The third and final Christmas letter from David Beem. This is the first I transcribed and by far my favorite. Merry Christmas!
New Culpepper, Va.
Dec. 25th, 1863.
My dear Wife:
It is a great length of time since I wrote to you than I usually let pass without writing, but I will try to make up for it to-day.
A merry Christmas to you! What would I not give to be able to look in and see what my darling wife is doing to-day! I hope you are enjoying yourself as all persons ought on this usually happy day. How is it, my dear?
As for myself, I cannot say that there is anything more than usual to mark the day. Indeed there is nothing in camp to distinguish the day from others, unless it be the unusual flow of whiskey, which is abundant. Last night it was quite noisy, and from all present indications it will not be any more quiet to-day and to-night. At this moment I hear several expressing themselves in various parts of the camp in so decided a manner as to show that whiskey is the chief performer. Last night some of the men were disposed to celebrate Christmas Eve by shooting their guns, and the consequence was we had to place guards all about to maintain order. But this picture of Camp only applies to this particular occasion, for usually we have a very quiet time. Our Sutler agreed to bring us some good things to eat from Washington, such as poultry &c., but he did not do so, and therefore we have to do without the good dinner we expected to obtain. So you see I am enjoying Christmas in a very quiet way, and if I do not have what some call a "big time" I at least am having a pleasant time, and unlike some of them, I do not expect to have the head ache when I get up in the morning.
I have no doubt you are eating a good turkey dinner about this time. At least I hope so, and may you have a good appetite to eat some of the choice dressing and bosom of the turkey. Next Christmas, my dear, I will be with you, and will you have a turkey dinner for me?
I think I remember what I did, and where I was at, this day two years ago. I was in Romney, boarding at Mrs. Bowles', and had a nice turkey, and oyster soup, for dinner. Then I wrote on that day a love letter, which I suppose contained all sorts of sweet things, for you know you and I were two then, but yet had a kind of lovin' way towards each other. One year ago I was at Falmouth, and I think I also wrote you a letter on that day; so this is the 3rd Christmas letter to my absent darling since this "cruel war" commenced, and my love, I sincerely hope that it will prove to be the last one.
I yesterday had an invitation to take dinner to-day with Col. Taylor of the 20th Indiana. Col. Taylor and myself were formerly very well acquainted, and I regretted that I could not accept the invitation. The camp of the 20th Indiana is about five miles from here, and Col. Cavins and myself intend to visit them in a few days. Being now in winter quarters, and permanently situated, we are enabled to enjoy something like a social system; at least Officers in different Corps in the Army can visit each other, which at other times they cannot well do.
There has been quite an agitation among the enlisted men in our Regt. for a few days on the subject of reenlisting. Some seventy five have already gone in, and perhaps a number of others will yet go in. None of Co. "H" have reenlisted, nor do I think any will. They all know that I do not propose to stay in the service, but whether my example has influence on them or not is more than I can tell. I am neither trying to persuade them to go in, nor saying anything to keep them from it, but leave them to decide for themselves. I think those who reenlist for another three years are entitled to great praise, but I do not blame those who do not do so, since they have certainly done their duty already; at least, until those who have not yet been out shall have served a term.
We are having some very cold weather here, but it is dry, and we get a long very comfortably. We have plenty of wood, and keep rousing fires. The boys, however, have just put on a knotty back-log which causes it to smoke, and I am consequently provoked somewhat, but will try to get over it.
My dear, I have since I last wrote, received two letters from you, one dated the 5th, and I presume the other was written a few days later, it had no date on it.
You say in one of your letters that Mollie contemplates visiting her husband sometime this winter. Well, I am glad he is situated so she can do so, and I hope if she goes her trip will be pleasant, and her visit a happy one. I would be very glad if we were situated so that I could have you with me, but that is out of the question here, as we are in a part of the country where accomodations for ladies are not to be found. You say that if I cannot go home to stay you wish me to go and stay a while this winter any way. Well, my dear, do you want to see me right bad? I am sure I want to see you the baddest in the world, but I can't go without a leave of absense; and this makes it a question which only the future can decide. There is one way, however, by which I could get to go home for thirty days - by getting the company to reenlist and promissing to serve three more years myself. Do you advise me to do this?
I presume this is almost long enough to write when I have nothing to say, and therefore I will close. I do so my darling love as I commenced, by wishing you a merry Christmas, and may your slumbers to-night be sweet and sound. I also wish you all a merry Christmas, and a good time.
