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CIVIL WAR 150 • READER #7
Last Full Measure of Devotion
Seeking Meaning in Death and Sacrifice
Introduction by David W. Blight
CIVIL WAR 150: Exploring the War and Its
Meaning Through the Words of Those Who Lived It
is a national public programing initiative designed to encourage
public exploration of the transformative impact and contested meanings
of the Civil War through primary documents and firsthand accounts.
The project is presented by
The Library of America
in partnership with
and is supported by a grant from
Contents
Introduction by David W. Blight . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
3
Sullivan Ballou to Sarah Ballou, July 14, 1861 . . . . . . . . . . . .
7
Samuel J. English to his Mother, July 24, 1861 . . . . . . . . . .
10
Emily Dickinson to Louise and Frances Norcross,
late March 1862 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
14
Herman Melville: Shiloh, A Requiem (April 1862) . . . . . . .
16
Sallie Brock: from Richmond During the War . . . . . . . . . . .
18
Samuel W. Fiske to the Springfield Republican,
September 20, 1862 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
21
Samuel W. Fiske to the Springfield Republican,
December 15 and 17, 1862 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
23
Ira S. Owens: from Greene County in the War . . . . . . . . . . .
26
Taylor Peirce to Catharine Peirce, February 16, 1863 . . . . . .
30
Catherine Edmondston: Diary, May 11, 1863 . . . . . . . . . . . . .
33
Edward O. Guerrant: Diary, May 15, 1863 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
34
Matthew M. Miller to His Aunt, June 10, 1863 . . . . . . . . . . .
37
Henry Livermore Abbott to Josiah Gardner Abbott,
July 6, 1863 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
40
Lewis Douglass to Amelia Loguen, July 20, 1863 . . . . . . . . .
45
Abraham Lincoln: Address at Gettysburg,
November 19, 1863 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
47
Judith W. McGuire: Diary, January, 1, 1864 . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
49
Walt Whitman: from Specimen Days . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
52
Biographical Notes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
54
Chronology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
60
Questions for Discussion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
63
Introduction, headnotes, and back matter copyright © 2014 by Literary Classics of the United
States, Inc., New York, N.Y.
Cover photograph: Alexandria Soldiers’ Cemetery, c. 1864. Image courtesy of Library of Congress, Civil War photographs, 1861–1865.
Samuel J. English: Copyright © 1985 by Robert Hunt Rhodes.
Emily Dickinson: Copyright © 1958, 1986, The President and Fellows of Harvard College; 1914,
1924, 1942 by Martha Dickinson Bianchi; 1952 by Alfred Leete Hampson; 1960 by Mary L.
Hampson. Reprinted by permission.
Samuel W. Fiske: Copyright © 1998 by Stephen W. Sears.
Taylor Peirce: Copyright © 2002 by University Press of Kansas.
Catherine Edmondston: Copyright © 1979 by the North Carolina Division of Archives and
History. Used by permission.
Edward O. Guerrant: Copyright © 1999 by Louisiana State University Press. Used by
permission of the publisher.
Henry Livermore Abbott: Used by permission of the Houghton Library,
Harvard University, MS Am 800.26.
Lewis Douglass: Copyright © 1926 by The Association for the Study of Negro Life and
History, Inc.
Abraham Lincoln: Copyright © 1953 by the Abraham Lincoln Association. Used by permission.
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The readings presented here are drawn from The Civil War: Told By
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Introduction
LAST FULL MEASURE OF DEVOTION
Seeking Meaning in Death and Sacrifice
I
n his great prose work, Specimen Days, published in 1882,
Walt Whitman reflected unforgettably on the meaning of
death in the Civil War. “The dead in this war,” wrote
Whitman, “there they lie, strewing the fields and woods and
valleys and battle-fields.” He worried about what he called the
“strayed dead,” those thousands on both sides who were never
found, identified, or laid to rest in one of the more than seventy national cemeteries. And for those buried in cemeteries,
he wearied of seeing “the significant word Unknown” on so
many gravestones.
Whitman, who had worked for nearly three years in army
hospitals in Washington, D.C., also agonized over all those
who had died lonely, inglorious deaths from disease. They
were the “crop reap’d by the mighty reapers, typhoid, dysentery, inflammations—and blackest and loathesomest of all, the
dead and living burial-pits, the prison-pens of Andersonville,
Salisbury, Belle-Isle, &c., (not Dante’s pictured hell and all its
woes, its degradations, filthy torments, excell’d those prisons).” Whitman was forever tormented by visions of the Civil
War dead: “The dead, the dead, the dead—our dead—or
South or North, ours all . . . or East or West—Atlantic coast or
Mississippi valley—somewhere they crawl’d to die, alone, in
bushes, low gullies, or on the sides of hills . . . taken from us—
the son from the mother, the husband from the wife, the dear
friend from the dear friend.” Whitman makes us shudder at
what he saw as the “infinite dead” spread across the country’s
landscape.
Recent research has demonstrated that the previously accepted estimate of the Civil War soldier dead, approximately
620,000, is strikingly low. Due especially to undercounts of
Confederate mortality, a more accurate figure is now believed
to be approximately 750,000 Americans. This estimate does
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Last Full Measure of Devotion
not include the elusive numbers of deaths among civilians,
both slave and free. As historian Drew Gilpin Faust has
demonstrated, mid-nineteenth century Americans, steeped in
Christian worldviews, believed that a person should have a
“good death,” one witnessed by family members, recorded in
a narrative of peaceful departure and Christian acceptance,
perhaps even photographed at the end. But the scale of
slaughter in remote places denied thousands a purposeful,
meaningful death, the details of which could have been transmitted to loved ones in a tale of final redemption.
This startling collection of documents includes an array of
emotional, spiritual, and literary encounters with death and
sacrifice. More often than not, the writers of these letters, diaries or poems did not explain as much as they simply felt the
meaning of war’s sacrifice. Collectively we see a deep nineteenth-century sentimentalism collapsing into a hardened,
even shocking realism, a shift that was to betoken a sea-change
in American culture. Emily Dickinson’s letter about the death
of a single soldier is bleak, stoical, almost cynical; her call that
they might all “love better” is her only nod to redemption.
Sullivan Ballou’s stunning letter to his wife on the eve of battle
is written as though from the grave (or heaven) as he agonizes
over choosing between the “deathless” love of his wife and
children and that of his country.
A theme throughout these writings is loss, both on a massive scale and on the heartrending, individual level. Indeed,
loss was perhaps the Civil War’s greatest early legacy in a society that had never experienced anything like it. Henry Livermore Abbott feels so “alone” in the wake of the battle of
Gettysburg, as he calculates the “fearful losses” in his Massachusetts regiment. We also find here the expression, even embodiment, of romantic heroism, in the paeans to Stonewall
Jackson at his untimely death, or in Lewis Douglass’s amazing
statement of his readiness to die in a “good cause,” with “face
to the foe.” Judith W. McGuire did manage to witness and
record the good death of her nephew, but she could only conclude the diary entry with a wailing prayer.
These documents are also laced with one of war’s most ancient necessities—hatred and demonization of the enemy. Taylor Peirce thoroughly justifies the summary executions of
Introduction
5
Confederate guerrillas in Missouri, even in front of their wives,
as he observes in the next breath the beauty of the landscape
and asks his own wife for a picture of herself. Henry Livermore
Abbott and his men cheered “like mad” at Gettysburg after
their volleys “bowled” the Confederates “over like nine pins.”
Catherine Edmonston hates Yankees and idolizes a fallen Confederate hero in the same diary moment. Finally, perhaps the
most dominant theme in this collection is what men and
women saw and psychologically endured—bodies blown
apart, the smells of bursting bodies, amputations, long
trenches of dead bodies at Antietam contrasted with a “double
rainbow” in the sky over the landscape of America’s single
bloodiest day. Sallie Brock’s Richmond of 1862 was a city
where “death held a carnival,” funerals and the grim hideousness of dead bodies consuming her consciousness. At Fredericksburg, Samuel W. Fiske could not explain “why” the
“murderous butchery” of that battle had occurred; he only
knew he was “sick” of it.
Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address will always be read as
a statement of the meaning and survival of liberal democracy, of
the anguished necessity of the “new birth” of a second American republic out of the death of the first. But we should never
forget that he stood in an unfinished cemetery that day, with the
elegiac, far more than the triumphal impulse, driving his magnificent tribute to all who had given the “last full measure.”
David W. Blight
Class of 1954 Professor of American History, Yale University
a f a r e w e l l l e t t e r : j u ly 1 8 6 1
Sullivan Ballou to Sarah Ballou
A lawyer who had served in the Rhode Island legislature and campaigned for Lincoln in 1860, Sullivan Ballou was commissioned as a
major in the 2nd Rhode Island Volunteers on June 11, 1861. A week
before the battle of Bull Run, he wrote a farewell letter to his wife and
left it in his trunk at camp. During the battle a six-pound cannon shot
shattered his leg, and Ballou died of his wounds on July 28, 1861.
Head-Quarters, Camp Clark,
Washington, D. C., July 14, 1861.
My Very Dear Wife:
The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few
days, perhaps to-morrow. Lest I should not be able to write
you again, I feel impelled to write a few lines, that may fall
under your eye when I shall be no more.
Our movement may be one of a few days duration and full
of pleasure—and it may be one of severe conflict and death to
me. Not my will, but thine, O God, be done. If it is necessary
that I should fall on the battle-field for my country, I am ready.
I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause
in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter.
I know how strongly American civilization now leans upon the
triumph of the government, and how great a debt we owe to
those who went before us through the blood and suffering of
the Revolution, and I am willing, perfectly willing to lay down
all my joys in this life to help maintain this government, and to
pay that debt.
But, my dear wife, when I know, that, with my own joys, I
lay down nearly all of yours, and replace them in this life with
cares and sorrows,—when, after having eaten for long years the
bitter fruit of orphanage myself, I must offer it, as their only
sustenance, to my dear little children, is it weak or dishonorable, while the banner of my purpose floats calmly and proudly
7
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Last Full Measure of Devotion
in the breeze, that my unbounded love for you, my darling
wife and children, should struggle in fierce, though useless,
contest with my love of country.
I cannot describe to you my feelings on this calm summer
night, when two thousand men are sleeping around me, many
of them enjoying the last, perhaps, before that of death,—and
I, suspicious that Death is creeping behind me with his fatal
dart, am communing with God, my country and thee.
I have sought most closely and diligently, and often in my
breast, for a wrong motive in thus hazarding the happiness of
those I loved, and I could not find one. A pure love of my
country, and of the principles I have often advocated before
the people, and “the name of honor, that I love more than I
fear death,” have called upon me, and I have obeyed.
Sarah, my love for you is deathless. It seems to bind me with
mighty cables, that nothing but Omnipotence can break; and
yet, my love of country comes over me like a strong wind, and
bears me irresistibly on with all those chains, to the battle-field.
The memories of all the blissful moments I have spent with
you, come crowding over me, and I feel most deeply grateful
to God and you, that I have enjoyed them so long. And how
hard it is for me to give them up, and burn to ashes the hopes
of future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived
and loved together, and seen our boys grow up to honorable
manhood around us.
I know I have but few claims upon Divine Providence, but
something whispers to me, perhaps it is the wafted prayer of
my little Edgar, that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed.
If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you,
nor that, when my last breath escapes me on the battle-field, it
will whisper your name.
Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused
you. How thoughtless, how foolish I have oftentimes been!
How gladly would I wash out with my tears, every little spot
upon your happiness, and struggle with all the misfortune of
this world, to shield you and my children from harm. But I
cannot. I must watch you from the spirit land and hover near
you, while you buffet the storms with your precious little
freight, and wait with sad patience till we meet to part no more.
But, O Sarah, if the dead can come back to this earth, and
Sullivan Ballou
9
flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near
you—in the garish day, and the darkest night—amidst your
happiest scenes and gloomiest hours—always, always; and, if
the soft breeze fans your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the
cool air cools your throbbing temples, it shall be my spirit
passing by.
Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone, and wait for
me, for we shall meet again.
As for my little boys, they will grow as I have done, and
never know a father’s love and care. Little Willie is too young
to remember me long, and my blue-eyed Edgar will keep my
frolics with him among the dimmest memories of his childhood. Sarah, I have unlimited confidence in your maternal
care, and your development of their characters. Tell my two
mothers, I call God’s blessing upon them. O Sarah, I wait for
you there! Come to me, and lead thither my children.
