think enough of you to write you; but, if you would have any conception of one half of the anxiety I have had about you since you left, you would know that one person, at least, besides your wife and children was thinking much about you in your absence. I was greatly disappointed and felt very badly when you left to think that I could not go with you and expected for two or three days that I should. I have often, since you left, wished myself with you. But perhaps it’s all for the best that I did not go; and I hope it will turn out in the end to be for the best that you did go. If I was in as good situation as you are as respects property, I should not speak of going to California; but, a I was when you left, and am now poorer than Job ever was and out of business, I thought it best to try my luck. I think I would have stood the journey tolerably well and dug considerable gold when I got there; but probably it’s all hypothesis.
You will be surprised (perhaps) to find that I am here. Darwin wrote to me that he wished me to come and live with him and try my luck here in practice and I concluded to come. I have been here but about three weeks but I have done some business—as much as I expected for the time, and have had good success so far, but I think I shall return to Ohio soon. My health is not very good. The water, air, climate, or something else seems to disagree with me. The Cholera has not, I believe, yet prevailed much in any of our cities in this country although there has been a few cases in some of them. I have heard of its prevailing considerably among the emigrants to California and I have been very much concerned about you, fearing you would have it.
I have no very important news to communicate. I had a letter from Julia three or four days ago. She wrote that your family were enjoying good health. Mr. and Mrs. Brong have been terribly afflicted again by the loss of their oldest child, Mary. Julia informed me that she died about two weeks ago and that Melissa had gone East on a visit.
I caution you again to be very careful of your health, and I sincerely wish you would be so kind as to answer this as soon as you receive it and give me some account of your journey, your prospects of success there, the state of your health, when you think you will return, how you like that country, &c. &c. &c. Give my best respects to Mr. Corbin and Mr. Booth; tell them I wish them good success, good health, &c. Tell them I hear that their families are also enjoying good health.
Now do not fail to write me as soon as you receive this. All our relations here are enjoying tolerably good health, I believe, and they all send their respects, best wishes, and love to you. Your affectionate brother, — Doc I. Sawtell
to Mr. Benjamin Sawtell, Esq.
1 Though datelined from Independence, Missouri, on 15 April 1850, much of the following letter pertains to St. Louis, and I believe this is the letter to the editor of the Plain Dealer that Ira refers to. There are numerous letters appearing in that newspaper chronicling Benjamin Sawtell’s journey to California in 1850.
The following remarkable letters were written by Helen Louise Gilson, a native of Boston, but raised in Chelsea, Massachusetts. Her parents, Asa Gilson (1772-1835) and Lydia Cutter (1775-1838) died when Helen was but a little girl. She was the niece of the Honorable Frank Brigham Fay, former Mayor of Chelsea, and she was his ward. Helen wrote all of these letters to her older sister, Mary Ann (Gilson) Holmes (1824-1906), the wife of Galen Holmes, Jr. (1813-1892) of Boston. Their children were Helen (“Nellie”),b. 1850; Carrie, b. 1853; Galen Franklin (“Frank”), b. 1856; and Marian, b. 1859.
Mr. Fay took an active interest in the Union cause during the Civil War, devoting his time, his wealth and his personal efforts to the welfare of the soldiers. Beginning in the autumn of 1861, Gilson’s uncle Frank Fay went in person to every battle in which the Army of the Potomac fought. He went promptly to the battlefield and moved gently among the dead and wounded, soothing those who were parched with fever, crazed with thirst, or lying neglected in the last agonies of death.
Frank Brigham Fay of Chelsea, Mass.
Helen Gilson was greatly influenced by her uncle’s selfless work and wanted to assist him. She applied to Dorothea Dix, the Superintendent of Female Nurses. She was rejected because she was too young, but that did not prevent her from fulfilling her desire to minister to the sick and wounded. Gilson was allowed to work directly with her uncle and his assistants. They had their own tent, formed a tight-knit group, and even created something of a home life. She was present at almost every great battle of the Army of the Potomac, except the first Battle of Bull Run.
In the summer of 1862, Gilson was for some time attached to the Hospital Transport Service, and was on board the ship Knickerbocker at White House and at Harrison’s Landing, Virginia, during the severe battles of McClellan’s movement from the Chickahominy to the James River, called the Peninsula Campaign.