Goodbye, sweet wife, with my love and a kiss.
Your loving husband
David.
Showing posts with label leisure. Show all posts
Showing posts with label leisure. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Monday, December 24, 2007
David Beem letter: December 25th, 1862
The second of the Beem Christmas letters. I'm unsure if it is complete, since it does not have any signature and ends rather abruptly.
Falmouth, Va.
Christmas, 1862
My dear Wife,
It is with pleasure that I again find myself seated to write you a letter.
You will see from the date of this that it is Christmas. At home, it means something; but in the army it means nothing. At home, we might have our nice turkey dinner, and a jolly time; but in the war there is no turkey for dinner, and as for a jolly time, if we have one at all, it is of that kind that I do not much enjoy. Last night a number of men in camp were a little too sociable on account of having an abundance of whiskey in camp. I hope that the friends at home are to-day having a nice time enjoying Christmas. Last Christmas I fully expected I would be at home to spend this one, but providence has kept me in the army. I would like to spend the day with you. How did it pass off? Did any of the folks have turkey and nice "goodies" for dinner? I will tell you about our dinner, and you must tell me about yours. Well, we had potatoes, pork, dried apples stewed, fried onions, beef, crackers and coffee. Now, I expect you will think that was a great Christmas dinner but I can assure you that it is better than we get for common. I tried to get a ham, but failed; and sent into the country for a chicken, but the breed seems to have become extinct in this region. So we had to confine our Christmas luxuries to the articles I have named.
Last night the Surgeon of our Regt. invited me to call in at his tent. I did so, and found five or six already there, among them two colonels, two majors besides a Surgeon or two. During the evening, a pitcher of egg-nog disappeared; how, I will leave to your imagination to guess. I must acknowledge, however, that a couple of the aforesaid gentlemen had previously imbibed a little too freely, and were therefore somewhat more boisterous than dignity would allow. As to myself, I was snugly in bed by 9 o'clock, but had scarcely got to sleep until some drunken rascals fired off their guns in camp and awakened me. Of course, they were arrested.
The day has been decidedly a dull one. To me, it appeared more like Sunday than any day for a long time. Nothing has been done, and everything except whiskey drinkers remarkably quiet. They have been exuberant all day. In fact the army of the Potomac has been on a general Christmas drunk. One or two of Co. "H" have been a little "tight," with which exception has maintained respectable sobriety. Boys whom I am well convinced would have been drunk as Bacchus were they at home, have here been duly sober.
This is the kind of Christmas we have had here in the army. I quit writing just here this morning and take it up to-night. Christmas night! a time for enjoyment and pleasure; a time for good old fashioned rejoicings. How much of this do you suppose falls to our lot? I don't think we have more than our share of it; we have none of the big fires of the old fireside to sit by, none of the big turkeys to eat and what is worse than all, none of the big girls to squeeze. Our chief source of enjoyment is in anticipation. What nice Christmas we will have, and how we'll enjoy them. Then, the big fires will crackle, the turkeys will be devoured, and the girls take care of their [illegible, looks like ribs]. But we make the best we can of our situation, and although deprived of the pleasures and enjoyment of home, we are by no means a downcast and gloomy set, for many an anecdote and many a joke pass the rounds.
I expected to attend church to-night, but for some reason or another there is none. Bro. Sabin told me there would be, but he was mistaken. There was preaching in one of the adjoining Regts. to-day but I did not attend. So you see there is still a spark of the religious element left in the army. While on this subject, I must tell you that Billy Rice lost his Bible in our Battle of Fredericksburg on the 13th. I believe it is one that was presented to him, and he regrets it very much. Billy is a good soldier, and I think a genuine Christian.
While I am writing I hear a band discoursing sweet music; they are playing "The Star Spangled Banner," "The Red, White, and Blue," "Yankee Doodle," and other lively and entertaining airs. All of which tend to remind me that it is Christmas night, and that I am not at home.
But still, I hope to hear that those who are at home are enjoying the occasion hugely, especially you.
I have been building me a snug little cabin, consisting of four rounds of logs, a fire place and a chimney, and covered with my tent, making it a very good comfortable abiding place. I have a snug little bed made in the back part, about two feet high, on which Dan and myself sleep. Jack sleeps with Adjutant, and has a good situation. You ought to see our domestic arrangements. Our parlor, sitting room, bed room and kitchen combined in fine order. All of which is good enough for soldiers. Next Christmas may find us in the Army; but if I am fortunate enough to be out, I hope to have a good, jolly time to make up for this.