Sullivan.
“death and confusion everywhere”:
v i r g i n i a , j u ly 1 8 6 1
Samuel J. English to his Mother
In a letter home Corporal Samuel English of the 2nd Rhode Island
Volunteers—the regiment Sullivan Ballou served in—described his
part in the battle that would be known in the North as Bull Run and
in the South as Manassas. The Union army lost about 2,900 men
killed, wounded, or missing, the Confederates about 1,900.
Camp Clark, July 24th/61
Dear Mother
Washington, D.C.
I rec’d your letter of the 21st shortly after our return to
camp and take the earliest opportunity of writing. Yes, we have
been & gone and done it. Last Thursday the 16th our brigade
consisting of the two Rhode Island regiments, the New York
71st and the New Hampshire 2nd took up our line of march for
Fairfax Court House. We crossed Long Bridge about 3 o’clock
and continued on for six miles where we bivouacked for the
night. Nothing occurred of importance to disturb our slumbers except the passing of troops bound on the same expedition. We commenced our march early in the morning, the 2nd
R.I. regiment taking the lead and acting as skirmishers, Co. A
taking the advance on the right; Co. D acting as flankers; Co.
F acting as rear advance on the right of the column, Co. K acting as advance on the left. Co. C as flankers and Co. G as rear
guard. I cannot state exactly the strength of our forces at the
time, but should judge there were seven or eight thousand, including 1500 cavalry and two Batteries of artillery with two
howitzers belonging to the New York 71st Regt. When within
half a mile of the village of Fairfax, word was sent that the
rebels’ battery was directly in our line of march. Our artillery
was immediately ordered to the front and fired three shots into
it, making the sand fly, and showing pretty conclusively that
the birds had flown. All the time this was taking place your
10
Samuel J. English
11
humble servant was skirting around in the woods as a skirmisher and arrived in the village ahead of the main column. As
our company arrived the streets presented the scene of the
wildest confusion: old negroes running around, some laughing, some crying and some swearing at a fearful rate. The
streets were strewn with the knapsacks, haversacks, canteens,
blankets, shirts and most every article pertaining to camp life.
The houses were deserted and in some places the tables were
set for dinner and coffee warm on the stove. After strolling
around a short time we quartered ourselves in the park of Gen.
Lee and made ourselves as comfortable as circumstances
would permit. The cavalry in the meantime pursuing the retreating rebels and capturing 30 of their men. What particularly pleased me was that the company that lost the mess was
the Palmetto Guards and Brooks Guards of South Carolina,
having lost all of their camp equipage and barely escaped with
their lives. But to continue, the next day our colors started for
Manassas but halted and camped three miles this side of Centreville, waiting for our troops and reinforcements to come up;
the second regiment being somewhat in advance of the main
army; we stay here for three days and Sunday the 21st about 2
o’clock the drums beat the assembly and in ten minutes we
were on our march for Bull Run having heard the enemy were
waiting to receive us, our troops then numbering 25 or 30
thousand which were divided into three columns ours under
Col Hunter taking the right through a thick woods. About
eleven o’clock as our pickets were advancing through the
woods a volley was poured in upon them from behind a fence
thickly covered with brush; the pickets after returning the
shots returned to our regiment and we advanced double quick
time yelling like so many devils. On our arrival into the open
field I saw I should judge three or four thousand rebels retreating for a dense woods, firing as they retreated, while from
another part of the woods a perfect hail storm of bullets,
round shot and shell was poured upon us, tearing through our
ranks and scattering death and confusion everywhere; but with
a yell and a roar we charged upon them driving them again
into the woods with fearful loss. In the mean time our battery
came up to our support and commenced hurling destruction
among the rebels. Next orders were given for us to fall back
12
Last Full Measure of Devotion
and protect our battery as the enemy were charging upon it
from another quarter, and then we saw with dismay that the
second R.I. regiment were the only troops in the fight; the others
having lagged so far behind that we had to stand the fight
alone for 30 minutes; 1100 against 7 or 8 thousand. It was
afterwards ascertained from a prisoner that the rebels thought
we numbered 20 or 30 thousand from the noise made by us
while making the charge. While preparing to make our final effort to keep our battery out of their hands, the 1st R.I. regiment then came filing over the fence and poured a volley out
to them that drove them under cover again; they were followed by the New York 71st and the New Hampshire 2nd regiments; with 2,000 regulars bringing up the rear who pitched
into the “Sechers” most beautifully. Our regiments were then
ordered off the field and formed a line for a support to rally on
in case the rebels over powered our troops. When the line had
formed again I started off for the scene of action to see how
the fight was progressing. As I emerged from the woods I saw
a bomb shell strike a man in the breast and literally tear him to
pieces. I passed the farm house which had been appropriated
for a hospital and the groans of the wounded and dying were
horrible. I then descended the hill to the woods which had
been occupied by the rebels at the place where the Elsworth
zouaves made their charge; the bodies of the dead and dying
were actually three and four deep, while in the woods where
the desperate struggle had taken place between the U.S.
Marines and the Louisiana zouaves, the trees were spattered
with blood and the ground strewn with dead bodies. The
shots flying pretty lively round me I thought best to join my
regiment; as I gained the top of the hill I heard the shot and
shell of our batteries had given out, not having but 130 shots
for each gun during the whole engagement. As we had nothing but infantry to fight against their batteries, the command
was given to retreat; our cavalry not being of much use,
because the rebels would not come out of the woods. The R.I.
regiments, the New York 71st and the New Hampshire 2nd
were drawn into a line to cover the retreat, but an officer galloped wildly into the column crying the enemy is upon us, and
off they started like a flock of sheep every man for himself and
the devil take the hindermost; while the rebels’ shot and shell
Samuel J. E nglish
13
fell like rain among our exhausted troops. As we gained the
cover of the woods the stampede became even more frightful,
for the baggage wagons and ambulances became entangled
with the artillery and rendered the scene even more dreadful
than the battle, while the plunging of the horses broke the
lines of our infantry and prevented any successful formation
out of the question. The rebels being so badly cut up supposed
we had gone beyond the woods to form on for a fresh attack
and shelled the woods for full two hours, supposing we were
there, thus saving the greater part of our forces, for if they had
begun an immediate attack, nothing in heaven’s name could
have saved us. As we neared the bridge the rebels opened a
very destructive fire upon us, mowing down our men like
grass, and caused even greater confusion than before. Our artillery and baggage wagons became fouled with each other,
completely blocking the bridge, while the bomb shells bursting on the bridge made it “rather unhealthy” to be around. As
I crossed on my hands and knees, Capt. Smith who was crossing by my side at the same time was struck by a round shot at
the same time and completely cut in two. After I crossed I
started up the hill as fast as my legs could carry and passed
through Centreville and continued on to Fairfax where we arrived about 10 o’clock halting about 15 minutes, then kept on
to Washington where we arrived about 2 o’clock Monday
noon more dead than alive, having been on our feet 36 hours
without a mouthful to eat, and traveled a distance of 60 miles
without twenty minutes halt. The last five miles of that march
was perfect misery, none of us having scarcely strength to put
one foot before the other, but I tell you the cheers we rec’d
going through the streets of Washington seemed to put new
life into the men for they rallied and marched to our camps
and every man dropped on the ground and in one moment
the greater part of them were asleep. Our loss is estimated at
1,000, but I think it greater, the rebels loss from three to five
thousand.
“ h i s bi g h e a rt s h o t away ” :
m a ssachuset ts, m arch 1862
Emily Dickinson to Louise
and Frances Norcross
Late March 1862
On March 14, 1862, the Union army enlarged its foothold on the
North Carolina coast by capturing New Bern. Lieutenant Colonel
William S. Clark of the 21st Massachusetts Infantry wrote in his official report that while leading an attack “the noblest of us all, my
brave, efficient, faithful adjutant, First Lieut. F.A. Stearns, Company
I, fell mortally wounded. . . .” Frazar Stearns was the son of the president of Amherst College, and his body was brought home for burial.
Emily Dickinson wrote about his funeral to her cousins.
Dear Children,
You have done more for me—’tis least that I can do, to tell
you of brave Frazer—“killed at Newbern,” darlings. His big
heart shot away by a “minie ball.”
I had read of those—I didn’t think that Frazer would carry
one to Eden with him. Just as he fell, in his soldier’s cap, with
his sword at his side, Frazer rode through Amherst. Classmates
to the right of him, and classmates to the left of him, to guard
his narrow face! He fell by the side of Professor Clark, his superior officer—lived ten minutes in a soldier’s arms, asked
twice for water—murmured just, “My God!” and passed!
Sanderson, his classmate, made a box of boards in the night,
put the brave boy in, covered with a blanket, rowed six miles
to reach the boat,—so poor Frazer came. They tell that Colonel Clark cried like a little child when he missed his pet, and
could hardly resume his post. They loved each other very
much. Nobody here could look on Frazer—not even his father.
The doctors would not allow it.
The bed on which he came was enclosed in a large casket
shut entirely, and covered from head to foot with the sweetest
flowers. He went to sleep from the village church. Crowds
14
Emily Dick inson
15
came to tell him goodnight, choirs sang to him, pastors told
how brave he was—early-soldier heart. And the family bowed
their heads, as the reeds the wind shakes.
So our part in Frazer is done, but you must come next summer, and we will mind ourselves of this young crusader—too
brave that he could fear to die. We will play his tunes—maybe
he can hear them; we will try to comfort his broken-hearted
Ella, who, as the clergyman said, “gave him peculiar confidence.” . . . Austin is stunned completely. Let us love better,
children, it’s most that’s left to do.
Love from
Emily.
“ t he church so l one”: a pr il 1862
Herman Melville: Shiloh
Confederate troops led by Albert Sidney Johnston and Pierre G. T.
Beauregard attacked Ulysses S. Grant’s forces near Pittsburg Landing,
Tennessee, on the morning of April 6, 1862, and drove them back
toward the Tennessee River. After being reinforced by troops from
Don Carlos Buell’s Army of the Ohio, Grant counterattacked on
April 7 and foced the Confederates to retreat toward Corinth, Mississippi. The fighting cost the Union 13,047 men killed, wounded, or
missing, while Confederate losses totaled 10,699. Herman Melville
remembered the battle in a poem that first appeared in Battle-Pieces
and Aspects of the War, published in August 1866. In his preface to the
book, Melville wrote that with “few exceptions, the Pieces in this
volume originated in an impulse imparted by the fall of Richmond,”
suggesting that most of the poems were written after April 1865.
Shiloh
A Requiem
(April, 1862)
Skimming lightly, wheeling still,
​ ​The swallows fly low
Over the field in clouded days,
​ ​The forest-field of Shiloh—
Over the field where April rain
Solaced the parched ones stretched in pain
Through the pause of night
That followed the Sunday fight
​ ​Around the church of Shiloh—
The church so lone, the log-built one,
That echoed to many a parting groan
​ ​ ​ ​And natural prayer
​ ​Of dying foemen mingled there—
Foemen at morn, but friends at eve—
​ ​Fame or country least their care:
16
Her m a n Melville
17
(What like a bullet can undeceive!)
​ ​But now they lie low,
While over them the swallows skim,
​ ​And all is hushed at Shiloh.
“ d e a t h h e l d a c a r n i va l” :
v i r g i n i a , j u n e – j u ly 1 8 6 2
Sallie Brock: from
Richmond During the War
In the Seven Days’ Battles, June 25–July 1, 1862, Robert E. Lee succeeded in driving George B. McClellan’s Army of the Potomac away
from Richmond and across the Peninsula to the northern bank of the
James River. The Seven Days cost Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia
20,204 men killed, wounded, or missing, while Union losses totaled
15,855. A tutor in prewar Virginia, Sallie Brock spent the war years in
Richmond. She recalled the Seven Days in her memoir, published
anonymously “by a Richmond Lady” in 1867.
Richmond
suffered heavily in the loss of citizens in these
battles. There was scarcely a family that had not some one of its
numbers in the field. Mothers nervously watched for any who
might bring to them news of their boys. Sisters and friends
grew pale when a horseman rode up to their doors, and could
scarcely nerve themselves to listen to the tidings he brought.
