Sardines Under Fire

A tin of sardines, a storm of shells, and the strange courage of ordinary men

We were lying flat on our faces, shells bursting over us, and one fellow calmly opened a can of sardines. I told him he was either the bravest man alive or the hungriest. [1]

July 2nd, 1863 in the Wheatfield outside of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania was no place for a picnic—but war doesn’t always follow the script. Haley’s company of the 17th Maine - pinned by relentless artillery - hugged the rocky ground as iron screamed overhead. And in that moment—equal parts absurd and profound—a comrade chose lunch over terror.

The scene burns itself into memory not for its horror, but for its humanity. Hunger and fear don’t take turns. Sometimes, a tin of sardines becomes a symbol of defiance.

There are millions of stories from the Irrepressible Conflict. This was just one of them.

Mac

Works Cited

[1] Haley, John W. (1985) The Rebel Yell and the Yankee Hurrah: The Civil War Journal of a Maine Volunteer. Edited by Ruth L. Silliker. Camden, ME: Down East Books.

The Court-Martial of Gustavus A. Peltzer

 A soldier’s letter from prison, July 2, 1863

Officers of the 1st Wisconsin Heavy Artillery, Battery C
(Standing L-R) Capt. John R. Davis, Lieutenant Ezra R. Lisk,
(Seated L-R) Lieutenant Fred Ullman, Lieutenant Benjamin F. Parker.

“Thinking it interesting to you how I came to be in the military prison, I will give you a new addition to Battery ‘C’s history…” [1]

So begins a remarkable letter written by Gustavus A. Peltzer, a soldier in Company C, 1st Wisconsin Heavy Artillery. Dated July 2, 1863, and addressed to a friend named Ellis, the letter offers a rare firsthand account of the tensions, punishments, and personal politics that shaped life within the Union ranks.

Peltzer wrote from the Union military prison in Knoxville, Tennessee, just four weeks after his court-martial. Still processing the experience, his words are raw, immediate, and deeply revealing—not just of his own ordeal, but of the fragile social fabric that held Civil War units together.

“Bucked and Gagged”

Bucked and Gagged

The incident that triggered the unrest began on May 14, when Captain John R. Davis [shown in the above photo] ordered three men—Thomas Mooney, Henry Alisop, and Ed Rogers—to be bucked and gagged, a brutal form of punishment. After eleven hours, Rogers collapsed. Sergeant L.C. Morey, fearing for his life, cut him loose.

The punishment sparked outrage. Thirty to forty men marched to the site where the other two were still bound, determined to free them. They asked Morey to release the men. He refused—but didn’t resist when they cut them loose and returned them to their quarters “with a yell.”

Captain Davis, hearing the commotion, appeared “with side arms,” but, as Peltzer dryly noted, ended up “making, to tell the truth, a fool of himself.” The excitement soon died down. But the consequences were just beginning.

Arrests and Accusations

Over the next two days, multiple soldiers were arrested—some for their role in the release, others seemingly at random. Peltzer was among them, though he insists he had deliberately stayed out of the affair, knowing the captain “would like for nothing better than to get such a ‘hold’ on me.”

He was charged not for the May 14 incident, but for something he had said months earlier: telling 2nd Lt. Ed Hewitt that Captain Davis had mistreated a fellow soldier and that he intended to file charges. For this, he was accused of “conduct to the prejudice of good order.”

Other men were charged for offhand remarks or hearsay. One soldier, Christian Hegge, was tried for telling a friend that the men “should have blown out the light and then pitched into the Captain.” The friend reported him. Another, Edgar Wood, was accused based on the testimony of a soldier Peltzer described as lying under oath.

“A Mere Trifle”

Despite the drama, the punishments were minimal. Peltzer and the others were not discharged from the army. All continued to serve until the end of the war in 1865. Even Captain Davis remained in command of Company C and mustered out with his men. He later moved west and died in San Joaquin County, California, in 1901.

But the letter remains a powerful document. It reveals the fragile balance of camaraderie and conflict, the arbitrary nature of wartime justice, and the emotional toll of serving under officers who could wield discipline as a weapon.

A Glimpse into Wartime Justice

Peltzer’s account is more than a personal grievance—it’s a window into the informal and inconsistent justice system that governed Union soldiers long before the Uniform Code of Military Justice was established. His letter reminds us that war is not only fought on battlefields. It’s also fought in barracks, behind prison walls, and in the quiet spaces where soldiers reckon with loyalty, authority, and survival.

There were millions of stories from the Irrepressible Conflict. This was just one of them.

Mac

FYI: If you like this topic, here's another post that looks at a similar situation but with a different result: 'Court- martial and be damned'

Works Cited

[1] "Letter, Gustavus A. Peltzer in Knoxville, Tenn. to Ellis Birch in Chattanooga, Tenn. , 1863 July 2". Civil War Digital Collections, University of Tennessee Knoxville Libraries.