Falmouth, Va.
Christmas, 1862
My dear Wife,
It is with pleasure that I again find myself seated to write you a letter.
You will see from the date of this that it is Christmas. At home, it means something; but in the army it means nothing. At home, we might have our nice turkey dinner, and a jolly time; but in the war there is no turkey for dinner, and as for a jolly time, if we have one at all, it is of that kind that I do not much enjoy. Last night a number of men in camp were a little too sociable on account of having an abundance of whiskey in camp. I hope that the friends at home are to-day having a nice time enjoying Christmas. Last Christmas I fully expected I would be at home to spend this one, but providence has kept me in the army. I would like to spend the day with you. How did it pass off? Did any of the folks have turkey and nice "goodies" for dinner? I will tell you about our dinner, and you must tell me about yours. Well, we had potatoes, pork, dried apples stewed, fried onions, beef, crackers and coffee. Now, I expect you will think that was a great Christmas dinner but I can assure you that it is better than we get for common. I tried to get a ham, but failed; and sent into the country for a chicken, but the breed seems to have become extinct in this region. So we had to confine our Christmas luxuries to the articles I have named.
Last night the Surgeon of our Regt. invited me to call in at his tent. I did so, and found five or six already there, among them two colonels, two majors besides a Surgeon or two. During the evening, a pitcher of egg-nog disappeared; how, I will leave to your imagination to guess. I must acknowledge, however, that a couple of the aforesaid gentlemen had previously imbibed a little too freely, and were therefore somewhat more boisterous than dignity would allow. As to myself, I was snugly in bed by 9 o'clock, but had scarcely got to sleep until some drunken rascals fired off their guns in camp and awakened me. Of course, they were arrested.
The day has been decidedly a dull one. To me, it appeared more like Sunday than any day for a long time. Nothing has been done, and everything except whiskey drinkers remarkably quiet. They have been exuberant all day. In fact the army of the Potomac has been on a general Christmas drunk. One or two of Co. "H" have been a little "tight," with which exception has maintained respectable sobriety. Boys whom I am well convinced would have been drunk as Bacchus were they at home, have here been duly sober.
This is the kind of Christmas we have had here in the army. I quit writing just here this morning and take it up to-night. Christmas night! a time for enjoyment and pleasure; a time for good old fashioned rejoicings. How much of this do you suppose falls to our lot? I don't think we have more than our share of it; we have none of the big fires of the old fireside to sit by, none of the big turkeys to eat and what is worse than all, none of the big girls to squeeze. Our chief source of enjoyment is in anticipation. What nice Christmas we will have, and how we'll enjoy them. Then, the big fires will crackle, the turkeys will be devoured, and the girls take care of their [illegible, looks like ribs]. But we make the best we can of our situation, and although deprived of the pleasures and enjoyment of home, we are by no means a downcast and gloomy set, for many an anecdote and many a joke pass the rounds.
I expected to attend church to-night, but for some reason or another there is none. Bro. Sabin told me there would be, but he was mistaken. There was preaching in one of the adjoining Regts. to-day but I did not attend. So you see there is still a spark of the religious element left in the army. While on this subject, I must tell you that Billy Rice lost his Bible in our Battle of Fredericksburg on the 13th. I believe it is one that was presented to him, and he regrets it very much. Billy is a good soldier, and I think a genuine Christian.
While I am writing I hear a band discoursing sweet music; they are playing "The Star Spangled Banner," "The Red, White, and Blue," "Yankee Doodle," and other lively and entertaining airs. All of which tend to remind me that it is Christmas night, and that I am not at home.
But still, I hope to hear that those who are at home are enjoying the occasion hugely, especially you.
I have been building me a snug little cabin, consisting of four rounds of logs, a fire place and a chimney, and covered with my tent, making it a very good comfortable abiding place. I have a snug little bed made in the back part, about two feet high, on which Dan and myself sleep. Jack sleeps with Adjutant, and has a good situation. You ought to see our domestic arrangements. Our parlor, sitting room, bed room and kitchen combined in fine order. All of which is good enough for soldiers. Next Christmas may find us in the Army; but if I am fortunate enough to be out, I hope to have a good, jolly time to make up for this.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
David Beem letter: December 24th, 1861
I found a series of letters in the Digital Image Library on indianahistory.org and decided to transcribe them.