Young wives clasped their children to their bosoms, and in
agony imagined themselves widows and their little ones orphans. Thoughtful husbands, and sons, and brothers, and lovers, dispatched messengers to report their condition whenever
they could, but, alas! the worst fears of many were realized.
Conspicuous amongst the dead of Richmond was the young
Colonel of the Fourth Texas regiment. He had won honorable
distinction in Italy, under Garibaldi. News arrived of his instant
death on the field, and his heart-broken family sat up to receive
his body until after the hour of midnight; but when it arrived,
and “he lives” was told his mother, the reaction of joy almost
deprived her of being. She could not realize it. The revulsion
was too great. He spent a few days of mortal agony, and then a
sad, mournful procession of heart-broken friends and relatives,
and the riderless horse of the young warrior, announced, ah!
18
Sa llie Brock
19
how sadly, that Richmond’s gallant son, Colonel Bradfute Warwick, had fallen!
A horseman rode up to the door of one of our houses on
—— street, and cried out to the anxious mother: “Your son,
madam, is safe, but Captain —— is killed!” On the opposite
side, on the portico of her dwelling, a fair young girl, the betrothed of Captain ——, was said to have been sitting at the
moment, and thus heard the terrible announcement!
Every family received the bodies of the wounded or dead of
their friends, and every house was a house of mourning or a
private hospital.
The clouds were lifted, and the skies brightened upon political prospects, but death held a carnival in our city. The
weather was excessively hot. It was midsummer, gangrene and
erysipelas attacked the wounded, and those who might have
been cured of their wounds were cut down by these diseases.
Our hospitals were loathsome with the bloated, disfigured
countenances of the victims of disease, rather than from ghastly
wounds. Sickening odors filled the atmosphere, and soldiers’
funerals were passing at every moment. Frequently they would
be attended by only one or two of the convalescent patients of
the hospitals, and sometimes the unknown dead would be
borne to the grave, with only the driver of the hearse or cart to
attend it.*
*One of the grave-diggers at a soldiers’ cemetery said to the writer, when speaking of this time, (at a subsequent period,) “We could not dig graves fast enough to
bury the soldiers. They were sometimes brought and put out of the hearse or cart,
beside an open grave, and we were compelled to bury them in turn. Frequently
we were obliged to leave them over night, when, sometimes, the bodies would
swell, and burst the coffins in which they were placed, so slightly were they made.
Our work was a horrible one! The odor was stifling. On one occasion, one of our
grave-diggers contracted disease from a dead body, which he buried, that came to
him in this terrible condition, and he died from it in less than twenty-four hours.
After that we were almost afraid to continue our business, but then the soldiers
must be buried, poor fellows!”
We listened to this horrible account as we stood on the hillside, and saw the
hillocks innumerable, that marked the graves of our soldiers. A little girl, who
visited the cemetery, on returning to the city said:—“Why, grandma, the soldiers’
graves are as thick as potatoe-hills!” And she saw only a moiety of the many which
crowded the hillsides around our city, for this was an extension of Hollywood
cemetery only. There were several cemeteries especially laid out for the soldiers,
and they were soon all filled with the mounds that marked the soldier dead.
20
L a st Full Me a sur e of De vot ion
The mournful strains of the “Dead March,” and the sounds
of the muffled drum, betokened an officer en route for “the
city of the dead,” but these honors could not be accorded the
poor fellows from the ranks. There were too many of them
passing away—the means for costly funerals were not within
our reach—yet were not our hearts less saddened by the less
imposing cortege that was borne along with the private nor by
the rude coffin in the cart, slowly wending its way unattended
by friends, to the soldiers’ cemetery. Mothers and sisters, and
dear friends came from all parts of the South, to nurse and
comfort dear ones in our hospitals, and some, alas! arrived to
find a husband, brother, or son already dead or dying, and had
the sad companionship of the dead back to their homes.
af t er t he bat t le:
m a r y l a n d , s e p t e m be r 1 8 6 2
Samuel W. Fiske to the
Springfield Republican
The Army of Northern Virginia crossed into Maryland on September
4, 1862, beginning a campaign that reached its climax thirteen days
later on the 17th when McClellan’s Army of the Potomac launched a
series of attacks against Lee’s positions behind Antietam Creek near
Sharpsburg. After standing his ground on September 18, Lee fell back
across the Potomac into Virginia. Lieutenant Samuel W. Fiske of the
14th Connecticut Infantry described the aftermath of the battle of
Antietam in one of his regular letters to the Springfield (Massachusetts) Republican, writing under his nom de plume Dunn Browne.
The battle cost the Union 12,401 men killed, wounded, or missing,
and the Confederates 10,316, making September 17, 1862, the bloodiest single day in American history.
after the battle
Field of Battle, near Sharpsburg, Md.
Saturday, Sept. 20
The excitement of battle comes in the day of it, but the horrors of it two or three days after. I have just passed over a part of
the field, I suppose only a small part of it, and yet I have counted
nearly a thousand dead bodies of rebels lying still unburied in
groves and corn-fields, on hill sides and in trenches. Three hundred and fifty I was told by one who helped to bury them, were
taken this morning from one long rifle pit which lay just in front
of where the 14th (among other regiments) made their fight,
and were buried in one trench. The air grows terribly offensive
from the unburied bodies, and a pestilence will speedily be bred
if they are not put under ground. The most of the Union soldiers are now buried, but some of them only slightly. Think now
of the horrors of such a scene as lies all around us, for there are
hundreds of horses too, all mangled and putrefying, scattered
everywhere. Then there are the broken gun carriages, and wagons, the thousands of muskets and all sorts of equipments, the
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L a st Full Me a sur e of De vot ion
clothing all torn and bloody, and cartridges and cannon shot
and pieces of shell, the trees torn with shot and scarred with
bullets, the farm houses and barns knocked to pieces and burned
down, the crops trampled and wasted, the whole country forlorn and desolate. And yet I saw over all this scene of devastation
and horror, yesternight, one of the loveliest double rainbows
that ever mortal eyes looked upon. It was as if heaven sat serene
over human woes and horrors, and crowned all the earthly evils
with the promise of ultimate most glorious good. I took it as an
emblem of success to our blessed Union cause, that out of the
horrors of battle shall arise the blessings of a more secure freedom and stable system of liberal government.
The enemy has retired in disgrace from his bold invasion of
the North with at least 40,000 or 50,000 less men than he
entered upon it—and after all our disasters and blunders and
waste, let us hope that the successful end is beginning to draw
nigh. The waste of this war is tremendous beyond all conception. It would take a long time to reckon that of this one battle.
Thousands and thousands and tens of thousands of muskets,
stacks of guns, piles of guns like big piles of rails, muskets laid
up against rocks and trees and muskets scattered yet over the
ground and choking up water courses, muskets rusty and broken and dirty, spoiled and half-spoiled, that a few days ago
were bright in the hands of living men, are only one item of
the waste. Whole regiments threw away their overcoats and
blankets and everything that encumbered them, and they were
trampled in the rush of conflicting hosts, and so with equipments and stores and ammunition and everything else. Waste,
waste, ruin and destruction. Why, I saw a whole immense stack
of unthreshed wheat, big as a barn, scattered in a few minutes
over a hundred acre field (the same I think from which it had
been reaped) just as bedding for the soldiers for a single night.
Much of this waste is unavoidable. Much of it might be helped.
Just as it is said that out of the waste of an American kitchen a
French family would live comfortably, so it might almost be
said that out of the waste of an American war a European war
might be carried on. But I must make no more waste of ink
now. Yours truly,
Dunn Browne
September 20, 1862
“murderous butchery”:
v i r g i n i a , d e c e m be r 1 8 6 2
Samuel W. Fiske to the
Springfield Republican
Lieutenant Fiske, ill with typhoid and dysentery, could only watch on
December 13, 1862, as more than 100,000 Union troops launched a
series of unsuccessful frontal assaults on the 72,000 Confederates
deployed along the heights overlooking Fredericksburg, Virginia.
The Army of the Potomac lost more than 12,600 men killed,
wounded, or missing in the battle, while Confederate casualties totaled about 5,300.
Dunn Browne on the Battle Field
Fredericksburg
December 15
Oh, Republican! My heart is sick and sad. Blood and wounds
and death are before my eyes; of those who are my friends,
comrades, brothers; of those who have marched into the very
mouth of destruction as coolly and cheerfully as to any ordinary duty. Another tremendous, terrible, murderous butchery
of brave men has made Saturday, the 13th of December, a
memorable day in the annals of this war.
On Friday, Fredericksburg was taken with comparatively little trouble and loss. On Saturday, the grand army corps of
Sumner marched up against the heights back of the city, where
the enemy lay behind strong fortifications, all bristling with cannon and protected by rifle pits; while our men must cross a
wide space of clear, open ground, and then a canal whose every
crossing was swept by artillery so perfectly trained beforehand
that every discharge mowed down whole ranks of men. Into
this grand semi-circle of death our divisions marched with
rapid and unflinching step. French’s division (to which we belong) behaved splendidly, and the others no less so if we may
judge by the losses. Of whole companies and regiments not a
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24
L a st Full Me a sur e of De vot ion
man flinched. The grape and canister tore through their ranks,
the fearful volleys of musketry from invisible foes decimated
their numbers every few moments; the conflict was hopeless;
they could inflict scarcely any damage upon the foe; our artillery couldn’t cover them, for they would do more damage to
friend than to enemy; yet our gallant fellows pressed on, determined to scale those breastworks and take the position of the
rebels. But there were none left to do that work. A little handful of a great division approached, and even in a few instances
began to climb the works, but only to leave their mangled
bodies on the bloody field; a few torn and blackened remnants
of the fine regiments sternly retired to the city. The wounded
were mainly brought off, though hundreds were killed in the
benevolent task. The city is filled with the pieces of brave men
who went whole into the conflict. Every basement and floor is
covered with pools of blood. Limbs in many houses lie in
heaps, and surgeons are exhausted with their trying labors.
But I will not sicken you with a recital of the horrors before
us. Why our noble fellows were pushed on into such a hopeless
and desperate undertaking I am not military man enough to
say. Or why the grand division of Hooker were marching and
countermarching all through the day on the other side of the
river, and didn’t cross over till just at night to help in the
bloody business, if it must be undertaken, I do not know
either. Indeed I don’t know anything hardly save that I am sick
at such a destruction of noble human lives, necessary or unnecessary, useful or useless.
Personally, dear Republican, I was not much in the fight
except to be under the shell fire a considerable part of the day
in my anxiety to reach my regiment, and failing that to get as
near as possible, as a spectator of the terrible scene. Sick for
two weeks of a fever and diarrhoea, I heard the heavy firing of
Thursday from a hospital ten miles distant, got permission
from the surgeon in charge to mount a U.S. wagon laden with
medical stores and start for the regiment. But the fearful roads
of corduroy under a foot or two of mud, and the feeble state of
the teams living for weeks on half forage, hindered us, and
prevented your correspondent from reaching his post till the
day after the battle. And doubtless the sight of the poor remnants of his regiment—one hundred men only reported for
Sa muel W. Fisk e
25
duty—and of his brigade, not enough to make half a regiment
—and then not having been in the scene where the change
was effected, have come over his feelings more powerfully than
would otherwise have been the case, and given a sad tinge to
what he ever wishes to write cheerfully. For God is over all,
and even this thing is right, and shall come out in a result of
good, sometime. God grant we may see it!
December 17: Night before last, quietly and without disturbance from the enemy, we evacuated Fredericksburg, and
marched back to our respective old camps on this side the
Rappahannock. In the darkness and through the deep mud
the tired soldiers plodded wearily on their way, and then on
their arrival were obliged to lie down on the ground and make
the best of a rainy winter’s night, before they could proceed to
arrange themselves any comfortable quarters. Let us hope that
the shattered divisions that bore the brunt of the fatal fight
behind Fredericksburg may be left to a little rest before meeting any more of the horrors of a winter’s campaign in this terrible country. Oh for a month of that beautiful weather that
we wasted in the autumn. We hear rumors of the capture of
Fort Darling and of Richmond, but do not credit it. If it only
could be so, and that our desperate attack at Fredericksburg
could have the excuse of being a part of the preconcerted plan
to occupy the attention of the enemy and keep his forces here,
it would much relieve many sore and discouraged hearts.
