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Lexington, Virginia
December 3, 1859
My Dear Sister [Laura Arnold],
It seems that I may not see you for some time. Civil war is balancing on the wake of the nation. Yesterday, I was in command of two howitzers with a contingent of 21 fresh cadets from the Virginia Military Institute. I was given orders to stand guard at Harper's Ferry during the execution of the abolitionist John Brown because fear had arose of another uprising by Brown's followers. Although he did create a militia and many thought he should hang for murder, I sent a petition requesting he not be hanged. He arrived in an open wagon heavily guarded by the jailer, sheriff, and another group of cadets. Brown's attire was very formal, wearing a coat, vest, and hat. On the wagon was his coffin of black walnut, which he sat on until he reached the gallows. With his arms tied behind him, he reached the top of the platform and walked to the noose. The sheriff strung it around his neck, and the procession proceeded. The rope holding the trap door was cut, and Brown's legs fell through. His body writhed for a moment; hands clenching, and his arms rose. As minutes passed, the sign of life exited him, and his arms fell to his side. At around 11:30 A.M., he died as a martyr for the abolitionists' cause. He remained swinging from his noose when we left the sight. The cadets had no visible reaction to the hanging. I imagine this was a very traumatic event for them to see. This seems to be a clear premonition of war to come. I hope that I will not have to go to war again. If war is brought to my doorstep though, I must defend it though. From your last letter I hear you are teaching your children. You should send Thomas, Anna, and Stark to live with me for a while. Early educational development is of high importance. I can teach them reading and spelling well. I believe it would be in their best interest for you to let me teach them due to the fact that I have experience teaching at the Virginia Military Institute. I am glad to hear that you have raised them with Christian fortitude. The cold I had received around the time of my departure from the U.S. Army still persists. My throat remains hoarse. Anna has been bedridden for some days now, but she seems to slowly be recuperating. Tell the children Anna and I send them our love.
Your affectionate brother,
Thomas
HDQRS. MEAGHER'S BRIG., RICHARDSON'S DIV.,
SUMNER'S CORPS, ARMY OF THE POTOMAC
Friday, June 27th, 1862
I am currently stationed a Fair Oaks Station and have received
ordered to move my brigade of fighting Irish to support General
Fitz John Porter at Allen's Farm. My men are weary for I have
commanded them in the following engagements: Allen's Farm Gaine's
Mill, Savage Station, Nelson's Farm, and Malverton. Although
we are tired we must march forward to aid General Porter and
his brigade. They have been engaged in battle with enemy forces
for several hours and are outnumbered. I have received orders
to meet with Brigadier-General French, whose brigade has also
received orders to support the forces engaged at Allen's Farm.
Our two brigades are to march to the Chickahominy and cross together
over the Woodbury's or Alexander's Bridge. Once across the battle
shall begin. May God be on our side and lead us to another victory
for the Union.
THOMAS FRANCIS MEAGHER,
Commanding Brigadier-General
Letter to wife
September 19th 1863, Late Evening, Rock Springs encampment
Dear Daniella,
I'm sorry I haven't been able to write to you recently. I have
been involved in a series of incidents on the battlefield. The
day after I wrote my last letter to you I was on the battlefield
and my horse was shot right underneath me! I fell over and received
some minor injuries, nothing too serious. That didn't stop our
glorious troops however, as my cavalry was desperate to avenge
my injury. We had those Union troops running back to their lines
scared. The bullet did not hit my thigh bone, so luckily there
will be no amputations involved with my recovery. Next time they
will think twice about messing with Fighting Joes cavalry. This
isn't the first time that this has happened, it seems like only
the skirmish right before that I had taken a shot to the thigh
and lost another horse. I got to take a nice little break after
that injury; it would seem that all of these victories that I
have been bringing around are starting to influence Mr. Davis
himself. I am sure that if I keep the victories up like this
I will be a general of the Confederacy soon. My next mission
will involve me commanding a group of cavalry that will go behind
Union lines and destroy some of their supplies. The valuable
supplies are stationed at a place called Rock Springs. Hopefully,
we will have a safe return and another important win for my men.
Even though the Union has a great deal of supplies, they cannot
compete with the morale and strategy that the Confederacy boasts.