David Beem, an officer of the 14th Indiana, wrote to his fiancee (and later wife), Mahala Joslin, on Christmas eve/day in 1861, 1862, and 1863.
I intend to post the second letter tomorrow and the third on Christmas Day. This is the first of the three, written from Romney, Va in 1861.
Romney, Va. December 24th 1861.
Dearest Hala;
Your very welcome favor of the 15th came to hand just now, and I really don't think I have received one since I left home that I was so glad to get. It had been almost a month since I had heard from you, and although I knew the uncertainty of the mails, especially as we have been changing our position, yet I could not think how it was that I was unable to hear any more from my dearest friend. You say in your letter that you had not written to me for about three weeks, thinking that I would be at home, I am very sorry indeed that you should be so disappointed, and regret it all the more because your disappointment is owing mostly to my own fault. But when I told you that I thought I could go home, we were at Huttonville, expecting to stay there during the winter, and if we had staid there, I could have got a leave of absence; but as we have left, and got to a place where we are more needed, it is very hard to go away, for unless an officer gets sick, he cannot at present get a leave of absence. Yet they still promise me that I can go home sometime this winter, and although I shall not depend on it, yet I shall certainly do the best I can. I desire exceedingly to go home for your sake, and I am certain the disappointment is almost as great for me as for you. I hope, however, that this disappointment will be followed by happier events. Let us hope for the best, and although it may seem hard now, I doubt not it will be much brightter [sic] for us both in the future.
I am sorry that I did not get your letter a little sooner. Supposing that your answer to my letter in which I spoke about your meeting me at Wheeling would not reach me, I wrote a similar letter a short time ago, which you will likely get before this reaches you. But as you think best not to go to Wheeling as I suggested in my first letter concerning it, we will think no more of it. My reason for suggesting it was because I wished to fulfill the promise that I made you if it was at all possible. You need not think for a moment that it will be a disappointment to me, or that I will think you unkind. The matter I left to your own judgement and inclination, and perhaps you are right. I am entirely satisfied for you to exercise your own pleasure, and although nothing would afford me so much delight as to meet you anywhere, even for a short time, and be able to call you mine, yet I suppose we must try to content ourselves to wait for a better time. I shall try in the future, my love, not to disappoint you again. But although separated by a cruel necessity, may we not still anticipate future bliss, and be happy in each other's love? I can assure you there is not a day but what you are uppermost in my mind, and always first in my affections.
To-night, dear Hala, is Christmas eve, and I do wonder what my love is at now. How happily we could spend a few hours together. I trust that you are enjoying yourself with friends at home. I think if I was there I could get your Christmas gift; but certainly it would afford me a great deal of pleasure to be able to give you a gift of some kind, which I would most assuredly do if I was with you to-night. It will be a dry Christmas to me. We will have but a little to amuse us, and nothing to remind us that it is merry Christmas. But I am very comfortably situated, boarding with a pleasant and religious family, and I could not expect anything better while in the war -
I do not know, dearest, that I have anything more to write. I shall in my next letter try to send you my picture, as there is an artist here. Please write often to me. If I could do anything to contribute to your happiness, I would do so most assuredly. I hope some of these times to be able to give you some substantial token of my love to you. Perhaps this will reach you before New Year's day. Enjoy it as well as you can, and think of me kindly. I would tell you what to do on New Year's day, but my letter may not reach you - so do just as you please, and if possible have a jolly time, for yourself and me; and I will be thinking of you -
But I must bid you good-night, and a happy one. Will you allow me a kiss before I quit writing?
My love to you always,
Yours in love,
David E. Beem
David Beem, an officer of the 14th Indiana, wrote to his fiancee (and later wife), Mahala Joslin, on Christmas eve/day in 1861, 1862, and 1863.
I intend to post the second letter tomorrow and the third on Christmas Day. This is the first of the three, written from Romney, Va in 1861.
Romney, Va. December 24th 1861.