When not more actively employed, she sat by the bedsides of the suffering men. She sang for them and knelt beside their beds amid all the agonizing sights and sounds of the hospital wards. She exerted a remarkable influence over the wounded soldiers. The United States Sanitary Commission had been established in 1861 to care for sick and wounded soldiers, but they had no field agents, and did not attempt to care for the wounded until they were brought to the field hospitals.
In 1863, Mr. Fay took to the Sanitary Commission his plans for an Auxiliary Relief Corps, which would give personal relief to the wounded soldier in the field, and to help him bear his suffering until he could be seen by a surgeon or be transferred to a hospital. For less serious wounds, the Corps would furnish the necessary dressings and attention. The Sanitary Commission adopted these plans, and made Mr. Fay chief of the Auxiliary Relief Corps. He served in that capacity until December 1864, when he resigned, but he continued his independent work until the war ended. Helen Gilson collected supplies and arranged for the transportation of wounded soldiers. She obtained a contract from the government to make army clothing, and kept soldiers’ wives and daughters busy raising money so she could attract more workers by paying a better wage than other contractors.
Gilson always shrank from publicity in regard to her work, but thousands witnessed her ability to evoke order out of chaos, and providing for thousands of sick and wounded men where most people would have been completely overwhelmed. From the reports of the Sanitary Commission, the following passage refers to her:
“Upon Miss Gilson’s services, we scarcely dare trust ourselves to comment. Upon her experience we relied for counsel, and it was chiefly due to her advice and efforts that the work in our hospital went on so successfully. Always quiet, self-possessed and prompt in the discharge of duty, she accomplished more than anyone else could for the relief of the wounded, besides being a constant example and embodiment of earnestness for all. Her ministrations were always grateful to the wounded men, who devotedly loved her for her self-sacrificing spirit. Said one of the Fifth New Jersey in our hearing, “There isn’t a man in our regiment who wouldn’t lay down his life for Miss Gilson.”
But Gilson’s crowning work was performed during the last series of battles in the war, the Overland Campaign. Fought entirely in Virginia, from the Battle of the Wilderness to Spotsylvania Court House to Cold Harbor to Petersburg to Appomattox, this campaign was marked by almost a year of constant fighting, and ended the most destructive war of modern times. Gilson took the field with Mr. Fay at the beginning of the campaign, and was tireless in her efforts to relieve the suffering caused by those horrible battles in May of 1864, in which the dead and wounded were numbered by scores of thousands.
Not until the battles of June 15 through June 18 of 1864 had there been any considerable number of the colored troops among the wounded of Army of the Potomac. In those engagements and the actions immediately around Petersburg, they suffered terribly. The wounded were brought rapidly to City Point, where a temporary hospital had been provided.
Helen Louise Gilson, Library of Congress
“It was, in no other sense a hospital, than that it was a depot for wounded men. There were defective management and chaotic confusion. The men were neglected, the hospital organization was imperfect, and the mortality was in consequence frightfully large. Their condition was horrible. The severity of the campaign in a malarious country had prostrated many with fevers, and typhoid, in its most malignant forms, was raging with increasing fatality.
These stories of suffering reached Miss Gilson at a moment when the previous labors of the campaign had nearly exhausted her strength; but her duty seemed plain. There were no volunteers for the emergency, and she prepared to go. Her friends declared that she could not survive it; but replying that she could not die in a cause more sacred, she started out alone.
A hospital was to be created, and this required all the tact, finesse and diplomacy of which a woman is capable. Official prejudice and professional pride was to be met and overcome. A new policy was to be introduced, and it was to be done without seeming to interfere. Her doctrine and practice always were instant, silent, and cheerful obedience to medical and disciplinary orders, without any qualification whatever; and by this she overcame the natural sensitiveness of the medical authorities.
A hospital kitchen was to be organized upon her method of special diet; nurses were to learn her way, and be educated to their duties; while cleanliness, order, system, were to be enforced in the daily routine. Moving quietly on with her work of renovation, she took the responsibility of all changes that became necessary; and such harmony prevailed in the camp that her policy was vindicated as time rolled on.
The rate of mortality was lessened, and the hospital was soon considered the best in the department. This was accomplished by a tact and energy which sought no praise, but modestly veiled themselves behind the orders of officials. The management of her kitchen was like the ticking of a clock—regular discipline, gentle firmness, and sweet temper always. The diet for the men was changed three times a day; and it was her aim to cater as far as possible to the appetites of individual men.