☕ Coffee Chronicles: Coffee on Cemetery Hill - Charles Field’s Brew of Bravery

Another Civil War coffee story

A moment of warmth on Cemetery Hill - July 2, 1863

On the morning of July 2, 1863, as the sun rose over the blood-soaked fields of Gettysburg, the men of the 14th Vermont Infantry stirred from a restless bivouac in a wheat field near Cemetery Hill. They had marched 120 miles in six days, arriving too late for the first day’s fight but just in time for the next. Their numbers had already thinned—222 men had fallen out from exhaustion, leaving just 500 to face what lay ahead. [1]

But before the bullets flew, before the chaos resumed, something remarkable happened.

Charles Field of Dorset, Vermont, the regiment’s quartermaster, appeared on the hilltop with four wagon loads of coffee and hardtack. He had defied orders to stay in the rear with the supply train. He had risked capture by Confederate forces. And he had done it all for one reason: to feed his men.

“He gave signal proof,” the regimental history records, “when, on the morning of July 2, he appeared on Cemetery Hill, with four wagon loads of coffee and hard tack… his coming was welcomed by hungry men, and he saved the brigade from having to fight on empty stomachs.”

In an army where rations were often late, spoiled, or nonexistent, Field’s arrival was more than a logistical victory—it was a moral one. His quiet act of defiance reminded the men that someone cared whether they went into battle fed or faint.

It’s easy to overlook the quartermasters. They didn’t charge bayonets or hold the line. But on that morning, Charles Field’s courage came in the form of caffeine and calories, delivered under threat of capture, brewed with compassion.

And for the men of the 14th Vermont, it may have made all the difference.

There are a million stories from the Irrepressible Conflict. This was just one of them.

Mac

Enjoy this story? Pour yourself a fresh cup of java and explore more Civil War stories about our fav brew on our ☕ Coffee Chronicles page. 

Works Cited

[1] Peck, Theodore C. (1892) Revised Roster of Vermont Volunteers and Lists of Vermonters who served in the Army and Navy of the United States During the War of the Rebellion, 1861-66. Montpelier, VT: Press of the Watchman Publishing Co. pp. 502-504.

'I have seen the elephant, and I am still standing' - Sgt. Nimrod Burke, 23rd USCT

Sgt. Nimrod Burke,
23rd U.S. Colored Infantry

"We fought like men. The bullets came like hail, but we did not run.”

Nimrod Burke was born enslaved in Virginia, escaped to Ohio, and enlisted in the Union Army in 1864. He served with the 23rd United States Colored Troops and saw combat at the Battle of the Crater and Petersburg. His letters and later interviews reflect pride, resilience, and a deep sense of justice.

He lived to be over 100 years old and gave interviews late in life, recalling the chaos of battle and the dignity of service. His voice was steady and unflinching—a man who had seen the worst and still believed in the cause.

“I was a soldier. I wore the blue. And I never shamed it.”

There are millions of stories from the Irrepressible Conflict. This was just one of them.

Mac

Works Cited

[1] National Park Service. Voices of the Civil War: Nimrod Burke. U.S. Department of the Interior. Accessed June 29, 2025.

'I have lived here long enough to love this land.' - Charles W. Wrede, 20th Louisiana Infantry

 

Prisoners at Camp Douglas (Chicago, IL)
(Harper's Weekly sketch)

“I have lived here long enough to love this land. I will not let it be taken without a fight.”

Charles Wrede was born in Germany and immigrated to Louisiana before the war. When conflict erupted, he enlisted in the Confederate Army—joining the 20th Louisiana Volunteer Infantry Regiment, a regiment known for its large German-speaking contingent. But Wrede wasn't starry-eyed idealist.

“I have no illusions about glory. I want only to return to my wife with honor - and with both legs." 

His letters home, written in careful script and translated decades later, reveal a man torn between old loyalties and new roots. He fought at Shiloh, Chickamauga, and Missionary Ridge, and was eventually captured and imprisoned at Camp Douglas in Chicago.

"They call us rebels, but I am no rebel to my conscience. I defend my home.”

His voice reminds us that immigrant identity in the South was layered—shaped by place, pride, and the pull of belonging.

There are millions of stories from the Irrepressible Conflict. This was just one of them.

Mac

Works Cited

[1] Kamphoefner, Walter D., and Wolfgang Helbich, editors. (2006) Germans in the Civil War: The Letters They Wrote Home. Translated by Susan Carter Vogel. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press.

“I am fighting for my new home.” Private Gustav Keppler, German immigrant, Union Army

 

Frontispiece of the German-language edition of
“History of the War for the Union,” edited by Friedrich Kapp.
A window into how immigrant readers saw the war unfold.[**]

I have not forgotten the Fatherland, but I have taken up arms for the land that gave me bread.

Gustav Keppler was one of nearly 200,000 German immigrants  German immigrants who fought for the Union. In a letter home, he explained why: not for glory, not for politics—but because America had become his home.

His letters, written in German and later translated, describe the hardships of camp life, the confusion of orders shouted in English, and the pride he felt marching under a flag that was slowly becoming his own.