Dearest Hala;
Your very welcome favor of the 15th came to hand just now, and I really don't think I have received one since I left home that I was so glad to get. It had been almost a month since I had heard from you, and although I knew the uncertainty of the mails, especially as we have been changing our position, yet I could not think how it was that I was unable to hear any more from my dearest friend. You say in your letter that you had not written to me for about three weeks, thinking that I would be at home, I am very sorry indeed that you should be so disappointed, and regret it all the more because your disappointment is owing mostly to my own fault. But when I told you that I thought I could go home, we were at Huttonville, expecting to stay there during the winter, and if we had staid there, I could have got a leave of absence; but as we have left, and got to a place where we are more needed, it is very hard to go away, for unless an officer gets sick, he cannot at present get a leave of absence. Yet they still promise me that I can go home sometime this winter, and although I shall not depend on it, yet I shall certainly do the best I can. I desire exceedingly to go home for your sake, and I am certain the disappointment is almost as great for me as for you. I hope, however, that this disappointment will be followed by happier events. Let us hope for the best, and although it may seem hard now, I doubt not it will be much brightter [sic] for us both in the future.
I am sorry that I did not get your letter a little sooner. Supposing that your answer to my letter in which I spoke about your meeting me at Wheeling would not reach me, I wrote a similar letter a short time ago, which you will likely get before this reaches you. But as you think best not to go to Wheeling as I suggested in my first letter concerning it, we will think no more of it. My reason for suggesting it was because I wished to fulfill the promise that I made you if it was at all possible. You need not think for a moment that it will be a disappointment to me, or that I will think you unkind. The matter I left to your own judgement and inclination, and perhaps you are right. I am entirely satisfied for you to exercise your own pleasure, and although nothing would afford me so much delight as to meet you anywhere, even for a short time, and be able to call you mine, yet I suppose we must try to content ourselves to wait for a better time. I shall try in the future, my love, not to disappoint you again. But although separated by a cruel necessity, may we not still anticipate future bliss, and be happy in each other's love? I can assure you there is not a day but what you are uppermost in my mind, and always first in my affections.
To-night, dear Hala, is Christmas eve, and I do wonder what my love is at now. How happily we could spend a few hours together. I trust that you are enjoying yourself with friends at home. I think if I was there I could get your Christmas gift; but certainly it would afford me a great deal of pleasure to be able to give you a gift of some kind, which I would most assuredly do if I was with you to-night. It will be a dry Christmas to me. We will have but a little to amuse us, and nothing to remind us that it is merry Christmas. But I am very comfortably situated, boarding with a pleasant and religious family, and I could not expect anything better while in the war -
I do not know, dearest, that I have anything more to write. I shall in my next letter try to send you my picture, as there is an artist here. Please write often to me. If I could do anything to contribute to your happiness, I would do so most assuredly. I hope some of these times to be able to give you some substantial token of my love to you. Perhaps this will reach you before New Year's day. Enjoy it as well as you can, and think of me kindly. I would tell you what to do on New Year's day, but my letter may not reach you - so do just as you please, and if possible have a jolly time, for yourself and me; and I will be thinking of you -
But I must bid you good-night, and a happy one. Will you allow me a kiss before I quit writing?
My love to you always,
Yours in love,
David E. Beem
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Snow!
Thanks to all who sent their sympathies. Slowly but surely life is returning to normal.
We had our first real snow of the season today. It started out as a light dusting at about 7 AM and is still going strong with several inches already on the ground. We got out of school a little over an hour early, which brightened spirits immensely.
So inspired by the not-quite-yet-winter wonderland outside, I bring you a New Jersey soldier's account of a great (and quite brutal) snowball fight.
"You are probably aware that the Second Brigade of this division consists of four Vermont regiments, besides the Twenty-sixth. During the late heavy fall of snow, the Vermonters twice made an attack on the encampment of the Twenty-sixth, sending a perfect shower of snow balls at the head of every luckless Jerseyman who made his apperance without his tent. The first attack was a complete suprise to us; but we essayed a sally from the camp, and drove the attacking party back to their reserves. Being heavily reenforced, they charged on us again, and after a desperate resistance we were driven back into camp, fighting absolutely from the shelter of our tents until darkness put an end to the contest. Our casualties were quite heavy, but those of the enemy, it is thought, exceeded ours. A few days afterwards the attack was renewed, but we took up a strong position on a hill in the rear of the camp and repulsed every assault of the foe. The snow crimsomed with blood issueing from the olfactory organs of the Vermonters, and the appearance of the battle-field indicated the fierce nature of the contest. The enemy raised a flaf of truce, an armistice of a few hours was concluded, and then ensued that novel spectacle of war - men, who but a few minutes previous were engaged in one of the most sanguinary battles of modern times, harmonizing and fraternizing with clasped hands.