Her daily rounds in the wards brought her into personal intercourse with every patient, and she knew his special need. At one time, when nine hundred men were supplied from her kitchen (with seven hundred rations daily), I took down her diet list for one dinner, and give it here in a note, to show the variety of the articles, and her careful consideration of the condition of separate men.”
Through all the war, from the Seven Days’ conflict on the Peninsula in those early July days of 1862, through the campaigns of Antietam, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville and Gettysburg, and the fierce battles that were fought for the possession of Richmond and Petersburg in 1864 and 1865, Helen Gilson labored on until the end.
Through scorching heat and bitter cold, in the tent or on the open field, in the ambulance or in the saddle, through rain and snow, under fire on the battlefield, or in the more insidious dangers of contagion, she worked quietly, doing her part with all womanly tact and skill, until she finally rested, with the sense of a noble work done, and with the blessings and prayers of the thousands whose sufferings she has relieved, or whose lives she has saved.
As was the case with nearly every woman who cared for the sick and wounded, Helen Gilson suffered from malarious fever. As often as possible, she went home for a short time to rest and regain her strength, and it was those brief intervals of rest that enabled her to remain at her post until several months after General Lee’s surrender ended the war.
Helen Louise Gilson finally left Richmond in July 1865, and spent the remainder of the summer at a quiet retreat on Long Island, where she partially recovered her impaired health. In the autumn, she returned to her home in Chelsea, Massachusetts.
[Letterhead—US Sanitary Commission, Adams’ House, 244 F Street Washington D. C.]
November 18th 1862
My drew Little Chickadee—dees. I call you chicks because when I come to see you, you run like little chicks to their mother. I want to see you all very much for I work very hard and do not see many little children. I think every night that I wish I could hold you on my knees and talk to you and tickle you, but then I have only two knees and there are four children. I tell you how I should manage. I should hold Nellie and Carrie and then I should take Frank and Marian, if baby would come. Do not forget to sing your little songs—especially “the Ark.” You must learn some new ones so as to sing to me when I come home. I hope you are very good little children and do not quarrel. You must mind mother always the first time she speaks.
The other day your Aunt Tiny was riding in a wagon to find some sick soldiers when the naughty Rebels fired some brawny guns and killed two men very near to me, but your Aunt Tiny was not hurt and you know who took care of her and kept her from all harm. It was our dear Heavenly Father who loves us—-how much He loves us. We ought to be very good.
Carrie must write again. The letters were very neatly printed. Mother and Father must not help you or correct any mistakes. Now goodbye little children. Give my love to Grandma and Mother & Father. From your Aunt Tiny
Letter 2
[US Sanitary Commission Letterhead, Washington D. C.] April 15, 1864
Dear Mary,
I was very glad to get yours of April 7th although going to the ARmy it dd not reach me till yesterday as I came up from the Army on Tuesday last. Mr. Fay is still at the Front and will probably come up tomorrow. Then I shall be able to decide upon some course for myself. All ladies have been ordered away with much other extra baggage from the Army [of the] Potomac. It alters my plans materially and I am very much disappointed, I can assure you, but a few women have made trouble and the innocent must suffer with the guilty. There is a good field for labor among the Paroled Prisoners at Annapolis. Also I have had a call to go to Louisville, Kentucky but at present I am in chaos.
I received a most beautiful present of a diamond ring worth $110 and a Pearl Cross $100 the day before I came away. You can imagine I was delighted because it came from patients and officers of Potomac Creek Hospital.
I am glad to hear that Grandma’s foot is better. Give my warmest regards to her. Her journey on Earth has been a weary one, but there’s rest for the weary in Heaven.
I am glad Galen is improving so fast. He has harder battles to fight than some, to be sure. But every heart has its evil to conquer and we must all fight our battles daily, from Cyrus Hanks up to Dr. Bellows, and we all need to look up to a Higher Power to help us.