“We are not always understood, but we are here. We bleed the same.”

His words echo the experience of thousands of Irish, Italian, Polish, and other immigrant soldiers—many of whom fought in ethnic regiments, others scattered across the ranks. They brought their languages, their customs, and their loyalty to a country still learning how to welcome them.

There are millions of stories from the Irrepressible Conflict. This was just one of them.

Mac

[**] Friedrich Kapp was a German-American writer and politician who translated and adapted various works for German-speaking audiences during the 19th century—especially around the Civil War. This book would’ve brought the Union’s story to immigrant readers - like Keppler - framing it through Kapp’s own republican and abolitionist lens.

Duyckinck, Evert A. Geschichte des Krieges für die Union, politisch und militärisch nach offiziellen und andern authentischen Dokumenten beschrieben. Deutsch bearbeitet von Friedrich Kapp, Johnson, Fry & Compagnie, 1863. Internet Archive. Accessed 30 June 2025.

Works Cited

[1] Kamphoefner, Walter D., and Wolfgang Helbich, editors. (2006) Germans in the Civil War: The Letters They Wrote Home. Translated by Susan Carter Vogel. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press.

'I don’t feel afraid to go' - Private Lyons Wakeman (a.k.a. Sarah Rosetta Wakeman)

 

Private Lyons Wakeman, (a.k.a. Sarah Rosetta Wakeman)
153rd New York Infantry

“I don’t know how long before I shall have to go into the field of battle. For my part I don’t care. I don’t feel afraid to go.”

She signed her letters “Lyons Wakeman,” but her real name was Sarah Rosetta Wakeman. Disguised as a man, she enlisted in 1862 for the bounty and the chance to serve. She marched, drilled, and fought alongside the men of the 153rd New York Infantry—guarding Washington, then enduring the brutal Red River Campaign in Louisiana.

She never revealed her identity. Not even when she fell ill from dysentery and was hospitalized in New Orleans. She died there on June 19, 1864, and was buried under her alias in Chalmette National Cemetery.

Her letters home—preserved by her family—are among the few firsthand accounts we have from women who fought in disguise. In them, she is steady, proud, and unflinching.

“I am as independent as a hog on the ice. If it is God’s will for me to fall in the field of battle, it is my will to go and never return home.”

There are millions of stories from the Irrepressible Conflict. This was just one of them.

Mac

Works Cited

[1] "Sarah Rosetta Wakeman" American Battlefield Trust. Retrieved June 29, 2025

'I Remain Your Affectionate Son' - A Letter From Captivity

 

Johnson’s Island Prison, drawn by Confederate prisoner Joseph Mason Kern,
October 1863.
(Southern Historical Collection, UNC Chapel Hill)

Johnson’s Island, December 25, 1864

“My health is now good; I have been sick since I last wrote you, and was compelled to use what little money I had. I know that it will give you pleasure to furnish me. I will remunerate you in the future.” — Capt. L.L. Stanford, 3rd Georgia Cavalry

He wrote it on Christmas Day, from a prison block on the frozen edge of Lake Erie. The letter was short—prison letters had to be. One page only, censored and scrutinized. But in that single page, Capt. Stanford folded in illness, hope, and the quiet desperation of a man asking his uncle for thirty dollars.

He had already applied for permission to receive the money. That was the rule. Even a gift from home required approval from the Commandant. The funds would be held by the prison and deducted as needed for purchases from the sutler’s store. A system of rationed dignity.

There are millions of stories from the Irrepressible Conflict. This was just one of them.

Mac

Works Cited

[1] Johnson’s Island Preservation Society. "Letters to and from Confederate Prisoners". JohnsonsIsland.org, Retrieved 28 June 2025.

Mud, Memory, and a Two-Horse Wagon

 

“They say the past is a foreign country—but sometimes it just feels like the back lot of a supply train.”

Last night I found myself thinking about a letter written by a corporal in 1863 who complained about losing his boots to a mudhole somewhere outside Vicksburg. It wasn’t the misery that stayed with me—it was the absurdity. He described them vanishing "with a slurp loud enough to summon angels" and then trudging barefoot, not in despair, but muttering about how socks should count as shoes in a war this ridiculous.

That one line stuck with me not because it was tragic or epic—but because it was true. It reminded me that every account I read isn’t just an artifact. It’s a voice. A tone. A real person doing their best to make sense of a world cracking under cannon fire and bad coffee.

Thoughts - candlelight for the soul.

Mac

Works Cited

[1] "Letter from Corporal John Griffith Jones, from a camp near Vicksburg, to his parents in Beaver Dam, Wisconsin, 29 May 1863." People's Collection of Wales - February 17, 2010. Retrieved June 27, 2025.

A Young Soldier’s Clever Storytelling Strategy To Get More Letters From Home

 

“April 6, 1862 – The woods on fire.
The 44th Regiment. Indiana Volunteers"
in Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper
 Sketch by artist Henri Lovie

Samuel Andrew Baker[*] - like most of the soldiers serving in the War Between the States - wanted more letters from home.