Well, seeing as it is the night before my mission tomorrow, and
my first day back on the battlefield since the injury, I will
have to go prepare my bed. The beds don't beat home, but it's
what I have so I will have to make the best of it. Wish me luck,
I'll write you again once I am back and safe in a Confederate
encampment.
Sincerely,
"Fighting Joe" Wheeler
Monday, June 29, 1863
Last night I dreamt of Maine and ice black water; I awoke to a murderous sun. I was roused by the voice of Buster Kilrain and I squinted to see his whiskery face. Kilrain told me, "We're about to be havin' guests, sir, or I wouldn't be wakin' ye." I was tired and sore, I had walked eighty miles in four days through the hottest weather I had ever known and had gone down with sunstroke. Kilrain offered me some water out of his wooden canteen, and I drank as the world started to focus in around me.
I had been sent one hundred and twenty men from Second Maine
who were being forced to continue fighting. Kilrain read me the
message and it gave me the freedom to shoot any man who refuses
to fight with me. Being a man from Maine myself I had no desire
to shoot fellow statesmen because they were being forced into
a fight they did not wish to participate in. I already had little
less than two hundred and fifty men in my regiment and was unsure
how I was going to take care of a hundred and twenty disobedient
men. I was thirty-four years old and on this day one year ago
I was a professor of rhetoric at Bowdoin College... I had no
idea what to do, but I got up and walked forward through the
tent flap and stood, blinking, swaying, one hand against a tree.
I wore stolen cavalry trousers and a three-foot sword, cloths
I had not taken off for a week. I went to speak with the men
whom I so unfortunately was forced to lead. I walked up to the
men seeing the fatigue in their lowered faces, and asked them
when they last ate. A man in the front row, without raising his
face, told me they were hungry. I listened intently to their
grievances, but in the midst of our conversation a courier came
and reported that Colonel Vincent wishes to inform me that the
corps is moving out at once and that I am instructed to take
the advance. My regiment was assigned to the first position in
line. I thanked the courier and looked back on the men. I told
them that I didn't know what I could do about their grievances
because soon we would move out and may be in a big fight before
nightfall. I told them that I was instructed to take them along
and that was what I intended to do, even if by gunpoint. I told
them that this battle could be the deciding point in the battle
and that I would be grateful if they would fight with me. To
my surprise all but six men decided to fight. I looked out on
the men all marching together and could hardly notice the hundred
and twenty new men. I was consumed with joy as I mounted my horse
and the Twentieth Maine began to move towards Gettysburg.
September 18, 1863
East of the creek of Chickamauga
Earlier this evening I finally gave the order for my boys to cross the small creek, which the locals call "Chickamauga". Odd name for an odd river if you ask me. Early this morning I had a couple of my best scouts to perform a simple reconnaissance mission of the creek. Maybe I should have sent more men, I could of spared the manpower, but then I might of attracted more attention. It isn't that big of a deal as they acquired the necessary information, but matters such as these continue to plague my mind. But anyway, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, my boys crossed the river with ease. The only resistance encountered was by Bushrod Johnson, who I had ordered to take Reed's Bridge and advance onto LaFayette Road. Just a few hours ago a runner reported that they had been attacked by a small union force moving in to destroy the bridge. From what I know Johnson came through, and defeated the Federal men, but I'm not too sure of this. I have been thinking about this for the past couple hours, and cannot stop questioning myself on whether we should have even taken the goddamn bridge in the first place. I've run the scenario through my head a thousand times and I still am firing blanks. I have already sent a Regiment from Tennessee to reinforce Johnson, and with his now formidable force, he should be able to take care of any Union forces, which are foolish enough to harass my Confederate force.