We brought off all our wounded from the city, and have left
little that is valuable on the other side, save our unburied heroes on the field of battle. The pontoon bridges too are saved
and ready to throw across again, and our heavy artillery command the passage of the river at any time, I suppose.
Dunn Browne
December 15 and 17, 1862
bat t le of stone s river :
t e n n e s s e e , d e c e m be r 1 8 6 2 – j a n ua r y 1 8 6 3
Ira S. Owens: from
Greene County in the War
On December 26, 1862, the Union Army of the Cumberland under
William S. Rosecrans began advancing from Nashville toward Braxton
Bragg’s Army of Tennessee at Murfreesboro, thirty miles to the
southeast. By December 30 Rosecrans and his army of 42,000 men
faced Bragg and 35,000 Confederates along Stones River outside of
Murfreesboro. Bragg struck first on December 31 and nearly succeeded in breaking the Union line west of the river. After a lull on
New Year’s Day, the battle resumed on January 2 when the Confederates attacked the Union positions east of the river without success.
Bragg ordered a retreat on January 3, allowing the North to claim
victory. The battle of Stones River (or Murfreesboro) cost the Union
12,906 men killed, wounded, or missing, and the Confederacy 11,739.
Corporal Ira S. Owens of the 74th Ohio Infantry recalled the fighting
in an 1874 regimental history.
On the 26th of December 1862 we received orders to march
to Murfreesboro, Tennessee, where the rebels were in strong
force. Accordingly we packed up and started, the Army of the
Cumberland moving at the same time. We were then going to
our first battle. We had not marched far before it began to rain
and rained very hard. We marched on through the mud and
rain until nearly night, when we halted within two miles of
Nashville. We had prepared our suppers and eaten them, and
were preparing to spend the night by spreading our blankets
on the ground for beds, when the bugle sounded and we were
ordered to fall in. Then we marched some two or three miles
farther, passing through the town of Nolensville, and halted in
the woods. It will be remembered that we had neither shelter
tents nor gum blankets, consequently we were exposed to all
the rain, which continued nearly all night, so that we had to sit
up nearly the whole time. The next day we advanced on toward
26
Ir a S. Owens
27
Murfreesboro, skirmishing in front, as they had been all the
day before. Colonel Moody urging us on, telling us if we did
not hurry up the battle would be over before we should get
there. We marched on until we came to the Nashville pike,
some eight or nine miles from Murfreesboro. We halted just at
night wet, cold and hungry. It was not long, however, before
we had a fire built of rails, and after getting warm and dry we
became tolerably comfortable. After getting and eating our
suppers we prepared to spend the night. After spreading our
blankets down on the ground around the fire we addressed
ourselves to sleep. During the night the fire popped out on
blankets and burned several large holes in them. Rained some
during the night. The next day the being Sunday, we rested
and spread out our blankets to dry.
Monday, the 29th, the regiment advanced toward Murfreesboro, except Company C, which was ordered back to Nolensville, to guard some teams which were sent back for part of the
baggage, which was left behind, owing to the bad condition of
the roads. We arrived at Nolensville, and loaded the teams, and
started back. We had left the town but a short time when it
was entered by some rebel scouts and plundered of everything.
Had we remained an hour longer, in all probability, we should
all have been captured. We arrived at the place where we left
the regiment, but they had gone on; so we halted and remained
all night, and the next morning we advanced toward Murfreesboro, where we found the regiment in line of battle, and
skirmishing going on in front. We remained in line through
the day and until about 11 o’clock at night, our position being
on the center, amid a thick growth of cedars. About 11 o’clock
at night we were ordered out to support a battery in front. We
remained in line until morning. It was quite cool, and the
ground considerably frozen. I had lost my knapsack, putting it
in a wagon the day we arrived on the battle ground, and never
saw it any more. Consequently I had neither coat nor blanket.
I suffered very much during the night with cold. Could not lie
down but a few minutes at a time, and dare not go back to the
fire, rebels being but a few yards in. I was chilled through and
exposed to the enemy, there being no breastworks. It was
considered a mark of cowardice to get behind anything to fight.
Had the same policy been adopted then as was toward the close
28
L a st Full Me a sur e of De vot ion
of the war, that is, of building works, a great many lives might
have been saved. About 6 o’clock on the morning of the 31st of
December, we were relieved by the 37th Indiana Volunteer
Infantry. We returned where the regiment lay the day previous, and commenced breakfast, but did not have time to eat
it before we were ordered into line. Not having time to drink
my coffee, I poured it into my canteen, and swung it around
my neck. We marched out to fight, forming double column at
half distance. We advanced a short distance, when we formed
line and were ordered to lie down. Then it was that the balls
and the shrieking shells came whistling over us, and there were
to be seen batteries wheeling into position, orderlies riding
back and forth, horses without riders, while the yelling of the
rebels like so many fiends, and the roar of artillery and musketry, filled the air with horrid din. The battle was raging
fiercely. In a short time we were ordered to arise and move
forward. We accordingly moved forward in line a few yards,
and were then ordered to halt, make ready, aim—fire. Then
the Seventy-Fourth opened its first fire on the enemy. For a
description of the battle of Stone River, and an account of the
same, I refer the reader to “Rosecrans’ Campaign with the 14th
Army Corps.” I was kneeling in a fence corner, loading and
firing when we received orders to move to the left to make
room for a battery. When I was just in the act of rising, I felt
something hit me on the leg, which did not produce much
pain at the time, only a smarting sensation. I thought I would
say nothing about it. However it began to grow stiff, and I had
not proceeded but a short distance before I had to call for
help. I was then helped off the field.
We went back the same way we came. But it was getting
to be a hot place in the rear. Balls and shells were flying thick
and fast around us, striking trees, and cutting off leaves and
branches. The rebels were getting around, and we scarcely
knew which way to go, for fear of running right into their
midst. At last we got out to the pike. On our way we stopped
in an old building where several of our wounded boys were.
The rebels soon commenced shelling us; so we had to get away
as fast as we could. We proceeded about half a mile, when we
were overtaken by some ambulances, where I was taken in and
taken to the field hospital, five miles distant. Some of the boys
Ir a S. Owens
29
who read this will remember the field hospital at the brick
house, near Stewart’s creek. It was impossible to supply all the
wounded with tents. Rails were hauled and thrown in piles
similar to farmers when they wish to build fence, and large fires
built apart. The wounded were brought and lain by these fires.
Men were wounded in every conceivable way, some with their
arms shot off, some wounded in the body, some in the head. It
was heart-rending to hear their cries and groans. One poor
fellow who was near me was wounded in the head. He grew
delirious during the night, and would very frequently call his
mother. He would say: “Mother, O, Mother, come and help
me!” The poor fellow died before morning with no mother
near, to soothe him in his dying moments, or wipe the cold
sweat from off his brow. I saw the surgeons amputate limbs,
then throw the quivering flesh into a pile. Every once in a
while a man would stretch himself out and die. Next morning
rows of men were laid out side by side ready for the soldier’s
burial. No weeping friends stood around, no coffin and hearse
to bear them away to the grave, no funeral orations delivered;
but there, away from home and kindred, they were wrapped in
the soldiers’ blanket, a trench dug, and their bodies placed side
by side, like they fought, a few shovelfulls of earth thrown
upon them, when they were left alone.
“his wif e cry ing over him”:
m i s s o u r i , f e br ua r y 1 8 6 3
Taylor Peirce to Catharine Peirce
Union forces were able to prevent Missouri from seceding in 1861,
but the state remained bitterly divided between unionists and secessionists and became the scene of the fiercest guerrilla conflict of the
war. Although the Union victory at Pea Ridge, Arkansas, in March
1862 halted Confederate attempts to invade the state, Confederate
irregulars in Missouri continued to harass Union troops with ambushes and raids. Taylor Peirce mustered into the 22nd Iowa Infantry
as a sergeant in August 1862 and was soon sent to southern Missouri,
where his regiment guarded railroad lines, supply depots, and wagon
trains. He wrote to his wife from the Ozarks describing the summary
treatment often meted out to suspected guerrillas.
Eminince, Mo Feby 16 1863
Dear Catharine
I again set down to write you all again. I wrote you last week
but the mails are so irregular in this region that I do not know
how long it will take this to reach you but Col Stone and the
Chaplain leaves this for Rolla to-morrow and I think you will
get it in about 6 or 7 days. I am well and in good heart. We
have been on the move for 3 weeks except 3 or 4 days that we
lay at West Plains. We are now about 60 miles from Rolla and
will Either go to Rolla or to Pilot Knob. One Division of the
army started this morning to the Knob and we will either start
for that place or Rolla to morrow. The rebles are all gone from
this country except some few Gurrillas and them we gather up
as we go along and shoot them. They are a set of murderers
and are not fit to live to encumber society. Some of the cavalry
took one yesterday morning who has shot at Gen Bentons
Courier the night before not knowing that the cavalry was
about. So yesterday morning they caught him in his house and
took him out about a mile and shot him. When we came along
he was lying by the side of the road and his wife crying over
30
31
Tay l or Peirce
him but she was no better than he for she kept on swearing
vengence against the Federals and said she would make them
kiss his blood and so we left her. It looks hard to me to see a
man shot and his wife and children left alone but these men
are the ones that keep up the cruelties that are continually
being practiced in this part of Missouri.
We have been traveling through the Ozark mountain ever
since the 1st of this month and a rough country it is. There is
some pretty vallies in through them and now and then a very
good settlement along some stream but the land is generally
stony and poor covered with oak and yellow Pine. Some of the
timber is very good and some day will be valuable. We are now
on the Currant River some 25 miles from the Arkansas line and
3 miles from Eminence a town with one house and a court
house and jail in it and an old mill which constitutes the whole
town. I have been running a mile for two or three days grinding corn for the brigade as our rations have run short and the
roads are so bad that our supplies can not reach us and we
have been on 1/2 rations for some time. But I have enough to
eat all the time and more than I need but some of the large
eaters grow terribly about it. I expect that we will have short
allowances until we get to the Rail Road for the trains can not
reach us through this god forsaken country.
Lieutenant Murray starts home in the morning and has
promised to call and see you and tell you how I get along and
what I am doing. And if it is possible for you to get your pictures taken I mean Cyrus & Mary & thine and the babys I
would like you to send it by him. The paymaster has come and
has paid me my money and as soon as I get to the Express office I will express it home.
I would send it by Murray but the Col thinks that it will be
safer to keep it until we get to the office as they might be attacked by a forrageing party and robed as they will only have a
small escort with them. So I concluded to keep it with me
untill we get to the Rail Road. Cap Ault and I have fell out and
I do not hold any communication with him any more than
just what is nessessary for me to have to do my duty. He has
shown himself just as damned a dog as lives and if he was not
afraid of me he would be overbearing as the devil himself but
I have the upper hand and he has to keep mum. The Lt can
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L a st Full Me a sur e of De vot ion
tell you about it and so you need not fear for me but I will get
along all right. I must now close for we will have to march in
the morning and of course the time is precious with me. Give
my love to all. Tell the children to be good and Pap will try
and get home to see them this spring. Give Cyrus my best respects and tell him he could make some money following the
army and buying up the worn out horses and mules and if I
get my commission to raise the negroes I will come home and
put him on the track.
I remain affect your husband father and brother.
Taylor Peirce
“ t h e n a t i o n ’ s i d o l” :
n o rt h c a r o l i n a , m ay 1 8 6 3
Catherine Edmondston:
Diary, May 11, 1863
In the battle of Chancellorsville, May 1–4, 1863, Lee defeated Joseph
Hooker in a series of engagements that cost the Union about 17,000
men killed, wounded, or missing and the Confederates about 13,000.
Among the Confederate dead was Lee’s most famous subordinate,
Lieutenant General Thomas J. (Stonewall) Jackson, who was accidentally shot by his own men on the night of May 2 after leading his
corps in a successful attack on the exposed right flank of the Army of
the Potomac. Catherine Edmondston learned of Jackson’s death at
her plantation home in Halifax, North Carolina.
May 11, 1863
Went out Hascosea after dinner with Mr E on horseback.
Everything is terribly backward there. The garden wants work
& the flowers resent the neglect by refusing to bloom. A little
girl ran out from the house of one of our neighbours & stopped
us to ask for some flowers for their May party next Friday.
