Journal of James Edmond Pease, a Civil War Union Soldier

by Jim Murphy

  I am going to end this now and write a letter to Miss Sarah Henderson so I can share my good news with someone who does not wear a uniform and who is not angry with me. I have not been very successful in writing her before, but now I have something real to say. And I think I will tell her that I have kept her letter in my vest pocket ever since I received it.

  January 22

  Things still seem strained with the Company. I asked Sgt. Donoghue about this and he said some are probably angry because they was not made sgt., some probably think I am acting high and mighty when I give an order, and some just don’t like anyone who is not a pte. “Don’t worry about those people,” he told me. “They are not worth a bit of thought. Your real friends will always be there.” Sometimes, he added, the men do not know how to act, so they become quiet around anyone who has gotten a promotion. “They need to see how you act with them before they can feel comfortable.” So I will try to remain calm and see what happens.

  Drilling with the artillery battery has begun and Lt. Toms seemed pleased, so I guess we are doing the job — tho it all looks very confused from where I am. The only unusual incident came when Maj. Pettit reviewed his batteries and support and said, “Lt. Toms, your Company is the shabbiest I have seen in a while.” Lt. Toms stood tall and said, “It has never gotten in the way of their fighting, sir.” And then he added, “We have not been on the receiving end of such supplies since Gettysburg, sir.” “Oh, that,” Maj. Pettit said, looking annoyed. He turned to one of his aides and said, “Capt., these men are under our care now. See that they are outfitted properly.” The next day, like magic, a supply wagon rolled up to our tents with fresh uniforms and boots. I will be glad to be rid of both my old uniform and hat, as the bullet holes are sore reminders of a close call. Too bad I can’t get a new book to replace this one. It has more history about it than I want to recall.

  February 2

  Decided to begin again with the brief histories, hoping this would put the men at ease. I began with Osgood Tracy because I knew he had a birthday coming up. Osgood said he was born during a terrible blizzard and that his father, who is a surgeon, delivered him and took care of his mother, who had been in labor a long time. Osgood never went to school, except for a few years early on and a year in medical college, but was taught at home by his father and his mother, who spoke six languages between them, including Greek and Latin. He said that they spoke a different language at every meal and that, as far as he is concerned, chicken tastes best in French. When the call came to enlist, his father signed on as a surgeon and is now the brigade surgeon for the 1st New York light artillery; Osgood left school when he heard about his father’s enlistment and signed on himself, but as a regular soldier. Osgood also told me that most of the doctors he has encountered in the army — excepting his father, of course — are not fit to lance a boil, let alone treat someone seriously hurt, and that most men die from the “care” that they get and not their wounds. This is something most soldiers already know and is why we avoid the doctors at all costs. But Osgood said I should write it into our Company history so everyone will know.

  February 12

  Maj. Pettit has us drilling just about every day, with the cannons often firing blank cartridges and other companies playing the Rebs. Some of our Company are beginning to complain, saying they already know how to fight. But fighting under the barrels of cannons with the deafening noise and blinding smoke is a different sort of fighting. Altho not dangerous in the least while they are firing, I can assure you it is very disagreeable, for the concussion of the air almost crushes a person to the ground. So we needed to be out there to get used to the feeling and learn to hear and obey orders.

  I said all this to the men and Shelp had to answer back: “And how did you come to know this and the rest of us not?” I felt instantly annoyed by his words — probably more so than I should have — and I was recalling Sgt. Donoghue’s advice not to respond too quickly to a taunt when another man — William Zellers, who was not a grumbler — said, “He has seen as many fights as you, Charlie. And been wounded, too.” “And,” another pointed out, “he has meetings with the Maj. and Lt.” “That don’t make him an expert,” Shelp said. “I didn’t say I was an expert,” I said in a matter-of-fact way. “But this isn’t charging the enemy head on or sniping at him from behind trees. We need to move around more quickly to protect the guns.” “It is all a lot of dancing to me,” Shelp said, but he wasn’t challenging me directly, I think because most of the men, even the grumblers, knew I was right about this. “Give me a good old fight any-time,” Shelp added. I knew that our generals aim to give him his wish, but I could not say so.