"But the matter did not rest. The night of the 24th had enveloped terra firma with its dusky shades. Many a waxen nose in the camps of the Second brigade snored sonorously, happily unconscious of its ruby discoloration on the morrow. Many an eye placidly closed in slumber was to be violently closed in battle ere the approach of another nightfall. And many a phrenological bump sparsely developed on the night in question was to be suddenly brought to an age of puberty on the approaching day. The eventful morning opened. Colonel Morrison sent a challenge to Colonel Seaver of the Third Vermont to engage in the open field at three o'clock P.M. The challenge was accepted, on the condition that the Fourth Vermont should be included with the Third. This was agreed to by the Colonel. Before the appointed time some of our men were detailed on fatigue duty, and at the time of the engagement we were only able to muster some three hundred men.
"Nothing daunted by the superiority of numbers, Colonel Morrison ordered Lieutenant MeCleese of Company C (Captain Pemberton being sick) to fortify a small hill on our right, make as much ammunition as possible, and pile the snow balls in pyramids. This arduous duty was hastily performed. It was a strong position, a swollen brook at its base answering the purpose of a moat - too strong, in fact, for the Vermonters. The hills were covered with spectators, and the eagerness to witness the novel contest knew no bounds. Companies A and B were thrown out as skirmishers. Company E occupied the right, C was given the centre, and H rested on the left. The Colonel dashed over the field in all directions, encouraging the men to stand fast, amid the blue wreaths curling from a 'brier wood' nonchalantly held in his left hand, and the Adjutant danced about on a spirited charger, apparently impatiently awaiting the hour of contest, the light of battle dilating within his eyes, and a quid of 'navy plug' reposing beneath his cheek. Lieutenant Woods, of the ambulance corps, and Lieutenant __ acted as mounted aids to the Colonel, while the 'Sergeant' and John K. Shaw, an aspiring Newark youth of eighteen, acted as perambulating aids. The line being formed and everything in readiness for the contest, a red flag was raised as a signal, and in a breath of time a strong body of the enemy drove in our skirmishers, and fiercely attacked our centre. At the same moment another strong force advanced against our right, but only as a feint; for they suddenly wheeled to the right, and joined their comrades in a furious charge on our centre. Major Morris ordered up Compnay E from our right, but too late to be of any advantage, and they were completely cut off from the main body of our army. Although flanked and pressed in front by overwhelming numbers, our centre heroically contested the advance of the enemy. Animated by the presence of the Colonel, they fought like veterans, and the white snowballs eddied through the air like popping corn from a frying pan. But the enemy were madly surging upon us in superior force, and it was hardly within power of human endurance to stand such a perfect feu d'enfer any longer. Gradually the centre fell back inch by inch, the line then wavered to and fro, and finally the men broke in confusion and rolled down the hill followed by the victorious Vermonters. In vain the Colonel breasted the torrent; in vain the Major urged the men to stand fast; in vain the Adjutant White, the chivalric De Bayard of the Twenty-sixth, implore the gods for aid.
"The boys never rallied. Lieutenant Woods made an attempt to rally them and form them in hollow square on the fortified hill to the right, but he was mistaken by the boys for a Vermonter, and unceremoniously pelted from their midst. But the Colonel was not totally deserted by his men. The Vermonters seized his horse by the bridle, and made a desperate attempt to take him prisoner. The fight at this point was terrific beyond description. The men fought hand to hand. Colonel Seaver, the Achilles of the day, dashed through the combatants, seized Colonel Morrison by the shoulder, and called upon him to surrender. But his demand was choked by the incessant patter of snow-balls on his 'physog.' Around the rival chieftains the men struggled fearfully; there was the auburn-haired Hodge, alias 'Wild Dutchmen' fighting manfully. There was the fierce Teuton Captain of Company E, dropping the foe right and left at every swing of his amrs; but all in vain. Amid the wild excitement consequent upon the shouting, the rearing, and plunging of horses, the Colonel was drawn from his saddle and taken by the enemy. Most of his 'staff' followed him as prisoners. A desperate attempt was made to rescue him, but it proved of no avail. Major Morris fared no better. Adjutant White, however, made a bold attempt to retrieve the fortunes of the day. Dashing into the dense ranks of the foe, he seized the bridle of Colonel Stoughton's Bucephalus, and gallantly attempted the impossibility of capturing the Colonel, who was the acting Brigadier of the attacking party. But the adjutant had 'caught Tartar,' for the Vermonters rushed around him like the waves beating upon some lone rock in the ocean, and vainly clamored for his surrender. He fought like an Ajax mounted on a 'Black Bass', retaining his position in the saddle by resting his knees against the pommel. This was at last observed by a shrewd Yankee, who deterously slipped between the two horses, detached the supporitng knee, and the Adjutant fell from his lofty position like a tornado-stricken oak. This fall disheartened the Twenty-sixth, and only detached parties of a dozen, scattered over the field, persisted in an obstinate resistance. The 'Sergeant' recieved a solid shot in the back of the head, and was borne to the rear a captive, and then
'The bugles sang truce.'