Promised to send them, much to her gratification. Ah! me
what happiness have May Queen’s conferred on me in times
gone by & what a contrast to the times does a Queen of May
now present.
The mail came in after tea & heavy news it brought us. A chill
went through my heart as Mr Edmondston unfolded the paper
& I saw that it was in mourning. I felt that Jackson was dead! &
so it proved! He died of pneumonia on Sunday the 10th, eight
days after the amputation of his arm, died in the fulness of his
reputation, the brightness of his glory, a Christian patriot, unselfish, untiring, with no thought but for his country, no aim
but for her advancement. I have no heart to write more, tho the
paper is full of news. I care for nothing but him. It is as tho a
Divine voice has said again “Little children keep yourselves
from idols.” He was the nation’s idol, not a breath even from a
foe has ever been breathed against his fame. His very enemies
reverenced him. God has taken him from us that we may lean
more upon Him, feel that He can raise up to Himself instruments to work His Divine Will.
33
m o u r n i n g s t o n e wa l l j a c k s o n :
k e n t u c k y, m ay 1 8 6 3
Edward O. Guerrant: Diary, May 15, 1863
Captain Edward O. Guerrant was a native Kentuckian who served as
an adjutant to Brigadier General Humphrey Marshall, the commander of Confederate forces in the mountains of southwestern
Virginia and eastern Kentucky. Guerrant had just returned to southeastern Kentucky from a visit to Richmond, Virginia, when he learned
of Jackson’s death. The text printed here is taken from a typescript
transcription of Guerrant’s diary that contains three short gaps in the
May 15, 1863, entry. The missing words are “May 10,” “May 11,” and
“Groveton.”)
Friday 15h. May 1863.
Today returned to Col. Hawkins’ camps on Rock House.
Williams of the battery just returned from Abingdon—Says
General Jackson is Dead!
General Jackson is Dead!
Was a nation’s woe ever condensed in so few words—or a
people’s calamity so far beyond language to express!? O Fate
“That is the unkindest stroke of all”! All other losses we have
ever sustained are light in comparison with this great calamity.
So mighty a warrior,—so dauntless a spirit, so pure a patriot &
so devoted a Christian!—A nations homage lay at his feet—its
honors crown his brow. We have not another Jackson to die!
Centuries are slow in the birth of such men. The Christian
Napoleon! A greater than Alexander is dead. If a nation’s
prayers & tears could have availed anything at a Throne of
Mercy then “Stonewall” Jackson had not died! But God called
him up higher—& in the ranks of a mightier army, & almost
peerless in that innumerable host—stands our great Warrior.
The fire of his genius will no longer lead his invincible legions
to certain victory,—& the scream of his exultant Eagles will no
more echo along the bloody banks of the Rappahannock, or by
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Edwa r d O. Guer r a nt
the bosom of the Potomac or in the beautiful Valley of the
Shenandoah—his own sweet “Valley of Virginia”. But the
memory of his deeds—his immortal deeds still lives—& will
live while genius has an admirer—liberty a devotee—Christ a
follower—or Nobility a friend & patron. If human sacrifices
could have shielded his life from death’s fatal stroke—a thousand
—yea ten thousand lives would have been offered up on War’s
bloody altar that “Stonewall” Jackson might live.
But God’s Eternal & wise decree has gone forth & called
from the head of his veteran warriors the great commander—&
He will provide another whose arm he will strengthen to drive
the invaders from our soil. In Jackson’s beautiful, christian
resignation let us bow to the Divine decree & say “Thy will be
done”. From the ashes of the immortal Jackson the Genius of
Liberty will rise triumphant over death and place a nation &
its Great Benefactor beyond the malice or power of enemies—
on the tablet of an enduring fame.
We weep over our loss—& rejoice we had such a man to die.
Jackson dead is worth 10000 Hookers living. We cannot estimate our loss—It is great beyond degree. The Richmond Enquirer says we had better lost a Corps of our Army. Northern
journals pay him the highest honors—acknowledging the terror of his very name—his great genius—his invincibility—
& the meekness & purity of his christian character. He is styled
the Modern Bonaparte. McClellan grieved over his loss—
& acknowledged him to have been our greatest Executive General. He possessed more than any of our Generals, the love &
confidence of our people. They idolized “Stonewall” Jackson.
God’s purposes are wise to have removed him. “He gave &
hath taken away”.
While reconnoitering—with Gen. A. P. Hill & both their
staffs &c. in the night of Saturday 2 May Genl. Jackson was
wounded by one of his own Regiments (a N.C. Regt) on
Picket—& not 50 yards from the Enemy. He received two
wounds in his left arm & one in his right hand. He came near
bleeding to death on the field. While being borne off by four
men one of them was killed & he fell from the other’s shoulders & was severely hurt. His arm was amputated—but Pneumonia setting in terminated his life at Guinnea’s Station on the
Rappahannock R.R. on ​ ​ ​ ​at 3 1/4 P.M.
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Before his death he was cheerful—. Expressed the opinion
that if he had been permitted another hour of light or life on
that great battle day he would have cut off Hooker’s retreat by
U.S. Ford. He died delirious—his last words referring to his
army. “Tell Gen Hill”, said he “to prepare his division for action, & tell Major Hawkes to send forward provisions for the
men.”—
His remains were brought to Richmond on ​ ​ ​ ​where they
received every honor an admiring & sorrowful people could
bestow on all that was mortal of the illustrious dead. It is estimated that at least twenty thousand people crowded the avenues of the National Capitol—where he was laid in state—to
behold the pallid, serene, & thoughtful countenance of the
mighty, dead chieftain. He expressed a desire to be buried at
“Lexington—in the Valley of Virginia”; his place of residence.
Gen Ewell, who commanded a Division under him & lost
his leg at the battle of ​ ​ ​ ​was Genl. Jacksons choice as his
successor.
It is proposed to have a bronze statue of Jackson placed in
the Capitol at Richmond—that all may see the likeness of the
man whose “fame is more enduring than brass”—upon whose
living form they never looked. It will be a Mecca for generations to come.
As usual after some terrible defeat Mr. Lincoln has taken to
his usual resort—more men. This time he caps the climax by
calling all the armbearing population of the North into the
field to “suppress the rebellion”.
A grand rise from 75,000 to 4,000,000 of men!
If Thirteen Hundred & Eighty Five Thousand armed warriors are incompetent for our subjugation—what virtue is
there in numbers such as his! Xerxes stands in awe at Lincoln’s
Abolition host 4,000,000 He never boasted half of that.
Poor Mr. Lincoln.—When will the scales of his judicial
blindness fall from his eye as he beats his obstinate, Balaams
numerical horse, & reveal the angel warrior with his retributive
sword standing to stay him!? Poor man!
b a t t l e o f m i l l i k e n ’ s be n d :
louisiana, june 1863
Matthew M. Miller to His Aunt
One of the first battles of the war to involve significant numbers of
black troops was fought on June 7 when 1,500 Confederates attacked
the Union supply depot at Milliken’s Bend, Louisiana, in an attempt
to disrupt the siege of Vicksburg. The position was defended by
about 1,000 men from the 23rd Iowa Infantry and four recently recruited black regiments, the 1st Mississippi Infantry and the 9th, 11th,
and 13th Louisiana Infantry (African Descent), that had not completed their musket training. Although the Confederates succeeded
in driving the defenders back to the riverbank, they broke off their
attack after several hours and retreated under fire from two Union
gunboats. The Confederates lost 175 men killed or wounded, the
Union forces 386. Captain Matthew M. Miller of Galena, Illinois,
described the fighting in a letter that was published in the Galena
Advertiser, reprinted in other newspapers, and included in a preliminary report issued by the American Freedmen’s Inquiry Commission
on June 30, 1863.
Milliken’s Bend, June 10, 1863.
Dear Aunt: We were attacked here on June 7, about 3
o’clock in the morning, by a brigade of Texas troops, about
2,500 in number. We had about 600 men to withstand them,
500 of them negroes. I commanded Company I, Ninth Louisiana. We went into the fight with 33 men. I had 16 killed and
11 badly wounded, 4 slightly. I was wounded slightly on the
head, near the right eye, with a bayonet, and had a bayonet
run through my right hand near the forefinger; that will account for this miserable style of penmanship.
Our regiment had about 300 men in the fight. We had 1
colonel wounded, 4 captains wounded, 2 first and 2 second
lieutenants killed, 5 lieutenants wounded, and 3 white orderlies killed and 1 wounded in the hand and two fingers taken
off. The list of killed and wounded officers comprises nearly
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all the officers present with the regiment, a majority of the rest
being absent recruiting.
We had about 50 men killed in the regiment and 80
wounded, so you can judge of what part of the fight my company sustained. I never felt more grieved and sick at heart
than when I saw how my brave soldiers had been slaughtered,
one with six wounds, all the rest with two or three, none less
than two wounds. Two of my colored sergeants were killed,
both brave, noble men; always prompt, vigilant, and ready for
the fray. I never more wish to hear the expression, “The niggers wont fight.” Come with me 100 yards from where I sit
and I can show you the wounds that cover the bodies of 16 as
brave, loyal, and patriotic soldiers as ever drew bead on a
rebel.
The enemy charged us so close that we fought with our
bayonets hand to hand. I have six broken bayonets to show
how bravely my men fought. The Twenty-third Iowa joined
my company on the right, and I declare truthfully that they
had all fled before our regiment fell back, as we were all compelled to do.
Under command of Colonel Page I led the Ninth and
Eleventh Louisiana when the rifle-pits were retaken and held
by our troops, our two regiments doing the work.
I narrowly escaped death once. A rebel took deliberate aim
at me with both barrels of his gun, and the bullets passed so
close to me that the powder that remained on them burned
my cheek. Three of my men who saw him aim and fire thought
that he wounded me each fire. One of them was killed by my
side, and he fell on me, covering my clothes with his blood,
and before the rebel could fire again I blew his brains out with
my gun.
It was a horrible fight, the worst I was ever engaged in, not
even excepting Shiloh. The enemy cried, “No quarters,” but
some of them were very glad to take it when made prisoners.
Colonel Allen, of the Seventeenth Texas, was killed in front
of our regiment, and Brigadier-General Walker was wounded.
We killed about 180 of the enemy. The gun-boat Choctaw did
good service shelling them. I stood on the breast-works after
we took them, and gave the elevations and direction for the
gun-boat by pointing my sword, and they sent a shell right
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M at t hew M . Miller
into their midst, which sent them in all directions. Three
shells fell there, and 62 rebels lay there when the fight was
over.
My wound is not serious, but troublesome. What few men
I have left seem to think much of me because I stood up with
them in the fight. I can say for them that I never saw a braver
company of men in my life.
Not one of them offered to leave his place until ordered to
fall back; in fact, very few ever did fall back. I went down to
the hospital three miles to-day to see the wounded. Nine of
them were there, two having died of their wounds. A boy I
had cooking for me came and begged a gun when the rebels
were advancing, and took his place with the company, and
when we retook the breast-works I found him badly wounded
with one gunshot and two bayonet wounds. A new recruit I
had issued a gun to the day before the fight was found dead,
with a firm grasp on his gun, the bayonet of which was broken
in three pieces. So they fought and died defending the cause
that we revere. They met death coolly, bravely; not rashly did
they expose themselves, but all were steady and obedient to
orders.
So God has spared me again through many dangers. I cannot tell how it was I escaped.
Your affectionate nephew,
M. M. MILLER
def e at ing pick et t’s ch a rge:
p e n n s y lva n i a , j u ly 1 8 6 3
Henry Livermore Abbott to
Josiah Gardner Abbott
A veteran of Ball’s Bluff, Fair Oaks, the Seven Days, Fredericksburg,
and Chancellorsville, Captain Henry Livermore Abbott commanded
a company in the 20th Massachusetts Infantry. His regiment reached
the Gettysburg battlefield early on July 2 and was posted along with
the rest of the Second Corps at the center of the Union line on Cemetery Ridge. On the afternoon of July 3, as Lee sent about 13,000
men against the Union center, the section of Cemetery Ridge defended by the 20th Massachusetts came under attack by two brigades
from the division commanded by Major General George E. Pickett.
The defeat of the Confederate assault on July 3 ended the battle,
which cost the Confederates about 28,000 men killed, wounded, or
missing, and the Union about 23,000. Among the dead were Colonel
Paul Joseph Revere, the commander of the 20th Massachusetts and a
grandson of the Revolutionary War hero, and Abbott’s friend Lieutenant Henry Ropes, who was killed by the premature explosion of a
Union shell on the morning of July 3.