  Received a second letter from Miss Sarah Henderson!!! In my letter to her I had mentioned my unease at keeping the Company journal and in reply Sarah — for she told me I should call her Sarah — sent a silver coin that her great-grandfather had carried during the War of Independence. He was only fifteen when he joined the state militia and in six years of fighting he never received even a scratch. I am not sure about the value of good-luck charms, but I think I will keep this letter and its coin with the other. That way I will not disappoint Sarah.

  February 14

  Many of the boys in the Company are rereading letters and heaving deep sighs. I began to write to Sarah, and Johnny saw what I was doing and said, “Sarah will think you are in love with her,” but he was laughing, so I know he did not intend it in a mean way. Even so I felt myself blushing and had to play with the fire til this passed.

  The day was not so cold, so we all spent time out in the sun. Johnny sat on a log for a long time trying to write a letter to his mother.

  Sgt. Drake has returned to the Company, and Miles Gorham will replace him as corp.

  February 22

  I am not sure what to make of this day. We had been running mock battles all day, with K and E Companies charging from various positions. I was running back and forth between Lt. Toms and our men with orders and changes in orders when a spark from the hot guns must have gotten into a caisson because it suddenly exploded and I was the nearest to it. I pulled up straight — I did not even have enough wits about me to duck down! — and one of the wheels flew by my head not more than two feet away, followed by bits of wood and metal and such. I did kiss the ground about then, helped by a rush of hot air, and received a pelting of dirt, rocks, and other pieces of the caisson.

  I glanced up, amazed that I still had my head on my shoulders, and I noticed that a few of the men had paused in what they was doing to look in my direction, but not many, and not any of the men at the guns, which still fired away even tho two of the cannoneers had been hit by parts of the caisson, too. The men still played their parts as if nothing unusual had happened.

  “Move, Sgt. Pease. If you are not dead — move!” That was Lt. Toms screaming at me. I jumped up and ran as if the Devil himself was chasing me, and I must have been a sight, because I was covered with debris and spitting out dirt. But the orders was delivered and our Company responded. A few minutes passed during which I contained my curiosity, but eventually I had to glance around. Where there had once been a caisson was now a large hole — big enough to bury a man in! — and not much else. When I looked to where Maj. Pettit was, he was still seated on his horse, observing the action. I would wager any amount that he did not even blink when the caisson went up.

  Later, back at camp, I heard Shelp’s voice, “I tell you, bad things follow him everywhere.” He did not use my name, but I don’t think he had to. Johnny said I was certainly the luckiest man in the Army. So there are two views of me. Sgt. Donoghue said I had acted well considering what had happened, and I told him I had just jumped at the sound of Lt. Toms’s voice. “That is what any good soldier does. He moves when ordered. That’s what the men will do for you, too.” I wish I could believe what the Sgt. said, but I am not sure many of the men will ever jump at my voice — or that I will live long enough to give many orders.

  The only bright spot is
that today I received a third letter from Sarah, and Johnny said, “She is sweet on you, Jim. I can tell.” I would write her a letter about my day, but my head hurts painfully, so I will boil up the last of my sleeping herbs and try to rest instead. But I will keep the words “she is sweet on you” in my head.

  February 25

  Maj. Pettit has us learning how to load, aim, fire, and maneuver the light artillery, as well as all commands. “You should know the procedures,” he explained, “so you can fill in when any of my men are wounded or killed.” The Little Profeser noted that the use of the word “if” would have suggested that something might happen, while the word “when” means it will certainly happen. It is sometimes hard for me to recall that I joined this army to get a pair of boots and dinner! Now look where I am! Head no longer hurts, tho I am still wary around the caissons when the guns are hot. A sound sleep is once again hard to find.