"Thus ended the great battle of Fairview; unequalled in desperateness, and the theme of many a future poet's cogitations. Our loss was very heavy, and we were severely defeated. The spectators, acting on the well-known principle of kicking a man when he is down, pitched into us most unmercifully when our centre was broken, and prevented us from re-forming in line of battle. The slaughter of the enemy was fearful, and the prowess of the Newark ball players and fireman was displayed on their battered visages. Colonel Stoughton was honored with a black eye, and the gallant Seaver fared but little better. The following is a fair recapitulation of the casualties on both sides:
"Bloddy noses, fifty-three; bunged peppers, eighty-one; extraodinary phrenological developments, twenty-nine; shot in the neck after the engagement, unknown.
"The Vermonters fought with the determined energy characterizing them when engaging Jeff's myrmidons."
(MaineMilitia.com)
Now I'm just wondering what "bunged peppers" means!
We had our first real snow of the season today. It started out as a light dusting at about 7 AM and is still going strong with several inches already on the ground. We got out of school a little over an hour early, which brightened spirits immensely.
So inspired by the not-quite-yet-winter wonderland outside, I bring you a New Jersey soldier's account of a great (and quite brutal) snowball fight.
"You are probably aware that the Second Brigade of this division consists of four Vermont regiments, besides the Twenty-sixth. During the late heavy fall of snow, the Vermonters twice made an attack on the encampment of the Twenty-sixth, sending a perfect shower of snow balls at the head of every luckless Jerseyman who made his apperance without his tent. The first attack was a complete suprise to us; but we essayed a sally from the camp, and drove the attacking party back to their reserves. Being heavily reenforced, they charged on us again, and after a desperate resistance we were driven back into camp, fighting absolutely from the shelter of our tents until darkness put an end to the contest. Our casualties were quite heavy, but those of the enemy, it is thought, exceeded ours. A few days afterwards the attack was renewed, but we took up a strong position on a hill in the rear of the camp and repulsed every assault of the foe. The snow crimsomed with blood issueing from the olfactory organs of the Vermonters, and the appearance of the battle-field indicated the fierce nature of the contest. The enemy raised a flaf of truce, an armistice of a few hours was concluded, and then ensued that novel spectacle of war - men, who but a few minutes previous were engaged in one of the most sanguinary battles of modern times, harmonizing and fraternizing with clasped hands.
"But the matter did not rest. The night of the 24th had enveloped terra firma with its dusky shades. Many a waxen nose in the camps of the Second brigade snored sonorously, happily unconscious of its ruby discoloration on the morrow. Many an eye placidly closed in slumber was to be violently closed in battle ere the approach of another nightfall. And many a phrenological bump sparsely developed on the night in question was to be suddenly brought to an age of puberty on the approaching day. The eventful morning opened. Colonel Morrison sent a challenge to Colonel Seaver of the Third Vermont to engage in the open field at three o'clock P.M. The challenge was accepted, on the condition that the Fourth Vermont should be included with the Third. This was agreed to by the Colonel. Before the appointed time some of our men were detailed on fatigue duty, and at the time of the engagement we were only able to muster some three hundred men.