July 6 / 1863
Near Gettysburg Pa
My dear Papa,
When our great victory was just over, the exultation of victory was so great that one didn’t think of our fearful losses, but
now I cant help feeling a great weight at my heart. Poor Henry
Ropes was one of the dearest friends I ever had or expect to
have. He was one of the purest-minded, noblest, most generous men I ever knew. His loss is terrible. His men actually wept
when they showed me his body, even under the tremendous
cannonade, a time when most soldiers see their comrades
dying around them with indifference. Col. Hall, I believe,
means to mention him in his report. He says that of every
body in the army, Henry was the only one he knew that was
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Henry Liver mor e A bbot t
41
fighting simply from patriotism, & that he would himself almost have given his life to have had Ropes lived to see the
splendid victory he always so earnestly hoped for. I cant cease
to think of him, whenever I am alone, which is pretty frequent
now that we have only 3 left. All our pique against Revere too
had long ceased, since we saw him on the march struggling so
nobly with his physical weakness, & he is regretted as such a
man should be. Then there is poor Macy with a hand gone.
Herbert Mason hit too, with Ropes my most intimate friend
here, two of the finest & bravest officers that ever fought in
this war. Just as he was going off from the hospital, with a
consideration that wounded men going home very rarely feel
for those left, he send me his brandy, tobacco, &c a perfect
God-Send at the time. Patten too, who is going to be mentioned by Col. Hall for the gallantry, with which he held his
outpost, when the skirmishers on both flanks had run, & our
whole fire in the direst confusion had gone over him. In deed
with only two officers besides myself remaining, I cant help
feeling a little spooney when I am thinking, & you know I am
not at all a lachrymose individual in general. However I think
we can run the machine. Our losses are—of 13 officers, 3 killed,
7 wounded. Of 231 enlisted men, 30 killed, 84 wounded, 3
missing, total 117, with officers, aggregate 127. I haven’t time
to give you an account as I have to write to Mr. Ropes, &
John Revere, also to Paines father. (Paine was one of the finest
officers I have ever seen though only 17 years of age). The
enemy, after a morning of quiet on our part of the line, (a little
to the right of the left center) began the most terrific cannonade with a converging fire of 150 pieces that I ever heard in my
life & kept it up for 2 hours, almost entirely disabling our
batteries, killing & wounding over half the officers & men &
silencing most of the guns. The thin line of our division against
which it was directed was very well sheilded by a little rut they
lay in & in front of our brigade by a little pit, just one foot
deep & one foot high, thrown up hastily by one shovel, but
principally by the fact that it is very difficult to hit a single line
of troops, so that the enemy chiefly threw over us with the
intention of disabling the batteries & the reserves which they
supposed to be massed in rear of the batteries in the depression of the hill. In the former object they were successful, in
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the latter they were better than successful. The one brigade
brought up in support had to be retired 2 miles, & no other
reserves could be brought up, for any massing of troops would
under that fire would have proved their own destruction,
without their being of any service to us. No infantry in the
world could have been massed under that fire for half an hour.
The rebels thus left us entirely unsupported & advanced with
perfect confidence, after ceasing their artillery, our artillery
being so well knocked up that only one or two shots were fired
into them which however were very well aimed & we could
see tumble over squads in the rebel lines. Had our batteries
been intact, the rebels would never have got up to our musketry, for they were obliged to come out of the woods & advance from a half to 3/4 of a mile over an open field & in plain
sight. A magnificent sight it was too. Two brigades in two
lines, their skirmishers driving in ours. The moment I saw
them, I knew we should give them Fredericksburg. So did
every body. We let the regiment in front of us get within 100
feet of us, & then bowled them over like nine pins, picking out
the colors first. In two minutes there were only groups of two
or three men running round wildly, like chickens with their
heads off. We were cheering like mad, when Macy directed my
attention to a spot 3 or 4 rods on our right where there were
no pits, only, a rail fence. Baxter’s Pennsylvania men had most
disgracefully broken, & the rebels were within our line. The
order was immediately given to fall back far enough to form
another line & prevent us being flanked. Without however
waiting for that, the danger was so imminent that I had rushed
my company immediately up to the gap, & the regiment & the
rest of the brigade, being there some before & the rest as quick
as they could. The rail fence checked the main advance of the
enemy & they stood, both sides, pegging away into each other.
The rows of dead after the battle, I found to be within 15 and
20 feet apart, as near hand to hand fighting as I ever care to
see. The rebels behaved with as much pluck as any men in the
world could, they stood there against the fence, until they
were nearly all shot down. The rebels batteries, seeing how the
thing was going, pitched shell into us, all the time, with great
disregard of their own friends who were so disagreeably near
us. Gen Webb who commands the Philadelphia brigade in his
Henry Liver mor e A bbot t
43
official report has given Hall’s brigade the credit of saving the
day, after his own men had run away. A miserable rowdy named
Hays comdg. the 3rd div. of our corps, who was not engaged at
all in the musketry fire, claims I believe all the credit of the
thing. So look out for false stories in papers. Dont confound
this fellow with Hays comdg the corps, who is said to be a
good officer, & who got up just after the fight, Hancock commanding the corps & Gibbon comdg the div, a splendid officer,
being both wounded. Our lines were something of this form.
The field was mostly open where we all were with scarcely a
perceptible rise, comanded by the rebel side, on the centre a
little wooded still better commanded by the rebel side, on the
right, I am told, wooded & rocky, both parties contending for
the slopes towards us. The mountains facing our left were out
of cannon range. On the right they were not, but I am told, of
such a nature that the rebels could have only got so little artillery into position, that our superior number of batteries would
soon have knocked them into pie, notwithstanding their commanding hight, which accounts for what at first was very
strange to me, why the rebs didn’t shell us out, since the hights
near the right center commanded the entire field around the
centre, where it is very narrow. Moreover our line of retreat
was so narrow that it was easy, if our left was turned to cut us
off from it. Had the rebels driven in our left (they twice tried it
& I have told you how near they came to it,) it would have
been all up with us. The advantages of our position were that
the comdg. general could over look almost the whole line, a
rare thing in this country, & that moving on the chord of the
circle while the enemy moved on the arc, we could reinforce
any part of the line from any other part much quicker than
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they could, an advantage which Meade availed himself of admirably in the first day’s rebel attack, but which their shell fire
prevented him from doing in the second day’s. In person,
Meade is a tall, thin lantern-jawed respectable covey, wearing
spectacles, looking a good sort of a family doctor. Uncle John
Sedgewick, as have most other of our good officers, long ago
told us that McClellan was the first choice, Franklin the 2nd,
& Meade the 3rd. An extremely good officer you see, with no
vanity or nonsense of any kind, knowing just exactly what he
could do & what he couldn’t. Our troops were so elated by the
removal of Hooker, both Generals, line officers & men, & by
the feeling that they were on their own soil, that perhaps they
deserve fully as much credit as the generalship of Meade. I
dont know however. I am afraid Meade would hardly have
conducted an invasion into Va. as well.
I find I am getting a good deal longer than I meant to be, so
I will conclude with asking you to thank mama for the things
she sent. Wm Kelly was delighted & the tobacco for me came
just when I was starting on the march without any. You can
imagine what a godsend it was.
I suppose you have all been suffering a great deal of anxiety,
but how thankful you must be now that certainty doesn’t bring
you the same grief that the Ropes family have. God grant we
may have no bad news from Fletcher. My love of course to all
the family including George & Mary Welch. Tell them to be
sure & write how John is. We miss him terribly.
Your aff. son,
H. L. Abbott
I have had no mail since leaving Falmouth.
“not a m a n f linched”:
s o u t h c a r o l i n a , j u ly 1 8 6 3
Lewis Douglass to Amelia Loguen
Union troops landed on Morris Island in Charleston Harbor on July
10 and made an unsuccessful attack the next day on Fort Wagner at
the island’s northern end. A week later the 54th Massachusetts Infantry, the first black regiment raised by a northern state, led a column of
5,000 men in another assault on the fort. The July 18 attack cost the
54th Massachusetts 272 men killed, wounded, or captured, more than
two-fifths of the regiment. Among the survivors was Sergeant Major
Lewis Douglass, Frederick Douglass’s eldest son, who wrote about
the battle to Amelia Loguen, his future wife.
Morris Island. S. C. July 20
My Dear Amelia: I have been in two fights, and am unhurt.
I am about to go in another I believe to-night. Our men
fought well on both occasions. The last was desperate we
charged that terrible battery on Morris Island known as Fort
Wagoner, and were repulsed with a loss of 300 killed and
wounded. I escaped unhurt from amidst that perfect hail of
shot and shell. It was terrible. I need not particularize the papers will give a better than I have time to give. My thoughts
are with you often, you are as dear as ever, be good enough to
remember it as I no doubt you will. As I said before we are on
the eve of another fight and I am very busy and have just
snatched a moment to write you. I must necessarily be brief.
Should I fall in the next fight killed or wounded I hope to fall
with my face to the foe.
If I survive I shall write you a long letter. DeForrest of your
city is wounded George Washington is missing, Jacob Carter is
missing, Chas Reason wounded Chas Whiting, Chas Creamer
all wounded. The above are in hospital.
This regiment has established its reputation as a fighting
regiment not a man flinched, though it was a trying time. Men
fell all around me. A shell would explode and clear a space of
twenty feet, our men would close up again, but it was no use
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we had to retreat, which was a very hazardous undertaking.
How I got out of that fight alive I cannot tell, but I am here.
My Dear girl I hope again to see you. I must bid you farewell
should I be killed. Remember if I die I die in a good cause. I
wish we had a hundred thousand colored troops we would put
an end to this war. Good Bye to all Your own loving
Write soon
LEWIS
p e n n s y lva n i a , n ov e m be r 1 8 6 3
Abraham Lincoln: Address at Gettysburg
November 19, 1863
In the immediate aftermath of the battle of Gettysburg, Union soldiers and local civilians hastily buried the bodies of about 7,000 men
and burned the carcasses of more than 3,000 horses and mules. David
Wills, a prominent Gettysburg lawyer, was appointed by Governor
Andrew G. Curtin to arrange for the proper reburial of Pennsylvania’s
soldiers. In late July Wills proposed to Curtin that the Union dead be
reburied in a new national cemetery at Gettysburg, a plan eventually
supported by the seventeen northern states that had lost men in the
battle. On November 2 Wills officially invited President Lincoln to
the dedication ceremony and asked him to “formally set apart these
grounds to their Sacred use by a few appropriate remarks.” Lincoln
agreed, and delivered his dedicatory address to an audience of 15,000
to 20,000 people on November 19 following a two-hour oration by
Edward Everett. The text printed here is his final version, prepared in
the spring of 1864 for facsimile reproduction in Autograph Leaves of
Our Country’s Authors, a book published in Baltimore to raise funds
for the U.S. Sanitary Commission.
Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on
this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether
that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can
long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war.
We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final
resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we
should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate—we can not
consecrate—we can not hallow—this ground. The brave
men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated
it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world
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will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it
can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living,
rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which
they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is
rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last
full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that
these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation,
under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that
government of the people, by the people, for the people,
shall not perish from the earth.
“a n d y e t w e m u s t g o o n ” :
v i r g i n i a , j a n ua r y 1 8 6 4
Judith W. McGuire: Diary, January 1, 1864
Judith W. McGuire and her husband, John P. McGuire, the principal
of the Episcopal High School of Virginia, had fled their home in Alexandria in May 1861 when the town was occupied by Union troops.
In February 1862 the McGuires settled in Richmond, where she later
found work as a clerk in the Confederate commissary department. On
New Year’s Day she wrote in her diary about Lieutenant Colonel
Raleigh T. Colston, the son of her sister, Sarah Jane Brockenbrough
Colston. The commander of the 2nd Virginia Infantry, Colston had
his left leg amputated below the knee after being shot at Payne’s Farm
on November 27, 1863, during the Mine Run campaign.
January 1, 1864.—A melancholy pause in my diary. After
returning from church on the night of the 18th, a telegram was
handed me from Professor Minor, of the University of Virginia, saying, “Come at once, Colonel Colston is extremely
ill.” After the first shock was over, I wrote an explanatory note
to Major Brewer, why I could not be at the office next day,
packed my trunk, and was in the cars by seven in the morning.