Unlike most of his comrades, however, the eighteen-year-old Baker – serving in Company E of the 44th Indiana Volunteer Infantry Regiment – decided to create a demand for HIS letters by delivering “kernels” of information that would prompt return letters requesting – as Paul Harvey used to say – “the rest of the story.”

Here’s a letter to his father, Joseph Warren Baker on January 28, 1862, a couple of months into his service. Note his opener:

Dear Father I take my pen in hand to inform you that I am well at the present with the exception of a large boil on my forehead and I hope that these few lines may find you and Nancy well

There’s the first “kernel” – his oddly located boil. Baker followed that with a “poor me” line that went for the heartstrings: “I have been expecting a letter for a long time but I have to look on and see the rest of the soldiers get their letters when the mail [comes]”

Now back to another tidbit:

Our Lieutenant Col has been sick ever since we left Henderson [KY] and has now gone home on furlough and I expect that he will bring back some deserters when he get back here.

Since the regiment was formed entirely of Indiana men, and his company was recruited from the same community in which his dad and Nancy lived, Baker’s unfinished “deserters” comment would prompt their curiosity as to who had quit and if they knew them. Hence, another question to be answered.

Shrewd guy that Baker!

After some news about no pay, he told about his ‘piquet guard‘ experience the night before. But the way Baker spun it into a mystery in just a few sentences proved that he was a good storyteller – and tactician.

He first opened his story with background – a dramatic background with tension:

We have been expecting an attack here every night for along time and we have cut down the timber in a circle clear around the camp in a pile and every way crossways and every other way to keep the rebel Cavalry out and we have dug intrenchments and throwed up breastworks to plant canons.

Then he launched his story about lights and bells - with an element of comedy relief.

Yesterday and last night our company was on piquet [picket] guard, out about 2 miles from camp. Last night about midnight there was a light discovered across the road which showed itself about a minute and then disappeared as suddenly as it came. directly after ward the tinkling of a bell was heard for about three times. There was squad of men went out to discover what it was and after scouting around for a little while one chased up an old coon that had a bell on her neck.

Baker then added more dramatic tension back into his story with: “but [that] did not account for the light.”

a bout an hour afterwards the piquets was fired upon and the light appeared again and was immediately afterwards. There was a party of men went out to see what was up but did not find anything.

But Baker wasn’t done yet: “A while afterwards our men saw the light again”; then came the quick ending, “and fired three shots at it after that there was no more alarms in the night.“

What were the lights from? Confederates? Civilians? Matches? Fireflies? Did they quit because the source was dead? What? Baker never resolved that part of the mystery. It certainly would give the folks back home something to wonder about, discuss, form opinions, and then write back to him for resolution.

But it was his ending that was a classic “carrot-on-a-stick”:

There is a great many things I could find to write about. there is not room so I will have to cut it short off. Ever remaining your affectionate Son Samuel Andrew Baker [**]

Leave 'em hangin', Sam!

There are a million stories from the Irrepressible Conflict. This was just one of them.

Mac

Works Cited

[*] Samuel Andrew Baker, Co.E, 44th Indiana Volunteer Infantry Regiment, served from 1861 until he was killed in a railroad accident on January 30, 1865, as two cars of the train carrying the regiment were thrown off the track when the weight of the train loosened the rails. [2]

[**] Drawing that heads this post depicts the Battle of Pittsburgh Landing at Shiloh, Tennesee. It is from Frank Leslie’s illustrated newspaper May 17, 1862 , front page. The drawing by artist Henri Lovie was captioned: “April 6, 1862 – The woods on fire. The 44th Regt. Ind. Voltr. Col. H.B. Reed commdg. [Union] Left Wing near the Peach Orchard.” The regiment was engaged both days at Shiloh, April 6–7, 1862 and suffered 33 killed and 177 wounded.

In the below-cited regimental history, Rerick also told how the regiment earned its nickname at Shiloh: “a captain of one of the retiring companies of Wisconsin soldiers, said the Forty-fourth “fought like iron men–they wouldn’t run . . . it stuck, and for a long time the Regiment was known as the ‘Iron Forty-fourth.'” [2]

[1] “Letter, Samuel Andrew Baker in South Carrolton, Ky. to Joseph Warren Baker in Whitley County, Ind”. Samuel Andrew Baker Letters, Digital Collections, American Civil War Letters. University of Tennesee Knoxville Libraries.

[2] Wiseman, Becky. “Roll of Honor – Civil War – May 28, 2007” Whitely County [Indiana] Kinnexions blog, and Rerick, John H. (1880). The Forty-Fourth Indiana Volunteer Infantry: History of Its Services in the War of the Rebellion and a Personal Record of Its Members. Ann Arbor, MI: The Courier Steam Printing House. p.117.

☕ Coffee Chronicles: Mud in Your Mug - Civil War Instant Coffee and Other Caffeinated Catastrophes

 Another Civil War coffee story

The Civil War gave us some marvels of innovation—Gatling guns, ironclads, and… instant coffee? Yes, nestled between cannon fire and cavalry charges was a desperate bid to caffeinate the blue and the gray.