September 19, 1863
Near the west bank of Chickamauga
A lot has happened in the past day. First I'd like to apologize for cutting my last entry short. I was interrupted and given word of a Yankee push into the rear elements of my advancing men. In a blunder of a move, the damn Northerners ended up nearly colliding with my men in the thick trees, which flank the Chickamauga. Upon arriving at the battle I was dismayed as soon as I examined the terrain. The fighting, which ensued, took place in thick trees, which stretched up probably a hundred feet! Vision was limited to only 150 feet, less than the range of a musket! The brush was so thick, artillery pieces could not be maneuvered into the fight, except for the in the case of a handful of cannon which were placed in the rare field that broke the heavy forest. I got a glimpse of some of the fighting and it was the most intense and brutal conflict I have ever seen. it even made the Pittsburgh Landing look dull! The brunt of the action was hand-to-hand and soldiers were ordered to fix bayonets and try and hold a tight formation. The whole process was a mess. Battle lines did not exist, and men were often cut off from their advancing unit. There was little I could do but continue to send men in and reinforce the units in action. There was no room for maneuverability and clever plans; this fight would be won by sheer manpower, and luck. I distinctly remember one of my officers commenting, "No man in his right mind would want to fight in these conditions". Apparently he did not know me very well. The thick forest was a perfect opportunity to test my ability and myself. When I first lay eyes upon the battlefield, I knew I could outwit and overwhelm the Yankees. I just knew it. It's hard to explain, I'm a very intuitive person I guess. As the battlefield became still and the Union men fled I stepped out into the aftermath of war and examined the fallen Tennessee men, which were no longer under my command. Stumbling through the thick brush, and snapping twigs left and right, I came across a young boy. He couldn't of been no older than 17. He lies upon a shattered tree stump, his body twisted and mangled. He appears to have been by one of the few artillery rounds fired off during the battlewhat an unlucky bastard. I couldn't help but feel sorry for him as I looked up and down his once gray coat. It had now been turned a putrid red, with dark crimson splotches randomly assorted in a jumble of a mess. Whether the blood was his own, or another man's, only God could tell. Another man approached me from the left and I drew my Colt, but luckily it was another Rebel, one of my men who had gotten lost apparently. His attention was drawn to the young boy and he cowered back, not able to look at the gory picture painted in front of him. I took a second glance at the body and noticed the space were a man's left arm is normally locatedwas vacant. After the wave of nausea passed I found it sitting amid a group of clovers a few feet away. It was in bad shape and hard to tell it was an arm at all. Wood splinters from the tree were imbedded in it, I immediately left the field and retired to my quarters, where I am now. I should not of engaged the enemy in that thick of woods, it was too detrimental to my men, especially without artillery support. I'm not sure what I was thinking at the time. The birds chirping outside my tent have begun to annoy me. It's that shrill high-pitched chirping that is able to break the strongest of men. Maybe I should go out and greet it with my peacemaker. I just received word that General Thomas' Federal army has withdrawn to LaFayette Road, and scouts report Thomas himself having fled to a high point near Kelly's Farm. I'm going to end this here, and go take care of that fowl, which has proven quite an annoyance.
September
20, 1863
Near the battlefield of Chickamauga
During the former night my men were ordered to setup camp and receive a much needed rest. As night loomed on the loud reverberation of Union men cutting down trees could be heard, and the looks on my boy's faces were that of mixed fear and aggression. It is predicted they have begun building breastworks and fortifying their position, expecting an attack. I held a meeting an hour ago and gave my orders to my men; General Daniel Harvey Hill's Corps is to attack the Union line at dawn. Only one problem stands in my pathHill did not attend the meeting. I am appalled with his lack of respect and seriousness to the task at hand. He will certainly be reprimanded for this, and if I do not reach him soon, there will be hell to pay. It is already 8:25 and I am restless. I have multiple men out looking for him and he better turn up. It seems my boils have begun to start bothering me again. I hope it does not get as bad as it did early on in this Campaign for Chattanooga, it reached the point where I could not even ride a horse, and I was taken by ambulance repeatedly. I'm off to look for Hill and will soon report on the day's outcome.
September
20, 1863
Near LaFayette Road
I finally reached that bastard Hill. He commenced his attack but it had been delayed. Luckily, our Confederate soldiers are twice the men those Yankee boys are, and fight with courage and perseverance, which has not been paralleled since the ancient times of Rome. Hill's men swept through the Union perimeter and sliced right through his flank, opening a gash in his line, which could not heal. The Union boys fled in terror upon hearing the loud call of our men, and we pushed em all the way back to LaFayette road! I have decided to not pursue the fleeing Union men but rather to hold up and rest my army for further action. Longstreet, the bastard, has advised me to pursue the fleeing Yankees but I am doing what I know is right. Several other men have shown their displeasure in my actions lately and I'm getting sick of the ignorance that surrounds me. Am I the only damn person in this whole Rebel army who has any idea of what he is doing? I've even heard rumors that they are planning to remove me from command! Oh, my what evils people can mistake for good. I am driving myself to nausea and should probably be heading to bed now after the past few days of hardship.