That evening I reached the University, and found dear R. desperately ill with pneumonia, which so often follows, as in the
case of General Jackson, the amputation of limbs. Surgeons
Davis and Cabell were in attendance, and R’s uncle, Dr. Brockenbrough, arrived the next day. After ten days of watching and
nursing, amid alternate hopes and fears, we saw our friend Dr.
Maupin close our darling’s eyes, on the morning of the 23d;
and on Christmas-day, a military escort laid him among many
brother soldiers in the Cemetery of the University of Virginia.
He died in the faith of Christ, and with the glorious hope of
immortality. His poor mother is heart-stricken, but she, together with his sisters, and one dearer still, had the blessed,
and what is now the rare privilege, of soothing and nursing
him in his last hours. To them, and to us all, his life seemed as
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a part of our own. His superior judgment and affectionate
temper made him the guide of his whole family. To them his
loss can never be supplied. His country has lost one of its earliest and best soldiers. Having been educated at the Virginia
Military Institute, he raised and drilled a company in his native
County of Berkeley, at the time of the John Brown raid. In
1861 he again led that company to Harper’s Ferry. From that
time he was never absent more than a week or ten days from
his command, and even when wounded at Gaines’s Mills, he
absented himself but three days, and was again at his post during the several last days of those desperate fights. His fatal
wound was received in his nineteeth general engagement, in
none of which had he his superior in bravery and devotion to
the cause. He was proud of belonging to the glorious Stonewall Brigade, and I have been told by those who knew the circumstances, that he was confided in and trusted by General
Jackson to a remarkable degree.
Thus we bury, one by one, the dearest, the brightest, the
best of our domestic circles. Now, in our excitement, while
we are scattered, and many of us homeless, these separations
are poignant, nay, overwhelming; but how can we estimate the
sadness of heart which will pervade the South when the war is
over, and we are again gathered together around our family
hearths and altars, and find the circles broken? One and another gone. Sometimes the father and husband, the beloved
head of the household, in whom was centred all that made life
dear. Again the eldest son and brother of the widowed home,
to whom all looked for guidance and direction; or, perhaps,
that bright youth, on whom we had not ceased to look as still
a child, whose fair, beardless cheek we had but now been in
the habit of smoothing with our hands in fondness—one to
whom mother and sisters would always give the good-night
kiss, as his peculiar due, and repress the sigh that would arise at
the thought that college or business days had almost come to
take him from us. And then we will remember the mixed feeling
of hope and pride when we first saw this household pet don his
jacket of gray and shoulder his musket for the field; how we
would be bright and cheerful before him, and turn to our
chambers to weep oceans of tears when he is fairly gone. And
does he, too, sleep his last sleep? Does our precious one fill a
Judi t h W. McGuir e
51
hero’s grave? O God! help us, for the wail is in the whole land!
“Rachel weeping for her children, and will not be comforted,
because they are not.” In all the broad South there will be
scarcely a fold without its missing lamb, a fireside without its
vacant chair. And yet we must go on. It is our duty to rid our
land of invaders; we must destroy the snake which is endeavouring to entwine us in its coils, though it drain our heart’s
blood. We know that we are right in the sight of God, and that
we must
“With patient mind our course of duty run.
God nothing does, or suffers to be done,
But we would do ourselves, if we could see
The end of all events as well as He.”
The Lord reigneth, be the earth never so unquiet.
“ h e be h av e d s o br av e ” :
wa s h i n g t o n , d . c . , m ay 1 8 6 5
Walt Whitman: from Specimen Days
Walt Whitman left Brooklyn and traveled to northern Virginia in December 1862 when he learned that his brother George had been
wounded at Fredericksburg. After discovering that his brother’s
wound was slight, Whitman accompanied a group of wounded soldiers
to Washington. He stayed in the capital for most of the remainder of
the war, visiting military hospitals while working as a government
clerk. In Specimen Days (1882) Whitman printed a letter he wrote to
the mother of a soldier who had been wounded near Petersburg.
52
Wa lt Whi tm a n
53
Biographical Notes
Henry Livermore Abbott (January 21, 1842–May 6, 1864) Born in
Lowell, Massachusetts, the son of a lawyer active in Democratic politics. Graduated from Harvard College in 1860 and began studying
law in his father’s office. Commissioned second lieutenant, 20th Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry Regiment, July 10, 1861. Formed close
friendship with his fellow officer Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. Fought
at Ball’s Bluff. Promoted to first lieutenant, November 1861. Fought at
Fair Oaks and in the Seven Days’ Battles, where he was wounded in
the arm at Glendale. Older brother Edward killed at Cedar Mountain. Fought at Fredericksburg (December 1862 and May 1863) and
Gettysburg; promoted to captain, December 1862, and major, October 1863. Became acting commander of the 20th Massachusetts after
all of the regimental officers senior to him were killed or wounded
at Gettysburg. Led the regiment at Briscoe Station and fought at
Mine Run and at the battle of the Wilderness, where he was fatally
wounded on May 6, 1864.
Sullivan Ballou (March 28, 1827–July 28, 1861) Born in Smithfield,
Rhode Island, the son of a merchant tailor. Educated at Brown University and the National Law School in Ballston Spa, New York. Admitted to Rhode Island bar in 1853 and began practice in Woon­socket.
Served as clerk of the Rhode Island house of representatives, 1854–56.
Married Sarah Hart Shumway in 1855. Served in the Rhode Island
house of representatives, 1857–59. Unsuccessful Republican candidate
for state attorney general, April 1861. Commissioned as major of 2nd
Rhode Island Infantry, June 11, 1861. Hit by cannon shot at First
Battle of Bull Run, July 21, 1861, and had leg amputated. Died of
wounds at Sudley, Virginia, a week after the battle.
Sallie Brock (March 18, 1831–March 22, 1911) Born Sarah Ann Brock in
Madison County, Virginia, the daughter of a hotel owner. Moved with
her family to Richmond in 1858. Began working as a tutor in King and
Queen County, Virginia, in 1860, but returned to Richmond in 1861 and
remained there for the duration of the war. Moved to New York City in
1865. Published Richmond During the War: Four Years of Personal Observations (1867). Edited The Southern Amaranth (1869), collection of poetry about the Confederacy and the war, and published a novel, Kenneth,
My King (1873). Married Richard F. Putnam in 1882. Died in Brooklyn.
54
Biogr a phic a l Not e s
55
Emily Dickinson (December 10, 1830–May 15, 1886) Born in Amherst, Massachusetts, the daughter of a lawyer. Attended Mount
Holyoke Female Seminary in South Hadley, Massachusetts, 1847–48.
Returned to family home and lived there for the remainder of her life,
rarely leaving except for trips to Washington, D.C., where her father
served in Congress as a Whig, 1853–55, to Philadelphia in 1855, and to
Boston and Cambridge in 1864–65. Composed over 1,700 brief lyric
poems, most intensively in the years 1859–65; only a few were published during her lifetime, primarily in the Springfield Daily Republican, most without her consent and in heavily edited form. Initiated
correspondence in April 1862 with writer, reformer, and abolitionist
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, who later commanded the 1st South
Carolina Volunteers, the first black regiment in the Union army. They
exchanged letters for more than twenty years. In later years she rarely
left her house. Fell ill in June 1884, and never fully recovered. Died
in Amherst.
Lewis Douglass (October 9, 1840–September 19, 1908) Born in
New Bedford, Massachusetts, oldest son of abolitionist Frederick
Douglass and Anna Murray Douglass. Moved with family in 1848 to
Rochester, New York, where he attended public schools and later
worked as a printer for Frederick Douglass’ Paper and Douglass’
Monthly. Along with his brother Charles, enlisted in the 54th Massachusetts Infantry in March 1863. Promoted to sergeant major in
April. Fought at Fort Wagner. Given medical discharge on May 10,
1864, after months of illness. Moved to Denver, Colorado, with
brother Frederick in 1866 and worked as secretary for a mining
company. Returned east in 1869 to work in the Government Printing Office in Washington, D.C. Married Amelia Loguen in 1869.
Assisted father in editing and publishing weekly Washington newspaper The New National Era, 1870–74. Served on legislative council
for the District of Columbia, 1872–73, and as assistant U.S. marshal
for the District, 1877–81. Began successful real estate business. Died
in Washington.
Catherine Edmondston (October 10, 1823–January 3, 1875) Born
Catherine Ann Devereux in Halifax County, North Carolina, the
daughter of a plantation owner. Married Patrick Edmondston in
1846. Lived on Looking Glass, plantation in Halifax County. Published pamphlet The Morte d’Arthur: Its Influence on the Spirit and
Manners of the Nineteenth Century (1872), in which she accused the
Union army of barbarism. Died in Raleigh.
Samuel J. English Enlisted for three years in the 2nd Rhode Island
Infantry at Providence in June 1861. Fought at First Bull Run in July
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L a st Full Me a sur e of De vot ion
1861. Promoted to second lieutenant, November 1861, first lieutenant, July 1862, and captain, February 1863. Served as company commander before mustering out in June 1864.
Samuel W. Fiske (July 23, 1828–May 22, 1864) Born in Shelburne,
Massachusetts. Graduated from Amherst College in 1848. Taught
school, studied for three years at the Andover Theological Seminary,
then returned to Amherst in 1853 as a tutor. Traveled in Europe and
the Middle East. Published Dunn Browne’s Experiences in Foreign
Parts (1857), travel letters written to the Springfield Republican under
a nom de plume. Became pastor of the Congregational church in
Madison, Connecticut, in 1857. Married Elizabeth Foster in 1858. Became second lieutenant in the 14th Connecticut Infantry in August
1862. Signing himself Dunn Browne, wrote weekly letters to the
Springfield Republican describing campaigns and camp life (collected
in 1866 under the title Mr. Dunn Browne’s Experiences in the Army).
Served at Antietam and Fredericksburg. Promoted to captain in early
1863. Captured at Chancellorsville on May 3, 1863, he was paroled in
late May and exchanged in June. Served at Gettysburg. Wounded in
the battle of the Wilderness on May 6, 1864, and died in Fredericksburg, Virginia.
Edward O. Guerrant (February 28, 1838–April 26, 1916). Born in
Sharpsburg, Kentucky, the son of a physician. Graduated from Centre
College in Danville, Kentucky, in 1860. Briefly attended Danville
Seminary and taught school in Flat Creek. Enlisted as private in the
Confederate 1st Battalion Kentucky Mounted Rifles at Gladesville,
Virginia, in February 1862. Became clerk on staff of Brigadier General
Humphrey Marshall, the Confederate commander in southwestern
Virginia, and was commissioned as his assistant adjutant general in
December 1862. Continued his staff duties under Marshall’s successors
William Preston, John S. Williams, and John Hunt Morgan, serving in
southwestern Virginia, eastern Kentucky, and northeastern Tennessee
and seeing action in several engagements. Surrendered in eastern Kentucky in late April 1865. Studied medicine at Jefferson Medical College,
Philadelphia, and Bellevue Hospital, New York. Established medical
practice in Mount Sterling, Kentucky, in 1867. Married Mary Jane
DeVault in 1868. Entered Union Theological Seminary at HampdenSydney College in Virginia in 1873 and was licensed as a Presbyterian
preacher in 1875. Served as minister of the First Presbyterian Church in
Louisville, 1879–82. Appointed by the Kentucky Synod in 1882 as
evangelist to eastern Kentucky. Became minister of churches in Troy
and Wilmore in 1885. Contributed two articles to the Century Magazine “Battles and Leaders of the Civil War” series. Helped establish
Biogr a phic a l Not e s
57
several schools in eastern Kentucky. Published Bloody Breathitt (1890),
The Soul Winner (1896), Forty Years Among the Highlanders (1905),
The Galax Gatherers: The Gospel among the Highlanders (1910), and The
Gospel of the Lilies (1912). Founded the Inland Mission, also known as
the Society of Soul Winners, in 1897 to continue evangelical work in
Appalachia. Died in Douglas, Georgia.