While soldiers might have disagreed on, say, slavery or secession, they united on one non-negotiable: the sacred ritual of the morning cup. Coffee was less a luxury than a lifeline, and in army camps from Virginia to Vicksburg, it was practically a form of currency.

For Union troops, actual coffee beans were issued—unroasted, unground, and about as convenient as a three-legged mule. Soldiers roasted them over campfires, smashed them with rifle butts (yes, really), and brewed them up in tin cups with varying degrees of success and sediment. Still, it was coffee, and morale ran on it.

For Confederate troops, however, thanks to that pesky naval blockade, beans were about as common as Northern sympathy. Enter… coffee substitutes, derisively called "Lincoln coffee". Brave (and possibly desperate) rebels turned to peanuts, parched corn, burnt okra, acorns, and—truly the last cry of the desperate—boiled sweet potatoes. 

[Spoiler alert: none of it worked.]

With soldiers burning daylight trying to produce a single cup of semi-potable caffeine, the Union brass had an idea: why not industrialize the process? Thus, the first known attempt at instant coffee was born, optimistically dubbed “Essence of Coffee.”

This concoction arrived in tins, already brewed down with sugar and milk. Just add hot water, stir, and… gag. By most accounts, it looked like motor oil and tasted worse. Troops described symptoms ranging from stomach cramps to involuntary existential reflection. Some swore it was more effective as boot polish than beverage.

The directions on an Essence of Coffee label.

Turns out, spoiled milk and battlefield coffee don’t mix well—who knew? The army soon abandoned the experiment and went back to distributing raw beans. But hey, the dream of instant joe didn’t die. After the war, tinkerers and tasters refined the idea, and by 1901, a palatable version debuted at the Pan-American Expo in Buffalo. By 1910, instant coffee was everywhere—finally fulfilling its destiny - and without causing dysentery. [1]

There are millions of stories from the Irrepressible Conflict. This was just one of them.

Mac

If you enjoyed this topic, dive into more posts on my 'Coffee Chronicles' page to explore the quirky and essential role coffee played in the War Between the States.

Works Cited

[1] "Billy Yank, Johnny Reb and a Cup of Joe — Real Coffee Was a Rarity for Civil War Soldiers". Military History Now website - May 10, 2012. Retrieved June 20, 2025.

The Red-Legged Devils and Their Brooklyn Bull Run

A "Red-legged Devil" of the 14th Brooklyn
(Liljenquist Collection - Library of Congress)

The 84th New York Volunteer Infantry Regiment, better known as the 14th Brooklyn, was no ordinary unit. Formed as a volunteer Zouave militia from the city of Brooklyn, New York, they were unmistakable on the battlefield—and off it.

Dressed in flamboyant French-style Chasseur uniforms—short blue jackets, red pantaloons, red kepis, and white gaiters—the men of the 14th became well known to both armies. Especially infamous were their spirited clashes with their Confederate counterparts, the famed Louisiana Tigers, who met the 'Red-Legged Devils' on the battlefield time and again.

At First Bull Run, the regiment’s relentless efforts to recapture lost Union artillery caught the eye of none other than General Stonewall Jackson. As the legend goes, he called out to his troops, “Hold on boys! Here come those Red-Legged Devils again!” The nickname stuck, and the regiment proudly carried it through three years of hard fighting—always withdrawing in good order, no matter the odds - or the casualties.

But off the battlefield? Well... that’s where the real stories live.

Enter Rufus Dawes, of Company K, 6th Wisconsin Volunteer Infantry. In his journal, he recorded a scene that proves even the hard-fighting 14th had their - shall we say - theatrical side.

“The men of that regiment were from the city—clerks, bookkeepers, and businessmen. They were full of shrewd devices to avoid unnecessary hardships. They were uniformed in short Zouave jackets, made in the cutaway style often seen on youngsters of about six years of age, and profusely adorned with buttons. Their pantaloons were red.”

It was the spring of 1862. To shake off the winter rust and prepare for the looming campaigns, the Army of the Potomac set out on a training march toward Fairfax Court House, Virginia. The 6th Wisconsin, the 14th Brooklyn, and several other regiments filled the roads—restless, spirited, and maybe a little stir-crazy.

And somewhere near Centreville, things took a turn.

A group of Brooklyn boys from the 14th came across a peaceable young bull grazing in a field. Naturally, they saw an opportunity. With classic New York ingenuity (or a complete disregard for livestock protocol), they strapped the poor beast to a cart using a battered horse harness and piled it high with heavy knapsacks. Then they attempted to prod their makeshift pack animal along with bayonets.

Let’s just say the bull didn’t appreciate it.

After a brief (and wholly uncooperative) reverse shuffle, the goaded animal broke into a full-speed stampede—barreling down the road with exploding knapsacks trailing in his wake.

“Clear the track! Clear the track!” came the cry. Soldiers dove for the fences. Mounted officers yanked at reins. Chaos ensued.