  Approached Niles Rogers about a brief history, but he said his throat hurt and I should ask his tent-mate Philo Olmstead. Philo grew up in Belvedere, New Jersey, where his father was an undertaker. “One summer we had a fever that carried off a lot of folk and we buried a good part of the town. When the fever passed, the town was mostly young, and then there wasn’t much business for my father and we had to leave. So we traveled into New York and didn’t stop til we came to a town with a lot of old people. Business has been good ever since!” Despite his background, Philo is a very merry soul and is always ready to laugh. When I asked him why he didn’t go into the burying business, he said, “It’s usually steady work, but I prefer to deal with my neighbors when they can talk back, so I became a carriage maker.”

  Sent a brief letter to Sarah telling her about my “near miss.” Johnny said he was going to write Sarah and say that I “pined” for her so much that the earth shook and exploded under my feet. I then “ordered” Johnny not to write about the incident — so being a sgt. has some advantages.

  March 7

  Spring must be near because enemy skirmishers have been hitting and jabbing at us at various places for the past week or so, and we have been doing the same for them. Lt. Toms says that Gen. Lee and the Rebs are probably cooking up their own spring plans and he just hopes we can get ours going before they do theirs. Accompanied Maj. Pettit’s guns to meet Rebs wandering nearby, but they skedaddle whenever artillery arrives. The Maj.’s men can unhitch, load, and fire so quickly that most of the time the Rebs are not out of range and it is always a lively sight to see them dance from the shells.

  I have been looking for a letter from Sarah these past days now, but there is never mail for me. Has she forgotten me already? I asked Johnny if he had gotten any mail and he said no, but he did say he had “disobeyed orders” and written Sarah about the caisson exploding — he said because he knew I would not say enough about it — tho he swore he did not put in anything about my pining away.

  March 11

  We have just learned that there is a new commander of the National Army, Lt.-General Ulysses S. Grant. Everyone was happy that Gen. Meade will stay to command the Army of the Potomac, since he is well liked by the boys and officers alike. Sgt. Donoghue said we should stop worrying about Gen. Meade and start worrying about our skins, since a new commander will always try to prove he deserved his promotion with a victory — and guess who will have to do the fighting.

  Still no letter.

  March 16

  It happened very quickly. Yesterday Lt. Toms was called to a meeting and immediately after he issued orders to pull down our winter homes and be ready to march. We are now moving along the pike road at a leisurely pace in the general direction of Jefferson. Winter is over officially, I guess, and now the fun begins. No more time to write.

  March 17

  Have begun a letter to Sarah, but don’t know when I will be able to send it out. We are in a wooded section about three miles from main roads, so little mail comes in or goes out. I will continue writing day after day til I can mail it, which will give me something to do besides worry. One good thing about keeping busy — I am so tired at night that I drop off to sleep as if I had not a care in the world.

  William Kittler off by himself as usual. When I showed this to Johnny, he said, “He is a strange one, now ­isn’t he?”

  March 23

  We have been skirmishing regularly with the Rebs, tho we have had only one wounded seriously — H. Clements — and the boys seem eager to meet the enemy more. Sgt. Donoghue said, “Even Spirit seems more feisty than usual.” So far, the heaviest fighting has been over who should be carrying Lucky Minié, which resulted in a flattened nose and a black eye and some hard feelings. There is now an official list which is kept by Corp. Gorham.

  The only other “action” to report was my three skirmishes with Shelp, all very minor, but still annoying. I took the “high road” in all three by letting pass some remarks that could have gotten him time in the stockade, but this did not seem to lessen his anger with me. When I asked Johnny why he thought Shelp acted this way, Johnny said, “Some people are born mean and that is the way they live and there is no explaining it.” I guess that is as good an explanation as any.

  March 24

  Chased the Rebs most of the day, but to little purpose. Our line of march has been altered and we seem to be heading back toward Brandy Station. Lt. Toms told Sgt. Donoghue, Sgt. Drake, and me that 30,000 troops have left and are headed south. “Let’s hope Uncle Robert bites at the apple,” he said. “Then we will take a bite out of him.”