Abraham Lincoln (February 12, 1809–April 15, 1865) Born near
Hodgenville, Kentucky, the son of a farmer and carpenter. Family
moved to Indiana in 1816 and to Illinois in 1830. Settled in New
Salem, Illinois, and worked as a storekeeper, surveyor, and postmaster. Served as a Whig in the state legislature, 1834–41. Began law
practice in 1836 and moved to Springfield in 1837. Married Mary Todd
in 1842. Elected to Congress as a Whig and served from 1847 to
1849. Became a public opponent of the extension of slavery after the
passage of the Kansas-Nebraska Act in 1854. Helped found the Republican Party of Illinois in 1856. Campaigned in 1858 for Senate seat
held by Stephen A. Douglas and debated him seven times on the
slavery issue; although the Illinois legislature reelected Douglas, the
campaign brought Lincoln national prominence. Received Republican presidential nomination in 1860 and won election in a four-way
contest; his victory led to the secession of seven southern states. Responded to the Confederate bombardment of Fort Sumter by calling
up militia, proclaiming the blockade of southern ports, and suspending habeas corpus. Issued preliminary and final emancipation proclamations on September 22, 1862, and January 1, 1863. Appointed
Ulysses S. Grant commander of all Union forces in March 1864. Won
reelection in 1864 by defeating Democrat George B. McClellan. Died
in Washington, D.C., after being shot by John Wilkes Booth.
Judith W. McGuire (March 19, 1813–March 21, 1897) Born Judith
White Brockenbrough near Richmond, Virginia, the daughter of a
judge. Married John P. McGuire, an Episcopalian rector, in 1846.
Moved to Alexandria in 1852 when husband became principal of the
Episcopal High School of Virginia. Fled Alexandria in May 1861 and
settled in Richmond in February 1862. Worked as a clerk in the
Confederate commissary department, November 1863–April 1864.
Published Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War (1867).
Kept a school with her husband in Essex County in the 1870s. Published General Robert E. Lee: The Christian Soldier (1873). Died in
Richmond.
Herman Melville (August 1, 1819–September 28, 1891) Born in New
York City, the son of a merchant. Educated at schools in New York
City and in upstate New York. Worked as bank clerk, bookkeeper, and
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L a st Full Me a sur e of De vot ion
schoolteacher. Sailed for Pacific on whaling ship in 1841 and returned
in 1844 on frigate United States. Published Typee (1846) and Omoo
(1847), fictionalized accounts of his experiences in the South Seas.
Married Elizabeth Shaw in 1847. Published Mardi (1849), Redburn
(1849), White-Jacket (1850), Moby-Dick (1851), Pierre; or, The Ambiguities (1852), Israel Potter (1855), The Piazza Tales (1856), and The
Confidence-Man (1857). Visited Union lines in Virginia in spring
1864. Published poetry collection Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War
(1866). Worked as customs inspector in New York City, 1866–85.
Published long poem Clarel (1876) and two small books of poetry,
John Marr and Other Sailors (1888) and Timoleon (1891). Died in New
York City, leaving Billy Budd, Sailor, in manuscript.
Matthew M. Miller (November 28, 1840–1918) Born in Galena,
Illinois. Attended Yale College but left school to enlist as a private
in the 45th Illinois Volunteers. Fought at Shiloh. Promoted to first
lieutenant, June 1862, and became captain of Company I, 9th Louisiana (African Descent) Infantry, November 1862. Fought at Milliken’s Bend. Mustered out in May 1865. Returned to Illinois and
practiced law. Married Anna Florence Woodbury in Boston in 1873.
Moved to Kansas, where he died.
Ira S. Owens (March 1, 1830–February 19, 1913) Born in Greene
County, Ohio. Enlisted in October 1861 from Xenia, Ohio, in the
74th Ohio Infantry as a private. Wounded in the left leg on December 31, 1862, at battle of Stones River (Murfreesboro), his only
engagement. Reenlisted in January 1864, promoted to corporal,
January 1865, and discharged in July 1865. Resumed farming in
Montgomery County, Ohio. Later became a merchant and public notary. Published Greene County in the War (1872) and Greene
County Soldiers in the Late War (1884). Died in Dayton, Ohio.
Taylor Peirce (July 20, 1822–November 21, 1901) Born in Chester
County, Pennsylvania. Married Catharine Milner in York County,
Pennsylvania, in 1846. Traveled to Iowa to trade with Fox and Sac
Indians. Became farm laborer in Iowa in 1850. Enlisted in 22nd Iowa
Infantry at Newton in August 1862 and became sergeant in Company C. Served in southern Missouri, in the Vicksburg campaign,
and in southern Louisiana and coastal Texas. Sent with regiment to
the Shenandoah Valley in August 1864 and fought at Winchester
and Cedar Creek. Served with regiment on garrison duty at Savannah, Georgia, and Morehead City, North Carolina, in winter and
spring of 1865. Returned after the war to Des Moines, Iowa, where
his wife died in 1867. Served as city clerk of Des Moines, 1871–79,
and city auditor, 1874–77. Married Eliza Ann Van Horn in 1873.
Biogr a phic a l Not e s
59
After 1879 worked in grain business and in a plow factory. Died in
Des Moines.
Walt Whitman (May 31, 1819–March 26, 1892) Born in Huntington
Township, New York, the son of a farmer and carpenter. Moved with
family to Brooklyn in 1823. Learned printing trade at Brooklyn newspapers. Taught school on Long Island, 1836–38. Became freelance
journalist and printer in New York and Brooklyn. Published first edition of Leaves of Grass in 1855 (revised editions appeared in 1856, 1860,
1867, 1870, 1881, and 1891). Traveled to northern Virginia in December 1862 after learning that his brother George had been wounded at
Fredericksburg. Became volunteer nurse in Washington, D.C., army
hospitals. Published Drum-Taps and Sequel to Drum-Taps in 1865.
Worked as clerk at the Interior Department, 1865, and the office of
the attorney general, 1865–73. Published prose recollections of his war
experiences in Memoranda During the War (1875) and Specimen Days
and Collect (1882). Died in Camden, New Jersey.
Chronology, 1860–1865
1860
Republican candidate Abraham Lincoln wins presidential
election, November 6, defeating Stephen Douglas (Northern Democratic), John C. Breckinridge (Southern Democratic), and John Bell (Constitutional Union). Lincoln
receives 180 out of 303 electoral votes, all of them from free
states. South Carolina convention votes to secede from the
Union, December 20.
1861
Conventions in Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia,
Louisiana, and Texas vote to secede, January 9–February 1.
Delegates meet in Montgomery, Alabama, and elect Jefferson Davis provisional president of the Confederate States of
America, February 8. Lincoln is inaugurated, March 4.
Confederates open fire on Fort Sumter in Charleston,
South Carolina, April 12. Lincoln calls forth 75,000 militia,
April 15. Virginia votes to secede, April 17. Lincoln proclaims blockade of southern ports, April 19. Arkansas, Tennessee, and North Carolina join the Confederacy, May
6–20. Confederates win battle of Manassas (Bull Run) in
Virginia, July 21. Davis is elected without opposition to sixyear term, November 6.
1862
Ulysses S. Grant captures Fort Donelson, Tennessee, February 16. Confederate defeat at Pea Ridge in northwestern
Arkansas, March 7–8, secures Union control of Missouri.
Grant wins battle of Shiloh in southeastern Tennessee,
April 6–7. Union navy captures New Orleans, April 25.
Robert E. Lee defeats Union army outside of Richmond,
Virginia, June 25–July 1, and wins second battle of Manassas, August 28–30. Battle of Antietam, September 17, ends
Lee’s invasion of Maryland. Lincoln issues preliminary
Emancipation Proclamation, September 22, to take effect in
all territory still in rebellion on January 1, 1863. Battle of
Perryville, October 8, ends Confederate invasion of Kentucky. Lee defeats Union army at Fredericksburg, Virginia,
December 13. Battle of Stones River (Murfreesboro) begins
in central Tennessee, December 31.
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Chronology
61
1863
Lincoln issues Emancipation Proclamation, January 1, freeing all slaves in Confederate-held territory and authorizing
enlistment of blacks in the Union army. Battle of Stones
River ends, January 2, with Confederate retreat. Grant
crosses Mississippi River, April 30, beginning campaign to
take Vicksburg. Lee defeats Union army in Virginia in battle of Chancellorsville, May 1–4. Grant begins siege of
Vicksburg, May 22. Lee is defeated at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, July 1–3. Confederate army at Vicksburg surrenders
to Grant, July 4. Victory at Port Hudson, Louisiana, July
9, gives Union control of entire Mississippi River. Confederates win battle of Chickamauga in northern Georgia,
September 19–20, and besiege Union army in Chattanooga,
Tennessee. Lincoln gives address at Gettysburg, November
19. Grant defeats Confederates at Chattanooga, November
23–25.
1864
Grant is named commander of the Union armies, March
10, and begins spring campaign in Virginia, May 4. Lee and
Grant fight battle of the Wilderness, May 5–6. William T.
Sherman begins Union campaign in northern Georgia,
May 7. Grant and Lee fight at Spotsylvania, May 8–20, and
Cold Harbor, May 31–June 12, as Union army moves closer
to Richmond. After crossing James River, Grant attacks Petersburg, Virginia, June 15–18, then begins prolonged siege.
Sherman captures Atlanta, September 2. Lincoln defeats
Democratic candidate General George B. McClellan, November 8, winning 212 of 233 electoral votes. Sherman
leaves Atlanta, November 16, and begins march through
Georgia. Union victory at Nashville, December 15–16, ends
Confederate invasion of Tennessee. Sherman occupies Savannah, December 21.
1865
Congress proposes Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution abolishing slavery, January 31. Sherman begins march
through the Carolinas, February 1. Lincoln delivers his Second Inaugural Address, March 4. Sherman reaches Goldsboro, North Carolina, March 23. Grant assaults Confederate
lines at Petersburg, April 2, forcing evacuation of Richmond.
Lee surrenders to Grant at Appomattox Court House, Virginia, April 9. Lincoln is shot, April 14, and dies, April 15; Vice
President Andrew Johnson becomes president. Remaining
Confederate armies surrender, April 26–May 26. Ratification
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Last Full Measure of Devotion
of the Thirteenth Amendment is declared, December 18. At
least 360,000 Union soldiers, 260,000 Confederate soldiers,
and 50,000 civilians were killed or died from disease, hunger,
and exposure during the war.
Questions for Discussion
1. During the Civil War Americans encountered violent death on
an unprecedented scale. How did they attempt to make sense
of this experience? ?
2. Do the descriptions of burial in the Sallie Brock, Samuel W.
Fiske, and Ira S. Owens selections make the suffering and death
of the war more immediate? Do you think Americans during
the Civil War were more open and candid about wartime
death, mutilation, and suffering than we are now?
3. What meanings did Catherine Edmondston and Edward O.
Guerrant find in the death of Stonewall Jackson?
4. In This Republic of Suffering: Death and the American Civil
War (2008) historian Drew Gilpin Faust writes about the influential role of the “Good Death” in mid-nineteenth-century
American culture, in which it was hoped that a loved one
would die surrounded by family and sustained by Christian
faith, with an awareness and acceptance of the imminence of
death and an opportunity to say meaningful last words. Do any
of the deaths described in this reader conform to the “Good
Death” described by Faust?
5. Henry Livermore Abbott wrote that at Gettysburg the 20th
Massachusetts was “cheering like mad” as it “bowled”
approaching Confederate troops “over like nine pins.” Do the
selections in this reader suggest that the death they witnessed
made Civil War soldiers reluctant to kill?
6. President Lincoln gave the Gettysburg Address to honor the
Union soldiers who died there, and proposed that “a new birth
of freedom” would ensure that those “who gave their lives” so
that the “nation might live” would not “have died in vain.”
Did the Confederate soldiers who died at Gettysburg (and
everywhere else during the war) die in vain?
63
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Last Full Measure of Devotion
7. How does reading these firsthand accounts affect your sense of
the purpose and meaning of the war? Does it change how you
understand the role of individuals—their words and actions—
in historical events? What are the differences between exploring the war through participant accounts and reading a
historical narrative of the same events?
8. What did you find most surprising or unexpected about these
writings?
9. Choosing one of the pieces, what do you think was the
author’s purpose for writing it? Do you think it achieves its
purpose? How might the act of writing it have helped the
author to make sense of his or her experience of the Civil War?
10. How are the experiences of the Civil War reflected in the language, tone, attitude, and style of the writing?