The bull scattered the brigade, flipped the cart, kicked loose, and vanished—leaving the “Red Legs” scrambling after airborne gear like it was market day in Manhattan.

Imagine of Stonewall Jackson's first glimpse of the 14th Brooklyn had been this fiasco! Instead of “Red-Legged Devils,” it might’ve been “Bayonet Buffoons” or “The Brooklyn Bull Brigade".

There are millions of stories from the Irrepressible Conflict. This was just one of them.

Mac

Works Cited

[**] This regiment has a fascinating history. Formed out of several local militias in 1847 by the state of New York, it was officially designated the 14th New York State Militia. However, since it was mainly tasked with providing protection for the city of Brooklyn and its environs, its name was shortened to the 14th Brooklyn. In 1860 – after seeing the U.S. Zouave Cadets traveling drill team from Chicago under the command of Colonel Elmer E. Ellsworth – the unit changed its name to the 14th Brooklyn “Chasseurs” and adopted the same snappy drills and the flashy French-style uniforms. Five months after First Bull Run, the State of New York officially changed the regiment’s designation to the 84th New York Volunteer Infantry, but at the unit’s request – and because of the fame attained by the unit at First Bull Run – the United States Army continued to refer to it as the 14th Brooklyn and allowed them to keep their flashy uniforms. [1]

[1] Tevis, C. V. and D. R. Marquis (1911). The History of the Fighting Fourteenth: Published in Commemoration of the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Muster of the Regiment Into the United States Service, May 23, 1861. New York, NY: Brooklyn Eagle Press.

[2] Rufus R. Dawes, Co. K, 6th Wisconsin Volunteer Infantry Regiment

'Dear Folks' - 8 Funny, Shocking, and Strange Snippets from Civil War Letters

 

Here are 8 funny (and some bizarre) snippets from letters that soldiers on both sides of the War of the Rebellion wrote to the folks back home. [Other than punctuation or bracketed terms for clarity, the words are theirs – unchanged.]

━━━━━━━━┓ ♧ ┏━━━━━━━━

This excerpt is from Absolom A. Harrison, Company D, 4th Kentucky Volunteer Cavalry Regiment. It appears that Absolom and his brother Jo got caught up in the recruiting fervor and enlisted in the U.S. Cavalry. That must have been a strange regiment. By the way, his wife, Susan has a very interesting pedigree. [see ** below]

December 12th, 1861 Dear Wife, I take my pen in hand to write you a few lines . . . I have enlisted and been sworn in . . . You must do the best you can and take care of the children and if any of you get sick let me know it immediately . . . This is a big day with us as one Captain is to be married today and two other officers are to fight a duel today . . . So nothing more at present but remaining your affectionate husband until death. A. A. Harrison P. S. Tell Martha, Jo is well [1]

Absolom was medically discharged a year later. About the same time, his brother, Jo died of disease in a military hospital in Nashville. (I wonder if he was still married?)

________________________

William Norton, Co. C, 7th Connecticut Volunteer Infantry, wrote to his mother from Hilton Head, South Carolina, October 8, 1862. (He was quite the spoiled narcissist!)

My Dear Mother, I thought I would write you a few lines. I am sorry to tell you I am not very well at present. I was taken sick about three weeks ago with chronic diarhea . . . I have been pretty sick but I am getting better now . . . I would like to have you send me some things which will come better in a barrel than in anything else. I should like some good fresh eggs, a bottle of preserves, some lemons if you can get some good ones, some ginger root. Some butter would be very nice, it will come better in a tin can than in anything else. I would like some sugar too. I wish you would send a bottle of good Cider Vinegar also-I would like some pickled onions, and some dried apples. Some prepared chocalate would taste(?) first rate, as we do not get good tea and coffee.   A towel and a couple of handkercheifs will be very acceptable also. If there is any room for anything else I wish that you would fill it up with onions and good sound apples that are not quite ripe that they will keep better . . . Please send it as soon as possible.

 In spite of all that, our boy Willie STILL wasn’t done with his requests!

I have not heard from you since I have been here but should like to do so every mail. If convenient please send $5.00 the next time you write . . . and believe me to be – Ever your aff son, William Norton [2]

________________________

Here’s the Confederate version of “Willie” Norton. However, William “Billy” Elliott, Co. A, 11th North Carolina Volunteer Infantry Regiment was far less demanding, and he spread his "wants" among more family members. And at the end of his " (and he even asked how the family was doing)!

December the 9 1862, Franklin Depot Virginia – Dear Father I take my pen in hand to rite you a few lines . . I got my shirt & drawers you sent . . . you sed you was going to send me a nother box.  I was glad to hear that.  I want you to sent it with out fail the other one was so good it has put me in the notion of having a nother box.  tell George to put me in a poke of groun peas mother I want you to send me some plan thread and a good big needle in the box . . . nothing more only rite soon. William Elliott [3]

Unfortunately, Billy Elliott was killed seven months later during the first day’s action at Gettysburg.