"Nothing daunted by the superiority of numbers, Colonel Morrison ordered Lieutenant MeCleese of Company C (Captain Pemberton being sick) to fortify a small hill on our right, make as much ammunition as possible, and pile the snow balls in pyramids. This arduous duty was hastily performed. It was a strong position, a swollen brook at its base answering the purpose of a moat - too strong, in fact, for the Vermonters. The hills were covered with spectators, and the eagerness to witness the novel contest knew no bounds. Companies A and B were thrown out as skirmishers. Company E occupied the right, C was given the centre, and H rested on the left. The Colonel dashed over the field in all directions, encouraging the men to stand fast, amid the blue wreaths curling from a 'brier wood' nonchalantly held in his left hand, and the Adjutant danced about on a spirited charger, apparently impatiently awaiting the hour of contest, the light of battle dilating within his eyes, and a quid of 'navy plug' reposing beneath his cheek. Lieutenant Woods, of the ambulance corps, and Lieutenant __ acted as mounted aids to the Colonel, while the 'Sergeant' and John K. Shaw, an aspiring Newark youth of eighteen, acted as perambulating aids. The line being formed and everything in readiness for the contest, a red flag was raised as a signal, and in a breath of time a strong body of the enemy drove in our skirmishers, and fiercely attacked our centre. At the same moment another strong force advanced against our right, but only as a feint; for they suddenly wheeled to the right, and joined their comrades in a furious charge on our centre. Major Morris ordered up Compnay E from our right, but too late to be of any advantage, and they were completely cut off from the main body of our army. Although flanked and pressed in front by overwhelming numbers, our centre heroically contested the advance of the enemy. Animated by the presence of the Colonel, they fought like veterans, and the white snowballs eddied through the air like popping corn from a frying pan. But the enemy were madly surging upon us in superior force, and it was hardly within power of human endurance to stand such a perfect feu d'enfer any longer. Gradually the centre fell back inch by inch, the line then wavered to and fro, and finally the men broke in confusion and rolled down the hill followed by the victorious Vermonters. In vain the Colonel breasted the torrent; in vain the Major urged the men to stand fast; in vain the Adjutant White, the chivalric De Bayard of the Twenty-sixth, implore the gods for aid.
"The boys never rallied. Lieutenant Woods made an attempt to rally them and form them in hollow square on the fortified hill to the right, but he was mistaken by the boys for a Vermonter, and unceremoniously pelted from their midst. But the Colonel was not totally deserted by his men. The Vermonters seized his horse by the bridle, and made a desperate attempt to take him prisoner. The fight at this point was terrific beyond description. The men fought hand to hand. Colonel Seaver, the Achilles of the day, dashed through the combatants, seized Colonel Morrison by the shoulder, and called upon him to surrender. But his demand was choked by the incessant patter of snow-balls on his 'physog.' Around the rival chieftains the men struggled fearfully; there was the auburn-haired Hodge, alias 'Wild Dutchmen' fighting manfully. There was the fierce Teuton Captain of Company E, dropping the foe right and left at every swing of his amrs; but all in vain. Amid the wild excitement consequent upon the shouting, the rearing, and plunging of horses, the Colonel was drawn from his saddle and taken by the enemy. Most of his 'staff' followed him as prisoners. A desperate attempt was made to rescue him, but it proved of no avail. Major Morris fared no better. Adjutant White, however, made a bold attempt to retrieve the fortunes of the day. Dashing into the dense ranks of the foe, he seized the bridle of Colonel Stoughton's Bucephalus, and gallantly attempted the impossibility of capturing the Colonel, who was the acting Brigadier of the attacking party. But the adjutant had 'caught Tartar,' for the Vermonters rushed around him like the waves beating upon some lone rock in the ocean, and vainly clamored for his surrender. He fought like an Ajax mounted on a 'Black Bass', retaining his position in the saddle by resting his knees against the pommel. This was at last observed by a shrewd Yankee, who deterously slipped between the two horses, detached the supporitng knee, and the Adjutant fell from his lofty position like a tornado-stricken oak. This fall disheartened the Twenty-sixth, and only detached parties of a dozen, scattered over the field, persisted in an obstinate resistance. The 'Sergeant' recieved a solid shot in the back of the head, and was borne to the rear a captive, and then
'The bugles sang truce.'
"Thus ended the great battle of Fairview; unequalled in desperateness, and the theme of many a future poet's cogitations. Our loss was very heavy, and we were severely defeated. The spectators, acting on the well-known principle of kicking a man when he is down, pitched into us most unmercifully when our centre was broken, and prevented us from re-forming in line of battle. The slaughter of the enemy was fearful, and the prowess of the Newark ball players and fireman was displayed on their battered visages. Colonel Stoughton was honored with a black eye, and the gallant Seaver fared but little better. The following is a fair recapitulation of the casualties on both sides:
"Bloddy noses, fifty-three; bunged peppers, eighty-one; extraodinary phrenological developments, twenty-nine; shot in the neck after the engagement, unknown.
"The Vermonters fought with the determined energy characterizing them when engaging Jeff's myrmidons."
(MaineMilitia.com)
Now I'm just wondering what "bunged peppers" means!
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