Posted on 12/24/2008 8:17:03 PM PST by teacherwoes
A letter of Lt. William Wheeler, 13th New York Light Artillery, camped at Stafford Courthouse, VA to home:
It is Christmas Eve, when Peace on earth and good will toward men is the text, and although nothing is said of good will toward women, yet I suppose that they are included, and so will pardon your long silence to-me-ward, and will do my best to spend this evening with you in thought and spirit, at least, if not in person, as in very happy years in the past.
Nothing among us here indicates the time. The country is too poor to furnish us with a turkey to diversify our pork and crackers, even if we had the money to purchase one, as we are even without a glass of wine for toasts, as several of our sutlers have been captured on the road. I determined, however, to do the best in my power, so I went out into the woods, and got a most beautiful little holly-tree, with splendid leaves and full of berries, which we planted at the foot of the flagstaff. There are a pair of symbols for you! Above, the emblem of equality, free thought, free speech, justice to all men; below, the emblem of respect for what is old and reverend, the ornament of this great festival of faith and religion. No freedom can be dangerous that is so rooted and grounded.
And while I am speaking of this, I would further say, that there are very many now fighting in this army, who have apparently lost sight of all early training, and have given up all religious habits, and who seem to think of nothing but their military duties; that is, you see, at first, only the flag, but if you could search deep down you would find the holly tree there too.
It is beginning to rain, which is a very improper proceeding for weather on Christmas Eve. I am officer of the day, and when I make my midnight round by the sable, I shall have a fine chance to verify the Catholic legend that at midnight, on Christmas, all beasts of the stall go on their knees. I have seen plenty of horses do this in the day-time and irrespective of church festivals.
I need not tell you that we had a tough time of it, marching down here, as the newspaper all speak, ad nauseam, of the mud and other hindrances. The roughest part of it all was to hear Burnsides cannon when we had only reached Dumfries, and were, still, two long days march from the scene of the conflict. It was also vile in the extreme to reach Falmouth, after seven days incessant marching, and then to have to turn round and march straight back again. This being on the outskirts of battles, hearing the guns, and meeting the ambulances filled with wounded. I have had enough of, and I long for the excitement of another good hot artillery fire, like that on Friday afternoon at Bull Run. I almost long (I am almost ashamed to confess it) for my quietus; not that I despair of our success ultimately, or have any doubts of its completeness, but why should I live when so many better men are falling. Then, too, my anxiety for the cause, and my restiveness under my uncongenial surroundings, would forever quiet. A real good, honorable death might perhaps give some brightness to a dull and useless life. Do you think that I am too sad and gloomy? But what else can you expect of a man who is about to wash down with cold water a Christmas dinner of bean-soup and crackers?
Lt. Wheeler commanded the 13th NY Artillery from May 1863 until he was killed at the battle of Kolb's Farm, GA on June 22, 1864
Just what is it about the American Civil War that leaps up into our face as though it is grimly recent? Is it the diary entries and letters like these? It’s never very far away.
Wow. Those soldiers could truly “paint a picture” with their narrative descriptions. Impressive.
You sure this letter is authentic?
Four of my ancestors served and fought with him north of Gettysburg on July 1, 1863--and only one of them made it unscathed through the day.
I wonder if he was still wondering about a "good, honorable death" by 1864, when he was shot through the heart in Georgia. I doubt it...by then, I bet he was getting plenty of action and figuring the war was going to end soon enough.
What a horrible chapter of our nation's history... a federal government calling upon states to muster and invade their brother states, a union torn apart, and such misery and death throughout it all, instead of the brightness of the Season.
I lost one ancestor at Bull Run, and another one at Gettysburg, all for the Union.
The details are few on all of them, but the conclusion of “their history”, is final.
RIP.
Certain issues have never been adequately resolved, though those who consider themselves among the victors (or their descendants, however one regards that) think so.
I was able to get his letters republished again back in 2003 together with other Battery records.
Where were your ancestors?
And looking at the pension records made me cringe. For example, one of the Gettysburg wounded was discharged because he was too disabled for even the Invalid Corps...but then the army doctor examining him for pension a few days later said he wasn't disabled. In fact, the latter doc didn't even note the bullet wound passing through his knee, and other exams got right and left knee mixed up, for example! Oh, the state of medicine--and bureaucracy--back then!
Also in the record, he paid a lawyer more than a month's benefits to try to get the thing fixed and get the proper benefits, but the lawyer misfiled the paperwork, even putting the wrong dates on it.
RIP
James P.Wilson,
CSA
48th Regiment, Virginia Infantry
KIA Chancellorsville May 3 1863
Buried Confederate Cemetary, Fredericksburg, VA
My family gave thirteen sons to the Southern Cause. Every male member of the family over the age of thirteen (my great grandfather was 7 at the start of the war). The last one died seven days before the end of the war in Elmira (NY) prison as a POW.
I had ancestors in various units. One, for example, was the 157th New York Volunteer Infantry, which was positioned in support of Wheeler and Dilger north of town.
These guys could write. Education was handled a little differently back then.
bttt
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