________________________

2nd Lieut.John D. Damron, Co. K, 49th North Carolina Volunteer Infantry Regiment was VERY irritated when he wrote this scathing letter to the folks back home.

Fredericksburg, Va. Dec. 17th, 1862 – Dear Father, I had concluded that I could not write to you any more until I had received a letter from home . . . As I have given up all idea of receiving a scaratch from your very reserved pen. You certainly should be appointed Superintendent over some asylum of mutes, as I verily believe your experience in such matters would be highly beneficial to such an intitution [institution] . . . [and at the end of his letter] . . . Tell sister Ann I got that letter she wrote me last week, but my eyes were so bad that I could not make out anything that was not in it. Tell Sallie to write. She owes me one. All of you write, or you may consider this my last. I never expect to get home again at all. Furloughs are out of date. They would sell for 500. Money is worth nothing & nothing is worth everything. My love to all. Your son, affectionally, John D. Dameron [4]

I certainly wouldn’t exactly call that an “affectionate” letter, but Damron resigned from the service later that same month. His resignation was accepted – a rarity – because, as his commander wrote, “he will whenever he can get it, liquor to excess.”

________________________

Now THIS soldier is a Shakespeare wannabe! Sgt. William H. Gardiner, Co. K, 4th Maine Volunteer Infantry Regiment, wrote the following in the opening lines of a letter to his sweetheart, Carrie Patterson, in Belfast, Maine – September 6, 1862:

Heaven bless the hour that saw you seated penning an epistle [letter] to a poor benighted mortal like myself. Receivede the very hour that we arrived here, foot-sore and weary, its effect was like an electric shock, not literally I do not mean, as putting one in pain, but giving me new life and with more grace to bear my trials and sore distress: and that night saw me lay down in the bosom of Mother Earth, calmly, and grateful that the Almighty had put it into the heart of one oft remembered friend at home, to give some tangible evidence that his poor sin - burdened piece of clay was not wholly forgotten . . . 

Quite the romantic dramatist. Unfortunately, war was hard on idealists, and Gardiner was no different. The tenor of this June, 1863, letter is decidedly different:

 . . . I am unable to write decently at the present time. My brain has not yet recovered from the effects of the violent concussions of the bursting shells and artillery neither are the conveniences for writing very extensive as you can perceive. Therefore I curtail the dimensions of this and close with the hope of hearing soon from you. [5]

Sadly, Gardiner never had the opportunity to write again. He was captured at Gettysburg a week or so later and died of scurvy at Andersonville Prison in Georgia on August 16, 1864.

________________________

The following is a letter excerpt I’ve had in my files for a long time. Unfortunately, I neglected to document it – author or unit – at the time I read it, except to note at the top, “from a Union soldier“. This soldier definitely had anger issues.

Camp near Budds Fery Jan 17 1862 Dear Brother . . . I am under arrest in the quarters and I expect to be court martialed but the most they can do with me is to reduce me to the ranks and I dont care much about that . . . if I could be promoted by vote of the Co I should have been Lieut long ago . . . but it is a long road that dont turn . . . I am tired of being in hell. if I have come out here to die I dont care how soon but . . . I think my life will be spared to see some of these selfish Officers die so that I can smile over their dead bodies . . . I dont think you would know me I have got as cross as hell.

‘Cross‘ doesn’t begin to cover it!

________________________

Thomas B. Booth, Co. I, 3rd Virginia Volunteer Cavalry Regiment, was a master at the art of understatement. Here’s a note he wrote to his girlfriend two weeks before First Bull Run:

I was riding a horse I borrowed from our captain as Beauregard has not entirely gotten over his lameness. The horse was blind in one eye and while I was lying at the root of a tree fast asleep with the rains wrapped around my arm to keep him from getting away from me. He turned the blind side to me and the first thing I knew he put his foot right upon the top of mine. It was by no means a pleasant feeling.

Here’s the end of his letter: Draw your own conclusions.

I never carry your letters with me. I always burn them either the same day or the day after I get them. You need not be at all uneasy about them nor anything you may write. You never heard of my showing your letter nor you never will. I prize them too highly. I am rather selfish with them. I hate very much having to burn them but I think it best.

Booth was wounded in action while fighting a delaying action against McClellan on the Peninsula in 1862, and he was discharged shortly thereafter.

________________________

The last story is from an interview (not a letter home) done by the Federal Writers’ Project, Work Projects Administration in the 1930s. The interviewee was Gus Bowles, a former Confederate soldier with (Gillespie’s 3rd Texas Lancers), 25th Regiment, Texas Cavalry. His dad was some piece of work!

…“When the Civil War broke out, my father went to fight . . . as I was about 13 years old . . . [I] got me in the notion of going and . . . told my mother that I was going to the war. She began trying to keep me from going . . . but I told her that I would go down to where my father was and I would try to got in the same regiment with him . . . My father was sure surprised to see me . . . Well, he knew I was too young so he went and talked to the colonel . . . and the colonel said he would like to get me to go back home but if I wouldn’t go, I could stay there with my father because he couldn’t sign me up on account of my age. 