I am glad you are not going to move for you all enjoy the garden so much and you may now hope to gather your strawberries with your own hand,
I will send my drawers soon so that you may go on with the, I am glad you called on Delia. She has been kindly remembered by her friends and seems very happy. Their means are very limited, however, and they will have to economize. But Leander is enterprising and bound to get ahead. That is a good deal and while he tries to help himself, Mr. Fay will help him. Write me soon. Love to all the children and to Carrie. Very truly and affectionately your sister, — Helen
Letter 3
Addressed to Mrs. Galen Holmes, 65 State Street, Boston, Massachusetts
On Board Steamer Kent. off Port Royal [May] 1864
Dear Sister,
It is a long time since you have heard from me. Indeed, I have had no time for many letters until now that we are on board this steamer where we can breathe a spell. Our wounded are all removed from Frederickburg and today we leave this place for White House Landing—the scene of our old labors of two summers since. We left Fredericksburg Thursday, bringing down wounded and now we expect tonight to go to White House. Today I have been ashore with Prof. [John Potter] Marshall of Tuft’s College—Mr. Fay’s particular friend—and he has been making sketches of old buildings and beautiful scenery. You cannot imagine what a scene of confusion an Army Base is—wagons, mules, fresh troops, forage. barges and steamers throng the place and make a scene of great confusion, and yet with all this Army life, in twenty-four hours everything will have left and all will be quiet—not a sound to be heard in this lovely spot on the Rappahannock’s banks except the splash of the waves and the sighing of the breezes.
Our last wounded have gone off today from Port Royal and at present we are lying at the landing, just in sight of a whole boatload of Contrabands who are making themselves happy by departing to the land of Freedom.
We had a hard experience in Fredericksburg—never so hard, I believe. Mr. [William Alfred] Hovey was not able to come down, or rather was not able to stand the life, so he went home. I was sick two days after ten of hard days and nights too. I hope I shall not be so busy after this. We all seem to think that Grant will besiege Richmond and we hope it will be with but little bloodshed.
Give my love to Galen, Grandma and the little children, to Carrie, Gus, and little Meand. In this I shall send you $10 (ten) Boston money for the Drawers. It is coming summer and you will need it.
Affectionately your sister, — Helen
Letter 4
Colored Hospital, City Point, Va. August 2nd 1864
Dear Mary,
Yours of the 27th came yesterday and I was glad to get it indeed. It is terribly hot here and we have plenty work. We had a number of wounded came in yesterday to the Colored Hospitals. The negroes made a charge the day before. They told lively stories of the undermining of that fort, describing the scene in glowing colors—of frying pans and tin plates filling the air. It seems they surprised the Rebs at breakfast. [see Battle of the Crater]
I have little news but no matter. If my letter don’t contain the news, you won’t care—if it is only a word from me. It looks as if City Point would be a base for some time to come and we must have hard fighting I think to gain the end. You keep me posted on all the news of your family and the Hollis’s I am glad Sarah has taken a vacation and hope she will be quite alone.
I hope you will, or have seen Mr. Fay. He said he should call on you. I expect him back tomorrow. Howie did finely at his examination, it seems, and his father and mother have reason to be proud. Mr. Fay as usual ascribes all the praise to me saying, after speaking at the Exhibition, “I think you would have been proud if you had been here and you have a right to be for you helped to make Howie what he is—I have done less and claim no credit.”
So you see he appreciates my labors in behalf of his children. I am glad Frank and Carrie did so well. I want them to be good scholars for the more highly educated one is, they better they can fill any station in life. I will not except, the humblest.
I believe I did not tell you I had a letter from Susan. She sent me photos of her children and house. I will enclose them and you may take care of them for me. She is well and says she has no hard feelings toward you, but didn’t suppose you cared about her. Now I want you to write her for there is no earthly reason why there should be any break in our family of three sisters and I shall never recognize any.
Now the mail closes. With love to all, old & young, I am affectionately your sister, — Helen
Letter 5
Addressed to Mrs. Galen Holmes, Jr. 65 State Street, Boston, Massachusetts
Colored Hospital November 29, 1864
My dear Mary,
I wrote a long letter to Mrs. Hovey detailing my journey, requesting her to let you read it. Being an account of my travels—it may interest you. We arrived in Camp last Sunday week, a rainy day and cold. However, our reception was a warm one & that makes up for a great deal you know. If I ever have a home, I know I shall have a warm welcome to give my friends.
The Colored men and the Contrabands said they were “being glad to see Miss Helen and now day she’d come, ebery ting would go straight.” Every difficulty that had occurred during my absence in the contraband camp was left for me to settle. Several couples had quarreled and were contemplating a divorce but had concluded “dat Miss Helen mus’ be consulted” but my opinion was similar to that expressed by Aunt Charlotte some time since. I didn’t approve of Disvosements no how. We take each other for better or for wuss, and the Lord knows we often get the Wuss—so I advised my sable friends to bear with each other and pray always without ceasing—hoping for strength from on high. It is a hard doctrine to carry out—this learning to “labor and to wait” but the Lord knows how much fire we need that we may rid ourselves of our Evils and be purified.