  It has been over a month since I last heard from Sarah. Johnny has received only one letter from his mother and none from his sisters or other relatives in this time, and thinks there is mail for us sitting in a wagon in some farmer’s pasture. Sent off my last letter to Sarah and will start another.

  March 25

  Rested today and so did the Rebs, so it was quiet and peaceful. The rain that has fallen all night and today probably has something to do with this. Have lived on hardtack, salt pork, and corn meal for a week now, so I traded two pounds of tobacca for a chicken — a steep price — and boiled it up in a coffeepot with some root vegetables and salt. Drank the soup from the spout and found it very good, and Johnny agreed.

  Some letters and packages caught up with us in the afternoon, but none for me. Three months ago I would not have even given it a thought. Was able to finish my letter to Sarah and mail it out. Once it was gone, I wondered if writing before she has replied to my other letters will offend her as too forward. Johnny said, “At least you’re not thinking on being bad luck and such any-more.” Which is not true, not exactly any-way, but I did not confess this to Johnny. He then added, “She loves to get letters, especially from you, so don’t worry about writing too much.”

  March 26

  Have not moved and all remains quiet and wet. Rumors drift thru camp about what is happening and where we will be headed next and some of the boys even say we are going to try to get between Gen. Lee’s army and Richmond — tho I never say yes or no. Pete McQuade asked if I knew something I wasn’t telling and when I said no, he became upset, wanting to know why I wouldn’t tell him. He says he needs to know if we are going to fight in a day or two days or a week or two weeks, that he feels that something bad will happen to him and he wants to be prepared. It seems that his turn with Lucky Minié was two days ago and will not come up again for nearly a month, so he is nervous. I was not sure what to say or do, and he seemed very serious, so I gave him the silver coin Sarah sent me and told him its story. I hope Sarah will understand why I did this.

  Received back pay today!!! Many of the boys have set to gambling it away, but I put my money in a sock and will hold it til I know what to do with it. Johnny said that since our pay is here, our mail will probably follow — on July 4th!

  Later

  At dinner, Willie Dodd asked that Spirit be given a regular turn with Lucky Minié, saying he was as much a part of G Company as any of the rest, but the boys voted this down. Willie was upset, of co
urse, but he seemed better when I asked him for some history. His mother died when he was just five, and his father was — and still is — an engineer for the New York Central Railroad, so Willie has spent most of his life on trains going from one town to another. He came by Spirit after the dog was hit by a train — not his father’s — and lost its front leg. “But don’t feel sorry for him,” Willie said. “He can outrun most any animal and I can’t think of anything he can’t do that a dog with four legs can — except lift his leg to pee.” Willie was just fourteen when he enlisted, and when I asked how he had managed to pass — him being four years under the legal age to enlist then — he said he guessed he got in on his length. Willie is tall for any age. He said that after the war he intends to join the railroad and maybe be an engineer himself someday, which I think will suit him as he is always on the move whether in camp or not. Willie wanted to know how I had managed to enlist, and I had to admit I had lied my way in. I signed Uncle’s full name to the paper saying CONSENT IN CASE OF MINOR, and when questioned about it said, “You can check with him yourself if you don’t believe me,” but the recruiter only grunted and then went on to the next man in line.

  April 2

  Broke camp and did more marching. I am not sure how all this helps us to beat the Rebs, but we have seen a great deal of Virginia and its people. Not many are openly hostile toward us, tho a few — mostly the old people — tell us we are trespassers and robbers and Yankee trash. The rest just stare at us when we pass thru a town and keep their thoughts inside — which is wise when there are so many soldiers near who want a fight. The Negroes give us very little response, tho now and then one or another will nod as we go past or tip their hat if no Secesh white man is around to see them. Several have run off from their owners and joined our march as camp servants. So far no Southern owners have come asking after them — and I doubt many will!