Then Bowles reveals something sad: 

My father [then] talked to the colonel about letting me stay there in his place while he went home. I could take his place till he got back. The colonel agreed and they gave me a suit of clothes and a gun . . . We lived on starvation rations. They give us these here old hard-tack crackers and bacon; no coffee . . . I had never wrote to my father to come back, so I stayed there till we got word that Lee’s army had surrendered . . . [and] I went home.” [8]

There are millions of stories from the Irrepressible Conflict. These were just some of them.

Mac

Works Cited

[**] Absolom and his wife, Susan Allstun Harrison, at the time of his enlistment, resided in Hardin County, Kentucky. Susan’s grandmother was Nancy Lincoln Brumfield, Thomas Lincoln’s sister and President Abraham Lincoln’s aunt.

[1] “Harrison, Absolom A. Letters (1861-1862)”. (Transcribed by Ronald Harrison). Civil War Home – Letters About the Civil War. Retrieved March 21, 2024.

[2] “Norton, William Letter (1862)”. (Transcribed by David Dunbar). Civil War Archives – Letters Home from the Civil War. Retrieved March 23, 2024.

[3] “Elliott, William ‘Billy’ Letters” (1862-1863). (Transcribed by Pat Elliott). Civil War Home – Letters About the Civil War. Retrieved March 21, 2024.

[4] “Damron, John D. Letter (1862)”. (Unknown transcriptionist). Civil War Home – Letters About the Civil War. Retrieved March 21, 2024.

[5] “Gardiner, William H. Letters (1862-1863)”. Auburn University Digital Library – Civil War Letters. Retrieved March 20, 2024.

[6] Unknown origin.

[7] "Thomas B. Booth Letters (1862)" Manuscripts of the American Civil War, University of Notre Dame Rare Books and Special Collections. Retrieved March 3, 2024.

[8] Bowles, William Augustus (Interviewee), Angermiller, Florence (Interviewer). U.S. Work Projects Administration, Federal Writers’ Project: Folklore Project, Life Histories (1936-39). Library of Congress. Retrieved March 22, 2024.

Civil War humor – 10 Funny Comments from Soldiers' Letters

  

Two Union soldiers getting their picture taken.
(War is hell?)

Laughter is definitely the best medicine, and even in the Civil War, as terrible as it was, humor – like the conflict – was irrepressible.

Here are ten comments – some funny, some dry, and some tongue-in-cheek – about a wide range of topics from both armies.

· · ─────── · ◈ · ─────── · ·

William E. Endicott, 10th Massachusetts Light Artillery, May 28, 1863:

The fact is the rebellion is like my otter that was hurt – a little active in the head and neck but powerless behind the shoulders.

Benjamin Fitzpatrick, 10th Mississippi Volunteer Infantry Regiment, July 14, 1861:

Mr. Cobb has been promoted from private to fourth Corporal He is in a srait road to be a Captain or even a Colonel – if there should be a great battle and a great many slain.

Charles H. George, Sharpshooter Battalion, 5th Georgia Volunteer Infantry Regiment, December 13, 1862:

There is no news of importance to write you, I saw the President of the Confederate States yesterday.

W.H. Randolph, Company E, Sixth New Jersey Volunteer Infantry Regiment, March 6, 1862:

you was asking me something concerning our Chaplain in what way he employed himself. it is a question very easy answered . . . it is seldom that he prays and when he does the heading of his prayer is god bless the comadants of companys. I suppose he thinks any thing below them is of no consequence.

M.L. Kirkpatrick, 1st Alabama Cavalry, July 10, 1862:

The enemy, professing not to be aware of our whereabouts, is well aware that a forward movement towards our vicinity would eventuate in his discomfiture.

John B. Bell, 85th Pennsylvania Infantry Regiment,(no date)

Geo Groff is one of my friends he is a very homely looking fellow

Newton N. Davis, 24th Alabama Infantry, July 2, 1862:

I want you to send Billy back as soon as he gets well enough to return. I get along badly without him. My horse suffers from the want of attention.

John W. Darby, 22nd Massachusetts Infantry Regiment, May 18, 1864:

I have thought that if I should be killed it might be the means of your salvation. But if this sacrifise necessary, a word to the wise is sufficient

Francis McDade Danielly, Company K, 14th Alabama Infantry, November 30, 1862:

you said you had just eaten a hearty dinner & you wished that I had been there to take dinner. I wish so too as you never told me what you had. you said your weight was one hundred and forty lbs thats very good size for a lady.

William O. Holmes, U.S. Army Signal Corps, Signal Detachment of General Philip H. Sheridan, May 2, 1865:

I may be talking pretty plain Father, but all though you have a clear incite into men, I do not think you understand the feelings and wants of women very well.

There are millions of stories from the Irrepressible Conflict. These are just some of them.

Mac

Works Cited

[1] “Civil War Letters Collection”, Auburn University Digital Library. Retrieved October 23, 2024.