We are just now having beautiful Indian Summer. Tis so warm that I am really uncomfortable with thick clothes. But I enjoy the warmth and the sunshine. I like the climate of the South and am invariably better here. When we arrived in camp, Mr. Fay had a new tent for me—and some Massachusetts men had built me a nice fireplace so that now we have an open fire every evening and that is a greater luxury than some millionaires enjoy.
A few days ago the Colored Troops were all transferred to the Army of the James under Butler and we are expecting to break up or rather transfer this hospital farther up the James river to that Department, but I think I shall settle this winter in some white hospital ay the Front. The fact is, I am not quite strong enough to work as hard this winter as I did this summer and I must take a smaller hospital where there will not be quite as much responsibility. I want to last till the war closes—if tis a possible thing.
Roger Atkinson Pryor (July 19, 1828 – March 14, 1919) was a Virginian newspaper editor and politician who became known for his fiery oratory in favor of secession. He entered the Confederate army as colonel of the 3rd Virginia Infantry Regiment. He was promoted to brigadier general on April 16, 1862. His brigade fought in the Peninsula Campaign and at Second Manassas. Pryor was captured on November 28, 1864, and confined in Fort Lafayette in New York as a suspected spy. After several months, he was released on parole by order of President Lincoln and returned to Virginia.
Mr. Fay continues well. Mrs. Fay is enjoying herself very much, and goes about the Wards assisting among the sick men. She has been to ride horseback and enjoys it much. Yesterday we took the Rebel General Roger A. Pryor prisoner. He came down to our picket line dressed in civilian’s clothes to change newspapers and was “gobbled up” according to Army phrase by our men. He hung his head as he walked onto the boat.
I hope this will find you all well and happy. My love to Grandma and the children. Your affectionate sister, — Helen
Tell Grandma at last I have found a Gregg. He is 2nd Lieutenant in the 61st Massachusetts and called on me today to say that he was related to Grandma but I was engaged at the time he called and didn’t see him. However, I shall have another opportunity as the regiment is encamped only about two miles from here.
Letter 6
[Editor’s Note: The following letter is courtesy the Senft Family who had it in their collection but didn’t know the author until I had published the previous letters of Nellie Gilson and found it with a ChatGPT search. It has now been transcribed and published with Nellie’s other letters by express consent.]
United States Sanitary Commission [letterhead] Tuesday, April 4th, 1865
Dear Mary,
I am almost allowing myself to get excited. Rumor says that Petersburg is evacuated and Lee surrendered. Oh! it cannot be. I cannot believe it. So long have we waited and hoped and almost fainted with heart-sickness as summer after summer saw the flower of our country lie low. How in one short day can this transpire? Oh! we must wait for confirmation. So short a distance from the Army Headquarters and yet to know nothing. But I will work and wait for wounded lie all about us.
Yesterday Mr. Fay walked through Petersburg with the troops, gathered a bouquet of hyacinths which he brought to me in a flower dish. He had some talk with an old man, grey with age, cultivated, intelligent, refined. He had always been a “Peace” man. My. Fay told him how business still flourished at the North, how the might & strength of our Nation had not yet come to war, how nearly all our men were volunteers—not conscripts, and [he] said to Mr. Fay, “Well sir, you must kill—eliminate them. ‘Tis the only way, and the sooner you do it, the better. They will never surrender.”
Mr. Fay walked through the whole city. It is very pretty—but little burned. Only the stall houses [?], &c. The negroes were exclaiming, “Bress de Lord, He hab answered de prayers of de colored race.” I have seen nothing as yet. Am too busy receiving the wounded at this hospital. Richmond is certainly ours and today passes have been granted to go up there. I am dying to see the place but duty keeps me here. I have fed 700 men three times today. Today I catered for them 300 lbs. roast beef, mashed potatoes, fried fish farina, tea, coffee, toast, oysters. Of course every man didn’t have all, but all these were divided. Last night we retired at 10 o’clock. Up at 5 this morning. ‘Tis now eleven so I will make the letter short and say goodnight hoping you are having some improvement in your hand, Affectionately, — Nellie
Spared & Shared 23 